(Alright! I have returned, it seems. Mayhaps I'll stick around longer this time. Who knows. Either way, I've been writing on and off for some time, and its high time I shared some of my work with the community again...Namely, my latest project, inspired by my favorite theme park attraction of all time!
Just to be safe, I do not own Disney's Haunted Mansion or any of its ghostly characters. There are, however, a few original characters that ARE mine and I shall note them as they come along.
Quick thanks are in order before I begin, considering a quite a few people helped me get this going. Firstly, big thanks to the gang at Ghostly Retreat, our resident Haunted Mansion roleplaying board. I drew a lot of inspiration from the many talented authors I have worked with, not to mention developing personas for many of the manor's resident spectors. It was a blast writing with y'all! This is, I hope, a little tribute to that.
Secondly, thanks to Aquarian Wolf in particular for allowing me to use one of her characters in my story...Who, you ask? Well, that shall come into play in a later chapter. For now, that's a secret known only to AW and I. Her work was another huge inspiration for this story, and I must give her extra props for that. Kudos, AW!
And last but not least, my thanks to my writing group, who always get to read my stories first and always give me great feedback. If you're reading this on here, rather than our usual haunt - pun intended - I only have one thing to ask: why? *laughs* Naw. I owe you all alot.
Now...That aside, I shall let our tale begin properly. Enjoy! And Happy Halloween...)
Have you ever seen a haunted house?
You know the kind I mean. That old dark house that's usually at the end of a dimly lit street. The owners haven't been seen for years, no one really knows why. The windows are broken and boarded, and the shutters hang loose on their hinges. The trees have grown wild, their branches brush against the side of the weathering house, making strange noises in the night. There's a high vine-covered fence around the property. Is it there to keep somebody out, or is it there to keep something inside?
It's a house people avoid walking past at night. Strange sounds come from within the walls. And it's said that eerie lights have been seen both in the attic windows, and in the graveyard at the side of the house.
Our story revolves around this mysterious mansion.
~Thurl Ravenscroft, "Story and Song of the Haunted Mansion"
THE HAUNTED MANSION
-CULMINATION-
Halloween Night, 1915
Margaret Irvine was immensely pleased with the way things were turning out. The guests had been pouring in since sunset, at first merely a small trickle of the rich and affluent, dressed in their finest Autumn attire, but soon expanding to a number that encompassed most of the New Orleans elite. They were all taking to the evening's festivities with relish, laughing and socializing as they bobbed for apples, drank the rich wine, displayed their costumes and chatted about the excellence of the Halloween party…And the graciousness of their hostess. It only served to bolster Margaret's ego, and she couldn't be happier. It only proved her reputation was stronger than any superstition.
Even in the crowded ballroom, amidst the finely dressed revelers and the waltzing couples, she stood out; a dimpled woman, carrying her somewhat-stocky girth with an air of glowing importance, her bright orange hair tied up on her head in a tight bun. She stopped to politely receive each and every compliment from the socially well-off she met on the ballroom floor, and she felt a little more pride and self-importance with each. Her cheeks, already rosy from a few good drinks, were constantly raised in an amused smile, and she giggled infectiously.
Climbing the social ladder was her goal, and this party – part All Hallows ball, part birthday festivities (her being the blushing birthday girl) – would cement her place in New Orleans culture for good. It had been shaky for a time, with a few whispered remarks not only about her background, but about the comfortable antebellum home she now hosted her party in. There were rumors, of course, but she was quick to dismiss them to anyone who asked her directly. After all, one had to be quick on the uptake and not afraid to do a few illicit things in order to reach the position she held.
"Good evening, Ms. Irvine," greeted a mustached man wearing an elegant Mardi Gras mask. She was just about to pass him on the way to the dining table, her eyes set on the impressive birthday cake that the cooks had just set out. Undaunted by this interruption, she smiled and nodded to the man.
"And to you, Doctor Wells," she replied, smirking as she offered her hand. Doctor Wells politely kissed the proffered and bowed politely. She giggled. Here was one of the few people she genuinely knew, and possibly even liked.
"I'm sure you've heard as much from the other guests," he said, nodding to the general crowd, "but I simply must praise your fine All Hallows festivities, and wish you a happy birthday."
Margaret's smile was starting to hurt a little, but she gave the doctor a genuine one. "Thank you. I'm pleased you could attend. I did not expect such a grand turnout, to be honest!"
"Your reputation precedes you, madam." Doctor Wells grinned. "The decorations are fantastic. I don't suppose you did these all by yourself, did you?"
"Oh I had help, of course. Yale did the majority of the pumpkin carving. He's such a talented young man, Yale."
