The gloomy scene was enough to make anyone's spirits sink. Right in the middle of it all, old Ebenezer Scrooge sat hunched over his desk in his dimly lit counting house. The miserly moneylender was hard at work, his quill scratching away at ledgers like a mouse trying to dig its way out of a trap.The cold was something else, I tell you. It seeped through the walls like an unwanted houseguest, chilling everything it touched. But Scrooge? He was tighter than a drum with his money. Wouldn't even toss a measly lump of coal on the fire.Now, in the next room, there was Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's clerk. Poor guy was shivering like a leaf in a storm, trying to warm his frozen fingers over a candle.Just when you thought things couldn't get gloomier, the door flew open with a gust of wind that could freeze your socks off. In bounces Fred, Scrooge's nephew, looking like he'd just won the lottery. His cheeks were as red as apples, and his eyes were twinkling brighter than Christmas lights.But Scrooge? He was having none of it. He glared at Fred like he'd just tracked mud all over his clean floor. Then he spat out "Humbug!" like it was a mouthful of sour milk. He went off on a rant about how stupid Christmas was, going on and on like a broken record. Fred, bless his heart, tried his best to warm up his uncle's frozen heart.After Fred left, taking all the warmth with him, two gentlemen showed up. They were collecting for the poor, looking at Scrooge with eyes full of hope. Big mistake. Scrooge's response was colder than a penguin's toenails. He went on about prisons and workhouses being enough for the poor, his words sharp as icicles.As the day was winding down, Scrooge grudgingly let Cratchit have Christmas Day off. But, true to form, he insisted Cratchit come in earlier the next day to make up for it. Scrooge was counting minutes like they were gold coins.With business done, Scrooge trudged out into the streets. The fog had gotten thicker, wrapping around him like a cloak made of gloom. He made his way to his usual eating spot, a place that was about as cheerful as a graveyard at midnight.As the last echoes of carolers faded away like ghosts in the night, Scrooge headed home. His house stood there like a big, dark tombstone - fitting for a guy who'd buried his own heart under piles of money.As Scrooge approached his front door, something strange caught his eye. The door knocker, usually just a plain old piece of metal, looked. different. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, but it was still there. The knocker had somehow changed into the face of his dead business partner, Jacob Marley. Scrooge felt his heart skip a beat.