Chapter Eight
1939…
It had been decades since the ballroom had seen so much activity. Couples waltzed across the floor as the organ was played, while other guests chatted and exchanged gossip. In drunken revelry, a man had managed to leap from the balcony and onto the large chandelier. Master Gracey wondered how exactly the man planned to get down, but pushed the thought aside for a moment. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.
"Think she might have skimped a bit on the expenses?" asked Madam Leota with a curled lip and a nod of her head toward the organ player. Mr. Baker, a middle-aged gentleman with thick, white hair and a temperamental attitude, was not by any means a terrible musician. It was just that his music was a bit odd and inconsistent. The dancing guests did not care. As long as they had music, they were happy.
"I think Amelia's party is going along rather nicely," said George Gracey, smiling. "And there's actually a reason for it this time," he joked.
"Oh really?" Leota asked in a mocking tone. "Amelia actually has a reason to throw a party?" She took a sip of her punch. "Hell must have frozen over."
The aristocrat chuckled. "Today's her birthday."
"And here I am without so much as a card." Leota sighed dramatically. "Too bad nobody told me." With a faked pout, the Creole gypsy ran a finger around the rim of her glass.
George blinked his azure eyes several times in surprise. "I told you last week."
"Damn. Musta slipped my mind. To think, me, a psychic, and I can't foresee someone's birthday."
"You just don't like her," he accused, frowning.
"Can you blame me?" cried Leota, tearing her green gaze away from her drink. "Have you heard the things that woman has said about me!" With a flail of her hands, she accidentally—at least George thought it was accidentally—drenched a couple who had the misfortune of spinning by at that moment. Leota ignored their indignant cries. "Why, she accused me of practicing black magic and bringing demons into the house! Like I would ever do such a thing."
George looked down as someone tugged on his coat sleeve. He smiled when he realized it was Little Leota. "Something wrong?"
The tiny ten-year-old curtsied and gave a polite nod to her mother. "Master Gracey, I'm so bord. There isn't anyone here who is nearly my age and no one will dance with me." Looking down pitifully, she shuffled one of her feet.
Leota just arched an eyebrow. She was not exactly the motherly type. Her daughter was almost identical to her, except for her eyes. Her left eye was bright green, just like Leota's, but the left was blue. All throughout her life, she had been small and sickly. The name Little Leota was something that had just stuck to the poor girl like tar. Her mother, seeing her as an unwanted "accident", had not bothered to even name her when she was born. "Little Leota" had started out as just a nickname, but nobody could think of anything else to call her.
George furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, we can't have that, can we? A party isn't a party if someone isn't having fun."
"No, sir, it's not," Little Leota readily agreed.
"I might not be as good a dancer as those young rogues over there, but I would be honored to dance with you." George bowed low and then picked up the dainty girl and waltzed into the crowd. She giggled as George whirled with her around the ballroom.
At the long, dining table, Amelia was chatting with her younger sister, Brittany Padgett.
"So," asked Brittany, a thin, gangly woman in her mid-fifties who, at this point, had one too many glasses of wine, "what do you think?"
Amelia set her own glass down. Clapping her hands together joyously, she exclaimed, "I think this is the most wonderful party I've ever had!"
"That's wonderful dear, but I meant what do you think about them." Brittany leaned closer towards her sister's ear. "George and Little… Lee Lee or whatever her name is. I'm sure you've heard the rumors." She smiled slyly.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took a sip of her wine. "Well, some things have been said, but…" She looked at George, who was still twirling with Little Leota in his arms. "Until Leota admits who the father is, I guess we'll never know."
"Oh, come off it sis!" Brittany slammed her glass down on the table. "That satanic hussy never takes her eyes off him. Leota's a bad woman, Amelia, mark my words she—" Brittany stopped when she noticed Leota standing beside her, her arms crossed and her eyes blazing with hate.
The plump redhead smiled nervously. "My sister didn't mean a word she said." She shot a glare at Brittany, who, in return, huffed indignantly. "Uh, would you like to join us? Cake is about to be served."
"No thank you. I don't like cake, and I'm not staying where I'm not welcome." Leota turned and started to walk away. She suddenly stopped and turned to face Amelia with a wicked smile on her face. "Oh, and happy birthday." Then she turned back around and walked to her room.
A few minutes later, George walked out of the kitchen and into the ballroom, holding a large birthday cake. The guests stopped dancing and the organ player ceased playing as George began a round of "Happy Birthday to You." Amelia clapped her hands in delight, and the guests cringed as he purposely ended on a long, warbling note. Amelia reached up and pinched his cheek. "Oh Georgie, it looks positively scrumptious."
He placed the cake in front of his aunt and took out a match and lit each candle. "Make a wish."
"Oh, what to wish for?" Amelia closed her eyes and smiled, and then she opened her eyes and took in and started to take a deep breath. Suddenly, the air seemed to catch halfway up her throat. Eyes wide, she squeaked and gagged. Not knowing hat else to do, George slapped her back, thinking she was choking on something. Hands shaking, she clawed at her throat. Then, as soon as it started, it passed.
"That was a bit frightening," Amelia chuckled nervously. "Now, let's get to the cake!"
