Candles [A Christmas Carol]

Present

Ebenezer Scrooge sat shrouded in near darkness, almost wishing he hadn't scared off the carolers in such haste. Of course, they were annoying and off tune, but, Scrooge admitted grudgingly, they were the first sounds of lightheartedness he had heard in ages. Not to mention they were singing Marley's favorite Christmas song.

Sighing heavily, Scrooge gazed out the picture window at the bustling town below. His tired eyes watched as children laughed with their parents, church choirs sang in town square, snow fell and piled around.

A young couple sat on the edge of the frozen fountain, nuzzling to keep warm. The woman was beautiful; the man handsome. The lovers laughed as they watched youngsters engage in a free-spirited snowball fight, missing the girl by less than a foot.

Scrooge turned away as they leaned in to kiss; it only brought back painful memories of his past.

The candle on his desk began to sputter, reminding Scrooge of his previous engagements before the group of rosy-cheeked carolers came to his door.

Scrooge sat down at his desk, dipped his quill in fresh ink, and turned his attention back to the letter he had been composing. The longer he stared at the words, the less sense they made before his eyes.

To whom it may concern, he had written, The interest on a loan to repair your rafters has reached a grand total of £40. Scrooge paused, uncertain of what to write next for once. "What more is there to write?" he muttered. "This is the third letter I've sent George Carroway this week. The point should be well across that I'm past patience." Ah, that was it.

Patience has dwindled to nonexistence, Scrooge wrote. This is your final reminder. If the debt is not repaid by Boxing Day, expect the authorities will be knocking on your door.

Scrooge signed the bitter letter with a flourish, sealed it, and gave it to his clerk.

"The Carroways once more, Bob," he informed the clerk. "Do take special care to assure this one gets to him."

"I always take special care in getting such important matters handled, sir," Bob replied loyally. "Which reminds me of a small favor I must ask of you. Nothing rash."

"What of it?" Scrooge replied.

"Might I have leave to go celebrate Christmas with my family tomorrow?" Bob asked carefully. "Just a single day off is all I ask of you, sir."

Scrooge was disgusted. "Humbug, Cratchit. You have a commitment at this shop. You work tomorrow or you don't bother coming back the day after."

"Please sir, it's only one day," Bob begged. "And Tiny Tim, he isn't faring well in God's eyes."

Scrooge hesitated only a heartbeat. "Go now, Cratchit, if it means so much to you and Tiny Tim. Leave for dinner tonight, but you are coming in tomorrow. The matter is settled."

Bob wasn't quite pleased with the outcome himself. I suppose taking tonight off is better than not at all, he reasoned grudgingly.

"Thank you, sir," Bob called once he was at the door. "Have a merry Christmas."

"Humbug!" Scrooge shouted.

The shop was now entirely silent, Bob having taken his quiet humming and scratching pen with him. Scrooge lit another candle with annoyance; the candles never seemed to burn long enough. That was money he didn't wish to spend.

The hour soon grew late. The carolers began going home to their families. Scrooge closed up shop and headed to bed. The dark house was large and gloomy, but Scrooge appreciated its isolation from neighbors. The neighbors as well were grateful for Scrooge's absence.

It was no secret nobody was fond of Ebenezer Scrooge; Bob the clerk only barely managed to tolerate him. Scrooge had no wife, no children, only a nephew who had come by earlier to invite Scrooge to dinner, only to be vehemently refused. His only friend had died seven years this night. Scrooge truly had no one in the world who would blink if he were to die this very moment.

The townspeople assured themselves that Scrooge was perfectly content with this repulsive reputation, but in actual fact that Scrooge would never, ever admit, even to himself, was that even though he was perfectly happy being alone, he didn't quite relish being this... Lonely.

If only Marley was still alive.

Scrooge took his tea by the feeble fireplace, staring at Marley's chair. He had never been able to bring himself to rid himself of it after Marley's passing, not even when the coroner had taken all of Marley's belongings and such. Scrooge hadn't even bothered to change the sign of the shop: it still read Scrooge & Marley's, as it had since the shop was erected. Scrooge never let on, but he was always secretly pleased when men would come in and inquire if they "had the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?"

Scrooge sipped on his tea, a pleasant blend of summer herbs with a hint of--something else? Cinnamon. Cinnamon. Scrooge choked. Marley loved that brew.

Scrooge pounded his chest, coughing, tears streaming down his face. Even after the tea was discharged from his lungs, the tears fell steadily, like the snowfall outdoors. Scrooge hated himself for his show of weakness over a familiar brew of tea. But, if he was being honest, it was more than just some tea. It was Marley's tea. Marley's chair, Marley's favorite Christmas carol, Marley's name hanging so proudly from the rafters of their shared business. It was Marley. He was everywhere, but nowhere.

Scrooge hung his head in his hands, which were soon wet with tears. Seven years, he thought. It's been seven years since I found Marley lying in the street that cold, old Christmas. And still I find myself weeping at the very thought of him. God have mercy, when will this pain end? When will it end for me?