A/N: The Haunted Mansion and its inhabitants come from Disney. The story comes from my demented noggin. (Note: It takes place while the characters are still alive.)

This is a revised version of the short story originally found at the end of "Ghosts 1000 and 1001." I deleted it from there and corrected mistakes, added some little details, put in more jokes, and just generally tried to make it flow better. If you've already read this, I hope you think it's been improved. If this is the first time you've read it, I hope you get some grins and giggles out of it. This was really fun to write and holds a special place in my heart.

In some fan lore, Gus is a distant relative of George Gracey and he's sent to the mansion because no one else wants to deal with him. This is what I think could have happened after his arrival…

"Master Gracey and the Blow Dart Gun"

"Well, I do de-clare, the weather certainly has been awful, hasn't it George?"

"Huh?" I looked up from my glass of wine. I had been mumbling sarcastic comments about my current company—a horribly boring business associate--into it for nearly twenty minutes. "Yeah," I muttered, glancing out the window. "Terrible." It had been storming periodically for three days now and rain pelted the glass with such ferocity I was worried the window would shatter.

"It's a bad omen, I tell you," Mr. Sewell continued, his dark eyes darting about suspiciously. Even the hair of his thick sideburns and mustache seemed to stand on end.

"Everything's a bad omen to you," I mumbled. "A raven cawing is a bad omen. We're out of staplers it's a bad omen. Someone leaves the toilet seat up it's a bad omen." Actually, I reflected, depending on who finds the toilet seat up, that could be a bad omen. I sighed and took another sip of wine.

The good thing about being an aristocrat is that there really aren't any worries in life. The bad thing is that you're forced to socialize with other aristocrats and they are the most boring humans on the face of the earth. I don't include myself in that statement of course. Name one other rich man who married a tightrope walker, has a cemetery in his backyard, and has a resident psychic. No one, that's who! Yep, I consider myself a crazy, fun-loving guy.

"Mark my words, Gracey, evil is-a comin'!"

Lightning flashed and thunder crashed as the door slammed open. I jumped, spilling my drink all over my lap. My brand new suit! I mumbled curses as I tried to wipe it up.

"George, we're home!" called out a sweet voice, tinted with a Georgia twang.

I grinned and let out a sigh of relief. Lily! The one reason I could put up with this mindless drivel. I jumped up to help her with her coat and umbrella. She kissed my cheek as I hung up her soaked coat.

"How has the little get-together been going?" she asked after giving me a hug. She did it, I suspected, not just as an act of love, but so she could completely drench the front of my shirt with her hair. She knew how vain I was when it came to my new suits. It was that quirky sense of humor that made me marry her. She happened to glance downward and arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"I spilt some wine," I explained. I shot a quick peek at Sewell and then looked back at Lily.

"Save me!" I hissed through clenched teeth.

She smiled. "Actually, we've brought along some interesting company."

Right then, Dustin walked in with two bags of groceries in his arms. "Don't bother to come out and help us," he said good-naturedly with a grin to me as he strode past and disappeared into the kitchen. Dustin, our driver, was a soft-spoken Brit who had become a good friend of ours. He had a dry sense of humor that he only brought out around those he considered friends. To others he was quiet and polite.

But for whoever this "interesting company" was, he made an extreme exception. After putting away the groceries, Dustin walked back into the foyer. "Interesting company, indeed!" he muttered with a scoff. He dried his rain-splattered spectacles using the end of his mauve vest. "Couple of vagabonds if you ask me."

"You just don't know them like I do," Lily protested.

"Know who?" I asked, completely confused.

At that moment, two men walked inside. One was stocky, somewhat plump, with hunched shoulders. On his round face he wore a large, easygoing smile. He had one arm around a grocery bag and a carpetbag handle clutched in his other hand. The second gentleman—if I may be so bold as to call them such--was tall and extremely thin, nearly emaciated. His large eyes scanned over the room in awe, his lips twitching up into a grin. Both of their suits were shabby and dirty, as if they had been wandering the roads for quite a while.

"Where should we put these?" asked the shorter of the two.

"Kitchen's straight ahead." Lily pointed them in the right direction. Oh sure, they were a little… grungy looking, but they seemed to be decent people. To me she said, "They were hitchhiking out in the storm, so I told Dustin to stop for them."

