Author's Note: Dearest mortals. Please forgive us for this minor setback. Some meddlesome spirits decided to interfere with our computing devices, and so this wretched tale was delayed. Thank you for you patience. We hope you find this long chapter as delightfully unliveable as we spirits do. Now as they say, look alive...
The Host was busy trying to take care of Lillian. Naturally, like all good upperclassman, he decided to take a child to a party. Because that's what good parents do. The Swinging Wake was a daily celebration done by the richer ghosts, who usually partied and discussed politics. The Pepper dancers were possibly one of the more notable examples.
For those who didn't know the Pepper brothers and their spouses, Peppa, Poppi, and Anne, they were a group of brothers who coincidentally all died rather unfortunately while dancing due to an incident call the butter ballroom, in which they danced and spun on a floor covered in butter, and accidentally spun themselves out the window. They still have a chronic fear of butter to this day.
Lillian was not aware of this when she entered the ballroom. Instead, she looked around and couldn't help but notice the loud and abrasive man dangling from the chandelier who called out to The Host. This was Pickwick.
"Hark! The prodigal son has returned!" Pickwick taunted the Host.
"I hope you aren't feeling too Pick-y, Pickwick." The Host chuckled. Everyone in the ballroom groaned. Lillian chuckled. She gave it some props. Pickwick slunk down from his chandelier, "Ah! The puns have returned. What's the occasion?"
"I recently lost my mind."
"Oh. Don't bother looking for it. I've probably sold it on the market."
"What?"
"What." Pickwick finished the conversation at that. He introduced himself to Lillian with a handshake, "Pickwick, entrepreneur."
"Lillian, mortal." Lillian introduced herself. Pickwick approved, "I can see. Tell me, have you told old Mister Gracey about her?"
"I think it's best we don't. You know how he feels about this sort of thing." The Host reminded him. Pickwick didn't need reminding.
"I thought Mister Gracey was the guy in the portrait hall?" Lillian argued. Pickwick shook his head, "Oh no, that's Master Gracey. He died too young to be called mister."
"Well that's sad." Lillian noted. Pickwick shrugged. "He died rich. That's the best thing that could have happened."
"Host! Sweet Host!" Caesar shouted out to the three. "It's a pleasure to see you here! Let us eat cake and celebrate!"
"Cake?" Lillian looked delighted.
"Don't feed the hyper child cake. Please." The Host clenched his teeth at the last word. Caesar called out, "Come eat cake!"
Lillian ran over to go eat cake. The Host quickly rushed after her. He tried to grab her, and scowled, "No. No. No!"
"I'm going to eat cake now." Lillian said, standing right next to the slice Caesar offered for her.
"Do not eat that cake young lady."
"I am holding the plate." Lillian took the plate.
"Do not eat."
"I took the fork." Lillian taunted further.
"Do not…"
Gulp.
"We're leaving." The Host took Lillian who had a mouthful of cake in her mouth. Pickwick stepped ahead of him, trying to deflect it. "Come now! Host, please! You abandon us every day to work! Now you say you lost your mind and still don't want to join us?"
"I did not anticipate taking care of a mortal."
"I can handle myself!" Lillian insisted. The Host squinted at her, then reminded her, "You've been tossed around by every single ghost in the mansion like a tool."
"I beat that cloaked guy up with a shovel and survived going toe to toe with that bride!" Lillian argued. The Host didn't care, "You are a foolish and ignorant mortal, and you will stay safe!"
Lillian took her fork and stabbed it into the Host's hand, causing him to let go. The Host shouted and held his hand while Lillian ran up past the others to a set of stairs. She managed to outrun him as she went up to the next room. The next room was a dressing room of sorts, where some of the other ghosts were preoccupied with getting suited to their duties. This included a suit of armor who was putting on his arms and legs, and a headless knight who was screwing on his head.
Lillian ducked past them as the Host hurried after her. She called out to the knights, telling them, "Help! Please help!"
The Host tried to get past the knights and the executioner, who all stepped in and blocked the Host's path unquestioningly. The Host grunted and stood his ground against them as Lillian faded from sight, "Out of my way this instant!"
