A Vampire Christmas Carol by Sarah Gray Read Free Book Online Page B

little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again. The structure was old enough now, and dreary enough, perfect for a vampire couple. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the genius of the weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.
    Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including—which is a bold word—the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven-years-dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change—not a knocker, but Marley’s face.
    Marley’s face . It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid color, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
    As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
    To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
    He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley’s pigtail sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said, “Pooh, pooh,” and closed it with a bang.
    The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask of the wine merchant’s wine, did shudder at the assault and appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall.
    Just as Scrooge was to take the stairs, his tenants appeared at the open door of the cellar. Odd that he had not noticed the door ajar a moment before, or the shadow of their forms in the alcove.
    “Mr. Scrooge.” Mr. Wahltraud was dressed for dinner in black, his coat, as always, impeccable, his face as pale as moonlight.
    “Mr. Wahltraud. Mrs. Wahltraud.” Scrooge removed his hat. He did not care to be sociable with the wine dealer or his wife, but he collected enough rent from them that he could not deny them at least a good evening, which was precisely what he offered. Nothing more. Nothing less.
    “I trust your day was profitable?”
    “Profitable enough.” Scrooge continued on his way to the staircase that led to the rooms he occupied above, his cane striking soundly on the hardwood floor.
    The missus was an attractive woman with long black hair twisted high on her head and lips a ruby red, but her face was as pale as his, perhaps paler. It was no wonder, of course, that she did not have more color in her cheeks, as much time as they spent in