Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol as an indictment of nineteenth century industrialization and economic social classes. The following is a modern take on the tale exploring a different issue.

That Marley was dead there could be no doubt. All the papers carried the news, the coroner had performed a thorough autopsy, and Scrooge himself had identified the body and bore witness at the funeral.

Was Scrooge certain in his identification? Of course he was! Scrooge and Marley had been friends for more years than either could remember and both considered the other to be family. In reality, each others’ only friend and the only family either cared to associate with.

Marley was a long time politician spending many years at different levels of politics, holding the office of U.S. Senator when he died. Though respected by colleagues and considered a flagstone of his political party, he showed little caring for fellow politicians. Secretly, he hated most of his constituents though was sure to put on a good air while in public to ensure reelection.

Scrooge did less. As the owner and editor of an elitist newspaper, he was often openly critical of the general public. Cold and haughty, he made no secret of the fact that he thought most people were barely functional members of society who were all too eager to flush the world down the drain in exchange for their own selfish wants.

To him, civil rights activists were the worst of the lot. People had too many rights to begin with and didn’t know what to do with the ones they had. They tended to treat them as little more than punch lines to a bad joke and fear of an uprising were those rights to be taken away for their own good was what lead to an ineffective and emasculated system of government. The very idea that a potato farmer from Idaho had as much say in how the country is run as a Harvard educated lawyer from Boston turned his stomach.

Of course, the Founding Fathers were little more than terrorists themselves so it should be expected that they’d come up with such a faulty document as the Constitution. Even if it made sense at the time it was nothing more than an outdated relic now, on that point Scrooge and Marley were in total agreement. The people had to be protected from themselves and their “rights” were nothing more than a hindrance to fixing what was wrong with the country.

While Scrooge dedicated countless editorials to railing against civil rights activists for trying to worsen the country by protecting and expanding those harmful rights, he reserved his deadliest venom for gun rights activists. If there was anything that soured the bile in his belly it was the idea that millions of people were running around with guns. With so many guns in circulation, was it any wonder crime was so high?

Marley had tried his best to get guns taken away, but had failed. Scrooge had vowed to continue his struggles and made his feelings clear at every turn. He used his paper for harsh editorials against gun rights, pulled every political string he had to try to whittle those rights down, and gun control groups were the only ones he ever made donations to. Scrooge did hate to part with his money, but it was worth it if he could just rid the country of the “gun nuts.”

So he sat one day in his office busily pondering a particularly nasty editorial against that bastard of an organization the National Rifle Association. The door of his office was kept partially ajar so he could keep an eye on his assistant, who in a cramped little cubicle, more box than workspace, was busily doing research and compiling statistics from Scrooge’s favorite gun control groups. Scrooge knew that Bob Cratchit was one of those people who believed in civil rights and it gave him particular pleasure to make him compile statistics that countered those beliefs.

“Hello, Uncle!” a cheerful voice cried out. It was Scrooge’s nephew, who came in so quickly that Scrooge had no warning of his approach.

“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”

“In good spirits, I see!”

“What business do I have to be in good spirits?” replied Scrooge. “Not while the country continues to go to the dogs.”

“Come now,” returned his nephew. “What reason do you have to be so down? You're rich enough and your dream President is sitting in the White House. By all rights, you should be happy to see things going so well for you!”

“Well for me?” growled Scrooge. “How are are things going well? President Obama hasn’t fulfilled half the promises he has made and every day I read more stories about states passing weaker gun laws.”

“Gun control again, Uncle? Must you always bring that up?”

“What else can I do,” replied Scrooge, “when the world is full of fools who think some good can come at the point of a gun?”

“I’m a gun owner,” said his nephew, “and I’m not so bad.”

