A Hearth's Warming Carol

by Professor_Blue

Chapter 3

Chapter III. THE SECOND OF THREE SPIRITS

His slumber returned and time passed, no consideration given for what remained of the warning forebode by Derpe Hoovton. However something in him piqued and he jerked awake again, remembering what had been said. With the nobility of being driven through by a length of rail, he recalled all that had been said and seen not very much long ago, and McCrooge trembled. He scrambled out of his bed to grab his pocket-watch again, and saw that it even then only read barely a minute and the hour. It had not even passed the quarter of One and yet it was evident to him that the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Past had shown him transpirations of almost a day's length collected. He put on his night gown and reaffixed his sleeping cap, sitting down upon his chair before the cold fireplace, and waited.

In the distance the quarter rung, and he realized that he was beginning to feel cold, so he relit the fire, and it roared to full gust as if it had forgotten how half way through a lick of flame. McCrooge soon felt warm again, but still haunted. His mind, now becoming wary of the beings that these Ghosts were, began to expect anything. His mind plumed any variety of behaviority from a game of pitch-and-toss to ponyslaughter, and thus if newborn or rhinoceros or anything between appeared in his room, it would not have surprised him in the slightest.

He continued to sit, alone with the thoughts of what the Spirit had said, and recalling the shadows so vividly, as well as all of the interpolated memories which he had shut out so fervently in all the years past and between. Minutes flew, and eventually his concentrated stare at the fire and consideration of the past, snuck the half and third quarter past his consideration. He began to doze off, and in doing so he did not hear the strike of Two from the distant clock outside. A pop! From the fire awoke him, and he stood to return to his bed, when he heard an exuberant giggle from just outside the door to his bedroom. The giggle quickly devolved from the subtlety of its mirth into an enormous bout of laughter as mighty as a landslide and inviting as the greatest bequeath of a rich queen. McCrooge rose to find the source of the sound.

He opened the door a crack, and the door swung wide, possibly from the effort of the hinges themselves to beckon closer to the mare that stood in the room. Impossibly, the door seemed to open into his bedroom again from the opposite side, as if he were exiting his closet. McCrooge looked back and saw that his closest still was closed, and returned his mystified eyes to the appearance of the new room which he entered into.

It was his own room, no doubt of it. But it had undergone a surprising festive transformation, beheld by every surface above head-level covered in ivy, mistletoe and holly. Their crisp leaves reflected light all over, and in the middle of the room beside the bed sat a throne built of a feast, of breads, cakes, puddings, drinks and sweets of all kinds, and upon it sat a pink mare wearing a thick robe of blue and vaguely green stripes, bordered by white fur, and a crown sat on its head, made of bunches of berries and gemmed by a star in the middle. Its mane and hair seemed appropriate to be some sort of decoration in of itself, as crimson and inflated as velvet and rounded as if they were unwound wool, an entirely delightful mess.

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in and know me better, you couth colt!" It laughed some more with the warmth that seemed to melt even the realm's weather outside the window.

McCrooge was timid as he entered, barely knowing if the personality of this being should have been better bound by a giant, or a swarm of mannerless fillies. As usual per the natural ways of the world, the way in which the unexpected revealed itself, was itself unexpected. The Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, and McCrooge did not like to meet them.

"I am the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Present!" said the Spirit. "See me and hear me."

The demeanour of the Ghost could be described as unconstrained, comedic, and unutterably pleased with the moment.

"Never have you seen the likes of me!" exclaimed the Spirit.

"Never." McCrooge answered.

"Ever have you walked with my older siblings, my friend?"

"I do not think so." replied He. "Are there many?"

"More than two thousand before me." Said the Spirit. Her voice still retained enormous sparkle despite being factual.

"Quite the bill of food to be feeding them, then." Joked McCrooge. In kind, the Spirit laughed melodiously, and from the tremor of joy he feared the house might collapse on them. She rose to her feet and walked towards the stallion.

"Spirit," said McCrooge submissively, "Conduct me where you will. I went forth last of it by compulsion, and I seem to be learning. Thus may I profit by what you show me, if it's what you are to do."

"Alrighty then!" ushered the Spirit. "Grab my robe!"

McCrooge did so and the exploded upwards though the roof, feeling no sensation of seeming to materialize through the ceiling, and followed by a trail of a glowing sort made of a spinning arrangement of colors.

Onwards and upwards they spun and flew through the clouds of the sky, flinging sparkles into the night until they seemed to shoot through the tiled top of a humble townhouse. The two appeared in the darkened spiral staircase of the house, the halls being adorned with clean white paint and modest marble, with a chandelier that had been put out, resting at eye level for they stood at the top of the staircase.

