by Tony Abbott
Still the spirit wouldn’t let go.
“You can’t stop me!” I said. “I’ll share my cookies! I will! There is no next time! I’ll do it now! It’s not too late. It’s not too late!”
Scrooge pulled and tugged at the dreadful spirit, saying the same thing. “It’s not too late! No, no! I’m not the man I was! I’m not the man I was—”
“I’m not the boy I was!” I yelled.
“And I’m not the girl!” said Frankie. “I’ll share all the time, everything!”
She flipped one more page, and—kkkkk!—suddenly, the cloak and hood and hand shrank, collapsed, and dwindled down to nothing but a wooden bedpost.
A wooden bedpost …
And a chocolate-smelling backpack.
Chapter 16
And there we were, huddled on Scrooge’s bed in his room at home.
“Hooray!” Frankie cheered, leaping up. “Old creepy Mr. Bony Hands is gone, and we’re not. We’re here!”
“And my backpack is here!” I shouted.
“And my bed is here,” said Scrooge. “And my room is here, and I am here! Yes, yes, yes! And best of all, the time before me is my own—to make myself a better person!”
“Me, too!” I cried, giving my pack a great big hug.
“Me, three!” said Frankie, jumping from the bed and running to the window, where she threw open the shutters and let blazing sunlight flood into the room.
“It’s morning,” she said. “I can hardly believe it. No more dark and foggy midnights for us.”
“Hooray!” I cheered.
Scrooge tried to get serious for a moment even though his mouth kept wanting to laugh. “You know, Frankie and Devin, I have decided to live in the past, present, and future, yes I have. And you should, too. And the spirits of all three shall live within me, yes they will. That is what I will do—do—do—ha—ha—ha!”
He tried to be serious, but it couldn’t last. He bellowed out a great big hearty laugh. “Oh, Jacob Marley. Oh, heaven. Oh, Christmastime be praised. All my things are here. I am here!”
Suddenly, he was spinning on his heels and prancing around the room, touching everything. “Look there!” he chirped. “That’s the door Jacob Marley came in, dragging all his heavy chains—”
“And there’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat,” said Frankie, pointing to the fireplace.
“And here’s the window where we saw the wandering ghosts,” I said, running to it.
Together, we all peeked out to see a bright, snow-filled street. The poor woman and her baby who were huddling out there that first night were—of course—long gone. Then, suddenly, all the bells in London seemed to ring at once, and a young boy came tearing into the street, sliding up and down the icy sidewalk.
“Boy!” Scrooge called out. “What day is it today?”
“Today?” said the boy. “Why, it’s Christmas Day!”
“What?” said Frankie, jumping up and down. “We haven’t missed it? How incredibly awesome. I guess ghosts can do stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that?” said Scrooge, surprised. “Well, yes. They can do anything, can’t they? Of course they can!”
Scrooge then leaned out the window again. “Boy, go to the grocer’s shop around the corner and bring back the grocer with the largest turkey in the shop. Come back in five minutes, and I’ll give you half a crown—”
“Yes, sir!” called the boy, and he was off like a shot.
“Ho, ho. I’ll send the turkey to Bob Cratchit’s,” said Scrooge, rubbing his hands as if he were hatching a devious scheme. “He won’t know who sent it. Oh, my, but it’s twice the size of Tiny Tim!”
With his shaking hands he wrote out the address label, and when the grocer came sent him right away to bring it to the Cratchit household.
“I don’t know what to do,” Scrooge cried suddenly, laughing in a way I never thought possible of him. “I am as light as a feather. I am as happy as an angel. I am as merry as a schoolboy! Ha, ha!”
“You should laugh more often,” I told him.
“I should,” said Scrooge. “I will!”
“Yeah, it’s a great laugh,” said Frankie. “It sounds like your nephew’s laugh.”
Scrooge wrinkled up his eyes. “My nephew? Oh, my. Yes, of course. We must go there. Right now. If he’ll still have me.”
