This is a simplified version of the famous festive tale, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
Stave One - Marley's Ghost
Marley was dead—there’s no doubt about that. The clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner all signed the burial register. Even Scrooge signed it, and his word was good as gold. Yes, old Marley was as dead as a doornail.
Now, I don’t know why a doornail is considered particularly dead. Maybe a coffin nail would seem deader, but I’m not going to argue with tradition. The fact remains—Marley was definitely dead.
Scrooge knew this, of course. They had been business partners for years, and Scrooge was Marley’s sole executor, inheritor, and even mourner. But Scrooge wasn’t heartbroken. In fact, he was busy at work on the day of Marley’s funeral, showing his knack for making a deal.
Years later, Scrooge still hadn’t painted over Marley’s name on their office sign. It still read Scrooge and Marley, and people often called him either name. He didn’t care as long as they left him alone.
Scrooge was a miserly, cold-hearted man. He squeezed every penny, never shared, and kept to himself. He was as hard and sharp as flint and as lonely as an oyster. The chill within him showed in his frozen expression, his blue lips, and his icy demeanour. No weather could touch him—he was colder than the harshest winter.
No one stopped Scrooge in the street to say hello or ask for directions. Even dogs avoided him, pulling their owners away as he approached. But Scrooge didn’t care. In fact, he liked it that way. Keeping people at a distance suited him just fine.
One cold, foggy Christmas Eve, Scrooge sat in his office. It was dark, and the air outside was thick with fog. People hurried through the streets, stamping their feet to stay warm. Scrooge’s office was freezing, with only a tiny fire in the grate. His clerk, sitting in a small, draughty room nearby, had an even smaller fire—barely enough to warm his fingers.
Suddenly, Scrooge’s cheerful nephew burst in. “Merry Christmas, Uncle!” he said.
“Bah!” said Scrooge. “Humbug!”
“Christmas a humbug, Uncle? Surely you don’t mean that!”
“I do,” Scrooge replied. “What right have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“And what right have you to be miserable?” his nephew retorted. “You’re rich enough.”
They argued, but Scrooge refused to budge. He declared Christmas a waste of time and money, while his nephew insisted it was a time for kindness and goodwill. Eventually, the nephew invited Scrooge to Christmas dinner, but Scrooge declined with a gruff “Good afternoon!” The nephew left, wishing Scrooge a Merry Christmas anyway.
Later that evening, as Scrooge returned home to his gloomy chambers, something strange happened. The knocker on his door suddenly looked like Marley’s face! It wasn’t angry or frightening, just staring at him with a ghostly glow. Scrooge blinked, and it was a knocker again.
He shook it off, saying, “Humbug!” and went inside. After checking every room to make sure he was alone, Scrooge settled down by his tiny fire to eat his supper. But as he sat there, he heard a strange noise—a clanking sound, like chains being dragged across the floor.
Suddenly, the ghost of Jacob Marley appeared before him! It wore heavy chains made of cash boxes, ledgers, and keys. Scrooge was terrified but tried to stay calm.
“Why are you here?” Scrooge asked.
“I wear the chains I forged in life,” Marley’s ghost replied. “I focused only on money and ignored the needs of others. Now I am doomed to wander the earth and witness the suffering I could have helped.”
Marley warned Scrooge that he faced the same fate unless he changed his ways. He told Scrooge that three spirits would visit him—one that night and two more over the next two nights.
Scrooge was shaken but sceptical. However, as Marley’s ghost vanished into the night, Scrooge began to wonder if the warning might be true. He locked his door, climbed into bed, and fell into a restless sleep.
Stave One - Marley's Ghost
Marley was dead—there’s no doubt about that. The clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner all signed the burial register. Even Scrooge signed it, and his word was good as gold. Yes, old Marley was as dead as a doornail.
Now, I don’t know why a doornail is considered particularly dead. Maybe a coffin nail would seem deader, but I’m not going to argue with tradition. The fact remains—Marley was definitely dead.
Scrooge knew this, of course. They had been business partners for years, and Scrooge was Marley’s sole executor, inheritor, and even mourner. But Scrooge wasn’t heartbroken. In fact, he was busy at work on the day of Marley’s funeral, showing his knack for making a deal.
Years later, Scrooge still hadn’t painted over Marley’s name on their office sign. It still read Scrooge and Marley, and people often called him either name. He didn’t care as long as they left him alone.
Scrooge was a miserly, cold-hearted man. He squeezed every penny, never shared, and kept to himself. He was as hard and sharp as flint and as lonely as an oyster. The chill within him showed in his frozen expression, his blue lips, and his icy demeanour. No weather could touch him—he was colder than the harshest winter.
No one stopped Scrooge in the street to say hello or ask for directions. Even dogs avoided him, pulling their owners away as he approached. But Scrooge didn’t care. In fact, he liked it that way. Keeping people at a distance suited him just fine.
One cold, foggy Christmas Eve, Scrooge sat in his office. It was dark, and the air outside was thick with fog. People hurried through the streets, stamping their feet to stay warm. Scrooge’s office was freezing, with only a tiny fire in the grate. His clerk, sitting in a small, draughty room nearby, had an even smaller fire—barely enough to warm his fingers.
Suddenly, Scrooge’s cheerful nephew burst in. “Merry Christmas, Uncle!” he said.
“Bah!” said Scrooge. “Humbug!”
“Christmas a humbug, Uncle? Surely you don’t mean that!”
“I do,” Scrooge replied. “What right have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“And what right have you to be miserable?” his nephew retorted. “You’re rich enough.”
They argued, but Scrooge refused to budge. He declared Christmas a waste of time and money, while his nephew insisted it was a time for kindness and goodwill. Eventually, the nephew invited Scrooge to Christmas dinner, but Scrooge declined with a gruff “Good afternoon!” The nephew left, wishing Scrooge a Merry Christmas anyway.
Later that evening, as Scrooge returned home to his gloomy chambers, something strange happened. The knocker on his door suddenly looked like Marley’s face! It wasn’t angry or frightening, just staring at him with a ghostly glow. Scrooge blinked, and it was a knocker again.
He shook it off, saying, “Humbug!” and went inside. After checking every room to make sure he was alone, Scrooge settled down by his tiny fire to eat his supper. But as he sat there, he heard a strange noise—a clanking sound, like chains being dragged across the floor.
Suddenly, the ghost of Jacob Marley appeared before him! It wore heavy chains made of cash boxes, ledgers, and keys. Scrooge was terrified but tried to stay calm.
“Why are you here?” Scrooge asked.
“I wear the chains I forged in life,” Marley’s ghost replied. “I focused only on money and ignored the needs of others. Now I am doomed to wander the earth and witness the suffering I could have helped.”
Marley warned Scrooge that he faced the same fate unless he changed his ways. He told Scrooge that three spirits would visit him—one that night and two more over the next two nights.
Scrooge was shaken but sceptical. However, as Marley’s ghost vanished into the night, Scrooge began to wonder if the warning might be true. He locked his door, climbed into bed, and fell into a restless sleep.