A Vampire Christmas Carol

by Sarah Gray

  “I shall love it, as long as I live,” cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face. It’s a wonderful knocker.”

  His gaze shifted to the door that led into his cellar and the vampires’ lair. His first impulse—though still in his night-clothes—was to grab something resembling a pike and race down the stairs impaling the first vampire he encountered, not stopping until the beasties were obliterated, or they obliterated him. But of course that was not wise, not wise at all. He needed a plan. He needed assistance. He had an idea who to seek in this matter, but he had to set his priorities this first day of his new life, and there was someone he had to see before he made plans to bring down the King and Queen of Vampires.

  And ah, here was the turkey! He spotted the poulterer’s man, lugging the dressed fowl up the walk, huffing and puffing with the exertion of it. Behind him ran the lad who had served as messenger.

  “Hallo,” cried Scrooge with a wave of his hand and a little, “Whoop! How are you? Merry Christmas.”

  “Brought your turkey, sir,” announced the bearer.

  And a fine turkey it was! It never could have stood upon its legs, that bird. It would have snapped them short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax. In fact, the poulterer’s man looked as if his legs might snap under the burden. His limbs wobbled, his face perspired, and he was as red as a pot of cranberry jelly.

  “Why, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,” said Scrooge from the threshold, concerned for the man’s health. “You must have a cab.”

  The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.

  Seeing the poultry bearer and the boy off, Scrooge bounded up the stairs again. He had to be on his way, for he had many stops to make, but first he had to dress, and sharp he wanted to look. His sharpest ever for what his intentions were!

  Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much, and shaving requires attention, even when you don’t dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied. As Scrooge shaved, twisting his chin this way and that, he was amazed to see that there was no fear in the man’s eyes who looked back at him. No fear at all! No fear of the vampires he knew crawled in the cellar below, or perhaps slept in their coffins at that very moment. No fear of the call he would make first on that day. If he had any sense, he would be more afraid of the second than the first, but he felt none of the dread, only the excitement of possibility. Had the spirits of the previous night frightened all the fear out of him? He did not know, but the thought made him laugh aloud. To frighten one’s fear. Really!

  Scrooge dressed himself all in his best in a green serge waistcoat and matching frock coat, with a fresh linen shirt and smart four-in-hand necktie, and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present. Walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored fellows said, “Good morning, sir. A merry Christmas to you.” And Scrooge said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

  He had not gone far, when coming on toward him he beheld the portly gentleman who had walked into his counting house the day before, and said, “Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe.” It sent a pang across Scrooge’s heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met, but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.

  “My dear sir,” said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. “How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you to collect for the poor. A merry Christmas to you and yours, sir.”

  “Mr. Scrooge,” the man said. Shock followed recognition. He offered his hand, but not without suspicion in his eyes.

  “Yes,” said Scrooge jovially. “Ha ha. That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness to allow me to make a donation of . . .” Here, Scrooge whispered in his ear.

  “Lord bless me,” cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. He looked Scrooge right in the eyes. “My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?”

  “If you please,” said Scrooge with a grin, for it felt quite grand, really, to offer such a sum. And the words slipped so easily from his lips, as if he had spent his entire life dwelling in generosity. “Not a farthing less. A great many back payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor? Please say you will.”

  “My dear sir,” said the other, shaking hands with him. “I don’t know what to say to such munificence. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t say or do anything, please,” retorted Scrooge, pumping his hand again. He leaned close. “Most of all, please don’t drag me into the alley and sink your fangs into me and drink my blood, for I’ve a busy day planned.” He laughed.

  The man did not see the humor of Scrooge’s comment, but, instead, seemed rather horrified. “Mr. Scrooge, I am not a vampire,” he said with such repulsion that Scrooge quite believed him.

  “Well, good for you, because if you were, I might have to take that walking stick from you and pierce your heart! And I’ve absolutely no idea how to do such a thing, and I fear I’d make a mess of it.” He gave another merry laugh. “Now, come and see me in my office, and we will talk. I have some thoughts on keeping some of those men and women out of the poorhouse and getting rid of some of these vampires at the same time. It just makes good business sense, you know, to give good men and women work and rid the city of pestilence at the same time. Will you come and see me?”

  “I will,” cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.

  “Thank you,” said Scrooge as he walked away, tipping his hat again and again. “I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. A hundred. Bless you.”

  He went to church, and then made his way to a white house with a roof of three gables and an old arched door. He had passed here only the night before, but had seen it in an entirely different light then. Now it was a haven, not just for those who fought for the cause, but he hoped for himself. He prayed the invitation extended for so many years was still open.

  43

  Scrooge screwed up his nerve with only a little hesitation and knocked. Behind the door, he heard a woman’s footsteps, light and full of . . . hope, he thought, and his heart swelled with possibilities. Then the door opened and there she was.