“Not so great, either,” retorted Scrooge. “You think a gun can keep you safe, but you’re more likely to be killed by your own gun than by any criminal attack. Even if you manage to not shoot yourself and can keep your kids from doing the same, if you were to ever even try to stand up to an armed criminal he’d simply take your gun away and shoot you for your trouble. Thanks to the gun show loophole, even if you finally came to your senses and sold your guns they’d just go to a criminal who would use them to terrorize innocents. If I had my way,” said Scrooge as his face reddened, “every idiot with a gun would be locked away and every gun melted down to make trash cans for that’s all they’re good for!”

“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.

“Nephew!” returned Scrooge harshly. “Your outdated values do nothing but instill false hope in the masses and create an illusion of security where there is none. Leave security and crime fighting to the professionals, that’s what I say.”

“Where were the professionals the day Marley was killed in his own home?” challenged his nephew.

“Don’t you dare drag Marley into this!” Scrooge yelled, working himself into a rage. “You forget that it was a gun that was used in Marley’s murder and that he was shot to death while hiding locked in his bedroom.”

“If he had a gun of his own he might have been able to fight back,” came the reply.

“You think having a gun is the answer to everything,” said Scrooge.

“And you think taking them away is! As if all crime will suddenly stop and we’ll be a utopian society if we could just get guns out of the hands of private citizens.”

“It would certainly help,” reasoned Scrooge. “Every gun taken away is one less that can be used against us.”

“Uncle, I fear you are hopeless. Yet hope for you I will continue to keep.”

“Then you waste your own time and mine as well,” replied Scrooge. “And good day to you for I have work to do.”

“Good day, Uncle. And I hope one day you will stop believing the lies.”

“Lies?” said Scrooge as his nephew walked out. “The lie is that anything positive could ever come from a bunch of inbred rednecks running around with military weapons inflicting their own brand of vigilante justice.”

His nephew rolled his eyes as he left. Before walking out the door he recalled the purpose for his visit, though Scrooge turned down the invitation to join him and his wife for dinner which was expected.

Scrooge found himself too worked up to continue working on his editorial, but no matter for the workday was over anyway. He scowled as he watched Cratchit punch out. Leaving as soon as the clock hit 5, how typical. Rushing to pick up that son he always talks about from daycare no doubt.

Scrooge locked up and headed for home. The sky was already turning purple as he made his way down the street to the local diner for his dinner, and it was quite dark as he trudged home after.

Now, there was nothing particular about the knocker on the door. Scrooge had glanced at it thousands of times over the years, both while Marley lived there and after Scrooge had inherited the house. Yet, when Scrooge inserted his key into the lock he thought for a moment that the knocker had taken the shape of Marley’s face. He stared transfixed for a moment for the features were unmistakable, then a blink and it was back to normal.

Scrooge was startled and blinked several times in surprise. Then, with a shake of his head and a grunt he passed it off as a figment of his imagination and went inside. He punched in his code to silence the beeping of the burglar alarm, locked the door securely and drew the deadbolt before going to the control panel and rearming the alarm. Scrooge continued through the house in the dark, knowing his way easily and possessed of no desire to waste electricity by turning on the lights.

He made his way through the house and checked all the windows and back door. All were secure. He made his way into the living room and sank into his favorite chair. After a glass of brandy he went upstairs to bed, locking the bedroom door behind him. The house was an old one, and there was a small fireplace in the master bedroom. Scrooge lit a tiny fire and sat brooding in the chair in front of it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and turned his head slightly to see his cellphone beginning to rise. Suddenly, about six inches off the nightstand, it began to loudly ring. At the same time, Scrooge’s home phone started to ring, the doorbell sounded, he could hear the sound of the door knocker banging, the alarm on his watch sounded, the alarm clock sounded, the TV came on, and his burglar alarm went off.

Scrooge jumped at the sudden din, yet as quickly as it began silence returned to the house and his cellphone sat quietly on the nightstand. Scrooge had just begun to recover from his fright when he heard a clanking sound coming from below. His first thought was that it was an intruder, yet how would they be able to silence the alarm? And speaking of the alarm, why was there no call from the monitoring company to check on the alert they had just received?

