Christmas Eve finds mean old Ebenezer Scrooge counting coins in his counting-house.
It’s winter here in Iowa, which makes my Floridian self wish for seasonal time travel. Unfortunately, the closest I’ve come to realizing this dream is watching Back to the Future and reading H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine.
So it’s almost Halloween. Which means jack o’ lanterns and costumes and pumpkin-spiced everything. And, of course, Edgar Allan Poe, reigning king of high-school-English-textbook darkness. Cask of Amontillado, anyone?