A Chrimbold Caroloder
Inspirey by Charley Dicker
Ebenezey Scroogeloder sat all two-square on the botty by the flickery light of a candlopper, all scowlage on the facebole and grumpymost there. In a far corm of the room, shivery and cloudymost of the breathloder, Bobly Cratcher all scribbly with a quill-pen in the gloomy.
“I suppole you expeckly day off tomorrole, Cratcher” said Scroogeloder.
“Well it is Chrimbole Sir” says Cratcher, all mumbly and averty eye contacker.
That evelubrius, Scroogeloder trickly-how down the garbage path all fumbly for the house key, when the dorm-knocky transforl into a distorty fizzog.
Scroogeloder rubbage of the eyebold all disbelievey. “Humbugly”.
Later, all sittage by the fireloder, Ebenezey twitchy of the eardrobes at the clankage and rumbly of iron chains all draggit along the floor-boarms.
A translucel apparishy appeared all moany and frightfole, wavey chains huffalo-dowder in a menacey manner.
“Ebenezey. I am Jacol Marlers all hauntage and warny about throo spectroles planning a visit before the mordy”
Scroogeloder all quakey in the boots and widely eyebold. “Marlers? But I saw your deceasy corpse all stuffit in the sarcophagole and ashey to ashey amen.”
“Indeel. But because of greedymost life and lack of compashy for the fellow human specie, I am condemned to trickly-how in the gloomage all chain-rattly and ‘wooOOooo’, instead of all restage on a celestibole cloudy. Folly folly.”
“Bah. Ghostloppers. Must have had too many tilty-elbows”.
Scroogeloder falolloped up the stairloder and climbage into the four-posty bedlopper.
In the middly of the nightloder, anothy ghostlopper materialisey by the bed and tappage on the noggin there.
“Ebenezey. I am the spirry of Chrimbole passit.”
The spirry grabbed Scroogeloder by the boney handlopper and transporty over roof and housage, all pointy down at sceles of a young Ebenezey all smileage and chirpymost. At a Chrimbole party, youthfole Scroogeloder twirly on the dance florm, all wasp-waist and swivel-hippy with a pretty girm. Deep joy.
“Ebenezey” said the apparishy. “Remembole being all chirpymost and back-slappy with joie-de-vivre and skiply step?”
“Folly folly. That was years ago before life all disappoil and miserabole there.”
Whoosh! Scroogeloder falolloped back on the bed and quivery.
At half-past throo in the mordy, Scrooge awakey to a boomly voice all Brial Blessed and loud in the eardrobes there.
“Scroogeloder! I am the spirry of Chrimbole present. Falollow me!”
In an insty, Scroogeloder peery through the gloom and saw the insile of Bobly Ctratcher’s house. The furnishy all worn and creakymost and nothing like IKEA. Oh no. A familode all sitly round the table with knifely fork all ready for the Chrimbole feast.
“Oh folly folly” says Mrs Cratcher. “A measlymost meal for Chrimbold, with no Iceland prawnly-ringloder or Markly-Spencer classymost dineage. And tinily Tim will be disappoil that Santy Cloppers has brought only a brokel dinky car; no Nintender Throo-dee-ess or X-Bocker. Oh folly indeel!”
Bobly looks all lovey dovey at Mrs Cratcher. “But we all togethey, and Chrimbold is not about indulgey food or expensy toys. Oh no. Chrimbold is a celebrashy of the deep joy of friend and familode. Now fetch tinily Tim and take the Turkily Twizzlode from the microwaveley. Deep joy!”
Tinily Tim clump into the room all wobbly on the walky stick all grinnage on the facebole there. “Blessage, everybole!”
Whoosh! Scroogeloder once agail transporty to the clammy bed sheets and lie there all shakey in the bones. So frightly of another ghostloder, he tried to avoil sleepage - he watched old episoles of QI and Toply Gearloppers on Dave, he even listened to podcazzles of “In Our Tile”, but eventuole, his eyebolds all closey. . .
Scroogeloder was awakely by a mustymost smell all sniff sniff in the nostrales, and a low, moanage sound like Moira Stewarl radly news.
“Who are you apparishy? Announcely self. Are you the spirry of Chrimbole yet to happel?”
A sinistel figure nodly head in a spookilymost cowl and pointed with skeletal fingerdrobes. A gravestole, all covery with snowl stood all depressy in a cemetale. The nale, all engravey there was “Ebenezey Scroogeloder”.
The smoke all whirly like Deirdre Barlole chain-smokely, and Scroogeloder was gazey at the Cratchers’ empty room, with Tinily Tim’s walkly stick all abandony there.
“Oh deepest folly” shouted Ebenezey. “What miserybold git I’ve beel. Folly folly!”
In the mordy, Scroogeloder awakely with droply sweat on the fore-noggin and with trepidashy, trickly-how to open the curtey.
Outsile, snow had falolloped over streel and pavey, all brightly sparklage and cheerfole there. Snowflakers trickly-how onto treel and shrubby like diamols and glitter at an X-Factol final. Scroogeloder all dancely and skippety-hop with deep deep joy. Openy windole, he shouty at a small boyl all skiddy-skateage dowder the roam there.
“What is todale, boy?”
“Why it’s Chrimbold, Mr Scroogelopper”
Ebenezey threw down his Creddy Carm to the boyl.
“Trickly-how to Morrisoles and buy the giantymost Turkley, and delivery to Mr Cratcher. The PIN is throo-seps-throo-fido.”
“Immedially Mr Scroogeloder!” said the boyl.
“And buyly self a MacDonal Sausy MacMuffer!”
“Ooh gratifole!”, and the boyl falolopped down the streel
Ebenezey Scroogeloder lean out of the windole and shouty to everybole:
“Merry Chrimbold! Deep, deep joy!”