"Negative sire. We were given orders by a higher authority!" The Knight corrected, lifting his visor to see the Host. The Host squinted and asked, "I am the highest-ranking servant in the Mansion, I am the higher authority!"
"Negative, a child gave us orders."
"That child is irresponsible and loose in the middle of a highly populated mansion where someone could grab her and she would get lost!"
"Precisely! Someone like you!"
"I. Work. Here. You impossibly impotent pedestrial paladin!" The Host groaned and shook his head, "I don't have time for this."
He flew at the knight and came out the other side, "Why didn't I do that in the first place?"
"Lillian! Lillian!" He passed into the next room, stumbling a rather unfortunate hallway, one coated wall to wall with door after door after door. He sighed and began calling out to her, "Lillian. Please. It's not safe for a child wandering around the Mansion."
He knocked on a door and someone instantly opened it. A massive cliff was waiting for him at the edge of the doorframe, going down to a mine train that zoomed past through a dinosaur skeleton. The Host struggled and wobbled for a moment and nearly fell out onto the track, but soon regained his balance and closed the door in thin breaths.
He hurried over to the next door where he knocked on a gargoyle knocked and was dragged through the door into a room where a mad scientist was busy torturing a dog and a chicken. He chuckled at it, then walked back through the door to the next door.
"Lillian, please! Enough games!" the Host opened the next door and saw a similar hallway. He stepped through to the next room and fell down from the ceiling into the corridor he just stepped out of.
The Host grit his teeth and began to open doors more viciously. There was a room where a businessman was arguing with a bunch of head busts, to which the Host immediately closed the door, commenting, "That's hot steaming garbage…"
He continued to the next door and opened to see a giant spider staring right back at him. He closed the door slowly and turned back around a deep pale of raw terror. He finally arrived at a last door which was partially open. He opened the door with a powerful swing, looking to see a blue staircase in a massive void.
"Of course…" The Host sighed and called out, "There's no chance you could have been eaten up by that spider, could you?"
He began to make the climb through the staircase as Lillian made her own path through the web of stairs. She had come upon a dizzying section, stairs bending up and down. She passed curious and a little afraid, but…actually, she hadn't a clue what she was doing.
She thought she reached a door at one point, but before her eyes, the door vanished from ahead of her and turned into upwards stairs before reappearing behind her. She turned back around and saw the door and nearly fell back from surprise. She opened the door to go out onto a balcony overlooking the ballroom.
Down below she caught sight of someone introducing themselves to the group. Pickwick, some unknown figures, Sally Slater, the Orator, and a few others were gathered around the table. The endchair was occupied by a tall man in a black and red cloak. He was gazing over some documents and reading through something.
Pickwick began the introduction, "Ladies, gentlemen, it has come to my attention that one woman in white has become aware of the possible fate of the mansion."
"Oh dear. I knew we had to tell her sooner or later." Sally said, "How could we explain this in a way she'll understand?"
"We don't." The Orator explained, "Constance is unreasonable and dangerous. She was the last owner of the mansion, and she died here. Her sentimentality won't allow her to see our reasoning."
"Don't say that! Constance loves new things! Remember when we gave her an axe! She was so happy!"
"She chopped off our heads." A pair of twins said simultaneously as they switched heads as their twin pistols rested on the table.
"Oh. Right. That." Sally cleared her throat. The looming figure at the end of the table spoke up in a deep booming French accent. "Then we have a simple solution. Constance Hatchaway must be set to someplace she won't put the rest of us at risk."
"How exactly do you plan to trap the black widow bride, Phantom?" Pickwick asked, putting his feet up on the table and taking a drink from his bottle. The figure looked up, revealing he had no flesh at all. No soul left in him, only a skeletal face and empty eye sockets.
"There is a large tower located near here. Its defenses are heavy. Billions of artifacts keep some of the most dangerous spirits at bay. I thought it would be amusing to trap her in her last husband's humble hotel." The Phantom answered. Sally seemed off guard by this, "Are you sure that's a good idea? The bride has been with us since day one. She's worked with us, gotten looks that will attract more attention."
"Just like Hatbox, she reached her limit. When we locked him away after he decided not to cooperate, he became an even bigger problem than anticipated. Old coot turned out to be a threat, until the mortals set him free."
