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“You will be haunted,” resumes Marley, “by three Spirits.”

“I–I think I’d rather not,” says Scrooge.

“Remember what has passed between us!”

Scrooge goes to bed, and falls asleep upon the instant. He wakes as the curtains are drawn aside by a strange figure–not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium. His arms are twiglike, his face and belly swollen. He has no eyes. His skin is pale and spongy, ripe with decay.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” says Scrooge, before the monster child renders him like a cow for the slaughter.

Merry Christmas!