It was then that I realized I had a couple of strange men in my home and I didn't even know their names! "Who are they?"

Casually, she explained, "The plump one's Phineas Queeg. The skinny one's Ezra Dobbins. They often followed the circus I was with and did vaudeville routines and--" She clamped her mouth shut, saying nothing further.

"What?" I asked in a singsong tone, knowing that any kind of information she was withholding was being withheld for a reason I wouldn't like. "You're hiding something, Lillian. What is it?" I stared hard at her, eyebrows arched, lips pursed into a thin smile. My hands were clasped tightly behind my back. It was "the look." It never fails. For some reason, it leaves others so unnerved. Not that I'm complaining. I leaned in, our noses almost touching. "Hmm?" She tried ducking away, but turning on my heels I kept my face in front of hers, obnoxiously close.

"All right! All right!" Giving me a playful shove, she rolled her eyes. "You have no concept of personal space!" She exhaled exasperatedly, making a stray strand of auburn hair float up adorably. She was so cute when she was annoyed with me. Slowly and haltingly, she started to explain. "Well, Phineas is a bit of a chemist. He would sell remedies… that didn't exactly… work."

"So they're con artists." It was a statement, not a question.

Lily nodded with an uneasy grin. Hastily, she added, "But they're good guys, George! And we're old friends." Lips in a pretty pout, she clasped her hands pleadingly. "Please, let them stay for a few days." She batted her eyelashes.

"Oh. No. That's not fair!" I tried whipping my head in different directions, but I couldn't evade it. Lily's "look" was twice as evil as mine. It was physically impossible to ignore! I rolled my eyes. "Fine," I grumbled. "For a few days." She hugged me again and I couldn't help but smile and embrace her back.

A cleared throat made us reluctantly pull apart. "Excuse me," interjected Dustin, soft spoken as usual, "there's someone at the door for you, sir." He looked sorry for breaking up the romantic moment. I smiled, giving him a silent signal that I wasn't mad. After all, I could just wait until he brought in a girlfriend and then unexpectedly pop up at the worst possible moments.

I turned around. Standing on the porch was a drenched deliveryman. In front of him was a large wooden crate with holes drilled into it. On its side, the painted words "UP! FRAGILE!" were upside down--or rather, the box was upside down. Trembling and suffering a horrible twitch, he looked as if his nerves were shot. Or he drank too much coffee.

"Please sign for it, sir!" he shrieked, shakily thrusting a clipboard into my hand. I signed the paper and handed it back to him. Before I could ask if he would like a hot cup of tea and to step inside for a few minutes, he had already run away.

I watched him twirl and do a couple of cartwheels in the rain before he reached his truck. Postal workers seem to be such a happy bunch, I thought. With a shrug, I dragged in the crate. Dustin pulled the front door shut and followed behind me, not bothering to mask the look of extreme curiosity on his face.

I hauled the heavy box into the foyer, where Lily, Ezra, Phineas, and Sewell were waiting for me. Once I let go of the package it shook violently and hoarse shouting came from within. All of us stared at it, too terrified to do anything. Lily gripped my arm tightly. When I felt my other arm squeezed, I glanced up. Sewell giggled nervously back at me and released his hold.

"Well, open it," he snapped, trying to gain back some of his dignity.

"Wait," Dustin piped up, his voice quivering. "What if it's a…python or-or a leopard?"

I shot him an incredulous glare. "Why would anybody send me a python or a leopard?"

"Why would anybody send you a huge crate with air holes?" he shot back logically.

It was a good point. But I couldn't let this mystery go unsolved. "I need something to open it with," I mumbled thoughtfully. Phineas opened his carpetbag and pulled out a crowbar. "Why do you have-" I didn't finish my question. Why bother? Instead I pried at the lid until it snapped up.

Creeping forward cautiously, we all peered into the darkness of the crate.

Inside was a man, a very short man, hardly more than three feet tall. His long, bushy beard fell down to his knees. Around his left ankle was a chain connected to a metal ball. He looked up at us and blinked slowly, adjusting his eyes to the light. He reminded me of a mole that had been pulled out of the dirt and into sunlight. Moles are cuter, though.

"Oh, poor little guy," cooed Lily. "I wonder why he's got that horrible shackle."