"Fun, was it not?" chortled the Spirit rhetorically. McCrooge did not answer.

Near to them was a door that rested ever so slightly open, and a familiar voice called out in blest laughter.

"Ha ha ha!" an irresistibly contagious laugh, as well-met and lusty lark was his voice as it called amongst the guffaws of other members of the party just behind the door. McCrooge entered in, alongside the Spirit. The Ghost of Hearth's Warming Present seemed to be exercising an incredible amount of restraint of body over her tempted eyes to jump out and partake of the joviality.

There among many ponies enjoying snacks and jokes, stood one stallion and one mare, the male of which McCrooge so easily identified as the possessor of the voice and the laugh which he heard so well.

"Ha! He said that Hearth's Warming was a humbug, as I live!" cried the nephew.

"All the more that shames him, Cripe." Said the mare, resting on the couch nearest him. Some mares, who sat adjacent, consented her opinion. Her gown was ever lovely as her own face, both in vivid shade as slightly as the sun bearing the color of cream and buttercups.

"A humbug, he said? Cock and bull, what nonsense of an old man you befriend, Caramel, such thinking would be the death of us all!" replied a stallion with tightly combed hair.

"It's a wonder no ice raps his office year round from his coldness!" replied another pony, wearing a paper hat.

"Well of course there's no ice." said Cripe. "He scrapes it up and sells it full price!" Another raucous bout of laugher was summoned at the joke.

"He's a comical old fellow," continued the nephew. "That's the truth: and not so pleasant compared to that of your commonpony. However his offenses carry their own punishment and I have nothing to say against him."

"He's rich." said his wife on the couch. "At least that's what you tell us so."

"What of it, my dear Crepe?" said McCrooge's nephew. "His wealth is of no use to him, he neither uses it to comfort his own self, and, Ha ha, doesn't seem inclined to be benefitting us with it."

"I have no patience for him. You have hope that his greed will fade, but I think it a foal's errand." Again, the mares and fillies that sat nearest Crepe agreed to her thoughts.

"I feel sorry for him. Who else suffers but himself at his ill whims? Here, even I took it upon myself to invite him to our fine party, and yet he declined to be staying at home alone, and he only does himself a disservice." Said Cripe.

"Well he didn't miss much of a dinner." Quipped one of the larger stallions. Laughter abounded in the recollection of the delightful plenty that still evidenced itself with remains upon the table along the side of the room.

"I should very much hope to someday share some of this merriness with him some day. Is it not our motive to be spreading such cheer to all on a season like this, in celebration of the birth of this era?" said the nephew poignantly. Those who still were reverberating in the humour of the moment stood still in consideration of the stallion's good will.

"Tear it, he does." Said the niece. "I love it so when you speak such truth, Cripe. If only I had your patience." She grabbed him and pulled him to the couch in an embrace. Conversation and jolly spirit continued through the party some time more.

McCrooge's repose standing near the wall was one of consideration, having his remembrance of the world around him thoroughly shaken, and now a new perspective being presented. He looked up to see that the Spirit continued to observe him, although some remnant of candied goodies traced themselves around her lips, most prominently chocolate. McCrooge ignored it and continued to watch the party unfold.

Most present seemed of a musical inclination, and soon hearty melodies resounded in harmony the entire city over as instruments were procured and played. Crepe proved herself well with a harp while other ponies set themselves in unison with piano, guitar, bass and flute. McCrooge saw his nephew with no instrument but had never seen him sing so well. Harkened high or low he hit every note with reverberation and delicacy. From carols to small dances and then simple airs, the night wore on and McCrooge enjoyed himself immensely even if only watching and unable to partake, curious of every moment, every word and every note. After the music, tea and other drinks began to be served alongside smart china cups on saucers with little spoons.

"I have it!" said a voice, as conversations began to wind after the tea was served. "Let's play a game of Yes and No." Crepe suggested, and some other present ponies took her up on her suggestion. Several questions and answers came and went, until it was suggested upon that Cripe had to think of something for them to guess.

He came up with an idea which the other party guests had to figure out for themselves what it was, using only yes or no questions, and he declared himself ready for their investigation.

The questions led them to believe that it was some sort of animal, a live animal with four legs, and quite disagreeable, savage at that, which growled and grunted, lived within the city, talked sometimes, walked about on the streets, wasn't lead by anyone, didn't live on a farm and was never killed in the market (but perhaps might kill in a market), and it wasn't a mad ass, a bull, a tiger or a bear.

