Humbug Holiday by Tony Abbott Read Free Book Online

tapping the page where it said that. “That’s an hour from now. It’s weird having an appointment with a ghost, but we may as well stay up. I’ll read for a bit.”
    While Frankie read, I tried to get the fire going in the fireplace, but it was hopeless. “Man, if you’re so rich, and your rooms are so cold, how do other people live?”
    â€œIt’s not my business,” said Scrooge.
    â€œNice Christmas spirit,” Frankie mumbled, looking up from the book.
    I thought again of that poor lady with the baby who the ghosts wanted to help. She shouldn’t be outside on a night like this. If the ghosts couldn’t help her, somebody should. Scrooge sure wouldn’t. Then who?
    Ding-dong! went the church’s quarter-hour bell.
    â€œA quarter past the hour,” said Scrooge.
    Ding-dong!
    â€œHalf past!”
    Ding-dong!
    â€œA quarter to the hour,” said Scrooge.
    Ding-dong!
    â€œThe hour itself,” said Scrooge. “And nothing else! You see, ha, ha! There are no such things as ghosts! It was all our silly imaginations, running away with us. Why, ghosts are nothing but a hum—”
    Even before he finished his favorite expression, the hour bell sounded a deep, dull, booming ONE.
    And even before it finished sounding, light flashed up in the room, and suddenly we were not alone.
    Frankie and I gasped at the same time. “Oh!”
    Scrooge looked as if he were going to swallow his whole head in fear. “Oh, dear me!”
    A strange figure stood before us.
    It was like a small child, sort of, and sort of like an old man. Its hair was long and white, but the face was smooth and not at all wrinkly. The arms were long and muscle-y and so were the legs. It wore some kind of old-style tunic, all white, and a belt that was lit up with twinkly clear lights.
    In its hand was a branch of green holly like you see at Christmastime, but the tunic was decorated with the kind of summer flowers my mom grows in her garden.
    But the weirdest part of all was that from the top of the creature’s head there shone a steady stream of light, as if it had a spotlight up there. This is what was lighting up the room. Under its arm was a big metal cone, like a candle snuffer, just about the right size to go over its head.
    All in all, it didn’t look like an attack ghost, but I still wasn’t going to run over and give it a hug.
    Scrooge was the first to speak. “Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?”
    â€œI am,” said the spirit. Its voice was soft, but sounded as if it came into the room from a long distance.
    â€œWho—and what—are you?” asked Frankie.
    â€œI am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
    â€œLong past?” asked Scrooge.
    â€œNo. Your past.” The spirit nodded its head at Scrooge as it said the last two words.
    I pointed to the metal cone under the ghost’s arm. “What’s that?”
    â€œMy cap,” said the spirit. “But we have miles to go before my light is put out. Scrooge, take heed, rise, and walk with me!” It put out its strong hand and clasped Scrooge by the arm.
    â€œIs it all right if we tag along?” I asked. “We sort of have to. There’s this whole thing about being in a book and us trying to find a backpack and stuff, which you probably won’t understand—”
    The spirit turned to me with a smile that seemed to say it did understand, and that it was okay for us to go with them. But when it stepped toward that window again, the one Marley had floated out of, Frankie and I screeched to a stop.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked the spirit.
    â€œWell, it’s sort of a problem we have with heights,” I said. “We fall down from them. I mean, guys like you and Marley can float out of all the windows you want, but Frankie and I are just regular folks. We go splat —”
    â€œRight,” said Frankie. “So if you can just