Phil Thames | Professional Voice Actor for Documentary & Narration

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"'How now?' said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "'What do you want with me?' "'Much.' Marley's voice, no doubt about it. "'Who are you?' "'Ask me who I was.' "'Who were you then?' said Scrooge, raising his voice. "'In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.' "'Can you sit down?' asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him. "'I can.' "'Do it then.' The ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. "'You don't believe in me,' observed the ghost. "'I don't,' said Scrooge. "'What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your own senses?' "'I don't know,' said Scrooge. "'Why do you doubt your senses?' "'Because,' said Scrooge. "'A little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are. "'Who and what are you?' Scrooge demanded. "'I am the ghost of Christmas Past.' "'Long past?' inquired Scrooge, observant of its dwarfish stature. "'No. Your past.' "'Perhaps Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him. But he had a special desire to see the spirit in his cap, and begged him to be covered. "'What?' exclaimed the ghost. "'Would you so soon put out with worldly hands the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow?' Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend, or any knowledge of having willfully bonneted the spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there. "'Your welfare,' said the ghost. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass, and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed, "'A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.' "'God bless us every one,' said Tiny Tim, the last of all. "'Spirit,' said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "'Tell me if Tiny Tim will live.'" "'I see a vacant seat,' replied the ghost, "'in the poor chimney corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, the child will die.'" The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool, crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two. "'What odds, then? What odds, Mrs. Dilber?' said the woman. "'Every person has a right to take care of themselves, he always did. That's true indeed,' said the laundress. ''Well, then don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman. Who's the wiser? They're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose?' "'No, indeed.' "'Very well, then. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose?' "'No, indeed,' said Mrs. Dilber, laughing. "'They are not torn down,' cried Scrooge. "'They are not torn down, rings and all. They are here. I am here. The shadows of the things that would have been may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will.' His hands were busy with his garments all this time, turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance. "'I don't know what to do,' cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath. "'I'm as light as a feather. I'm as happy as an angel. I'm as merry as a schoolboy. I'm as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody. A happy New Year to all the world. Hello here. Whoop! Hello!''

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A young man of thirty advanced and bowed. ''You are a Frenchman, I believe?'' asked Phileas Fogg. ''And your name is John?'' ''John, if M. pleases,'' replied the newcomer, ''Jean Passepartout, a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for going out of one business into another. Finding myself out of place, and hearing that M. Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to M. in the hopes of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name of Passepartout.'' ''Passepartout suits me,'' responded Mr. Fogg. ''You are well recommended to me. I hear a good report of you. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven a.m. this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service.'' ''Well, Ralph,'' said Thomas Flanagan, ''what about that robbery?'' ''Oh,'' replied Stuart, ''the bank will lose the money.'' ''On the contrary,'' broke in Ralph, ''I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skillful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers.'' ''But have you got the robber's description?'' asked Stuart. ''In the first place, he is no robber at all,'' returned Ralph positively. ''What! A fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds no robber?'' ''No. The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman. It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who made this remark.'' ''Where could he go, then?'' ''I don't know that. The world is big enough.'' ''It was once,'' said Phileas Fogg in a low tone. ''What do you mean by once? Has the world grown smaller?'' ''Certainly,'' returned Ralph. ''I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has grown smaller since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly than a hundred years ago.'' ''You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the world has grown smaller. So because you can go round it in three months?'' ''In eighty days,'' interrupted Phileas Fogg. ''That is true, gentlemen,'' added John Sullivan. ''Only eighty days, now that the section between Rothwell and Allahabad on the Great Indian Peninsula Railway has been opened. Shall we go?'' ''Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible.'' ''Quite possible, on the contrary,'' returned Mr. Fogg. ''Well, make it, then.'' ''The journey round the world in eighty days?'' ''Yes.'' ''I should like nothing better.'' ''So you say, Consul,'' asked he for the twentieth time, ''that this steamer is never behind time?'' ''No, sir,'' replied Mr. Fix, ''replied the Consul. She was bespoken yesterday at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft. I repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by the Company's regulations, but really I don't see how, from the description you have, you will be able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the Mongolia.'' ''A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, Consul, than recognises them. I've arrested more than one of these gentlemen in my time, and if my thief is on board I'll answer for it.'' He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, ''Is this Rabbit, sir?'' ''Yes, my lord,'' the rogue boldly replied, ''Rabbit from the jungles.'' ''And this Rabbit did not mew when he was killed?'' ''Mew, my lord. What, a Rabbit mew? I swear to you.'' ''Be so good, landlord, as not to swear. But remember this. Cats were formerly considered in India as sacred animals. That was a good time. For the cats, my lord? Perhaps for the travellers as well?'' After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. ''All this is an evasion,'' cried Stamp Proctor. ''Now or never.'' ''Very good. You are going to New York?'' ''No.'' ''To Chicago?'' ''No.'' ''To Omaha?'' ''What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?'' ''No,'' replied Mr. Fogg. ''It's the next station. A train'll be there in an hour, and we'll stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver shots could be exchanged.'' ''Very well,'' said Mr. Fogg. ''I will stop at Plum Creek.'' ''And I guess you'll stay there, too,'' added the American insolently. ''Who knows?''

