A Guy, A Girl, And A Haunted Place
Before we begin...
A note from the wonderful authors.
"This has been an arduous project in works since October of 2005. Now, almost a year later, we have finally finished it, by occasionally getting off our lazy butts long enough to write coherent chapters (there was a first draft with something about a dragon and outer space in there...yeah...not so great). We hope you like this work even more than we liked writing it, because at times we really didn't like writing it all that much.
Kidding, kidding...but seriously, folks. Enjoy. Or you'll be next."
'Til Death,
Jase Andrews & Aquarian Wolf
The New England air was cold and dry, just like the many leafless trees. A few remaining orange and brown leaves clung valiantly as they were tugged and pulled by the October wind. The late afternoon sky was dingy white, completely covered with clouds, making the whole area seem gray.
The day after tomorrow would be Halloween, a night of mischief and costumes, of bobbing for apples and parties, candy, and trick-or-treating. Liberty Square was a town where the citizens did these things every year, and with as much passion as most towns celebrate Christmas. Homes would be decorated with orange lights and have jack-o-lanterns sitting, grinning or snarling, on every porch. Garages went through an amazing transformation, morphing from junk and car holders into walk-through crypts with dummy mummies and springing spirits. Already some yards sported cardboard headstones with silly epitaphs. All but one of the houses promised a fun-spirited "BOO!" and a handful of Smarties and Tootsie Rolls.
There was always that one house, or rather mansion, that was never decorated for Halloween. Hand-made headstones would be redundant. They would pale in comparison to the actual mausoleums and gravestones that dotted the sides of the front yard and covered the ground behind the manor. It was a towering brick beast, two stories tall, that crouched tauntingly on a hill overlooking the Hudson River. A once cheerie, long dead, brown wreath hung on the coffin-shaped front door. Attached to the right side of the Dutch-Gothic monster was a domed conservatory with a spiderweb like crack in the glass.
No one trick-or-treated there, and not just because it was more than a mile away from the major neighborhoods, but because everyone knew it was haunted. No one had any proof of course. There were no photographs or video recordings of ghosts, but some brave souls had gone in. Of course, they had quickly run back out, screaming about spooky voices and banging doors.
Leila Toombs had always avoided this house. The sixteen year old wasn't afraid of the dilapidated structure; rather, she viewed it with awe and respect. Whoever had built this mansion had a knack for desgin.
The reason Leila never went near the house was because she had always gotten a chill whenever she approached. Leila didn't know how to explain it...she just knew that this house was bad news. And every time that she tried to enter the front gate, goosebumps appeared on her arms and the hairs on her neck stood up.
Once again, she stood in front of that wrought iron gate, staring at the manor. The wind whipped her long, blond hair over her face, but she didn't even flinch. She could have sworn she had seen a light on in one of the rooms...
"BOO!"
She shrieked, jumping nearly a foot into the air. "Paul!" she snapped, turning around to face her best friend. He grinned at her, showing his braces, which had been done in orange and black for the holiday.
"Couldn't resist, mate," he said, doing a poor imitation of Jack Sparrow. He wiped his messy mud-brown bangs out of his eyes and looked up the the mansion, squinting. "Why are you so obsessed with this place?"
She huffed and thrust her hands into the pocket of her Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie. "I don't know. I just...got this weird feeling about that mansion." She blinked. "What are you doing here anyway?"
He took off his black framed, thick rectangular glasses and wiped them on his shirt. "Tried callin' you, but you didn't pick up. Figured you were here, so I drove over."
"You, Paul Yale, actually driving over to check on a friend?" She smirked. "I'm...I'm just speechles!" Putting a hand over her heart, she feigned shock. "You were so concered for me that you pulled yourself away from the X-Box? I'm flattered."
He rolled his eyes. "Well, I think as my best friend you get to be at least one notch above Summoner for one day out of every other week. Only one day though."
Leila couldn't help but smile. Paul really was her only friend. Everyone else seemed to shy away from her. Not unlike how she shyed away from that house...
Paul, smiling at his friend, said, "Come on, I'll give you a ride back home."
"Do I get to play with the stereo?"
"No," he answered flatly. "Until you're driving me around in your own car, you will suffer through my Disney tunes."
"Okay," Leila agreed grudgingly. "But not 'It's a Small World'. You know that ride terrifies me."
Paul laughed and began driving towards home.
Up in a window of the old mansion, tiny flames flickered. A candleabra floated in front of the dirty class, its invisable holder watching the teens drive away. With a deep sigh, the candles turned away and began to bob down a long, dark hallway. "I hate Halloween," a low voice drawled.
The doorhandles the invisable entity passed rattled and shook violently and the doorknockers slammed against the ancient doors. "Oh, grow up!" the voice snapped. "Can't do anything in the least bit productive, can you? I swear!" Her only response was moans. The ghost sighed. "This place is so droll... nothing interesting ever happens around here."
Two men suddenly jumped out of the wall in front of her, shouting obsenities and trading punches. At once, they each pulled out a revolver and shot each other. Then they began screaming about how one had shot the other first. The still invisible spirit sighed. When the duelers didn't cease their fighting, she loudly cleared her throat.
They stopped, fists millimeters away from each other's noses. The first, a tall, thin man with a sharp black goatee in a long black cloak and top hat, who was named Huet, smiled at her and said sweetly, "My apologies, Miss Prudence."
