There's Something In The Gatehouse
By dcat
Disclaimer: This is a Hardcastle and McCormick fanfic. These characters don't belong to me. 3-12-07
Special thanks to Susan Zodin for the beta reading!
The judge dribbled the basketball idly on the court as he watched McCormick drive through the front gate. The kid had had to leave after only a few minutes of their daily game to make it to the campus on time for his morning law class. Hardcastle didn't mind...he was proud of the progress Mark had made in his studies and knew that their "old schedule" of life around the estate had to be adapted to new needs. He decided to finish up with a few free throws and jump shots, grab a shower, and head into town for a while to visit with Frank. McCormick would be home in time to fix dinner for both of them.
As he tossed up free throw number ninety-four toward the hoop, he saw something moving in the nearby grass. It was enough of a distraction that he missed the shot, and the ball careened off in that direction. He went over to retrieve it, and found the object that had caused him to miss the shot in the first place.
He picked it up and felt a smile building. Judge Hardcastle had a devilish idea.
Two mornings later, an unshaven, robed Mark McCormick left the Gatehouse and strode purposely over to where Hardcastle was picking up the morning paper off the front stoop
"It's my paper McCormick, I got first dibs, remember?" the judge declared.
"I'm not interested in the paper, Judge," Mark said, falling in step behind him.
Hardcastle turned to look at him, surprised by the statement. "Well, that's a first, you've been interested in it since the first morning you got here. Your grubby fingerprints are always all over it."
"I think there's something in the Gatehouse," Mark changed the subject abruptly.
"What are you babbling about?"
"I don't know Judge--there's something in there," McCormick pointed across the lawn.
"McCormick after four years, I think you can do a little better than, 'there's something in there.' You're in law school for crying out loud--what in the world are they teaching you, anyhow?" He didn't wait for an answer, adding, "You're really 'out there' even though you're right here."
McCormick walked alongside the Judge toward the kitchen, shaking his head in disbelief of Milt's criticism. "I know I'm out there, but I'm not talking about me--there's something else."
"'Something else'...as in what?" Milt poured himself a cup of coffee.
"I don't know, but it's something."
The judge rubbed the bridge of his nose and sat down at the kitchen table. "Kiddo, you really need to get more than three hours of sleep a night--you're slipping over the brink here."
Mark pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "I keep hearing noises."
"What kind of noises?" Hardcastle asked. "Give me some sort of clue."
"Maybe it's a ghost. I don't know. It's making whispery sounds."
The judge let out a deep breath. "Maybe all the garbage you keep out there is mutating into an alien life form." He smirked and picked up the sports pages.
"Why don't you ever believe me? I mean I was right about the water heater. I was right about the cockroaches under the sink. I was even right about the power surge in the light fixtures--why don't you ever believe I know what I'm talking about when it comes to the Gatehouse?"
Milt set the paper back down on the table, "Okay, look...maybe you got a mouse in there. You know when you leave the door open and have food sitting out in the open, they find their way inside 'cause they're hungry."
"Mice don't make noise--they're smarter than that."
The judge lifted his head toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes. "I'm not staying up with you to catch a ghost, McCormick. We did that with the Leprechauns—which, may I remind you, weren't really Leprechauns. Look at you! You were up all night, weren't you? How are you going to sit through your classes today?"
"I'm on Spring Break this week," Mark said tiredly, holding his head in his hands.
"Oh, I get it. You want me to send you to Florida, don't you?"
McCormick pushed himself out of his chair and headed over to the refrigerator to get some juice. "I am not trying to hit you up for a trip to Florida with a story about noises in the Gatehouse," he countered as he poured it into a glass. "I planned on catching up on sleep, doing some homework and helping out around here...but it's hard to do those things when there's something in the GATEHOUSE." He raised his voice and looked determinedly at the jurist.
Hardcastle sighed. "There's mouse traps in the pantry--get a couple and I'll help you set them, okay? Now can I read the morning paper in silence, please?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll take care of it myself-- just like I take care of everything around here," Mark grumbled as he went out the back door and walked toward the Gatehouse.
Once the door closed behind him, Hardcastle let out a little chuckle and tried to hide a smile. He glanced over at the calendar hanging near the refrigerator. He thought for sure he had given too much away with the Leprechaun comment, but the kid didn't seem to pick up on it.