Frankie smiled. “Something tells me he will. And I’m not just reading ahead, either.”
“Then let’s go spread some Christmas cheer,” said Scrooge, his lips in a new and probably permanent grin. “Christmas? Christmas! Yes, I do like the sound of the word. Christmas! Christmas! Come on, everybody.”
He dressed up in his finest suit, I slung my trusty pack over my shoulder, and we went out into the world.
It was a sparkling morning. People were bustling up and down the street, and Scrooge, no longer keeping his head down, looked everyone in the face, smiled, and wished them a merry Christmas.
It was amazing to see and hear!
We hadn’t gone far when a chubby man wandered up the street toward us.
“Look, it’s the one of the charity guys from your office,” said Frankie. “The ones who wanted money.”
We both looked at Scrooge to see how he would react to the guy he had practically thrown out of his office.
Scrooge frowned first, then brightened. “Frankie, Devin,” he said. “Watch this. Oh, sir? Sir—”
The man looked over at Scrooge, then stopped, his face going pale. He turned and started off the other way.
As if he were half his age, Scrooge dashed after the man and caught up with him. “Merry Christmas, sir!”
The guy’s eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open.
Scrooge laughed. “Yes, well, I suppose you didn’t think you’d see me again. But if you please, I would like to give …” He then whispered something to the man.
“Lord bless me, Mr. Scrooge,” said the chubby man. “Are you serious, sir?”
“Oh, he’s serious,” I said. “He’s changed.”
“And not a penny less,” said Scrooge. “Many back payments are included in that amount, I assure you.”
“Then I thank you,” said the man. “And the poor people of London thank you, too.”
“Pish-posh! No thank-yous, please. It is my duty as a human being. Now, a merry Christmas to you, sir!”
And the man hustled off, probably to tell his partner the unbelievable story.
“That was so cool,” said Frankie. “You really have changed.”
“That was just the beginning,” said Scrooge. “What good are my riches if I do not share them. They will be like, like—”
“Like cookies,” I said, tapping my backpack. “It’s like cookies that spoil if you keep them locked away and don’t share them. And I need to share mine.”
Scrooge looked at me. “Good idea. Wonderful idea, in fact. But first, let me share. Come and watch this!”
We followed Scrooge to church, where he dropped a stack of money in the collection plate. Then we walked through some more streets, with Scrooge digging into his pockets for any kid who sang a Christmas song.
Finally, we came to a brick house on a quiet lane. We marched to the door, Scrooge knocked, and it opened.
“Ha-ha! Ha-ha!” boomed a great familiar voice.
It was Scrooge’s nephew Fred, a sudden smile beaming from his surprised face. “Why, Uncle Scrooge! You came! Frankie! Devin! Come in! Come right in!”
Scrooge sighed. “If your invitation is still open …”
“It is,” said Fred. “Of course, it is! My dear, look who’s here.” Suddenly, his wife was behind him, her eyes twinkling and beaming with joy just like Fred’s.
Naturally, there was a party. In fact, it was pretty much the same party Frankie and I had gone to with the Ghost of Christmas Present, except that Scrooge played the Yes and No game, and this time he wasn’t the answer. I was! After that, someone shouted for music, and everyone began springing around
the room.
Since dancing is pretty much at the top of my list of things to never do, I spent most of the time chowing at the overflowing munchie table.
It was there that I thought of something.
I turned to see Frankie huddled in a quiet corner with the book. “Can I read, too?” I asked. “I need to find out something.”
Frankie looked up. “Have a seat.”
So we shared the last few pages of the book together. It was then and there that I got my idea.
Soon enough, we were back in Scrooge’s office. It was the next morning, December 26, the day after Christmas. Scrooge had come in early, and there he was sitting behind his big old black desk, waiting for Bob and practically giggling his head off.
“Oh, what a surprise,” he said with a laugh. “Bob will be astonished. The look on his face will be priceless!”
“What surprise?” I asked.
