Dearest Fred,

I have great news: after endless interview sessions, Charles told me today that he’s finally ready to start drafting my biography. He says it will be published by the holidays, in England and beyond.

This is it, nephew — this is what I’ve been waiting for. People are finally going to know the real me. At long last, the name Ebenezer Scrooge will stand for generosity, warmth, and Christmas cheer!

I know that I used to be a bit unpleasant — but I’ve changed. I can’t even remember the last time that I backhanded an urchin. (Well… unprovoked, at least.) And I’m not a miser anymore. I even buy toilet paper now for my employees. Toilet paper, Fred!

And yes, I used to be a little touchy about Christmas. But nephew, I now realize that each time I ashed my pipe into the gaping mouth of a caroling widow, I was really just crying out for affection. And since my visitation by the spirits, nobody is more pro-Noel than me. I leave wreaths up all year. I’ve sunk half of my retirement into tinsel futures. My daily hygiene rituals involve cranberry sauce. I daresay I’m a regular Johnny Yuletide.

Even so, my previous reputation has been hard to shake. Unfair though it is, the public seems still to perceive me as some, I don’t know, some sort of greedy duck who swims in piles of gold or something. I tell myself that perhaps if I give away just one more Christmas ham, they will see that I have been born anew. But Fred, I am at least 300 hams deep, and yet still I am reviled.

This book is going to change all of that. Once people read it, they’ll know the whole story. And surely, they will remember me for the good man that I became.


I’m sure they will be sympathetic when they hear about my lonely childhood. And they will realize that my bitter persona was a coping mechanism for dealing with my heartache after a broken engagement. And when they see my fear and remorse at the vision of my cold and forgotten tombstone, they will know my repentance is sincere.

And of course, they’ll forget all about my prior misdeeds when they hear about the whimsical way I surprised Bob Cratchit — I’m certain that will be their most lasting impression of me.

My name has been an epithet for so long; I fantasize about what it might come to represent. “Why, these pearls?” a lady might say. “They were a Christmas gift from my husband.” “You’re a lucky girl — he sounds like quite the Scrooge!” will be the reply.

Or if someone made a significant, anonymous donation to the Bruised Urchin Sanctuary & Orphanage of London, I’d hope that people would consider it a “major Scrooge move.”

Or imagine that a woman wants to get her husband something, like a chain for his pocket watch for Christmas, so she sells her flaxen hair — but then it turns out that the husband sold his pocket watch to buy her a set of jewel-encrusted combs. Maybe people might call that a “Scrooge Swap” or something. That’s just off the top of my head.

Perhaps I expect too much. But mercy, forgiveness, compassion — are these not what Christmas is truly about? And deep down, all I want is for people to remember me as a good man. A man who, though he made his share of mistakes, had a caring and generous heart. A man who embodied the spirit of Christmas.

Thanks to this book, I can finally pass on from this world at peace, secure in the knowledge that that will be the Scrooge legacy.

And that, dear nephew, will be the greatest Christmas miracle of them all.

Sincerely Yours,