It probably goes without saying that...

Prologue: Getting ready for a party is easier without ghosts.

Preston Northwest was nervous. And he was not happy about it.

When one is a multi-billionaire with zero philanthropic tendencies, he tends to be used to getting what he wants when he wants it. When he had seen a youtube video featuring extreme athletes jumping off cliffs in wingsuits that made them look like flying squirrels, Preston's custom made wingsuit was on it's way to his home within the hour. And when Preston had lost the nerve to actually use the suit off of one of Gravity Falls more unusually shaped cliffs, Jones, the valet, had jumped with the suit instead, while Preston looked on. Despite having no training, Jones had survived, (barely,) and Preston had hung the suit in an elaborate glass case, looking new and unused, (which it almost was,) so that Preston could casually show his friends proof of what a fantastic extreme athlete he was.

Now Preston could not make his anxiousness leave him, no matter what he tried. He had fired three psychologists in as many days, and no amount of soothing music from his private string quartet could make him calm down. Not that his nerves showed, of course. Preston was a Northwest. And Northwest's kept their composure. But if there was one thing in this world that Preston hated, it was anything that reminded him of the fact that money couldn't buy him everything. Because right then, it couldn't but him peace.

And in a way, Preston's nervousness did show. He was the terror of his servants, his temper was short and his wrath was swift. However, this wasn't a far cry from how Preston usually behaved, and the servants didn't think much of it. But Preston thought of it. Thought of it constantly.

He tried to reason with himself. The annual Northwest Party, celebrating the success of the Northwest family, was only 24 hours away. At this time tomorrow, some of the most influential people in the world would be laughing at his jokes and gaping at his wealth and grandeur. He should have been happier than he normally allowed himself to be. But try as hard as he might, Preston Northwest, the richest man in Gravity Falls, the most powerful man in Oregon, the snootiest snoot in all of Snootdom, was nervous. And on edge.

So when his possessions began trying to kill him, he, quite understandably, freaked out.

-)&(-

The Gala Ballroom of Northwest manor was rarely this busy. Even the Northwest Christmas Feast didn't warrant this much work. Servants flew back and forth, draping gold and silver decorations over the room, setting the table with ornate platters and goblets, and trying to avoid their master's wrath. At that moment, one of the servants was not so lucky.

"Put the oyster fork at an angle! We're not animals, man!" Preston's harsh order was followed up by swatting the serving boy with his rolled up newspaper. It was the Evening edition, and Preston hadn't read so much as the front page. The news was not what concerned him just then.

"Preston, I must say," purred Priscilla, Preston's wife, looking over a golden leaflet, "this year's guest list has so much diversity."

"Yes," said Preston, swatting a maid who had missed a spot of dust on a candelabra, "a nice mix of millionaires and billionaires." He looked about him and smiled. Potted plants from countries whose names he couldn't pronounce, chimpanzee servants that had cost a fortune to train, and rows of lavender gift bags being filled with Belgian chocolates and live quail. Everything was perfectly normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. No reason to be nervous. At all.

"Now Preston," Priscilla was saying, "you will be welcoming our guests in at the door in the foyer..."

"Yes, very good dear," murmured Preston, not paying attention in the slightest, but instead thinking very hard trying to remember... he knew he'd forgotten something... but what?

"And I will be in here waiting for you," Priscilla was continuing, "and will welcome them again, and then... hold on... where the devil is..."

"Looking for me mother?"

Priscilla twirled to discover her daughter, Pacifica, standing behind her, looking stunning in a pale green dress that complimented her golden hair. Her sapphire eyes held the confidence that was the birth-right of all Northwests. Pacifica looked stunning by any standards, and she was only 15. Instantly, her mother was furious.

"Pacifica! What did I say about that dress? The party theme is seafoam green, not lakefoam green. Look! It's not the same as mine!" Priscilla swished her own dress for emphasis. It was a slight shade lighter. Pacifica was not swayed.

"Mom, I really like this one! Besides, no one will notice..."

"Go and change, Pacifica!"

"Mom..."

"Now!"

"But-"

Suddenly there was a light metallic sound as Preston rang a small golden hand-bell that he had produced from a pocket. Pacifica suddenly shrank back, and became silent. Preston stopped ringing the bell. "Pacifica," he said in a moderate tone, "mind your mother. Now."

Pacifica sighed unhappily. "Yes, dad." She turned to go back up to her room and dress again, when something happened. Something unexpected. Something 150 years in the making.

A sudden wind blasted through the ballroom, as if the door leading outside had just been opened. Indeed, Preston was starting to roar that the windows be closed at once when the temperature of the room dropped noticeably. A rumbling noise, like far-away thunder, could be heard throughout the room. The great tables began to shake, and the plates and the chairs and the forks and the candles and the knives all started to

Lift up into the air.

All movement in the room ceased. There was not a sound. Maids clutched at one another and trembled, and butlers who had been hired for the very reason that they were never surprised by anything suddenly became human statues.

Priscilla and her daughter stood dumbfounded, frozen at the sight of it. Priscilla just managed to rasp out, "P-Preston?" before turning to find her husband paper white, gazing at a silver chalice floating in mid-air like it was the grim reaper. He finally spoke.

"It's happening."

The silence in the room was absolute. There was no sound apart from the moan of a now faint wind that had come from nowhere. All at once, it stopped...

And then all of Heck broke loose.

The floating objects of Northwest stature suddenly began hurtling themselves around the room. Gilded plates shattered against valets and busboys, a silver pitcher slammed into a doorman's head with the sound of a gong, knocking him out instantly, and ornate hand-carved oak-wood chairs began smashing themselves into piles of scrap wood, which were lit aflame by flying candles and turned into indoor bonfires.

A platter meant to hold white chocolate covered pomegranate seeds hurtled itself towards Preston. He smashed it deftly with his newspaper, before screaming like a little girl and leaping under the (thankfully not airborne,) dinner table, as a swarm of homing salad forks just missed his face and buried themselves into the wall. He huddled there next to his hysteric wife and screaming daughter, watching in disbelief the scene of destruction all around him. Moments before... It had been so perfect, Preston thought, shoving a cowering serving boy out from under the table and into the chaos to make more room for himself.

"Preston!" cried Priscilla, "What is this?"

"What's going on?" Pacifica screamed as she watched a flying candelabra light a maid's apron on fire, before turning the silk curtains to ash.

"You'll be fine, sweetey." Preston said, not too convincingly, as a butler screamed that he couldn't call 9-1-1, because the carving knife for the grouse had sawed through the phone lines.

"Preston!" Priscilla had to shout over to serving platters smashing together like cymbals for no apparent reason. "The party is tomorrow! What are we going to do?!"

Preston banged his hand on the floor. "There has to be someone who can deal with this sort of nonsense!" He grunted in frustration. Then he suddenly started. The newspaper was still in his hand. He unrolled it and stared at the front page for a short while. Then he smiled darkly.

"And I think I know just the person."