Read Online The Last of the Spirits by Chris Priestley - Free Book Online

‘No one cares about him. No one likes him. No one would miss him if he was gone.’
    ‘You know this for a fact?’ said the giant. ‘What about the man he employs?’
    ‘Ha! The man he pays a pittance to, no doubt,’ said Sam, ‘and threatened to fire on Christmas Eve? The man he keeps like a dog? You’re telling me that he gives a toss about that old weasel?’
    ‘Come,’ said the giant, holding out his hand. ‘Let us see. Let’s visit Cratchit the clerk. Or dare you not be proved wrong?’
    ‘Sam?’ said Lizzie nervously.
    ‘All right,’ said Sam, rising to the challenge. ‘Let’s have a look.’
    Sam and Lizzie reached out together and touched the giant’s robe. The next instant they were standing in a poorer part of town outside the Cratchits’ four-roomed house, the giant Ghost of Christmas Present illuminating the scene with a curious flaming torch he held in his hand.
    The giant shook the torch and shining droplets rained down on to the humble dwelling. The building seemed to grow a little at this blessing and the street to brighten.
    ‘What is that, sir?’ said Lizzie. ‘That stuff what comes from the torch?’
    ‘It is the essence of joy and good fellowship,’ said the giant. ‘Only a very small amount is needed.’
    ‘You can make people happy and friendly, then?’
    The giant shook his head.
    ‘I remind them of the happiness and friendship they had forgotten,’ he said. ‘That is all.’
    ‘Pah!’ said Sam. ‘What good is there in feeling happy one day if you go back to how you were the next?’
    ‘What harm is there?’ said the giant.
    Sam scowled but did not reply.
    The giant walked towards the house and the children held on to his robes and were, like him, magically carried inside, the giant bent double and filling half the room, unseen by all but Sam and Lizzie.
    The Cratchits did not see the spirit’s torch but they felt its glow and the whole house was infused with a joy that belied its meagreness. Even Sam could feel the warmth.
    They beheld a scene of cheerful chaos as the family tended to the coming meal. The eldest son, Peter, was in charge of a pan of potatoes as the two youngest Cratchits ran in yelling that they had stood outside the baker’s and smelled the goose in the oven and were as sure as sure could be that it was definitely the Cratchit goose they smelled.
    Bob Cratchit and his invalid son, Tim – Tiny Tim they called him – were not present and Mrs Cratchit wondered aloud what might be keeping them as the lid on the potatoes rattled and hissed.
    And at that moment Martha, the eldest daughter, arrived to much excitement. She was a maid and had spent the morning cleaning and washing up after her mistress’s Christmas Eve feast, whilst her mistress had urged them all wearily to clean ‘a little more quietly, for heaven’s sake’.
    ‘Never mind!’ said Mrs Cratchit, kissing her daughter. ‘So long as you are come!’
    Her mother told her to get warmed by the fire but the children saw their father coming and told her to hide, which she, good sport that she was, dutifully did.
    Bob Cratchit entered, Tiny Tim on his shoulder, the little boy holding a wooden crutch, his leg girded with an iron frame. Bob noted the absence immediately.
    ‘Why, where’s our Martha?’
    ‘Not coming,’ said Mrs Cratchit.
    Bob’s face fell.
    ‘Not coming?’ he said. ‘On Christmas Day?’
    The sudden decline in Bob’s spirits was too much for Martha to bear and she jumped out from her hiding place, throwing her arms round her father’s neck. Lizzie chuckled at the sight, but Sam shook his head.
    ‘Look at them,’ he said. ‘What is the point of all this? They are no better off today than they were yesterday, and yet they go on like they’ve come into a fortune.’
    The festivities began full force. The feast was prepared. The goose was fetched and hailed with such respect it might have been the Queen herself. Sam smiled at the excitement that such a modest bird