A Vampire Christmas Carol (11 page)
Read A Vampire Christmas Carol Online
Authors: Sarah Gray
21
“C
ome, my time grows short,” observed the spirit. “Quick.”
ome, my time grows short,” observed the spirit. “Quick.”
This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to anyone whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect, for again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now, a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years, but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.
From the main street Scrooge entered, itself little better than an alley, a low-browed doorway led into a blind court, or yard, profoundly dark, unpaved, and reeking with stagnant odors. Into this ill-favored pit he strode, then struck thrice upon an iron grating with his foot.
“Do you know where we are?” asked the spirit.
“Of course I do. It was a gentlemen’s club I belonged to many years ago.”
“A gentlemen’s club?” the ghost questioned. “And who brought you into this
gentlemen’s club?
”
gentlemen’s club?
”
“A colleague. Another businessman.”
Scrooge scratched the recesses of his mind for recollection of the man who had brought him here the very first time he attended. “I . . . cannot recall his name, but I fear he looked much like my tenant Mr. Wahltraud.”
“The King of Vampires,” the spirit reminded him.
“That’s not possible. Please tell me my recollection is wrong.”
“I wish that I could,” said the spirit, pointing into the alley.
The younger Scrooge became impatient, and struck the grating thrice again.
A further delay ensued, but it was not of long duration. The ground seemed to open at his feet, and a ragged head appeared.
“Is that you, Mr. Scrooge?” said a voice as ragged as the head.
“Yes,” replied Scrooge haughtily, descending as he spoke, “who should it be?”
Scrooge in his nightdress and the Ghost of Christmas Past descended behind him, as undetected as on the previous Christmas Eves.
“It’s so late, we gave you up,” returned the voice, as its owner stopped to shut and fasten the grating. “You’re late, sir.”
“I had business to attend to. A man to send to the workhouse for non-payment,” said Scrooge, then still a handsome man, but with a gloomy majesty. “Make remarks when I require you,” he said in the hoarsest voice he could assume and led the way, with folded arms and knitted brows, to the cellar down below, where there was a small copper fixed in one corner, a chair or two, a form and table, a glimmering fire, and a truckle-bed, covered with a ragged patchwork rug.
“Welcome, Mr. Scrooge!” cried a lanky figure, rising as from a nap.
Scrooge nodded. Then, throwing off his outer coat, he stood composed in all his dignity, and eyed his follower over.
“What news tonight?” he asked, when he had looked into his very soul.
“Nothing particular,” replied the other, stretching himself—and he was so long already that it was quite alarming to see him do it.
“I do not like this place,” said the older Scrooge to the ghost. “Please. Take me from here.”
“This is but a shadow of your past. Whatever you did here is done.”
“I was young,” Scrooge argued. “These men, they brought me very profitable business deals. They introduced me to Jacob Marley. It was harmless what we did in that room. A game.”
“Harmless,” the spirit repeated, gazing beyond the present Scrooge to the past.
“Is the room prepared?”
“It is,” replied the follower.
“The comrade—is he here?”
“Yes. And a sprinkling of the others—you hear ’em?”
“Playing skittles,” said younger Scrooge moodily, referring to an ancient game involving a ball and pins to be knocked down. “Light-hearted revelers!”
There was no doubt respecting the particular amusement in which these heedless spirits were indulging, for even in the close and stifling atmosphere of the vault, the noise sounded like distant thunder. It certainly appeared, at first sight, a singular spot to choose, for that or any other purpose of relaxation, if the other cellars answered to the one in which this brief colloquy took place, for the floors were of sodden earth, the walls and roof of damp bare brick tapestried with the tracks of snails and slugs; the air was sickening, tainted, and offensive. It seemed, from one strong flavor which was uppermost among the various odors of the place, that it had, at no very distant period, been used as a store-house for cheeses, a circumstance which, while it accounted for the greasy moisture that hung about it, was agreeably suggestive of rats. It was naturally damp besides, and little trees of fungus sprung from every moldy corner.
The proprietor of this charming retreat, and owner of the ragged head before mentioned—for he wore an old tie-wig as bare and frowzy as a stunted hearth-broom—had by this time joined them. He stood a little apart, rubbing his hands, wagging his hoary bristled chin, and smiling in silence. His eyes were closed, but had they been wide open, it would have been easy to tell, from the attentive expression of the face he turned toward them—pale and unwholesome as might be expected in one of his underground existence—and from a certain anxious raising and quivering of the lids, that he was blind.