"Indeed. Where is your nephew, by the way?"
For once, the woman frowned. "I don't rightly know. He's always been fond of Halloween…To be honest," – and she leaned in close to whisper to the doctor – "he's still been acting a bit funny. I had hoped you could talk some sense into him, like you did before."
Doctor Wells wrinkled his brow as he listened. "Is he still claiming to see things? Talk to apparitions and whatnot?"
Margaret nodded, the bun on her head bobbing slightly. "It's troubling. He's been very subdued, staring off wistfully and sighing at times. You'd think he was having amorous feelings for some girl, but I haven't seen him even try to meet any of the available debutantes. All this talk of spooks and goblins made him jumpy even before my dear sister sent him to me, and now he says he can't sleep well anymore."
Oddly, the doctor smiled. "And you're not worried about spooks and goblins, madam? Your home does have quite the reputable background, and I-"
Margaret cut him off with a laugh, and her eyes seemed to flash as she did so. Finally, she said, "Doctor, I'm a serious woman. You know I wouldn't have bought this if I believed in such superstitious prattle!"
"I'm just saying, madam, it's not exactly wise to provoke spirits…Especially tonight." He was still smiling, but in a sort of teasing way.
A dangerous look crossed the lady's face for the briefest of instants. Then she was grinning. "Forgive me for saying this, Doctor, but you're from up north, aren't you? We're different here in the south. No fictitious phantoms are going to spoil the fun tonight. In fact, I'd like to see them try!"
***
Elsewhere in the house, a fluttering of feathers stirred the shadows.
"Caw! A premonition! Caw! Madame! Madame! Up and at 'em!"
"I've heard, Edgar. You can stop your squawking."
"Caw! Sorry. What do you sense?"
"Ooo…It's that infuriating woman downstairs! Her party is breaking up my concentration! How can I think with all that noise?"
"Madame! Caw! What did she say?"
"Oh ho ho…She's asking for it, she is. I wonder if…"
Rumble.
"Caw! A sign! An order!"
"Will you stop that infernal jabbering!?"
"Erk. Sorry…It's sort of my thing…"
"Hmph. Of all the silly…Wait. Yes…Oh dear."
"Madame?"
"…No, it must be done. I've got my orders, you know….Even so…Never mind. Edgar, you might want to stand back. This could get ugly."
"Caw…Oh dear."
"Alright then…How did that incantation go? Ah yes:
Horntoads and lizards,
Fiddle and strum,
Please answer the role
By beating the drum.
Goblins and ghoulies,
Old friends and new,
Blow on a horn
So we'll know that it's you.
***
A single candle lit the cluttered darkness that was the attic. Two figures sat together in the small, sputtering sphere of illumination.
"Please Yale. It's the only way."
"But Emily…"
Yale Evens stared, his face paling in sadness, into the eyes of the girl he loved. She stared pleading back.
"It must be done," she said, and he voice was tinged with regret. "They're planning something tonight, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I don't want to see you hurt."
"Why?" Yale nearly cried in response, and it took all his willpower to keep from standing and throwing his arms out in anger. "Why would they do something like this? How do you know this is going to happen?"
The girl sighed. "I've heard them. They're tired of your aunt, and they've been murmuring about taking action tonight, while the veil is thin. You know how he feels about the mansion. I'm powerless."
The young man growled, and then the growl became a barely-concealed sob. "It's not fair…"
"It never was. Even when we first met, Yale, you knew we could never be together."
He looked up at her again, up into her beautiful face that spoke volumes, and his heart faltered.
"But Emily, I love you."
Her hand brushed his cheek, and he suppressed a shudder. She looked deep into his eyes, and he felt like she was peering deep into his soul. The tracks of tears stained her perfect face.
"I know, Yale. And you know I'll always care about you…But my heart still belongs to another, and I can't ignore that. I'm sorry. You…You need to move on."
They were so close, closer than they had ever been in the time Yale had known her, and yet they were about to be broken apart. He should have known better than to fall for her, yet he couldn't help himself.
He tried in vain. "Can't we…?"
"No," she said simply, shaking her head. "There's no stopping what will happen. And you know I can't go with you…But you must hurry! Time is slipping away, and you have your whole life ahead of you!"
Yale wanted to weep. He was surprised when, as he stared dejectedly at his feet, waves of grief hitting him, something made of paper was pressed into his hand.
"At least take this," offered Emily. "It's your right, and if things transpire as I think they will, you'll need it. Take it, and think of me."
Stunned, the man was about to speak again, to give some sort of fond farewell, when a breeze passed through the room. The candlelight flickered violently, and the shadows that moved across the walls seemed more unnatural than they should be. Yale nearly jumped as, just to his right, a hatbox tumbled from a shelf and hit the floor with a soft thud, the lid bouncing off to reveal the contents of the box.
