By Deborah Bainbridge

“I spent my entire savings to see my wife again, and you made me relive the moment she took her last breath.” The lanky widower placed the virtual headset on Scrooge’s desk, his expression twisted with pain. “I want my money back.”

Unfazed, Ebenezer Scrooge caressed the frosty hair on his chin. “Tragic, yet it seems you failed to read the fine print: ‘Scrooge’s Virtual Past cannot control the memories its patrons revisit.’” He pursed his thin lips, then held a magnifying glass over the contract’s final words: No refunds. Ever!

“Those negative reviews were right. What’s tragic is that you chose money over love—”

The door chimed, and an icy wind blasted through the room, ushering in a young girl wearing a full-length woolen jacket.

Wiping crystals from his scraggly beard, the widower waved a forefinger at Scrooge’s pointed nose. “You’ll die alone, you heartless miser.”

As the door slammed, Ebenezer’s shoulders slumped. Knowing his usually red eyes unnerved people, he glared at the girl, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

“B-Belinda Cratchit, sir. W-Would you like to buy a freshly baked meat pie? It would make a lovely Christmas supper.”

“You made them?” His voice grated as he studied her appearance. She seems familiar.

“Grandmother helped. She’s a widow.”

Ebenezer held up a gnarled finger.

Belinda removed one large pie from her basket, then bit her lower lip. “If you’d like to buy extra pies for the poor widows in town, I’ll deliver them.”

“Humbug!” Ebenezer snarled. “Those widows should have saved their pennies when they had them.”

The girl flinched, then her blue eyes softened. “An unfortunate penance, dining alone. Happy Christmas, sir.” The door chimed again, and she was gone.

Ebenezer untied the yellow ribbon as if unwrapping a Christmas gift, and a glimmer of joy leapt into his heart. Inhaling the savory scent, he remembered happier times with his former fiancée.

“I stirred my love into these pies for you, Ebenezer.” Belle had loved baking.

Ebenezer let a smile tug at his lips, then he blinked… twice. Narrowed green eyes were staring back at him.

Mesmerized, he watched as a prominent nose emerged from the center of his dinner, then a voracious grin spread across the golden pastry. The proboscis sniffed. “Selfish, insatiable desire for wealth,” a sinister voice boomed. “You reek of it.”

Scrooge bolted upright. “What are you?”

“I am Greed.”

Scrooge stiffened while the spirit rifled through his memories as if turning pages in a book. “Using my own technology against me?”

“I have no need for such trinkets. Ah… there it is.” An arm extended from the flaky crust, and long, bony digits clamped around Scrooge’s neck.

Swirling filled his stomach, and Scrooge was pulled into the pie and through time, halting at a familiar park bench. A beautiful woman sat, tears streaming down her face, and Ebenezer froze, unsettled, as Greed’s eerie presence hovered beside him.

“I know you love me, Ebenezer. We can make this work.” The young woman released a yellow ribbon from her hair, placing it into a young man’s hand. “Money cannot buy happiness.”

“But it can buy security. I’m sorry, Belle.” The stern-faced man turned his back and walked away, dropping the ribbon onto the dirt.

“That’s my favorite part.” Greed laughed maniacally.

Panic seized him. “Go back, you fool!” Scrooge cajoled, pursuing his younger self. Retrieving the precious ribbon, he caressed the satin between his fingertips, then felt a tug at his feet.

Dread flooded through him as he looked down. His ankles were shackled. Are those vines or bones?

Ominous laughter echoed throughout the park as elongated claws pulled Scrooge through time once more, releasing him at a tombstone where a small boy lay, crying.

“No!” Ebenezer crumpled to his knees beside the boy. Clasping his hands, he pleaded with the shrouded being towering above him. “Please, spirit. Anywhere but here!”

Red embers burned like coals in the sockets where eyes should have been, and a villainous, toothy grin spread across his darkened face. “I am Fear. Why would I not bring you to your mother’s grave, the place where you first clung to me?”

Ebenezer placed his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Forgive me, young Ebenezer, for the choices I’ve made.” He cried out to the heavens, “Is there no hope for me?”

At once, a brilliant light shone from behind the tombstone. A figure in white robes stepped forth.

Fear whimpered, fading into shadow, and Ebenezer flinched. His cheeks flushed warm, as if the very sun heated them. Am I dead? Was the widower right?

“You have lived in fear all your life, Ebenezer,” a soft voice spoke, that of compassion mingled with kindness. “Obsessed with treasure to shirk poverty. Avoiding love for fear of loss. ‘When the wicked dies, his hope will perish, and the expectation of wealth perishes too.’ Yet, all is not lost while hope remains.”

“Hope?” Ebenezer took Hope’s outstretched hand. The gentle touch made him feel safe for the first time in his life. Then the world swirled and dissolved around him.

When his feet found firm ground, Ebenezer shook his head and beheld a mailbox which read, Cratchit.

The door cracked open. Belinda stood in the threshold with a puzzled expression. “Mr. Scrooge?”

Ebenezer emptied his pockets and filled her hands with money. “Ensure every widow gets a pie for Christmas supper.”

Belinda beamed. “M-My pleasure, sir!”

A beautiful, elderly woman strode toward Belinda and gasped.

Belle. Ebenezer’s heart raced. He lifted the satin yellow ribbon toward her. “This gift was priceless, yet I was blind. I could not see the treasure standing before me.”

“Where did you find that?” Belle’s arms fell to her sides.

“Tonight, I met Greed, Fear, and Hope. If you’ll allow it, I’ll tell you everything.”

Belle widened the door, revealing her family seated at the dining table. “Ebenezer will be joining us for Christmas supper.”

As Ebenezer stepped across the threshold, he smiled his first genuine smile in fifty years.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Deborah Bainbridge is a semi-retired Pharmacist who dreams of teleporting internationally and into fantastical realms. Her short fiction has appeared in Havok, Iron Faerie, Spark, and her poetry with Twenty Hills Publishing. She’s a Christian, Realm Awards Finalist, and the wife of a Great Eagle (LOTR) who desires to take people on adventures through story. She enjoys running and eating cookies, preferably not at the same time, and would leave her Christmas lights up all year if the neighbors wouldn’t stare.