December 26, 2025

A tale best told after the holiday cheer has curdled and the tree begins to rot from the bottom up…

Marley came first, as always—chained, moaning, wrapped in ledger-paper links and contract clauses. But this time, his eyes were missing.

“Scrooge,” he rasped, “you changed. But the world did not.”

Ebenezer—now in his twilight years—sat stiffly in his worn leather chair. He had given generously for decades, opened orphanages, championed reform. He had changed. Hadn’t he?

But the candlelight flickered, and the room grew colder.

“Tonight,” Marley said, “you’ll see the legacy you left… when the world wasn’t ready.”

The First Ghost wasn’t the sprite of Christmas Past. It was a child. Starving. Pale. Covered in soot and scars from a factory fire. “You shut the workhouses, Scrooge,” she whispered. “But where did we go after? Who caught us when you cut the net?”

He tried to touch her hand. It passed through him. Cold. Damp. Like river fog.

The Second Ghost wore a business suit, face flickering between a banker, a tech mogul, and a social media algorithm. “You funded futures, Ebenezer. But futures for whom? You taught them generosity with one hand, but let them weaponize the other.”

Through a window, Scrooge saw a shining city, golden and cruel. Giant logos beamed slogans: Efficiency is Mercy, Productivity is Grace, Generosity is Data.

He turned away, trembling.

The Third Ghost—the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come—no longer looked like Death.

It was Death. Familiar. Final. But not for Scrooge alone.

He saw streets lined with flame and fog, with screens blaring holiday jingles to corpses too tired to flee. Mega-malls had become cathedrals. The poor still starved, just under flashing lights and snow machine fluff.

In the middle of it all, a statue stood. His face. Granite. Towering. A plaque beneath:

“Here stood the man who softened his heart—and taught the wolves to do it better.”

He begged. Screamed. Promised again. “I never meant harm—I only wanted peace. Forgiveness. Joy!”

But Marley returned one final time.

“It’s not always the cruel who break the world, Ebenezer. Sometimes it’s the kind-hearted, when they don’t look far enough ahead.”

And with that, the ghosts vanished.

Scrooge awoke in his bed. Alone. Older. The fire had gone out. His house was quiet.

The morning paper lay on his doorstep. The year was 2055. The front page: Billionaire’s Legacy Fuels New AI Holiday Initiative.

Below, a quote in bold:
“He taught us what Christmas really meant.” —Global Markets Foundation

Scrooge wept. And then, as snow fell and bells rang in the cold morning air, he did not rise again.