A Crazy Christmas Carol

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A Crazy Christmas Carol

Loath to the prospect of a third visitation, Scrooge heard heavy-booted footsteps ascending the stairway from his cellar. He rose from his bed and slipped into his robe. Rather than Jacob Marley’s translucent ghost, passing chains and all through a wall, or the materialization of an ebullient spirit clad in green holly, this time, the door to his bedroom was torn from its hinges and tossed to the floor by an imposing, masked figure shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed all, save one gloved, outstretched hand.

On trembling legs, Scrooge retreated, leaning back against the edge of his four-poster bed as the final spirit approached. A scant two steps away, it halted and neither spoke nor moved. All became silent. Nothing stirred, as if all life and time were suspended, not to reanimate until or unless the specter so decreed.

Harsh and hollow, the labored breath of the dark figure broke the silence. It came at measured intervals and identical depths as if induced by some unseen, internal mechanism.

Cowering in the presence of the intimidating intruder, Scrooge exclaimed, “Do with me as you will, spirit. I have witnessed the error of my ways and shall resist you not. You are the Ghost of Christmas yet to come, I presume?”

When at last the spirit spoke, the words uttered in a deep, commanding voice proved as menacing and unsettling as its breath. “Refer to me as you choose, Ebeneezer Scrooge, but pay no heed to the warning issued by the spirits of Christmas Past and Present. Their admonitions were ill-advised."

“Ill-advised?” Scrooge parroted the spirit’s words, understanding neither their motive nor their meaning. “I have seen how my life could have been and how it could still be different, yet you wish me to continue the path I tread?”

“The force is strong with you, Ebeneezer. As a man of means and influence, often have you spurned the advent of a warm relationship for the cold compensation of penny and pound. Your allegiance to the dark side is legendary--”

Interrupted by a heavy thump on the roof, the spirit and Scrooge stared up at the ceiling. The noise was followed by a scraping, scuffling sound coming from the fireplace as something heavy came sliding down the chimney.

Whomp! Landing on his backside in the cold, empty fireplace was a small, fat man. Dressed entirely in red cloth and fur, from the floppy cap on his head to his boots, his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

“Identify yourself!” The cloaked phantom demanded as Scrooge sprang onto his bed and drew the curtains around it closed.

“Who am I? Ho, Ho, Ho, as if you don’t know. The question is, who are you?” With a bundle of toys flung over his back, the short, bearded chap could have passed for a peddler just opening his pack. His wide smile produced the merriest of dimples and his cheeks and nose were as red, presumably from the cold winter’s night, as cherries.

Observing the cheerful nature of the fat man, the dark spirit paused, its hollow respiration continuing at the same, measured pace. It reached down beneath the folds of its floor-length cape and withdrew what appeared to be the ribbed grip of a saber to which no blade was affixed. The phantom assumed an attack posture and pressed a small button on the side of the grip. A slender beam of light shot forth, forming a glow that ended in a blade-like point. It hummed, ominously, as its handler waved it slowly, back and forth.

Peeking out from behind his bed curtains, Scrooge watched, spellbound, as the evil spirit and the jolly elf circled the room, eyeing each other, looking for an advantage. Reaching back into his sack, the chubby fellow pulled out a bladeless saber that appeared to be identical to the one wielded by his opponent. He pressed a button on the side of the grip and, rather than a beam of light, the sound of an orchestra playing a stirring theme sprang from what was evidently no more than a child’s toy.

The phantom laughed derisively and proclaimed, “Your powers are weak, old man.”

“Call me Santa, but I’m still waiting, by what name should we call you?”

“Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away I was known as Anakin Skywalker, but now, I am called Darth Vader.”

“You’re right, you’re not Anakin, that's for sure,” Santa shook his head. “But you’re not Darth Vader, either.”

The dark figure offered no reply. He stood in the center of Scrooge's bedroom, staring at the truculent imp as if pondering his next move.

“I’d love to stick around and listen to you breathe, but I’m kinda busy tonight. Oh, and this device you thought was an ineffectual toy, well watch this.” Santa pointed the bladeless saber at the floor and a three dimensional projection of a long table appeared, around which a large number of odd looking people sat, singing Christmas Carols and partaking in what appeared to be a marvelous holiday feast. Santa pointed at the gathering and said, “Does that remind you of anything, like maybe the day your heart grew three sizes…Mr. Grinch? Have you suffered some kind of relapse? Hmmmm?”

