Beside the hearthside, Scrooge sat hunched and frowning bitterly in his moth-eaten armchair as the Christmas Eve bells echoed through his corroded home. Pathetically, Scrooge lurked around his compact fire in a hopeless attempt to warm his gnarled body; the thin gown draped over him was more holes than rotten material and his stubby toes already had frostbite.
As the last chimes struck, the candle frequently fluttered, sending chills down Scrooge’s scrawny spine. His thin lips chuntered, as if murmuring a prayer, when he saw a seeping paranormal glow enter under his locked door. Suddenly, an eerie presence circled him and a clanking sound penetrated through him.
The smell of oaty gruel subsided and a musty, dank odour overtook his nasal passages. The sound of the chains exploded down on the ruined landing. Scrooge was petrified: he sat frozen, his leg shaking and his hair stood on end. The dilapidated key turned in the dilapidated lock.
A flying chain shot through the doorway and a groan echoed, shaking the house and, in its raucousness, it sent Scrooge crashing against the crumbling wall. A dark, cobweb-covered figure stepped in, dragging link after link of rotting chain. His face crumbled, showing half of his slime-covered brain that moved and squelched disgustingly. His pale face managed a freaky, yet sweet, smile at the sight of his dear friend Scrooge.