Free A Vampire Christmas Carol by Sarah Gray Page A

and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything, and could see very little then. All he could make out was that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This was a great relief, because “Three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge on his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States security if there were no days to count by.
    Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he became, and the more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought.
    Marley’s ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through. Was it a dream or not?
    Surely Belle, the woman he had foolishly engaged himself to all those years ago, had actually not summoned a ghost for the benefit of a man who had left her an old maid, an old maid who boarded travelers to keep herself in bread and coal. It was as outrageous as the suggestion that Mr. Wahltraud and his wife were vampires . . . vampires that were trying to control Scrooge’s life. Unthinkable!
    “Vampires! Bah, humbug,” he muttered loudly, just to hear the sound of his own voice in the cold, empty chamber that was a dismal darkness. Pure and utter nonsense. Of course, one did hear rumors, but not anything that need concern him. Mind your own business and let others mind theirs was his motto, and his business was making money. Vampires, so it was said, desired only human blood, not coin or bank notes, and thus he and his interests were safe enough, he was quite certain.
    It occurred to Scrooge that he should rise and stoke the dying coals on the brazier, but felt as his muscles would not, could not move, and so he lay in this state until the chime had gone three-quarters more. He then remembered suddenly that the ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to heaven, this was, perhaps, the wisest resolution in his power.
    The quarter was so long that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.
    Ding, dong!
    “A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.
    Ding, dong!
    “Half past,” said Scrooge.
    Ding, dong!
    “A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.
    Ding, dong!
    “The hour itself,” said Scrooge triumphantly, “and nothing else!”
    He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy one . Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn open.
    The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. It was not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside and Scrooge, starting up into a halfrecumbent attitude, found himself face-to-face with the unearthly visitor who drew them, as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.
    It was a strange figure, like a child, yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age, and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the most tender bloom was on the skin. The arms