Then she fell face first into the dessert. Everyone stood in stunned silence, trying to comprehend what had just happened. "Amelia?" George asked. He shook her shoulder. She did not move. He placed two fingers on her wrist and tried to feel for a pulse. "She's dead," he whispered. His lip trembled as he fought back tears. "We have to remain calm," he said over the murmuring crowd, "and I'll call the hosp--"
He was interrupted by screams. The couples that had been dancing earlier looked as if they were being drug back onto the dance floor. Their feet seemed to have minds of their own as they guided their confused owners through waltz after dizzying waltz. Even Mr. Baker was not an exception to the spell. His hands pounded down on the organ's keys, and against his will he played an erratic dirge.
George watched, feeling helpless as the guests and family members screamed and cried for help. He looked down after Little Leota gave his sleeve sharp tugs. "Master Gracey, what's going on?" Tears streamed down her thin face. "I'm scared!"
"I am too," he whispered. "Brittany!" he called. "Brittany, are you okay?"
"Yes," Brittany answered from under the table. She crawled out from her hiding spot. Her hands were bruised and bloody from the dancers stepping on them. "What's happening?" She watched as several dancers collapsed. Blood trickled out of their mouths and stained the tile floor. The large organ tipped forward, falling with poor Mr. Baker sitting in front of it, his hands still glued to the keys.
Without a word, George picked up Little Leota and began to dart around the dancers and the growing number of corpses. He was almost to the door when he glanced back to make sure his aunt was following him. His eyes widened in horror as he watched the large cutting knife that was to be used for the cake rise up off of the plate. It began to speed towards them, slicing through any obstacle, living or dead, in its path. He ran to the door and flung it open. After pushing Little Leota into the hallway, he cried, "Brittany, hurry!" He leaned against the heavy door to keep it open. "I can't hold it much longer!" She was only a few yards away when George felt something pushing on the other side, trying to close it. "Stop!" he groaned.
Despite his pleas and struggles, the door slammed shut a second before Brittany got to it, flinging him out into the hallway. "Let her in!" screamed Little Leota as he jumped up. He rammed into the door with his shoulder.
"I'm trying!" snapped George. With a cry of frustration, he pounded on the door and pulled on the handle. He froze when he heard Brittany scream. The blood-soaked knife blade started to make its way through the door, and then stopped. He watched it for a moment; afraid it would spring back to life. His eyes trailed a drop of blood as it fell from the blade and onto the floor…
2003…
"I'm sorry for the delay, Miss Chalmers," said Mr. Greskill. Destiny could hear the weary tone in his voice. "I've been out of work for the past few days with some kind of bug." He coughed. "Mr. Jordan said he'd give you a call. I guess he forgot."
Yeah, sure, Destiny thought bitterly. With faked chipperness she did not know she could muster, she said, "That's all right. I'm just glad I was able to talk to you. I was worried about the job."
Mr. Greskill chuckled weakly. "You didn't need to. I knew right away you'd be perfect for our Design and Repair Department. I'll see you bright and early Monday morning, Miss Chalmers."
"Yes, sir. I hope you feel better. Bye." She hung up her phone and did her own 'happy dance', singing a little ditty along with it. "I got a jah-ob, I got my jah-ob! Ex ain't holding me baa-ack!" She was interrupted in mid 'cabbage patch' by the sound of faint music coming from the other end of the house. "What on Earth is that?" Giving into her curiosity, (she had been doing that an awful lot lately), she decided to investigate the noise.
After walking past the foyer, she entered the main hallway. Doors lined either side, each with its own little sign that told what each room was. On the right, another hallway branched off. This corridor was eerily dark and incredibly long, almost endless. Destiny peered into it. "Who designed this place, Vincent Price?"
"It was a Dutch fellow, I believe."
Destiny stifled a cry and whirled around to see a floating candelabrum.
"Have you lost your way, miss?" asked the voice.
"Uh, not really. I'm looking for the source of the music."
A young black girl, no more than sixteen, materialized. Her dark hair was in a short, loose braid and she wore a long, green dress. Although she looked young, her serious expression, the concise manner in which she spoke, and the way she carried herself, with her head held up and her back strait, made her appear much older. "That'll be Mr. Baker. Would you like to speak with him?"
"Yeah, sure. I'm Destiny Chalmers, by the way. I just bought the house." She gave her most friendly, I'm-Really-Not-That-Big-Of-A-Dork smile.
"I figured as much. I'm Clairece Curmon, head maid and," she groaned softly and rolled her eyes, "nanny here at Gracey Manor. Should you need anything, just give a ring." She paused momentarily in front of a placard with five little bells on it, all of which were connected to strings that, at some point, were connected to other bells that were placed in the servant's quarters and other various rooms in the mansion. It was a very old, but simple device. One would simply pull the string here, which would ring the bell in another room, alerting anyone there.
"Please follow me to the ballroom." She turned to look at Destiny. "And don't mind the hallway ghouls, they really don't mean any harm." Destiny watched as the girl vanished. The floating candelabra served as the only proof she was still there. The ghost turned around and glided away.
"Wait, what do you mean by 'hallway ghouls'? What exactly is a 'hallway ghoul'? You're not answering me! Clairece!" She ran after the spirit, too afraid to stay by herself.