Scrooge winked. “Just you wait. This will be sooooo good. Now hide. Hide!”
We crouched behind Scrooge’s desk, out of sight.
The clock struck nine. No Bob Cratchit came into the office. A quarter past nine. No Bob.
“Uh-oh, he’s late,” whispered Frankie.
“Even better!” said Scrooge. “Even better!”
At eighteen and a half minutes after nine, the door opened and Bob slid in. He quickly and quietly wound his two scarves on the coatrack and slipped onto his stool.
Scrooge, sounding very much like his old self, growled like a grizzly bear. “Bob Cratchit! What do you mean by coming in here at this time of day?”
We peeked over the top of the desk.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Bob, stepping slowly into Scrooge’s office. “I am a bit late, sir—”
“You are!” snarled the old guy. “And I am not going to stand for this sort of thing any longer! Therefore—”
Scrooge leaped from his desk and poked Bob in the shoulder with his finger. “Therefore, I am going to—raise your salary!”
For an instant, it looked as if Bob was going to turn and run for his life, or at least find something to defend himself with. He even eyed the ruler on Scrooge’s desk.
Then Frankie and I jumped up. “Surprise, surprise! Scrooge is nice now!”
Bob staggered on his feet. “What … what …”
Scrooge dug him again in the shoulder, and burst out in cheery laughter. “A merry Christmas, Bob!”
Bob blinked. “A merry … what?”
“Yes! Yes! A merry Christmas, Bob! A merrier Christmas, than I have ever given you before! Yes! I will raise your salary, and try to help you raise that wonderful, wonderful family of yours—if you will let me. Yes! Yes, Bob! And we will discuss all this today, over a bowl of steaming Christmas punch! What do you think of that?”
What Bob thought of it was hard to tell. He stared at Scrooge as if one of them had gone completely wacko.
“Bob,” said Scrooge, who seemed to like saying his name, “Bob, I am a changed man now. I am different. And I want to help you all I can. So! Now! You run out and get more coal for your fire. Yes, and you do that, before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”
Finally, Bob broke into a smile. He gave out a happy yelp and hustled right out of the room, to the merry peals of Scrooge laughing and singing Christmas carols.
Frankie and I joined in the singing, too.
Then it happened.
When Bob sprang out through the front door, light flooded into Scrooge’s office from the street.
But it wasn’t regular London light from 1843.
It was a flickery blue light.
And it was coming from a couple of things that weren’t around a hundred and a half years ago.
I gasped to see them. Frankie did, too.
“The zapper gates!”
Chapter 17
While Scrooge laughed and laughed, Frankie and I stepped out of the office and over to the gates. Their blue sparks sizzled in the crisp, cold Christmas-y air.
“Is it time already?” I said. “I mean, there’s still stuff to do, isn’t there?”
Frankie opened the book. There was only one page left. “Scrooge is changed. Everything is good. The zapper gates are here. Don’t you want to go back home?”
“I do,” I said. “Sort of. But I also … I want to go back two days.”
“Devin—”
“Frankie, I mean it. It’s been bothering me since Marley’s ghost opened that window and we looked out. You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, but what about the zapper gates?” she said. “What if they fade?”
“We just have to hope they don’t,” I said. “I have to take care of this. Look, it’s okay. You can stay here and listen to Scrooge laugh, but I won’t be able to laugh—not really—until I do this one last thing.”
Frankie cracked a grin. “Yeah, right. After all we’ve been through? As if I’m going to let you go bouncing around a classic book all by yourself.”
I knew what she really meant to say. It felt good to hear it. “Frankie. You know, I really do—”
“Say it, and I’ll whack that troublemaking backpack right over your weird head.”
I laughed. “Okay, okay. Then, come on. We’ll be back before the gates fade. I promise.”
“Don’t promise,” she said. “Just hope.”
I opened the book to the exact page we were on. Then I did something I’d never done before.
I did a reverse flip. Back through the book.
All the way back to page 51.
