A Zombie Christmas Carol (12 page)

“Overseas,” came the cryptic and not particularly helpful reply.

Scrooge looked carefully.  The object was a golden box, encrusted with jewels and detailed with inscriptions in a foreign looking tongue.  The corners seemed gilded and it sat upon a red velvet pad.  Scrooge was so busy watching that he did not notice the two men, each carrying a savage looking cudgel and dragging a scruffy looking child between them.  As they came closer, Scrooge heard the noise and stepped aside, partially out of automatic courtesy and also to avoid being bumped into.

“Stop this instant!” he shouted but they ignored him and continued dragging the boy up until he was just feet away from the box.  The two ruffians tied the young boy to the nearest column and in one swift motion tore part of his clothing away to reveal his arms.

 Scrooge turned to the Spirit, pleading with it to do something but it simply stood silently, watching both the ceremony and Scrooge’s reaction.

“Christmas is not all happy and joyous, as this homeless child is about to find,” it said.

Scrooge turned back to see the two men carrying the velvet pad over to the boy.  Another man who wore thick leather gloves much like those used for single stick fencing, opened the box, its hinges creaking with age to reveal a round, dull metal object.  It looked damaged though from age or struggle who knew.  The man lifted a fragment from the box and moved it close to the boy.  As it approached his arm, his skin began to lighten and age.  The man pulled it back and the aged skin stayed the same.

“What kind of evil madness is this?” cried Scrooge as he watched helplessly.

The boy struggled and shook as he tried unsuccessfully to escape as the man turned and shouted out to the rest of the assembled something in an evil, barbarian sounding tongue.  The group of men all stood up, shouting in unison.  As they cried out, they withdrew evil looking blades, much like the Indian tulwar blades he had seen in the past.  They held the blades aloft as they continued their excited shouts.

Whilst this commotion continued, the boy had miraculously undone the rope on one hand and was feverishly pulling at the other. Scrooge moved up to the boy and encouraged him along, not that the boy could either see or hear the man.

“Come on, boy, the other arm o’er they will be on you in a flash.  Come on!” he shouted in a mixture of fear and excitement. 

The boy finally pulled the last bit of rope off, just in time to be observed by one of the two closest thugs.  The man shouted as he pulled out his own curved sword and rushed to the boy.  Not pausing for a moment the lad ducked past the first swing of the sword and rushed to the stairs.  Scrooge chased after him, trying to encourage his escape.  As the boy reached the top of the stairs, he pushed the door shut and vanished into the darkness above.  Scrooge stopped, catching his breath before turning back to the Spirit.  Before he was able to speak the group of armed men forced the door ajar and vanished in the same direction of the boy.

“Will he live?” asked a desperate Scrooge.

“For now.  Unless something changes though, he will be dead this time Christmas Day.”

“Dead?  By their hands?” asked Scrooge.

“Dead by that artefact.  It has the power of death.”

“How do you know this to be true?” pleaded Scrooge.

Scrooge looked back into the room in the direction of where the artefact had sat.  He walked over, looking at the marking on the ground.  A howl like a strong wind came from the direction of the creature and Scrooge quickly looked up at its face.

“I know because it has happened before.  You have already been shown what happened with Marley,” said the Spirit.

“But why here?  Cannot this artefact do harm elsewhere?” he asked.

“The artefact is remnant of a great evil from overseas.  When brought to this place it gives the power of death and the ability to control the dead to whomever touches it.”

“Is that what happened to Marley?” 

The Spirit looked at Scrooge, but he could not tell from its expression whether it related to his death or not.

“Wait, I remember Marley fighting with somebody over an item.  Was it the artefact?” asked Scrooge.

The Spirit turned his head.

“No, my dear Scrooge, he could have died to keep it safe, instead he was too busy with claiming more money,” he said before turning back to the artefact.

“Where has it been all these years?” asked Scrooge.

“Nobody knows, it has been hidden away until this day,” he said, before the room plunged into darkness.

Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea—on, on—until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.