“Mr. Wahltraud, he was responsible for all of this, was he not?” Scrooge felt a flutter in his chest, one of fear and loathing . . . and regret. “It was he who arranged the business deals. These men—”
“His minions,” the spirit offered.
“His minions,” Scrooge whispered. “Hers . . . Queen Griselda’s.”
“You were her project . . . it was natural that he would aid when he could.”
“What does my Mr. Scrooge drink?” asked the blind man. “Is it brandy, rum, usquebaugh? Is it soaked gunpowder, or blazing oil?”
“Or blood?” cackled a voice from the corner.
The elder Scrooge backed his way up in the dark room, taking refuge closer to the spirit. “Not blood. I never drank blood.”
“Perhaps not of your own accord,” was all the ghost said.
“See that it’s something strong, and comes quick,” cried the younger Scrooge. “And so long as you take care of that, you may bring it from the devil’s cellar, if you like.”
“Truer words could not have been spoke,” said the spirit softly into Scrooge’s ear.
A man called Stagg filled a glass with an unrecognizable dark liquid and offered it up. “Drink, sir. Death to the poor, life to all men such as yourself, and love to all fair damsels. Drink, Mr. Scrooge, and warm your gallant heart!”
Scrooge cowered near the ghost. “They were poisoning me. I came merely because they asked me to, because of the business they sent my way, but they took advantage of me. They—”
“I yearn to be abed. Lead on. To business!” With these words, Scrooge folded his arms, and frowning with a sullen majesty, passed with his companion through a little door at the upper end of the cellar.
The spirit and Scrooge followed.
The vault they entered, strewn with sawdust and dimly lighted, was between the outer one from which they had just come, and that in which the skittle-players were diverting themselves, as was manifested by the increased noise and clamor of tongues, which was suddenly stopped, however, and replaced by a dead silence, at a signal from the long comrade. Then, a young gentleman, going to a little cupboard, returned with a thigh-bone, which in former times must have been part and parcel of some individual at least as long as himself, and placed the same in the hands of Scrooge who, receiving it as a scepter and staff of authority, cocked his three-cornered hat fiercely on the top of his head, and mounted a large table, whereon a chair of state, cheerfully ornamented with a couple of skulls, was placed ready for his reception.
“And this you thought to be business?” questioned the spirit.
“It . . . it seemed harmless at the time. I . . . I killed no one.”
The young Scrooge had no sooner assumed this position, than another young gentleman appeared, bearing in his arms a huge clasped book, who made him a profound obeisance, and delivering it to the long comrade, advanced to the table, and turning his back upon it, stood there. Then the long comrade got upon the table, too, and seating himself in a lower chair than Scrooge with much state and ceremony, placed the large book on the shoulders of their mute companion as deliberately as if he had been a wooden desk, and prepared to make entries therein with a pen of corresponding size.
When the long comrade had made these preparations, he looked toward the younger Scrooge, and Scrooge, flourishing the bone, knocked nine times therewith upon one of the skulls. At the ninth stroke, a third young gentleman emerged from the door leading to the skittle ground, and bowing low, awaited his commands.
“Who waits without?” barked Scrooge.
The man answered that a stranger was in attendance, who claimed admission into that secret society of Golden Knights, and a free participation in their rights, privileges, and immunities. A man called Jacob Marley. Thereupon Scrooge flourished the bone again, and giving the other skull a prodigious rap on the nose, exclaimed, “Admit him!”
“Enough! I have seen enough,” Scrooge cried, gripping his sleeping gown and twisting it in his fingers.
“What purpose did this society possess?” the spirit pressed.
“To . . . to protect our interests. The interests of businessmen such as myself. To see those who could not pay sent to prison, to the workhouses.”
“That night,” the spirit said, “Jacob Marley made his pledge. What oath did he give?”
Scrooge closed his eyes and then slowly opened them, knowing he had no choice but to give a response. “Every member of that small remnant of a noble body took an oath to gain what he could, to take advantage where he saw benefit, and never to waver in the pursuit of wealth. We vowed not to suffer from weakness, not to accept the excuses of the poor, the sick, the unfortunate.” He hung his head.