  “Ebenezer,” she said in obvious shock. She wore a dress with a small domed skirt that had not been fashionable in a very long time (women’s skirts had grown bigger over the years!), but the blue of the faded bodice matched her eyes most exquisitely, and he took note that unlike the hair on his own pate (what was left of it), she was not in the least bit gray. Hadn’t she been gray at the temples only last night?

  But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have cared if she were an old woman bent over a cane.

  “Belle,” he said, her name tasting as sweet on his lips as fresh strawberries in the springtime. Though it had been many years, perhaps decades, since he had sampled fresh strawberries in the spring, even though they had once been his most favorite. The vampires? Were they responsible? Did Queen Griselda even control what fruit he put into his mouth? If they had, they were in for a terrible shock, the evil beasties, for he’d eat strawberries by the basket, fresh and sweet, and sparkling with morning dew and heaped all over with Devonshire cream and the best white sugar whenever they were in season.

  “Ebenezer . . . you’re here.” The frown lines on her foreh
ead smoothed, and she appeared to grow younger before his very eyes until she nearly seemed the girl of twenty he had once known. “The ghost of Jacob came to see you, didn’t he? He did it,” she managed, tears springing in her eyes. “I hoped. I prayed, but I did not even know if it was possible.”

  “Jacob did come to me as a ghost—and many others—and to you I owe my thanks. He told me it was you who sent him, so I owe you my life, Belle. I don’t know how you managed it. How you or Jacob or any of the spirits—”

  “Spirits?” she asked, her eyes growing wide. “You see spirits, Ebenezer?”

  He smiled, his own eyes welling up. “I’ve so much to tell you, but first I must beg your forgiveness. “ He took her hand and she let him, and he kissed it once, twice, and then again. Her skin was as smooth as he remembered. “Please forgive me for the foolish, unseeing, uncaring man I have been.”

  “Ebenezer, there is no need for you to—”

  “No, there is need. I must say it. I must make amends with you and so many others, before I can start my work fighting the vampires that I know you have been fighting all these years. But I must start with you,” he said firmly. He still held her hand.

  “What you must start with is breakfast,” she told him, giving him quite a saucy look. “That’s why you came, isn’t it? To break your fast on this fine Christmas Day?”

  Her smile was infectious. “Yes . . . yes, I suppose I did. But I must make my apologies, and I have so much to tell you, Belle. The spirits, they showed me so many things I did not know.”

  A man appeared over her shoulder. “Is everything all right here, Belle?”

  It was the same man Scrooge recognized from his visit here the night before with the Ghost of Christmas Present. It was the man with the limp. The man whose little girl’s name was Alice.

  “Everything is fine, John.”

  “How is that delightful little girl of yours?” inquired Scrooge. “Such a pretty girl.” He looked to Belle. “Such a pretty child, and so sweet. So well-behaved a child I do not believe I have ever seen!”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But do I know you?” asked the man called John, his gaze narrowing suspiciously. (And why shouldn’t he be suspicious, considering all he had been through as of late?)

  “John, this is my old friend Ebenezer. Ebenezer, John,” she introduced. “We tend not to use last names,” she explained to Scrooge. “It’s safer this way.”

  Scrooge was itching to ask the whys of such a statement. He had so many questions about the Vampire Slayers Union and its members and was quite eager to join them as a member, giving whatever aid he could, financial and otherwise, but he knew he must be patient and gain their trust, first. So instead of asking questions, he thrust out his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you firsthand, sir, for we have not actually met. I only know of you,” he explained. “I am an admirer of yours. You are quite well known in slayer circles, I do believe.”

  John looked at Belle questioningly as he accepted the hand-shake, but she only smiled. “Come now, gentlemen. Inside with you both.”

  John left them on the doorstep, but Scrooge remained where he was. “I have so much to tell you, Belle. I want to be a part of your life again. I want your cause to be my cause.” He suddenly felt shy as he looked down on her, wondering if there could be any possibility a man like him could have a woman like her. “I want you to give me another chance. Us another chance.”

  “Oh, Ebenezer!” She threw her arms around him. “I cannot tell you how many times I dreamed of this moment. Now, come inside and join me and my guests, and we will talk later. There are many at my table this morning, but there is always room for another.”

  Belle grasped a handful of her skirt in each hand and turned. “Come along, Ebenezer, or the sausages will grow cold and the porridge gluey.”

  Her order left him with no choice but to follow, and gleefully he did so.

  44

  Hours later, Scrooge set out with Belle on his arm and they walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro. He was so enthralled by the people around him that he patted children on the head, questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk—that anything—could give him so much happiness. And what made him happiest of all was having Belle at his side again after all these years.

  “I cannot believe you’re here,” Scrooge said to Belle as he nodded to this man and that woman on the street.

