The first spirit.
With these words echoing still around the house, like a conversation on Skype, Scrooge retired to bed. Immediately he fell asleep to keep the length of this story down.
As he lay in fitful slumber, a noise awoke him.
“Whose there?” Scrooge asked nervously.
“Who’s there” came the reply for, unlike the writer of this story, the first spirit was a stickler for good grammar. “’Tis I, the spirit of Valentine’s past come to show you things about your childhood that are pertinent to the current feelings you have about this time of year”.
As the spirit said this the room grew foggy.
“Get out of here” he shouted at the group of people all clad in black t-shirts who had appeared with a dry ice machine.
As they left the spirit whisked Scrooge from his bed.
“Ouch!” shouted Scrooge, “You just had to ask and I would have got out, there is no need to hit me with kitchen utensils.”
With that they departed back in time through some unknown mechanism that flies in the face of physics, upsetting Professor Brian Cox but giving the Daily Mail an opportunity to write about how science is wrong, and that time travel prevents cancer but may be a cause of increased house prices.
“Here we are” said the spirit in a moment of enlightened existentialist thought.
“I see” said Scrooge, for it was suddenly very cold and slippy underfoot.
“I hear” replied the spirit, for they were also on the top of a mountain.
“I wish” Scrooge replied.
“No I think they are Welsh. Anyway let’s get this narrative moving” reprimanded the Spirit of Valentine’s Past, “do you recognise this place? Look very closely”
Scrooge squinted as he tried to recognise this scene from his youth; it wasn’t easy due to still having dry ice in his eyes and being on top of a mountain.
“I remember, it’s my school and there is my childhood sweetheart Polly. Oh how I loved her.”
“Yet how did you show this love?”
“I did nothing, I harboured it inside me. Never once did I tell her for I was to afraid of humiliation and heartbreak. Oh spirit, if there was just some mechanism, possibly involving a piece of stiff paper with some cliché poem or love-based pun, I could have sent. How different things may have been.”
Scrooge turned back round to face the spirit but it was gone, and he was back in his bed. Rubbing his eyes he fell back to sleep.