“Another night, in this chamber, you had a conversation with a man. The same man who brought you here. Do you remember?”
“I did not know him as Mr. Wahltraud, or as the King of Vampires or anything of the sort,” Scrooge exclaimed. “You confuse me with tricks and fancy talk so that my head aches and I cannot be certain or what was or what is or is not.”
“What did the King of the Vampires say to you that night?”
“What night?” Scrooge cried.
“You know the night. What did he say to you of Belle?”
“He . . . he said she did not really love me. He said . . . I could never make her happy. That I was a businessman, not a husband. He said that she would be a poor choice for a man such as I, that she would burden me with wailing, wet-nappied brats and that I would be a poor father. Worse than my own.”
The spirit smiled sadly. “And so . . .”
22
S
crooge felt himself again swept up in time, and a moment later he saw himself seated on a bench in the park. Beside him sat Belle. She was wearing a bright green morning dress and matching green cloak and he a fine black overcoat and wool top hat. It was another Christmas Eve, but he was no longer in the employ of Fezziwig; he was a man of his own wits, his own financial success. Scrooge should have been happy to see himself so successful, but recollection of the moment brought a sadness he had not felt in more years than he could count. The sadness came from the sight of Belle’s eyes, for in her eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
crooge felt himself again swept up in time, and a moment later he saw himself seated on a bench in the park. Beside him sat Belle. She was wearing a bright green morning dress and matching green cloak and he a fine black overcoat and wool top hat. It was another Christmas Eve, but he was no longer in the employ of Fezziwig; he was a man of his own wits, his own financial success. Scrooge should have been happy to see himself so successful, but recollection of the moment brought a sadness he had not felt in more years than he could count. The sadness came from the sight of Belle’s eyes, for in her eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“I think it best, Belle, don’t you?”
“It matters little,” she said softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me, and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”
“What idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.
“A golden one. Or perhaps one more sinister.”
“Please, I will hear no more of your tales of vampires! This is the even-handed dealing of the world,” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth.”
“You fear the world too much,” she answered gently.
“Me? You are the one looking for vampires behind every coal bin.”
“All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, gain, engrosses you.
“I have been expecting you to end our engagement.” When he said nothing, she went on. “But it is not what I want, and I do not believe it is what you want. Do you not see, Ebenezer?” she cried passionately, taking his gloved hand in hers. “You are being influenced by those who do not wish for your well-being as I do.”
“More talk of vampires, I suppose. Bah!” He checked his timepiece. “I have but learned the ways of the world. Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor.” He took his hand from hers. “It is plain you do not approve of me or my ways. You will be happier with someone else. You . . . deserve another. Someone . . . more to your liking.”
“You loved me once,” she said softly.
His response was one of impatience. “I was a boy! I knew nothing of marriage. Of the world.”
“And you will not reconsider?” Belle asked. “You will not give us a chance?”
“It is best that you marry while you still can. You are younger than I.” He cleared his throat. “You should have children . . . you would be good at that. Rearing children. It is not a pursuit that I have the slightest interest in. So, I release you.”
“Have I ever sought release?”
“In words. No. Never. But you have made it plain that you do not approve of the way I live my life.”
“Because I am afraid for you, Ebenezer! You are turning your back on mankind . . . and on yourself. It is true, but I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she told him. “Heaven knows. When I have learned a truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. I only hope repentance and regret will find you one day, and I will wait for that day with a full heart, for the love of him you once were.”
“You will wait for me?” He rose, for he was late to a business luncheon. “That is ridiculous, Belle. I release you from our engagement, and go you must.” He tipped his hat. “Good day.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said through tears.
He left her, and they parted.
“I saw her today, Spirit. I see her from time to time. She kept her word and never married; she is an old maid who gives refuge to poor travelers to keep herself in bread. She has learned nothing of business sense in all these years, never had two pence to put together.”
“And still, after all these years, she is kind to you, as she is kind to others.”
“I think I was right from the beginning. I think she is touched. Now, come,” said Scrooge. “Show me no more. Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”
“One shadow more,” exclaimed the ghost.
“No more,” cried Scrooge. “No more! I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more.”
But the relentless ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.
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