He was shaken back to reality though as the Spirit took him below and into the bowels of the ship.  It was dark and damp and just four small lamps lit the way.  As they moved deep inside they came to a locked door.  The Spirit waved his hand and Scrooge found himself inside the darkened room.  He shuddered at the cold and glanced around, looking for something to hold onto.  In the middle was a dark object yet a small glimmer of light from the planks above let in a little moonlight.  It was a strong wooden crate of some kind.  He moved forward to examine it only to find it missing a lid.  As he looked inside, he found a few shards of metal but nothing of note.  On the ground nearby was the body of a man, he was young, probably early twenties yet his body was contorted and pale as though he had been dead many weeks.  Scrooge knelt down to examine him.

“What is wrong with him?”

“He has been gone for sometime but the object is already in London.” 

“What is it and why are they taking the container away?”

The Spirit looked at him but said nothing.  Scrooge turned back moving his hand inside and reached out to touch the metal fragments.

“Do not touch them!” wailed the Spirit.

Scrooge fell back, terrified by the booming wail of the creature.

“This object is not earthly and is the cause of the scourge coming to your city. We must go.”

Scrooge turned his head, hearing a noise coming from the dead man.

“Did you just hear something?” he asked of the Spirit.

The Spirit again ignored him and simply watched impassively as Scrooge approached the body and tried to find the source of the sound.  It was all in vain though as the body answered the question by moving of its own accord.

Scrooge stumbled backwards, falling onto his back and making him yell out in pain.  After a short pause, he lifted himself up into a sitting position only to find the dead man dragging himself over to Scrooge.  As he came closer to him, he could see the decayed face and snapping jaws of some terrifying deranged beast.  It was close enough to attack and it pushed forwards, shrieking in some ethereal and fearsome manner.  Scrooge covered his face and screamed into the night.

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while waiting for death to take him, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew’s and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!

“Ha, ha!” laughed Scrooge’s nephew. “Ha, ha, ha!”

Scrooge could barely contain himself and cried out in terror and joy at being away from the haunted vessel.  It was a stark contrast between the fear of Scrooge and the joy of his nephew.

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge’s nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I’ll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Scrooge’s nephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge’s niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.

“Ha, ha!Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!” cried Scrooge’s nephew. “He believed it too!”

“More shame for him, Fred!” said Scrooge’s niece, indignantly. Bless those women; they never do anything by halves. They are always in earnest.

She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be kissed—as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature’s head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.

“He’s a comical old fellow,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “that’s the truth: and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him.”

“I’m sure he is very rich, Fred,” hinted Scrooge’s niece. “At least you always tell
me
so.”

“What of that, my dear!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “His wealth is of no use to him. He don’t do any good with it. He don’t make himself comfortable with it. He hasn’t the satisfaction of thinking—ha, ha, ha!—that he is ever going to benefit US with it.”

“I have no patience with him,” observed Scrooge’s niece. Scrooge’s niece’s sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.

“Oh, I have!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “I am sorry for him; I couldn’t be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won’t come and dine with us. What’s the consequence? He don’t lose much of a dinner.”

“Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner,” interrupted Scrooge’s niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamplight.

“Well! I’m very glad to hear it,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “because I haven’t great faith in these young houseKeepers. What do
you
say, Topper?”

Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge’s niece’s sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge’s niece’s sister—the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the roses—blushed.

“Do go on, Fred,” said Scrooge’s niece, clapping her hands. “He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!”

Scrooge’s nephew revelled in another laugh, and as it was impossible to keep the infection off; though the plump sister tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar; his example was unanimously followed.

“I was only going to say,” said Scrooge’s nephew, “that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can’t help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me going there, in good temper, year after year, and saying Uncle Scrooge, how are you? If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds,
that’s
something; and I think I shook him yesterday.”

It was their turn to laugh now at the notion of his shaking Scrooge. But being thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle joyously.

After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you: especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. Scrooge’s niece played well upon the harp; and played among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things that Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton’s spade that buried Jacob Marley.