“I will take you back to when you were YOOOooouuuUUUng and INNOoooooOCENT,” you tell Scrooge in your ghostiest voice, shifting your pitch up and down.

“I already did that!” Scrooge exclaims.

“Well, we’re doing it again, but better this time,” you snap.

With a few magical hand gestures, you transport Scrooge inside his dark, cavernous childhood nursery. His bassinet lies in the center of the room. Ebenezer glides over to himself as a baby. He’s adorable, wrapped up in a little blanket with big bright eyes and a tiny baby hunch.

“Hello, little me,” Scrooge coos. “Aren’t you precious?”

Out of the shadows steps Scrooge’s stoic father, dramatically. He stands tall in a three piece button-up suit in the middle of the night in an unlit room, like a goddamn psychopath.

“I hate you, Ebenezer Scrooge!” Scrooge’s father tells baby Scrooge, pointing an accusatory finger. “Your mother died in childbirth, and I’ve decided to never forgive you. So I will ship you off to boarding school, refuse to invite you home for Christmas, and give you the worst complex. Scrimp and save all you like, you’ll never be able to afford enough therapy to feel good about yourself… or Christmas!”

“You disgusting piece of humbug,” Spirit Scrooge tells his father, tears running down his face. “If I weren’t a ghost, I’d kick your goddamn humbugs off!”

“And now you understand the true meaning of Christmas,” you say to Scrooge. “It’s the time of year everyone is forced to confront their miserable family.”

“Oh,” Scrooge realizes. “Perhaps you’re right, spirit. That did feel better. As long as I’m true to my own emotions, I can be an absolute nightmare to everyone I know in December.”

That’s good enough for you. A lesson was learned. You disappear into a post-apocalyptic future brought about by a sandwich, accidentally abandoning Scrooge’s spirit in his wretched past. Oh well, he deserves it.


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