Ebeneezer pulled his bed curtains open as the dark spirit reached up with both hands and removed his helmet. Rather than a fearsome countenance, Scrooge and Santa beheld a sheepish looking, green-faced creature with a black nose like a dog and green eyes that were surrounded by yellow where one would expect to see white. Big tears spilled onto his cheeks and ran down his face as his chin began to tremble. His shoulders began to shake and he hung his head as he sobbed, “I've lost Max. My adorable, obedient, hard working dog. He’s gone!”

Santa held out a handkerchief which he produced from thin air and asked, “That's why you felt it necessary to terrorize this old man and undo the promising work done by my Christmas Spirit brethren?”

Dabbing at his dripping eyes, the Grinch replied, “Without Max I can’t be happy. Cindy Loo Who and everybody in Whoville loves my little dog. She won’t be happy if he isn’t there to wake her up with his puppy dog kisses on Christmas morning. And if we can’t be happy, why should this old skinflint be happy?” He pointed at Ebeneezer. “Why spend so much time trying to change his life for the better when you and your Christmas Spirits should be out looking for my little, my little…”

The creature dissolved into tears again, seeming so wretched and inconsolable that Ebeneezer climbed down from his bed and began to pet him on his heaving shoulder. “There, there, you poor soul,” Scrooge sympathized. “We’ll find you another dog, the finest in London. I’ll summon the carriage, straightaway and take you down to the pet shop. I’ll even pay for it, myself.”

Whereupon, the distraught, green beast cried out even louder, “I don’t want another dog, I tell you. I want my dog back, don’t you understand? Find him, oh, find him, please.”

“We don’t have to go find him,” Santa exclaimed. “And there is simply no need for you to grieve or to revert to your former heartless, ‘Grinchy’ self, hurting others to make them as miserable as you.” Santa reached into his sack and pulled out a furry bundle of love and joy with a wagging tail and a pair of funny antlers attached to its head

The Grinch’s eyes got big and round. The frown that had frozen his entire mouth in a downturned, multi-wrinkled expression of agony began to warm. “Max?” He reached out and cradled his wiggling little buddy close to his chest. “Oh, Max!”

Santa stood back and admired his work. The Grinch and Ebeneezer Scrooge were lost in the heartwarming delight of petting and stroking this wonderful, antlered example of man’s best friend. “Who’s my doggie?” The Grinch cooed, scratching under Max’s chin. "Who’s the best doggie in the whole world?”

Ebeneezer agreed vociferously, “What a fine pooch, never a finer pooch has there been.”

Eager to leave so that he could finish his once yearly, around the world delivery of toys, Santa winked at Ebeneezer and asked, “Are we good? No more bah-humbug?”

Scrooge almost said yes, but wondered what might yet transpire as Christmas Eve became Christmas Day. “I was led to believe I would be visited by the Ghost of Christmas yet to come.”

“And what am I?” Santa shrugged his shoulders. “Chopped liver? The Ghost of Christmas Future was sick, so I'm covering for him.” He handed Scrooge a customer comment card and encouraged him to fill it out.

“To what address should I mail this card?” Scrooge asked, looking confused.

“It's pre-addressed on the back and the postage is paid. Fill it out and drop it in the mail,” Santa replied. “We’ll get it.” He turned to the happy green beast and his dog and said, “Mr. Grinch, come with me. I think we have just enough time to get you and Max back to Whoville before Cindy Loo wakes up.”

“You mean we get to ride in your sleigh?” The Grinch was thrilled.

“You can ride in the sleigh with me,” Santa agreed. “But I think Max needs to be up front, with Rudolph, tonight.”

The Grinch held Max up and conferred with him. “Whataya say, boy? Wanna lead Santa’s sleigh tonight with Rudolph, huh?” Max barked and wagged his tale in approval.

Laying his finger on the side of his nose, Santa nodded goodbye to a happy, waving Ebeneezer Scrooge and up the chimney they rose. After hitching Max next to Rudolph at the front of the reindeer team, Santa and the Grinch buckled themselves into their seats and took off, streaking through the sky, as they say, like the down of a thistle.

On Christmas morning in Whoville, Cindy Loo Who awoke to puppy dog kisses and a cup of hot, Who chocolate mixed and heated to just the right temperature by her silly, green friend, her big-hearted, Uncle Grinch.

And what happened then? Well…in Whoville they say, that the Grinch’s heart grew three more sizes that day!


The End.

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