"Ugly little varmint," sneered Sewell. The short man stood up, picked up the chain, swung it like a lasso, and hit Sewell on the side of the head with the ball. The southerner crashed to the floor faster than you could say, "Timber!"

"I like him!" declared Phineas approvingly. "He's silly."

I looked down at the unconscious man lying on the carpet, babbling to himself. Well, whoever this crate creature was, he was a hero in my book. I grinned at the scruffy stranger. To Lily, I gushed, "Aw, let's keep him honey!"

"But why is he here?" asked Lily. "And who is he?"

"Gus!" the little man blurted out.

"That answers that question," said Ezra with a shrug.

Gus rummaged through his pockets until he found a folded piece of paper, which he handed to me. I opened it. On it was a drawing of the Gracey family tree, a very detailed sketch including the name of every relative back to the seventeen hundreds.

Many names leading up to my own had been crossed out. "George" had been circled. Still confused and curious, I turned the paper over, hoping for more clues. To my surprise, I found a note. I recognized my uncle Edward's handwriting.

It read: "Dear George, sorry to dump this burden onto you, but your poor great-uncle's cousin's nephew Gus desperately needs a home after he was released from prison…after being thrown in there after the little problems at the mental ward. No worries, nephew. He's harmless, really.

"Many of your other relatives have taken him in for a short time, but due to circumstances had to send him on to someone else." I figured those crossed out names were of those who had already had him and had shipped him off. "I would gladly take him into my home but…" This was followed by many reasons that had been crossed out. "I just can't right now. You know how things are. Love, Uncle Edward." I stared down at the note numbly. "This is because I don't go to family reunions, isn't it?"

"Well, we certainly have the room," said Lily optimistically. "And he's such a little guy. How much trouble could he be?"

Gus, as it turned out, was a LOT of trouble. Two weeks had passed. Ezra and Phineas were still living with us. Dustin called them "ungrateful moochers", but I didn't mind their company at all. Phineas taught me how to make great tonics, and Ezra and I played poker and darts every evening.

But Gus… Oh how that man scared me. He never actually did anything malignant, honestly. But something about him just made me cringe.

Perhaps it was the way he scampered around like a deranged ferret, popping up in the oddest places. Or maybe it was the rattling sound he made when he breathed, like a can of almost empty spray paint. But something about him terrified me.

Then one night I finally figured it out!

It was the shackle.

Every time he took a step, his calloused, dirty bare feet would skitter on the hard floorboards; the chain would rattle; and the metal ball would drag across the ground, making a painful racket that sent my nerves on end.

Scuffle…rattle…drag!

I hated it! Oh, words could not describe accurately my loathing for that wretched sound! I wanted it to end! But what could I do? Nothing we had tried could remove the manacle. No one had included a key in the crate. I had to stop it, but how?

I was contemplating my predicament in my study. Dozens of books were scattered across the desk before me, not a single one in the least bit useful. Then…

Scuffle…rattle…drag…scuffle…rattle…drag…scuffle…rattle…drag…

I had to end it tonight! Scanning my eyes over the room, I spied a letter opener. Sharp, and with enough force it could be deadly. Perfect!

Cackling madly, I picked it up and stalked slowly to the door, wielding my weapon above me. I twisted the knob, nearly tearing it out of the wood. Hurling back the door, I found…

Nothing.

Gus was already gone. Or maybe he had never been there. Had I lost my mind?!

I caught sight of myself in a mirror hanging on the wall. Shocked at what I saw, I dropped the blade. "Oh, George, what's happened to you?" I forlornly asked my reflection. My hair was a mess, I hadn't shaved in a few days, and I had dark bags under my bloodshot eyes. "You need professional help."

Madam Leota's chamber was a very curious place. She had a large number of occultic objects and nick-knacks, as well as torture devices, some beautiful tapestries, and a great collection of cookbooks. Not exactly a very well rounded person, but she did have some interesting hobbies.

In the center of her room, which always seemed too dark, was a small round table with a huge crystal ball on it. She was, as usual, seated at the table, peering into the sphere and muttering. I knew not to interrupt Leota or say anything negative to her. Once, I had commented that the crystal ball would make a great paperweight, and the next day I had a nasty foot fungus. Leota was not a woman to cross.

Finally, she looked up from the crystal and stared at me. Her bright green eyes sent chills down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as she smirked. Not for the first time, I thought my whole "have a live-in psychic" thing hadn't been so great an idea. Couldn't do anything about it now though.