A couple of hours later, Hardcastle trudged over to the Gatehouse to see what was happening at 'ghost central.' He knocked on the door and got no answer but went inside anyway. The kid was sleeping on the couch, still unshaven and still wearing the t-shirt, sweats and robe he had on at breakfast. His hands held a baseball bat across his chest.
The judge nudged him. "Hey, kiddo...did you find your ghost yet?"
"Huh?" Mark said sleepily. "No, not yet." He started to sit up. "I haven't heard anything lately--I must have fallen asleep." He let out a yawn.
"You want me to help you clean this up? I still think it's a mouse."
"No, I'll get it. It's about time I got up...and it's not a mouse." Mark scanned the gatehouse looking and listening.
"It's my last offer, otherwise you're on your own in here," Milt tossed out. "I'm going downtown to see Frank around noon. And since you're on Spring Break, you can make dinner tonight. Afterwards, I think I'll watch that Irish movie, Brigadoon, the Classic Film Channel is airing.
"Is that the one with Gene Kelly?" Mark asked.
"Yep, something different but appropriate," Milt said. "I usually don't go for musicals."
Mark looked a bit skeptical; trying to make sense of whatever it was Hardcastle was trying to tell him. "Okay, I'll get on the cleaning now," he said, letting out another yawn.
Hardcastle headed toward the door, "And, by the way, baseball bats don't work on ghosts or mice. I heard canes work though."
"Canes?"
"Yeah, I got one over at the house if you want to try that." And out the door he went, with another smile on his face.
McCormick spent the rest of the midday hours searching his humble abode high and low for whatever was making 'the noise.' Around one o'clock, he decided to go get some lunch in the Main House and take a break from his "haunted hunt".
Inside Hardcastle's kitchen, he saw that the Judge had set out the fixings for a stew, so Mark prepared all of the ingredients and dumped them into the crock pot to begin simmering. He then made a plate of sandwiches and went into the den to watch a little TV. When he finished eating, he washed the plate in the kitchen, checked on the bubbling stew, then walked toward the front of the house, intending to return to the Gatehouse search. As he entered the foyer, he spotted the cane that the Judge had mentioned leaning against the railing of the staircase. Grabbing it up, he headed out the front door.
The whole afternoon was spent in turning the Gatehouse inside out. Mark was going crazy chasing the elusive sound--every time he went to the spot where he heard it, there was nothing there. He used the cane to pull and pry and push things out, around and away from where they normally were. The couch had been lifted up on its back legs to peer under its lower drapery edge, handfuls of books had been taken out of the bookcase, he'd gotten down on his belly to look under the bed, climbed on a chair to inspect his clothes' closet top shelf, and even looked up the empty fireplace flue with a flashlight. The Gatehouse looked like a disaster area, and he was no closer to finding out what he was after.
When it was nearly dinnertime, McCormick heard the Judge's pick-up coming up the drive. He tried to straighten his mess up a little, but the sounds kept occurring, so he went back to his cane-search, calling out to whatever it was that eluded him. "I am not going crazy! You are not a ghost... there's something real in here...and I'm gonna find you."
Hardcastle entered the kitchen and took a look at the stew in the crock pot. This is way too easy... he's got to have figured all this out by now, he thought. He put the six-pack of beer on the counter and took the bowls and utensils into the dining room to set the table.
It was about a half hour later when Mark came in the front door, which he proceeded to slam loudly. Hardcastle knew he had figured it out just from the sound of the slam. He waited patiently while McCormick headed straight for the dinning room.
"Very funny, Hardcase," he began. He stood in the doorway, still in the same clothing he'd had on all day, still unshaven, and now holding the cane out from his body with a green garter snake dangling from the hook.
Hardcastle couldn't help but grin.
"How long has my 'friend' here been living in my house?" Mark asked him, nodding toward the snake.
"Just a couple of days." The judge let out a chuckle.
"I nearly had a heart attack when I finally spotted this serpent crawling on my bed...and then I realized that today's St. Patrick's Day and pieced together all the clues-- the Leprechauns, Brigadoon, the IRISH stew... And, look at me! I actually look like St. Patrick himself, with a snake and a staff, driving out the culprit from my homeland. You got me good this time, Judge."
"All you need is a miter and a better beard, kiddo. St. Patrick would be proud," Milt laughed. "Come on...leave your friend there outside, grab a green beer... the stew's hot... let's eat!"