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Chapter 1 The Toll at Dawn The marsh fog clung to everything. It was not the clean mist of morning, nor the honest vapors that rise from water warmed by sun. This was something older, something that had forgotten what light meant. It wrapped around Lord Stefan's shoulders like a burial shroud, cold and heavy, and it tasted of decay, of things that had died in the water and never quite finished rotting. The bells had been tolling for three days. Not the measured rhythm of prayer, nor the joyful peal of celebration, but a sound that scraped against the soul, deep, resonant, endless. A sound that made teeth ache and prayers falter, that seemed to echo not from the bell tower ahead, but from some darker place beneath the earth. Serbessian pulled his cloak tighter and glanced at his companion. Even riding beside Lord Stefan for three years, the man's sheer size still impressed him. Stefan sat his horse like a fortress made flesh, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, arms corded with muscle that strained against his mail. His face was all hard angles and old scars, a jaw that looked carved from granite. When he moved, it was with the deliberate weight of a man who knew his strength could break things if he wasn't careful. Tell me again why we answered this summons, Bessian said. Stefan's response was quiet, measured as always. Because Father Beringa asked, because seven women are dead, because no one else would come. Ah, yes, the joys of being expendable, the joys of being faithful. Bessian laughed, a short, bright sound that cut through the oppressive atmosphere. Where Stefan was mountain, Bessian was water, lean and quick, with features that made village girls forget their prayers. Golden hair fell to his shoulders, and his easy smile could charm information from the most reluctant witness. But the hand and a half sword strapped across his back and the scars on his knuckles told a different story. Pretty didn't mean soft. Their squire followed in silence, leading the pack-horses with practiced care. Behind them came the church soldiers, six scarred veterans who had seen things that would break lesser souls. They wore male halberks that hung to mid-thigh, coifs protecting their necks and battered kettle-helms. Their white surcoats were tattered and stained, stitched with faded prayers. These were practical men in practical armor, designed for long campaigns and hard fighting. They moved with precision of constant drill, men who prayed not from habit, but from necessity. Marcus rode at the front of the column, a grizzled bull of a man with a broken nose and gray threading his beard, forty years old if he was a day, with hands like gnarled oak and a voice that could carry over battled din. Beside him, Thomas, younger, perhaps twenty-five, with nervous eyes that never stopped moving, thin where Marcus was thick, quick where Marcus was steady, but with the same hard competence that marked all church soldiers. Father Berengar waited at the causeway, trembling. When they drew close, Bessian made a small sound of concern. The old priest looked hollowed out, eyes sunk deep in his skull, skin the color of old parchment. His hands shook so violently that the crozier's head rattled against the wood. Thank God you've come. Seven weeks, Lord Stephan, seven women dead, and I cannot stop it, his voice cracked. The bells toll day and night, no one rings them, but they toll and toll, and every time he swallowed hard, they're found beneath the bell-tower, hands burnt black, mouths open and screams no one heard, eyes white, milky, as though they'd looked at something that consumed the sight from within. Stephan dismounted, the movement making the wooden planks of the causeway creak under his weight, and placed a steady hand on Berengar's shoulder. Peace Father, we're here now, show us.

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Nothing says good times like cracking open a cold Sam Adams, whether it's game day, a backyard barbecue, or just unwinding after work. Sam Adams. Cheers to what's ahead.

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Drive the truck that America has trusted for over 40 years. Ford trucks offer power, performance, and durability for every road and every job. Built Ford Tough.

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Managing ADHD can be challenging. Concerta improves focus and attention, making each day feel more productive. Visit Concerta.com for more information.

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Slim Chickens is serving up fresh, hand-breaded tenders, juicy wings, and delicious southern sides made just for you that bring the flavor home. Slim Chickens. Satisfy your craving for real, good food.