The second, a broad shouldered man of equal height with a beard and thick sideburns, wearing a derby and a brown suit who went by the name of Sewell, nodded. "We're really sorry 'bout that Miss Prudence."
She groaned and muttered, "Thanks," as she walked past.
Huet and Sewell tipped their hats. "Good afternoon," chirped Sewell.
"It's evening, you twit!" snapped Huet.
"Them's fightin' words!" snarled Sewell. And the men were back to shooting, and swearing, and swinging.
"Yep," sighed Prudence. "Same old, same old. Nothing ever changes around here."
The candles took a right turn down another, shorter hallway, and kept bobbing along until they came to a stop in front of a large oak door with a bronze, dragon shaped handle. Not caring much for anoyone's privacy, Prudence turned the handle and stepped into the room.
It was a study of sorts, with a great mahogony desk near the back wall. A brick-red leather chair sat behind it. A small bookcase crammed with what appeared to be books about law was against the far left wall. Nearly a dozen small portraits, housed in oval frames, adorned the walls. Most of these black and white and gray photographs were too faded to make out. Their frames were coated in a thick layer of dust. In front of the right wall was a big aquarium, filled with alge laden dirty green water. Some bubbles floated out of a once pink rock castle.
Pacing from the aquarium to the bookshelf was a man. A dead man to be precise. Although he was in his late thirties, (or rather, had been when he died), he could easily pass for a few years younger. An almost solid looking ghost, he had a slender build and a thin face, with a somewhat long, downward pointing bridge to his thin nose. His neatly combed, dark brown hair came complete with sideburns. Adding an almost cheerful contrast to his storm gray tuxedo was a blue bowtie, which was just a shade lighter than his azure eyes.
One hand behind his back, the other in a thoughtful fist that opened and closed and moved with his words as if dancing to his deep, velvety voice, he walked with his back straight and head up, the very posture of a confident man secure in his self worth.
Sitting gleefully at the desk was another ghost, quill in hand, seemingly writing as the other spoke. This spook was a short, squat dwarf, in a tattered long shirt. The tip of his tongue could barely be seen sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on his penmanship, brow furrowed in concentration. A mop of messy hair sat atop his head. A thick, untamed beard grew down nearly to his belly. If one were to look at the floor, one would see that a ball and shackle was attached to his right ankle. Unlike the other spirit, this one was much more content in looking more "ethereal". There was hardly any color to him, save for a greenish-blue glow.
"My preteen years," the pacing man proclaimed in his rich voice, "were incredibly awkward. I had just discovered that my mother, may she rest in peace and never utter one word to me again, had just murdered my father. It was a closed casket service, due to the ax lodged into his cranium." He sniffed tearfully. "I was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland where--"
Unable to bear any more, Prudence interjected. "Master Gracey, sir, I hate to interrupt your retelling of your captivating, if traumatic, life story, but that girl was here again."
He stopped, a look of surprise on his face. Whether it was because he hadn't known she was there or because someone actually had the audacity to interrupt him, she had no clue. "Take five Gus," he said to the man at the desk. "Did you get everything down?"
The bearded midget proudly held up his parchment, a crazy grin on his face. "I drew a kitty!"
Master Gracey stared at the sloppily drawn creature, his eyes trailing a cascading line of wet, black ink. "Of course you did," he muttered flatly.
Gus hopped down from the chair and scampered out of the room, clutching his drawing.
Master Gracey sighed. "I guess I'll have to find SOMEbody else to dictate my memoires to..." He cast glances at Prudence. If he was waiting for a volunteer, he didn't get one. "So," he began as he walked over to the fish tank, "what seems to be the problem?" He picked up a bottle of fish food and tapped some sprinkles into the nasty water, mumbling embarrassing things like, "Who's a good fishy?" in a voice reserved only for babies and animals.
"It's that girl, sir," Prudence. "She was hanging around the gates again."
"What's wrong with that?" asked Gracey, watching as bits of Fish Treatz seemed to disappear into invisible jaws. "Have you tried inviting her in, giving a curious mortal the grand tour, hmm?"
"Well," Prudence faltered, loathing the truth. "She...she creeps me out, sir. She's so pale, and she always wears black, which makes it worse. Her eyes...one's gray, like a tombstone, and the other is this intense, bright green."
The mansion's master turned to face her. He bit his bottom lip, trying to remain serious. After a few quiet seconds, he couldn't hold it in any longer and he burst out laughing. "Never in all my years have I seen a ghost afraid of a mortal! And some kid at that!" He found it so hilarious that he was pounding on the top of the fish tank. "That's priceless!"
"And...And..." She had to yell over his laughter. "And I've got this really anxious feeling. Like something bad's going to happen. Stop laughing!"
"Fine, fine," he agreed, wiping a tear from his eye. "All right, Prudence, I believe you."
"Thank you," she glowered, not in the least bit grateful.
"I assure you nothing is going to happen. We're dead! Nothing can hurt us! Besides, she's probably just one of thse goth teenagers that keep drooling over the place. She'll go away soon if she can't work up the nerve to come in." He chuckled. "A ghost, afraid of a girl."
Scowling, although no one could see, Prudence left to return to her patrol duties.