"I knew you would come," she said. She had a voice like honey…that had been frozen and hacked at with an ice pick. "I could see your image in the crystal ball last night. The little gnome troubles you?"

"Yes," I said. I was no longer shocked by her correct predictions. "It's that infernal noise he makes when he walks. Scuffle, rattle, drag! It makes me want to hang myself! What can I do?" Hastily, I added, "Without hurting him."

"Well, that's no fun!" sneered Leota. She huffed. "Fine, non-lethal," she coincided, waving it away. She walked over to a drawer and rummaged through it. "Here." She pulled out a thin tube and an assortment of little pointy things. When she brought them over to me, I realized that the tube was made out of bamboo and the little pointy things were tiny darts.

"A blow dart gun?" I asked, confused. I had looked at pictures and read about them in hunting journals, but never had I seen one in person. It was…anti-climatic to say the least. But I couldn't help but be a little intrigued. "And it won't hurt him?"

Leota nodded. "All they will do is put him into a deep sleep, and then you can put him back into the crate and send him away." Grinning, she showed off her perfect teeth. In the dim light, I swear they looked like fangs.

I felt guilt rise within me. True, the poor man had just been sent from one relative to another and had no real home. But it was either he or I! And it certainly would not be me!

I was sitting in the library that night, catching up on my reading when I heard it.

Scuffle…rattle…drag…scuffle…rattle…drag…

He was near! I jumped up out of my chair. Taking the blow dart gun out of my pocket, I dashed out into the hallway. It was so dark, I could hardly see a few feet in front of my face. But I didn't dare turn on the lamps and give myself away. Lightning flashed, giving me a brief glimpse of what was ahead of me. I saw…something. It was too dark to really tell. I put the blow dart gun to my lips and blew…

Phhhpt!

"Ow! Bloody hell!"

Thump!

"Dustin?" I called out.

"Who else would be… walkin'… in fro' the g'rage?" his speech slurred. I sprinted over to him. He was out cold. After frantically looking around to make sure no one saw me, I dragged him into the foyer and put him on the couch. If anyone asked, I'd say he had fallen asleep.

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

I bolted from the foyer and followed the wretched sound. It led me to the conservatory, one of the most eerie rooms in the house, in my opinion, especially during a storm. A figure, encased in shadow, lurked by the plants.

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

Aiming carefully in the dark, I put my lips to the gun.

Phhhpt!

"Aah!"

Thump!

"Lily!" How could I have forgotten that she watered the flowers at night? Like I had done with Dustin, I dragged her snoring body into the foyer. Shoving our driver aside, I made room on the couch for her.

Okay, new plan. We had been chatting, and Dustin had been so boring, that he and Lily had fallen asleep. Perfect alibi!

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

I set off after my quarry. His noises brought me to the kitchen. Someone was shuffling about.

Phhhpt!

"Dagnabit!"

Thump!

That sounded too big to be little Gus. Fearing yet another mistake, I sheepishly snuck up to investigate. "Phineas?" I nudged him with my foot. The poor man had been getting a midnight snack when I had shot him. I was about to drag him into the foyer when I heard it again…

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

I'd get Phineas later, I decided. I left him on the floor and followed that God-awful racket into the dimly lit parlor parlor. Something was standing behind the bar. This time, the form seemed small enough.

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

Phhhpt!

"Aw, sonofa…"

Thump!

I cautiously walked behind the bar. Ezra had opened the cabinet and had been pulling out a few drinks. I had mistaken the sounds for Gus. Bent over, he had looked like the right height. Ezra was snoring loudly, so I decided to just leave him there. He'd probably want a drink or two after he woke up anyway.

Scuffle…rattle…drag…

That was him for sure! There was no mistaking it! I ran out of the parlor, down the hallway, and into the study. I caught sight of someone standing in front of me as the lightning flashed. "I've got you now!"

Phhhpt!

Lightning lit up the room again and I realized what I had seen.

It was my reflection in the mirror.

Ping! The dart ricocheted off the glass.

"Oh--"

And got me right in the neck...

Gus walked by the study when he heard a loud thump! He peered in to investigate. After turning on the light, he spotted George Gracey lying on the floor. "Weirdo," he said as he walked past with a tray of cookies and a glass of milk.