Humbug Holiday Read Free Page B

It’s not something you want to mess with.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “So if we can’t read, where do we go? And don’t tell me we go ghost hunting—”
    Frankie chuckled suddenly. “We go right there!”
    I peered through the darkness at what she was pointing at. Hanging not far away was a small sign.
    On it were the words SCROOGE AND MARLEY.
    â€œEbenezer Scrooge is the funny name Mrs. Figglehopper told us about,” she said. “Devin, I think we found our main character. Come on. Let’s go listen to some English accents.”
    We made our way through the thick fog and up to the door. It was old and wooden, with a grimy pane of glass in it. I put my hand on the knob and turned it, sounding a small door chime— ding! —as we entered.
    Inside were two rooms. The tiny front room had a high desk in one corner. Behind the desk sat a small man in a faded coat, scribbling by candlelight in a book.
    When we entered, he lifted his face in a surprised sort of way. “May I help you?”
    â€œHey,” I said. “I’m Devin. This is Frankie. We’re looking for a guy named Mr. Scrooge. Are you Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?”
    The man’s expression turned puzzled. “Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Marley is dead.”
    Frankie and I looked at each other. We were thinking the same thing. Ghosts. Eeew.
    â€œIn fact Jacob Marley died seven years ago this very night,” the man said. “Such a pity to die on Christmas Eve, of all days!”
    â€œIt’s Christmas Eve? Already?” I asked. “Wow, zero shopping days left. The local mall must be crammed with people—”
    â€œDevin,” said Frankie, giving me a nudge.
    Then I remembered. People in the books we drop into don’t know anything outside their own stories. This guy had never heard of a mall. But looking at his faded clothes, I wondered if he did much shopping anyway.
    The man nodded kindly. “My name is Bob Cratchit, by the way.”
    â€œSo,” said Frankie. “If you aren’t Scrooge, then who is —”
    â€œCratchit!” a sharp voice shouted behind us. “What’s going on out there!”
    We whirled around and stared into the inner room.
    A thin old man sat at a large black desk. His features were sharp. He had a long, pointed nose and a narrow, wiry chin. His cheeks were all shriveled up, his eyes were red, his lips were thin and blue, and his voice was sharp and grating.
    When he saw us standing there, he jumped around his desk, growled like a bear, grabbed a ruler as if it were a sword, and charged at us!
    â€œYikes!” I cried.
    â€œThat,” whispered Bob Cratchit, “is Mr. Scrooge!”

Chapter 4
    â€œWho are you two?” Scrooge demanded.
    â€œFrankie!” said Frankie, huddling on the floor.
    â€œDevin!” said me, huddling right next to her, “We’re here to—”
    â€œTo steal my money!” said Scrooge, his eyes blazing.
    But before Scrooge could hack away at Frankie and me with that scary ruler of his, the outside door blew open and a voice called out cheerfully.
    â€œA merry Christmas, Uncle Ebenezer! God save you!”
    Scrooge screeched to a halt as a young man in a long bright coat, his face all in a glow, his cheeks all red, his eyes all sparkling, swept into the office with us.
    â€œMerry Christmas, Uncle!” he boomed again.
    Forgetting that Frankie and I were huddling on the floor, Scrooge stomped back to his desk, snarling, “Bah! Humbug!”
    Scrooge’s nephew laughed as he closed the door behind him. “Christmas, a humbug, Uncle? You don’t mean that, I’m sure.”
    â€œI sort of think he does,” I said. “He came at us with a very big ruler just now.”
    â€œI certainly do mean it!” said Scrooge, seating himself again. “Merry Christmas, bah! What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor