A rainy late summer night, carrying a touch of autumn, had spread across the city of Friendship, Maine as a lonely figure went along the deserted streets. The light of a street light revealed it to be a teenage ebony girl wearing a red-and-black Victorian-style dress with a dark blue cape falling down to her hips. Holding the cape tight around her chest and the long skirt down to keep both from having them blown away, the girl peered around a corner to see if she had chosen the right path. Looking around, she noticed a mansion looming over the town, giving a hint of her destination or at least a dry place to wait for the weather to pass. Hitching up her skirt, the girl quickened her pace to reach the massive iron gate adorned with a huge W and pry them open. She jumped when the hinges moaned and screeched their protest. As soon as the gates had opened wide enough the girl stepped through, heading for the front doors. Crouching against the dark wood, she ran both hands over her long black locks that had been tangled by the wind and rain. A reddish necktie was tied around the girl's head to keep the hair from falling across her face. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the door and yelped at the door yielding all of a sudden, tumbling her on her back. Her eyes flew open like window shutters when her head touched the floor. She found herself confronted with a pair of violet eyes giving her a piercing look.
"Can ya believe it?" a harsh male voice spoke up, carrying a distinct New Jersey accent, "A fleshie crashing my home..."
"N-no disrespect, Sir," the girl said, blinking at the eyes hovering above her, "Just hoped to find a dry spot to wait for the weather to clear up." She struggled to sit up and turned around to face the eyes hovering a bit above her head.
"What the...?" she whispered when a tall, almost see-through body appeared right in front of her, with his hands on his hips and a smirk crawling across the narrow face. She couldn't help shivering when he leaned in close enough to connect their noses, his violet eyes locking with her emerald ones.
"Make a guess, bone bag!" Stretch snarled, tapping her forehead with his index finger, "Eyes without a face and a voice talking out of nowhere... get the picture?"
"Get the picture," the girl repeated, her voice not being much more than a whisper. Stretch's smirk widened when she shivered again and started wringing her hands nervously. But much to his disappointment she was far from running away scared or from fainting.
"I'm really sorry for intruding, Sir," the girl said.
"Aw, don't mention it." Stretch waved a dismissive hand, looking her over carefully. He couldn't help approving her respectful behavior that matched her fashion choice.
"Mention what?" the voices of Stinkie and Fatso said as they floated along, flanking their brother. Another smirk crossed Stretch's face when the sight of the trio made the girl gulp hard for the first time and her eyes widen with a strange mixture of shock and awe. Yet, the gangly ghost couldn't help sensing a déjàvu at the sight of her emerald eyes. Fatso looked the girl over himself, sensing a déjàvu as well while Stinkie who seemed to be the only one unaware asked, "What happened?"
"Look what the cat dragged in, boys," Stretch snickered, gesturing at the girl who had pressed against the door as if trying to disappear into its cracks.
"Too bad the doc's out," Fatso remarked, "I bet he'd love that one." Just like Stretch, the fat ghost was positive that the emerald eyes shining in the girl's ebony face were familiar. Stinkie just shook his head in disbelief before he floated through the nearest wall. Looking the girl over once again, Fatso followed his older brother. Stretch returned his attention to the unexpected visitor to say, "Well, as long as the weather's that bad, I guess you can wait here for it clearing up." Surprise crept across the ebony face as the gangly ghost held out his hand at the girl as if asking her for a dance.
"T-thank you, Sir," she managed to say, drawing a small curtsy at Stretch. Then, she timidly put her fingers on his palm, shivering at the icy touch of his long fingers closing around hers. Glancing at her, he lead her to a set of armchairs with a couch near a fire-place, offering her a seat.
"And with whom do I have the pleasure?" he asked, hovering next to the armchair she had sat on.
"My name's Imogene," the girl introduced herself. Stretch blinked in surprise since the name was ringing a most distant bell.
"Pleased to meet you," the ghost said, looking at her emerald eyes again while growing more and more positive of the strange feeling that he had seen such a face before. He floated through the nearest wall while racking his brain.
Imogene let her eyes roam, taking in the details she had read in Great-grandmother Ella's diary who had been a scullery maid in Whipstaff in her youth. A cold draft startled her when Fatso came floating back in, hovering in midair next to her armchair and looking her over again.
"Sooo... Stretch said you can wait here?" his dark smooth voice spoke up.
"If that's his name," Imogene confirmed, turning her attention at the fat ghost who held out his hand to introduce himself. Fatso blinked when she introduced herself since he indeed remembered the young and pretty scullery maid who had been given an kindly word for everyone and even had given him his first kiss at the age of 10. A fond smile spread on the rotund ghost face at the recollection. Just as Imogene was about to ask what he was smiling at, another cold draft startled her as Stretch came floating back and made himself comfortable in midair on the other side of her seat.
"What makes fleshies wander around in a storm in the first place?" he said to nobody in particular, folding his hands behind his head and glancing at Imogene from the corner of his eye.
"I'm doing some ancestry research and got caught in the weather," Imogene explained with a jaded smile.
"Ancestry research?" Stretch arched an eyebrow, giving her his full attention.
"About who?" Fatso re-entered the conversation. Taking a deep breath, Imogene told about what she had read in her Great-grandmother's diary.
"Mogie... She was the youngest of our staff, if I recall correctly." Stretch thought aloud when she had finished, "She'd always be the first one to start working and the last to retire." The gangly ghost's eyes grew distant as he rubbed his chin and throat as if to check whether or not he'd need another shave.
"And she'd always sing while working," Fatso piped in.
"But someday, she just was gone," Stretch recalled.
"Nobody would tell us why." Fatso hung his head, his shoulders going slack.
"Care to fill us in?" Stretch turned his head to give Imogene an inquisitive glare.
"I don't know much, that's why I went researching," the girl replied, smoothing down her hair and doing a bit of staring of her own, "Her diary ends when she left Whipstaff at the age of 15 in a hush-hush operation to get married to my Great-grandfather Cedric. They lived somewhere in Southern Maine." Stretch and Fatso exchanged a surprised glance, knowing full well that it was a safe bet that if a girl was married that young it was due to pregnancy.
"So, you did get along well with Mogie?" Imogene wondered.
"Not as good as Fatso here did," Stretch sneered, "She'd always collect some of the left-overs for him, and he'd always accept." Snickering, the gangly ghost reached out to poke a finger into his brother's jelly-like belly, making Fatso dissolve into giggles. A wicked grin crossed Stretch's face when Imogene couldn't help giggling as well at the sight of the fat ghost curling up into a protective ball and gasping for air.
"Oh, boy, that never gets old!" Stretch gave one of his trademark cackles as Fatso quickly fled from the parlor.
Imogene fell silent, pondering about the information she just had received. Stretch furrowed his brow when she rubbed her hands and arms. He turned to the fireplace and lit up a fire with a casual wave of his hand. Then, he picked up a knitted blanket from a corner, draping it across her.
"Thanks," Imogene said, tucking herself into the blanket, "But don't you put yourself out on my account."
"I don't," Stretch clarified, hovering next to her armchair again, "Just wouldn't want you to freeze to death. I've seen more than one person die that way during my lifetime, and that's always a really nasty death."
"I doubt there's a death considered pleasurable," Imogene said, smiling to herself as the ghost shrugged and said, "That depends." A small smile tucked at the corners of his mouth as he folded his hands behind his head again.
"I'd like to ask something, if you don't mind," Imogene said after a while.
"Spill," the ghost replied.
"Is it difficult to pass through a wall or a door?" the girl asked.
"At first, it is. But after a while, you'll find a way to pass through without much effort. The best way is to clear your mind," Stretch explained, unable to hide a smile. All of a sudden, the front door swung open, revealing Dr. Harvey who just returned from running errands. He was shaking his umbrella while balancing two shopping baskets on his arms.
"Hi, fellas," he greeted no-one in particular as he put the umbrella in its spot next to the door and closed the door. When Casper came along, offering a hand, the doctor began chatting with the child ghost. However, his voice was caught in his throat when Imogene got up and went closer to shake his hand and say, "Sorry for intruding."
"No harm done," the doctor replied, quickly adding "I guess" when he received a glare from Stretch. He changed the subject by offering Imogene a cup of hot chocolate. When he had come back from the kitchen and had handed her a steaming mug, the girl sat down again in the armchair, taking small sips and focussing on the fire when a thought crossed her mind.
"Say, I don't even know your name," she said, watching Stretch making himself comfortable on the other armchair.
"I'm called Stretch," the ghost replied, taking a light bow at her.
"My pleasure entirely," Imogene smiled, bowing her head back at him.
"This house is a really beautiful place," she said, taking another look around, "I can picture its former glory."
"Thanks." A proud smile crawled across the ghost's lips as he suggested, "Say, would ya like ta see where yer Great-grandma used ta live?"
"Sure I do!" Imogene smiled.
"Lemme show ya, then." Stretch got up, holding his hand out to her again. Much to his surprise, the girl didn't shiver this time at the touch of his icy hand. Glancing at the girl walking at his side with graceful steps, the gangly ghost found himself not being angry that Imogene wasn't as scared of him as expected – something that hadn't happened in a very long time. Stretch had always been proud about that he had made the bravest men give out a shriek with a wave of his hand and a well-placed moan or by simply turning visible in front of them. He lit up a small gas lamp with a casual wave of his hand before he stuck his head through a left-hand door to check and opened it. Imogene looked around, admiring the humble furniture and ignoring the thick layer of dust and a few spiders scattering away to hide from the light.
"Cozy," she said, "I'm sure Mogie was happy here."
"Just like Fatso said, she'd always sing while working," Stretch reminded her.
"Well, thanks for showing me, Stretch," Imogene said. Stretch gave a small nod before leading the way back into the parlor.
A few hours later, the light of a full moon shining through the parlor's window hinted at the weather having cleared up. Imogene got up and opened the window, breathing in the scent from the ocean thundering against the cliff beyond Whipstaff along with what she used to call "after-rain-scent".
"Very well then," she said, turning around to face Stretch who was sprawling lazily on his armchair, "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Stretch."
"Yer welcome, Miss Imogene," the ghost replied, getting up to shake hands with her and leading her to the front doors. Thoughtfully, he watched her walking towards the gates and prying them open.
"Goodbye, Mogie," he whispered, "It was nice to see you again."
About two weeks later, Stinkie who had amused himself by scaring the mailman rushed into the room he shared with his brothers, excitedly waving a single letter.
"Mail's here!" the smelly ghost yelled on top of his lungs. Fatso rolled over and threw a look of disinterest at his older brother.
"Big deal," Stretch remarked, lazily shifting into a comfortable position.
"For YOU!" Stinkie beamed, holding the letter out to his oldest brother. Hesitatingly, Stretch took the letter that consisted of a single sheet of parchment-coloured paper folded into a makeshift envelope and closed by a red sticker roughly resembling an ancient wax seal. He turned the letter in his hands to read the address written in delicate round letters, "To Stretch of Whipstaff Manor, Friendship, Maine". Hesitatingly, he undid the seal sticker and unfolded the paper to reveal the message sitting in the center.
"Dear Stretch!" the letter said, "After a rather uneventful train ride, I'm back home. Best regards to all Whipstaff residents, Imogene" Stretch couldn't help smiling as he turned to his brothers and said, "Imogene sends her regards."
"Imogene?" Stinkie furrowed his brow in confusion.
"The girl that came here," Fatso explained, "She was researching about her Great-grandma who was a scullery maid here." Stinkie nodded his understandings before another thought crossed his mind, "But how come she writes a letter to Stretch?"
"I had bit of talk with her and showed her her Great-grandma's room," the gangly ghost explained, another faint smile crawling across his lips. Not that he'd admit that he had enjoyed Imogene's company or that he was glad that she had made it home safely. And above of all things, he'd never admit that he'd write her a letter as well as soon as he can find a moment of ease.