don’t know anyone named Bob Marley....”
“Jacob Marley was too busy, so he asked me to step in. If I can unite my country of Jamaica, then I can certainly help a fellow ghost. Besides this time of year is when we’re the busiest.”
“We?”
“Christmas Spirits Union 312.”
“There must be a glitch in my computer programming,” Scrooge said, hitting the side of his head with his hand. “Maybe I need to have my hard drive adjusted.”
The ghost rolled his eyes.
“I just need a Phillips screwdriver—”
Bob Marley pulled a screwdriver out of thin air.
“How’d you do that?”
“We don’t have much time, you old fool. This is overtime and a holiday on top of that!” The ghost grabbed Scrooge by his vest and dragged him into the past.
* * * *
Bob Marley and Scrooge rematerialized in a college dorm room. The walls were decked with 3-D posters of famous rich people of the past—Nelson Rockefeller, Bill Gates, and T. J. Hoy, the man who brought the airships to the megalopolis.
“My old dorm room in college,” Scrooge said.
Sitting at a desk was a teenage Scrooge counting a pile of money. “999,999,997...999,999,998...999,999,999...one billion!”
“Ah, yes,” said the older Scrooge. “My first billion, and I was just a freshman in college.”
The ghost frowned. “My entire country of Jamaica didn’t have that kind of money, mon.”
“They must invest badly.”
“We didn’t come here to talk about finances. Look around, what do you see?”
“Money?” Scrooge said, confused.
“Besides that.”
Scrooge simply saw a younger version of himself, piles of money in high stacks, some books, posters, and a Free-Vee set. Finally he shrugged.
“You are alone, all alone!” the ghost cried. “And what lesson did we learn here today?”
“That it takes a long time to count to a billion?”
“No, mon! As The Beatles once observed, money can’t buy you love. You dig?”
“Dig? I’m not a laborer!” Scrooge said. “And what’s all this nonsense about talking insects?”
* * * *
Scrooge and the ghost of Bob Marley materialized on an enormous airship. The only passenger to be seen was a middle-aged version of Scrooge, lying on a hammock and scanning speculative stock options.
“I remember the day well!” Scrooge said to the reggae ghost. “It was my twenty-fifth anniversary celebration of creating Scrooge Computers. I rented an airship and took a voyage from New York City II to New Seattle. I think the ship was called the Air-Titanic—but it didn’t run into any icebergs.”
“A celebration? Then how come you’re the only one on the ship, mon?”
“What, and give those lollygaggers a paid day off? Never!” Scrooge said angrily. “Besides, it was my party—and as you can see, the guest list was perfect!”
Marley shook his head. “Alone as always.”
* * * *
Next, Bob Marley’s ghost and Scrooge materialized in front of a monstrous skyscraper.
“Where are we now?” Scrooge said, confused. “All this zipping around is giving me a sick headache.”
“The future headquarters of Scrooge Computers. You end up buying the state of Rhode Island and using it as the foundation of the world’s greatest skyscraper.”
“Sounds like something I’d do!” Scrooge said. “Except maybe the Rhode Island part. I never really cared that much for that state. It must have been on sale.”
“Look at the side of the building, mon.” The ghost pointed to a bas-relief, bronze mural depicting a scrawny old man seated on a throne, surrounded by piles of money and rows of computers. “Your body is entombed in the side of this building, just under your metal image.”
“How delightful! Such a nice big tombstone!” Scrooge looked up. “Why, I bet you can see this building from Mars....”
“Don’t you see, mon? Even in death, Scrooge, you are alone. All alone!” A single tear rolled down the ghost’s cheek. “Now I suppose I should take you back, so you can change your life, you sad, lonely, pathetic, skinny-assed bastard. Have you learned your lesson yet, mon?”
“Yes, I have: the one with the most toys wins! And I’ve won!” Scrooge performed a victory dance that resembled a praying mantis having an epileptic seizure. “Yes, I want to go back and work harder, so I can make more money and buy a bigger state than Rhode Island!”
“No, mon! That isn’t what you’re suppose to learn—”
“However, I didn’t like that part about dying!”
“Ah! Now, mon, you’re starting to see the light.”
“Yes, I will have to do something about that.”
* * * *
One week later, Scrooge was busy in his penthouse suite. He had been working, constantly working, ever since Bob Marley had dropped him off after their Christmas travels.
“Happy New Year, mon!” the ghost of Bob Marley said as he reappeared in Scrooge’s living room.
“Ah! You’ve returned,” Scrooge said. “I’m so glad you showed me my future. I’m going to change it for the better!”
“That is good, mon!”
“I’m not going to die now.” Scrooge hit a silver button on a remote control clutched in his bony hand. A sturdy stainless-steel cyborg marched into the room. “As soon as this old carcass of mine passes away, I’m going to have my brain implanted in this indestructible metal body—and I will live forever!”
Scrooge paused, gazing out the window at the falling snow, and then said softly, “God bless the rich! And Bah, humbug to the poor!”
A HELL OF A CHRISTMAS, by Michael McCarty
’Twas the night before Christmas, which is Christmas Eve—not sure why they just don’t call it Christmas Eve, it’s a lot shorter, rolls off the tongue better than “’Twas the night before Christmas” does.
Anyway—on this Christmas Eve, not a creature was stirring—well not exactly true—there were a couple of creatures stirring around. In the living room, Marty the old beagle