As he puzzled over this development, he heard footsteps and what sounded like chains being dragged slowly ascending the staircase. The thought crossed his mind that he should call the police, yet for some reason had no inclination to rise from his chair. Just then, the footsteps coming down the hall passed right through the door and a figure came into the room as the flames in the fireplace suddenly leaped to a small roar. Scrooge recognized the figure immediately and gasped “Marley!” as the fire died down once again.

Scrooge stared at the figure before him. It was Marley’s form, clearly, yet he could see right through him to the door beyond! Scrooge began to quiver as the cold, lifeless eyes returned his gaze.

“What,” gulped Scrooge. “What do you want of me?”

“Much!” came the haunting reply, Marley’s voice for sure.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!”

“I do not!”

“You claim,” said the apparition, “that you do not recognize your old friend Jacob Marley?”

“I recognize the form, yet do not believe it is you!”

“What would I be then?”

“A dream, I’m sure. Or the effects of too much brandy. Or maybe a bit of undigested food. There’s more gravy than grave about you!”

“DO NOT MOCK ME, EBENEZER!” cried the ghost and raised a wail while rattling his chains. Scrooge’s fear finally got the best of him and he fell out of his chair to his knees.

“Mercy, dreadful apparition! Why do you trouble me?”

“I come not to trouble you, but to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Warn you about what lies at the end of the path on which you walk upon. Do you see these chains that bind me?”

Scrooge climbed back into his chair and looked more closely at the long chain which was wrapped around Marley. It looked heavy despite its near transparency with thick links like you might see on a ship's anchor.

“I do.”

“I forged it link by link during the life I chose to lead. You have been forging your own chain, and it was as long and heavy as this one when I died seven years ago. In the years that have passed, you have worked to make it even longer and heavier. It is a ponderous chain.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“I tell you so that I might save you. Save you from my fate, the fate to wander, lost upon the world while weighed down and tormented by my own misdeeds.”

“Misdeeds? But you were always such a good man of politics.”

“Mankind should have been my politics,” wailed Marley’s ghost. “The good of man with all his God-given rights and freedoms. Now, I roam bound by the chains which I would have gladly enslaved others.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve changed all your views?”

“I have. I was wrong to think that people are not responsible enough to be entrusted with Constitutionally protected civil rights and wrong to think that I knew better than they do how to lead their own lives. In particular, I was wrong on gun control.”

“But you were killed by a gun!”

“I could have been saved by a gun! Blaming an object for the actions of a man left me at the mercy of one who had none. Worse, this chain I bear is made heavier by my mistaken views. For every life that was lost as a result of my helping disarm an innocent, an extra length of chain was added.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, Ebenezer,” promised the phantom. “That is why I’m here, to help you to understand so that you might escape my fate.”

“Oh, thank you, Jacob. You always were a good friend.

“But this is a task I cannot do alone and my time here grows short,” Marley continued. “You will be haunted by Three Spirits.”

Scrooge’s face fell into a frown. “Is that the hope for escape that you mentioned?”

“It is,” came the reply.

“I think I’d rather not.”

“Without their visits, you cannot hope to part from your current course and avoid a fate worse than mine. Be prepared, Ebenezer, for the first spirit shall visit you tomorrow when the clock strikes one.”

“Tomorrow,” asked Scrooge. “But couldn’t I get it over with all in one night?”

“The second will come the following night at the same hour,” continued Marley, paying his question no heed. “The third the night after before the clock finishes ringing midnight. Listen to what they teach, and for your own sake remember all that I have told you.”

With that comment, Marley began to grow dim and retreated through the window, passing outside the house. After all fell silent again, Scrooge walked to the door and saw it was still securely locked. Suddenly, he felt very weary and crossed to his bed and fell asleep without undressing.

To be continued in part two tomorrow!