“Brace yourself, Frankie,” I said. “It’s meltdown time!”
I expected the nice bright Christmas sky to turn black and me and Frankie to get tumbled like T-shirts in a dryer. But it didn’t, and we didn’t. Instead, a calm, warm breeze fluttered out of the fluttering pages of the book.
“Whoa. This is unexpected!” I said.
Frankie grinned suddenly. “And I bet I know why. It’s okay to go back and reread parts of a book. In fact, books are made for rereading!”
“That is so cool!” I said. “I’m telling you, if you try, you can learn something new just about every day.”
When the pages stopped fluttering, the warm breeze stopped, too, and the bright sky faded, and there we were, out on the dark street outside Scrooge’s house.
It was Christmas Eve again. Icy wind was moaning between the buildings. Snow was falling. And the air was filled with the howling of phantoms, all rushing around, throwing their arms up, pleading and howling.
“It’s just like it was when we were here before,” I said.
“I didn’t like it much the first time,” said Frankie.
“But this will be different,” I said. “I promise.”
Looking up, we saw Marley’s ghost float out Scrooge’s window and join the spirits howling in the air. “There,” said Frankie, pointing through the thickening snow. “I know that’s why you came. There she is.”
And there she was, that poor woman huddled on a doorstep of the building across Scrooge’s street. She tried to keep her baby covered against the falling snow, but it was coming down very heavily now.
The spirits around us wailed and moaned.
“The ghosts are trying to help her,” said Frankie. “But they can’t. It’s too late for them.”
“But not for us,” I said. “I think that’s the real lesson of this book. That maybe you can have a second chance, if you really want one. Come on, Frankie.”
We made our way over to the woman. She seemed startled and afraid to see us. She held her baby closer.
“Hey,” I said. “I just wanted to give you something.”
I unslung my pack, pulled open the top, and took out the plastic container of cookies. I popped open the lid and the air blossomed with the smell of chocolate chips.
Those cookies smelled so good. I could eat every one of them right then and there. But I didn’t want to.
“Here,” I said to the woman. “They’re yours.”
&n
bsp; Her eyes grew large. “For me?”
“For you,” I said. “It’s not a lot, but maybe it’ll help.”
“And I have something, too,” said Frankie. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the coin we got. “I don’t know my old English coins, but maybe it’s worth a little, at least.”
The woman started to cry.
“No, no, don’t do that,” I said. “Your tears will freeze! Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Try to be happy. And as soon as you can, go and see Mr. Scrooge. I’m sure he’ll help you. And your baby. I know he wants to.”
At just that moment, the spirits seemed to fade into the mist and fog around us. Their voices faded together, too, leaving only the faint pealing of church bells.
The woman smiled at us, then bundled her baby up and made her way down the street, even as the snow stopped, and the sky began to grow brighter.
I gave a sigh. “Nice one, Frankie. I’d forgotten that coin. I can’t imagine a better thing to do with it.”
“Or a better way to use those cookies,” she said. “Of course, now you’ll be in trouble with Mr. Wexler, just like I am.”
I chuckled at that. “Frankie, I can’t imagine a better person to be in trouble with. Besides, do you think we could ever actually be out of trouble?”
She laughed. “I sort of hope not. It’s too much fun. So, Devin, are we good to go?”
I closed up my backpack. “We’re good to go.”
Carefully, we moved ahead through the pages, seeing the story again in fast motion, until we were once again at Scrooge’s office. I swear, even after our little detour back through the book, the guy was still at his desk, laughing like a crackpot.
“Good-bye, Mr. Scrooge,” said Frankie. “It’s been nice being haunted with you.”
“Oh, we have had quite a time, haven’t we?” he said, his cheeks all rosy. “I have learned so much during our travels. I’ve learned that it’s wrong to cut myself off from everyone. And that the real joys of life are those you find with other people, with friends, and family. And that—while you have the power—you must help people, because they are what matter!”
“I should write that down for class,” I whispered. “It sounds just like the theme of the book!”