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Need a boost? Peet's Coffee is here to wake you up and keep you going. From rich espressos and creamy lattes to bold, smooth blends, Peet's delivers the perfect cup every time. Because every sip matters.

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Investing in your future can bring on anxiety, but there's no need to stress. We're here to help increase your confidence in financial planning. By the end of this course, you'll have the knowledge to not only secure your retirement, but also guide your children towards a successful savings plan for their own peace of mind.

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Discover the importance of corporate policies and regulations in the business world through this e-learning module. The module will showcase the updated Honeywell policies and show you how they provide essential guidance for employees while complying with relevant laws and regulations.

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Gain access to our secure corridor. Follow these steps for elite protection. Step 1. Secure your place on our pre-authorized access list for enhanced security. Step 2. Step into the corridor and face advanced security measures before reaching the data center. Step 3. Prepare for the unexpected with our unique technologies.

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Welcome back, folks. It's your pal, John, and we're halfway through our project management software course. Great job so far. Let's take a moment to reflect and review what we've covered. Remember the critical path method we discussed earlier? Well, now it's time to put it into practice.

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Join our Loading Dock Team and gain valuable experience operating heavy machinery. Your role is crucial in maintaining safety for everyone by proficiently using our advanced forklifts, front loaders, and bobcats.

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For some, the finish line is a place. For others, it's a promise. Meet Dave, a man who was told he'd never walk again. But 20 surgeries, 3 years and a thousand setbacks later, he's not just walking, he's running marathons.

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In the quiet of the forest, a secret network pulses beneath our feet. Trees, those towering giants, aren't silent observers. They communicate. Through underground fungal threads, they share nutrients. Worn of danger, even nurture their young.

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It answers our questions, finishes our sentences, and filters what we see. Artificial intelligence is no longer science fiction. It's in our homes, our cars, even our pockets.

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Just below the surface, sunlight fades and mystery begins. The ocean's twilight zone is a vast, dark realm teeming with strange creatures, bioluminescent fish, jelly-like hunters, and silent predators that never see the sun.

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At the edge of our solar system, where the sun is no more than a distant glimmer, Voyager 1 drifts in silence. Launched in 1977, it's now over 15 billion miles from Earth, still transmitting, still listening.

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They worked in shadows, their names unknown for decades. Thousands of women, once dismissed by society, became co-breakers during World War II. At places like Bletchley Park, they cracked enemy ciphers, turning the tide of war.

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Advances in cardiac MRI and echocardiography allow clinicians to visualize myocardial function with remarkable accuracy by assessing ventricular compliance, ejection fraction, and perfusion. Physicians can diagnose heart disease earlier, leading to more targeted treatment and better patient outcomes.

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In patients with chronic eosinophilic asthma, an overproduction of cytokines can trigger a cascade of inflammation. This leads to the airway narrowing and excess mucus production. ARIS is a humanized monoclonal antibody designed to target this pathway at the source by binding directly to the IL-5 receptor.

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Neurological testing helps physicians assess cognitive function, neural pathways, and synaptic responses. Using advanced imaging and electrophysiological tools, clinicians can detect abnormalities early, supporting faster diagnosis and more effective treatment plans.

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Modern oncology is driven by genomic sequencing and biomarker analysis. By identifying somatic mutations and tumor heterogeneity, precision medicine enables therapies tailored to each patient, improving efficacy while minimizing unnecessary toxicity.

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Healing takes time and the right support. Physical therapy helps restore strength, mobility, and confidence after injury or surgery. With personalized care and guided movement, recovery becomes less overwhelming and a lot more empowering.

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Accountability isn't partisan, it's basic. Ask the hard questions, follow the money, and expect real answers from anyone who wants your vote.

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Change isn't red or blue. It's built by people who care enough to show up, speak up, and work together, even when it's uncomfortable.

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If you're exhausted by the noise and the outrage, choose calm. Choose common sense. Choose leaders who focus on solutions.

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No matter how you vote, we all want safe neighborhoods, affordable living, and a future our kids can believe in. Progress begins when we stop shouting, slow down, and actually listen to one another.

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Politics isn't entertainment or a viral clip, it's your roads, your schools, your paycheck. Demand leadership that delivers real results, not empty slogans and finger pointing.

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Your neighbor doesn't care about party labels. They care about groceries, rent, and keeping their family safe. That's where real leadership starts and where trust is built.