Suddenly Crepe burst into a fit of laughter, inexpressibly tickled and slumped over on the couch. Cripe's realization of her notice caused a similar reaction almost on top of her, until she was able to reconstitute herself.

"I've found it, Cripe!" She said with eyes wetted from mirth.

"And?" Replied the nephew.

"It's your Uncle McCrooge!"

"Yes!"

Which it certainly was. Admiration and hilarity were the effect, as Caramel's addictive laughter rang out again. Some objected to the answer, having preferred a Bear, but nonetheless the game brought about more jovious fun, spirited hoots and dancing hooves.

"He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure." said Cripe, "and it would be ungrateful of me not to drink to his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready at our hoof at the moment; and I say, To Uncle McCrooge! Bless him, the old foal."

"Well! To Uncle McCrooge!" They cried.

Uncle McCrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart that he would have pledged unconscious company in return and thanked them an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time. But the scene passed like breath out of sight, by the word of the Spirit,

"Our time grows short. Come."

Again they traversed through the deep hue of the night, passing over the snow-covered city, until they found themselves a new environ, an empty street, cold and dark in-between two factories. The factories stood next to tall smoke stacks, and behind tall iron fences held many carts and wagons. McCrooge identified them as being Firms which he had attended to in years past, and that they operated or serviced bakeries.

"Spirit?" asked McCrooge. "Why do we stop here?"

"I am not sure, I planned on travelling further yet." The Spirit seemed puzzled, half in-between chasing after her own tail and trying to examine the interior of her robe. The sight was oddly dizzying, and McCrooge elected to change his focus lest he confuse himself into instability. He looked up at the factories, in how they had gone entirely solid and stoic from disuse for the holiday. Even their smokestacks had gone silent and cold, resonating that the furnaces deep within had stopped for the season. McCrooge noticed the signboard of one of the factory, which declared in post writing that no work was to be observed on the coming Sunday, whereas no such board existed on the other factory. He plucked up to ask the Ghost a question.

"Spirit?-"

"Ancient matters and muffin tins!" uttered the Spirit, and suddenly off they went again, into the sky in a high arcing path away from the factories.

They appeared upon the street of a row of smallish town-houses, small fillies and colts still running about occasionally with a facetious snowball that was all the matter of laughter, regardless if it struck right or flew wrong. Although nothing was partaken as cheerful from the appearance of the poor-like stone and brick houses, the cheer emitted still, from the nature of folks still greeting each other from window and doorway. The night was of the same one McCrooge had seen out the window of his home, but the feeling of the air was shut out by the environ of his own nature, and by the glass of the windows, he recalled.

A creature which he identified all too easily, was the appearance of Rupert Right, his office clark; walking home with a few bundles, a bottle wrapped in brown paper and a pair of candles slung over his neck, tied together by their overlong wicks. His derby looked slightly muddied and covered with snow, and the expression on his face was of pure, unadulterated exhaustion, but shut out by a joy stronger than anything McCrooge could imagine tolerable to be. As he approached, Rarity Right burst through the door of their home, dressed out in brave ribbons and a well-suited apron, which appeared to put a Prince's robe to shame despite only being afforded by likely a sixpence. Her hooves flung around his and it brought a tear to McCrooge's eye, recalling the appearance of the husband and wife from before that bought him so much dismay at the happy fate of his once-engaged so long ago.

Following behind Rarity was their daughter, the filly Sweetie Belle, whom walked with a limp, and paid her embrace to her father with coughing in some sort of sickened pain. McCrooge's eyes went wide seeing the condition of the filly.

The three entered into their home, and they began indulging in the trials of the effort of Rarity, being a delightful meal of sweet-bread however modest, and small glasses of cider, illuminated by candles as red as strawberries that smelled of cinnamon, obviously a merry-making indulgence only afforded thrice a year if anything, McCrooge calculated based upon what he estimated Right spent versus what he paid him.

The miser bit his lip as he regarded the might of their cheer despite the most of their impoverishedness.

The presents consisted of two yards of a cotton fabric that McCrooge's untrained eye could tell were quite cheap, but they were in a purple that somewhat resembled the mane of his wife, for which she was extremely happy. Along with it, he revealed an embroidered silk handkerchief. She toppled over him in adoration, which was cut short by Sweetie Belle's intention not to miss out on the love of the moment. With that, Rupert handed Sweetie a small music box. The box was cylindrical, unpainted and its inlaid carving was very simple in the shape of a cut gemstone, but it was obvious that the filly gazed at it in luxurious wonder. Rupert then showed her winding it, and it played a very simple and short tune, which entranced the young filly with thoughts of grace and wonder. She tried to sing along with it, but more coughing prevented her from doing so, and she retired the effort until later.

