A Zombie Christmas Carol Read Online Free Page A

cursing himself for leaving his old sword back out of the room.  As he scanned the darkness of the room, his anger and then disbelief returned.  He scowled as he turned back to the direction of the sound.
    “It’s humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won’t believe it.  We killed them all in the end, every last one of them!”
    His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again.
     
     

Marley’s Ghost

     
    The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. He still carried the wounds he had sustained during his struggle and death, but apart from that he was the vision of the man he once knew.
    The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.
    Around his waist, he carried a sword belt of some kind that Scrooge vaguely recognised.
    Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.
    No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
    “How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. “What do you want with me?”
    “Much!”—Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.
    “Who are you?”
    “Ask me who I was .”
    “Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.” He was going to say “ to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate.
    “In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.”
    “Can you—can you sit down?” asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.
    “I can.”
    “Do it, then.”
    Scrooge asked the question, because he didn’t know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.
    “You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.
    “I don’t,” said Scrooge.
    “What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”
    “I don’t know,” said Scrooge.
    “Why do you doubt your senses?”
    “Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”
    Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.
    “In the past I have dreamt of all kinds of curiosities but not once have I seen you in such a manner,” he said whilst taking a step back.
    He thought to himself and then came to the simple realisation that he must be feeling unwell and the reason for seeing this vision of old Marley was because of the visit earlier that day by the gentlemen.  He looked up to the Spirit though and his doubt returned.  It appeared real enough and it