  “But I’ve always lived in London,” she teased, looking quite striking in an old blue bonnet. (Scrooge had wanted to buy her a new dress and coat and bonnet today, but she had insisted there would be time for that another day. Besides, with so many in need, she was not certain she wanted a new bonnet. Imagine that, reader! A woman who doesn’t want a new bonnet. Of course, that made Scrooge all the more eager to buy her one.)

  “You know what I mean.” Scrooge flipped a beggar a coin. Realizing his sack was nearly empty, he wondered if they would have to return to his house and grab another bag from beneath the loose brick on the hearth in his bedchamber. Who would have believed that he could find such joy by sharing the silver that had lain so long in darkness, for he had never felt so free or rich as he did today. “I mean I cannot believe that you are willing, after the things I have done, to you and to others, to walk with me in public. Are you not afraid?”

  “Whatever of?” she asked, smoothing the sleeve of his greatcoat.

  “Of the vampires,” he said, lowering his voice. They passed an old woman leaning against a door to catch her breath and he pressed a coin into her palm.

  “God bless ye!” she called after him, staring in disbelief at the money she now held. “Merry Christmas!”

  “And a merry Christmas to you,” Scrooge threw over his shoulder. “Are you not afraid the vampire king and queen will come after me, seeing that I am a changed man, and try to sway me, perhaps harming you?”

  “I’m not afraid, Ebenezer,” she said, looking into his eyes. “They draw much of their strength from the humans who deny their existence. They were able to control so much around you because you could not see it. And we are protected.”

  “Protected?” he questioned.

  “I . . . Because of my ability to see and communicate with spirits, I possess a certain strength against the vampires.” She laid her cheek upon his sleeve. “And now that you allow me, I can protect you.”

  “Will . . . will this protection allow me to fight the vampires?”

  She laughed, music in his ears. “I think you need a few lessons in the proper use of a pike from your clerk first, and there will still be danger for you, but if you continue to walk in the light you walk in today, I have faith you will live a long life, Ebenezer, and give aid to many people.”

  “With you at my side.”

  “With me at your side,” she agreed.

  They walked another half block, giving out several more pennies before he spoke again. “You spoke of lessons from my clerk.” He looked down at her. “You meant Cratchit, not Disgut, did you not?”

  “I meant Bob, yes.” She looked away, smiling at a woman leading two rosy-cheeked children by the hands.

  “You know Bob Cratchit?”

  Again the smile. “Quite well. He’s an active member of the local VS union and a fine man.” Her pretty smile turned into a frown. “It was a very sad thing when his wife was killed. She died protecting her children.”

  Scrooge also felt a sadness, not because he had known Mrs. Cratchit as Belle had, but a sadness for his lack of proper response when Cratchit had lost his wife and a sadness for the sorry man he’d been to be so unfeeling.

  “You know,” Belle said. “Lucius Disgut is a very bad man. A dangerous man. The VSU has been keeping track of him for some time. He is protected by the king and queen.”

  “And me inadvertently,” he put in.

  “Now, now, that cannot be helped. You must
move forward and not look back. Looking back will only allow the vampires to move closer to you again, to control you again.”

  “I’ve so much to learn,” Scrooge said.

  “But I will help you,” she insisted, smiling again.

  “But I will have you.” He glanced at the door off the street which was their intended destination. “And here we are.” He hesitated. “What if he does not welcome me?” Scrooge asked. “What if it is too late?”

  “It’s not too late,” she murmured.

  Scrooge knocked and the door was quickly answered. “Is your master at home, my dear?” said Scrooge to the girl with nutmeg brown eyes. Nice girl. Very nice, indeed. No sign whatsoever of vampire control. On the walk here Belle had given Scrooge some lessons on how to spot a vampire, one of their minions, or someone who had been somewhat manipulated by the vampires. This girl was not one of them; her skin was bright pink, no fangs, no smears of blood on her face, and she looked well-fed, by her employer, probably. He could catch glimpses of her rosy throat, and it was not wrapped all about and covered to hide the fang marks; indeed, it was a lovely neck and a lovely head on top of it, an altogether merry girl of good spirit. The vampires, Belle had explained, tended to prey upon those in the greatest need.

  “Yes, sir, he is at home,” said the girl.

  “Where is he, my love?” asked Scrooge.

  “He’s in the dining room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll show you upstairs, if you please. Let me take your coats and hats.”

  Scrooge helped Belle with her cloak and bonnet, then removed his own outer garments and handed the whole pile to the petite maidservant. “Do you need help?” he asked, quite afraid he had overburdened her.

  She laughed, peeking over the high pile of woolens, one blue ribbon of Belle’s bonnet tickling her nose. “No, sir. Thank you, sir. I can show you the way.” She staggered forward.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. “He knows us. We’ll go in ourselves, my dear.”