As the night wore on, they conversed about the cheer of the night, friends, family, and often shying away from the consideration of work. Their humble happiness wore into McCrooge and the thoughts he had for his dear employee he realized had never run so deep ever before, and deeper still should they have run if he had anything to say about it. Then a toast was proposed by Rupert.

"Let's drink. To Mr. McCrooge, the founder of our feast, and giver of our plenty."

"To McCrooge!" said Rarity indignantly. "The founder of the feast, indeed. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I'd hope he'd have a good appetite for it."

"My dear," returned Rupert. "Our daughter and our livelihood we owe him, should we not even pay him the slightest in our gratitude for what he's provided?"

"On only Hearth's Warming would I even consider it, to pay anything to such an odious, stingy, unfeeling stallion as McCrooge." Snorted Rarity.

"And badly dressed." Finished Sweetie-Belle quietly, before coughing again. Rupert's mouth went agape, but Rarity reprimanded,

"Sweetie Belle."

"Hearth's Warming, my dears." encouraged Rupert. "It is the spirit of the season." He said, his charity entirely unspoiled by his resolution.

"I will drink to his health for your sake and the day's, darling." said Rarity. "But not for his."

"May Celestia & Luna bless us all." Finished Sweetie Belle.

The three drank the toast they held, and the night continued for some time until the three retired to a single bedroom on another floor of the house, leaving the single-roomed kitchen, dining and fireplace alone to the Spirit and McCrooge. Above, the miser could hear still the gaiety of the night that carried on in stillness, interrupted only by another cough from Sweetie Belle within the house.

The emptiness of the chamber forced a question into the mind of the stallion.

"Spirit," said McCrooge. "What will come of little Sweetie-Belle?" the recollection of her poor constitution and breathing haunted him. The Spirit's glee seemed to die like a fire having ash cast upon it, as her eyes closed and gazed upwards.

"In the soon to be, I foresee an empty chair." She said, just as McCrooge gazed upon the stool that the filly had been sitting upon. His face became abject shock and his look snapped back to the Spirit. "And carefully, it will be preserved in memory of joys had, forever discontinued."

The look of the stool changed and it began to shift as if to represent what was to be instead of what was, and it sat gathering dust beside the fireplace, alone and abandoned.

"No, no!" said McCrooge. "Oh no, kind Spirit! Say that she will be spared; say that there is refuge or resource to have her attended to prevent such a calamity as that? Anything but such as that!"

"Are there no prisons?" Said the Spirit.

The tone mortified McCrooge, sounding as if the hearth of joy that the ghost had, became as black coal and cold as quarry of the frozen north. The sprightliness of the Spirit then looked like the loathing degradation of a pony gone mad with iron-faced gravity.

"Are there no workhouses?" She said. McCrooge could not bring himself to move.

"Spirit!" said McCrooge, as if to berate a stupid fool, "Far be it, she would die!"

"If she's going to die, then she'd better do it! And decrease the surplus population."

The mind of McCrooge reeled with the implication of his words being reused so, and he felt so faint with anger and monstrosity that he lashed out towards the Spirit, and yet he found himself no closer, the perspectives of the scene becoming bent and elongating. Fury burned, but sorrow was its core, at his own thinking.

"Sweetie Belle will die." said the Spirit, "And so one more will rid us a disservice of unprofitability, you would have us think." and with tears of hate in his eyes McCrooge dove towards the Spirit in blind fury and rational detest of his past thoughts that he jumped forwards and his eyes opened to see that he was by himself again, resting upon the chair of his room, looking at the fire and with dried tear trails emblazoned in feeling upon his cheeks.

He wailed without regard of who it might awaken or disturb, deathly afraid of the words which he had so mightily wielded not even a days' half past. He leaned and cried into his hooves.

He knew not how long he had sat there, forlorn in his own considerations and sadness, until he looked up and saw that there still sitting was the Ghost of Hearth's Warming Present in the chair, watching over him. Rage in him wanted to well up, but it was not long before he realized that the feeling was of his own creation, not by the doings of the Spirit. His expression changed on this notice, and with that, the expression so changed as well of the Spirit. Her fluffy mane poofed outwards again, and her smile grinned wider than thinkable. McCrooge wanted to say something, but no words were said by either of them. In a gentle and grand gesture she stood.

"Better be it said that now you know You better, couth colt." said the Spirit. She walked towards the door and opened it, being met by a gust of streamers as plentiful as snow in a blizzard, which she walked straight into, and shut the door behind her. McCrooge gazed back at the fire again, ignoring the coloured paper strewn on the floor, sat and pondered more.