Yale did not like what he saw. The thing in the box grinned at him.
Thankfully, the candle blew out, and he felt a gentle push. "It's starting!" he heard Emily whisper in fear. "Quick! Run! Keep going and don't turn back!"
Though he regretted it, he stumbled forward through the dark, fear spurring him on.
***
Things were beginning to quiet in the ballroom as the guests began gathering at the long dining table. Some of the luckier guests found seats, but there were too many people and too few chairs. Margaret made note that she should have put more effort into the seating arrangements. She now sat at the head of the table, the glowing birthday lady matching the candles on the sweet, appetizing cake before her. She stared at it hungrily. How many pieces could she eat while still seeming proper? Three? Four? Pity that she couldn't simply devour the whole thing.
A ringing, someone tapping a wine glass with a fork, ended the subdued conversation at the table. Doctor Wells stood, smiling to everyone and nodding curtly to Margaret.
"If I may have your attention please, everyone," he stated. "Thank you…Tonight, as you know, is a double occasion. I hope everyone has been enjoying the festivities as much as I have, and I wouldn't doubt that the best ghost stories are being saved for after dessert. This house seems to perfect place to speak of spirits, wouldn't you say?"
Margaret felt a small twinge of annoyance that the doctor would bring up the topic of ghosts again, but the majority of the gathering simply chuckled in good nature. Doctor Wells went on. "We are also here, of course, to celebrate the birthday of our charming hostess, who had the uncanny fortune of being born tonight, of all nights." He raised his glass to her. "And so I'd like to be the first to propose a toast…To our dear Ms. Irvine. Many happy returns on the date of your birth!"
"Here here!" came the response, followed by the clinking of glasses. Margaret smiled at the masked man, thankful for his not lingering on the subject and appreciative of his words.
"Well then!" She rubbed her hands together eagerly and looked about at all the warm faces. "This cake isn't going to eat itself! I'll blow out the candles once I get a song!"
The guests began warming up, and received their key from the organist. The ballroom has a grand old pipe organ, left over from the mansion's previous owners. It was a little dusty and still needed tuning, but the sound it made was impressive. She'd hired and organist from the local church specifically for the occasion, and as he launched into the tune, everyone else joined in:
For she's a jolly good fellow,
For she's a jolly good fellow,
For she's a jolly good felllllllooooooow,
Which nobody can deny!
Grinning hugely, Margaret knew her triumph was nigh. She briefly wondered where Yale was, for she didn't see him clustered among the guests. But she shrugged it aside as she made a silent wish, a wish to forever hold her status as the most popular lady in New Orleans. Then she leaned forward grandly, puckered up, and blew out the candles.
The lights blew out with it, and the room was plunged into darkness.
***
The front door burst open with a crash as Yale dashed out into the night air, breathing hard and only kept going by adrenaline. He sprinted down the front walk in seconds flat, dodging the numerous parked buggies of the guests. He had almost cleared the front gate when two things made him pause: the sudden eerie darkness as the lamp posts on the grounds went dark, and the horrid noise behind him.
He whirled around instinctual, looking back to see the mansion silhouetted in the moonlight. The lights that had been burning in most of the windows were gone, and the dark edifice of the house looked sinister, like a looming shade. The sounds that emanated now from the building could not be natural. There were screams and shrieks and wails, both human and inhuman, amplified hideously in the still night. He looked on in horror as a subtle shift in the light came over the mansion. A cloud passed over the moon.
Suddenly, a flash not unlike lightning nearly blinded Yale, and he shielded his face with his arm. When he looked again, rapid flashes of bright white light were bursting from all the mansion's windows in a haphazard fashion, and the sounds had become twice as frantic. His eyes were drawn to the mansion's belvedere, the top of which bore the weathervane of a clipper ship. It spun crazily despite the lack of wind, and little orbs of blue electricity danced over its surface like St. Elmo's fire.
That was all he could take. The spell broken, Yale nearly stumbled in his haste to turn around and flee. The hellish sounds were growing louder by the second, and he covered his ears and screamed in terror as he ran to the gate. He still felt the strip of paper Emily had given clutched in his right hand, and he gripped it tightly as he charged ahead blindly.
The moment he passed the wrought iron gate and left the grounds, the noises ceased. In their place, a soft, barely audible tune drifted up from the mansion; a sort of sad, mournful dirge that shook Yale more than the frightening keening he had just heard. He kept running. He would not stop. He would never return to the mansion as long as he lived.
It began to rain.