"That's something you haven't even considered! What happens to the mortals if we remove the bride?" Caesar argued. Lillian felt a moving at her side as she was joined by Constance Hatchaway. Lillian gasped and backed away. Constance didn't make a sound.
"Nothing most likely. Tell me, for all the changes we've made to her, who looks forward to seeing the bride? More guests are fond of Bob nailed into his coffin than the bride."
Constance gripped the railing tighter and tighter, causing it to bend and twist.
"I won't allow it!" came a familiar cry. Hatbox stumbled into the room, waving his cane. "You are not selling her out."
"Hatbox, I would have thought you of all people would be more than excited to see her go." Phantom addressed the man, unchanged and looming.
"You cannot just get rid of old things because of money!"
"You are not wrong. Take you for example."
"Precisely!" Hatbox raised his personal hatbox to show them. His head vanished from his shoulders to the hatbox and he chuckled before returning to his head. "See? It's like ghost trick vinyl!"
"Sometimes you can put in old things and get money."
"What?"
The Phantom and stood up from his chair. He was taller than any other character in the mansion and dwarfed them all. "Let me explain, Hatbox. You came back because the mortals became obsessed with you. They began to fawn over every inch of information about you. So, we brought you back, and the guests came in the millions to see you. Our profit was perfection."
Hatbox stood his ground as the giant stood over him, his chin jutted out in a snarl. "I came back on my own free will, thank you!"
"Was it? Is your will really free, Hatbox? Do you seem free right now? You are nostalgia, and here, nostalgia means profit." He bent down and picked up Hatbox's hatbox, holding it in one hand.
"Constance was never the most marketable character. Sally was cutesy, Gracey was professional, but Constance?" Phantom looked at Hatbox as he tried to reach for the hatbox. "She wasn't even supposed to be the main attraction. But you wouldn't cooperate. We made do. Now that you're back, we could dedicate the entire attic to you."
"The bride is a staple of the Haunted Mansion!" Hatbox leapt up to grab his box and missed. The Phantom turned to him and said, "That's nostalgia, Hatbox. Without nostalgia, we would have removed her a long time ago, and you wouldn't even exist. But…times change…old places like this aren't scary, aren't flashy. They're old places."
The phantom flicked the hatbox and blew it through the center, "And now, old thing, you'll go back up in that attic and stay there and let the cobwebs take you, because when your hype dies down, we will have no need for you…"
He slid the hatbox firmly onto Hatbox's head, the skull sliding right into the package. The Phantom pushed him back away, and Hatbox cowardly hurried away like a dog with its tail between its legs.
"I'm very confused." Pickwick noted, but the rest of them moved on without him. Sally had to ask, "So, you think that by getting rid of the bride, we'll be able to start replacing the Mansion grounds with something a little more up to date. Toys maybe? Children are never going to be scared of toys. Adults, maybe."
She cleared her throat and got a chill regarding multicultural nightmare dolls.
Constance chuckled at them, then shook her head, before walking back to her attic. She eyed Lillian for a moment, then gave her a smile, like she doubted the fools. She backed away and vanished from view.
"Lillian! There you are!" The Host took deep breaths as he came up the stairs. Lillian turned back around and shushed him. The Host upsettingly scowled at her and said, "Do not hush me mortal!"
He walked up to her and looked over the side of the banister to see the committee. Lillian begged to ask, "Who are they? What are they talking about?"
"The Group Regulating All Vex Entities. Our committee. I didn't know they were having a meeting. Did they not invite me?" The Host asked, a little offended. "I must report this to Madame Leota."
"Let's go!" Lillian started to walk back towards the stairs, but the Host held her back, "No. You will be staying safe and staying as far away from the high ranked ghosts."
"But I want to help."
"No, you want to touch everything and see how much you can break before you finally break my patience." The Host glowered at her. He wasn't completely wrong. He took a breath then concluded, "I'm going to need some asp-irin. Where did I put those snakes…?"
He took her back down into the staircase and led her along, following the same way he went to get there. As they continued along, unfortunately he found himself in an awkward position where he opened the door and was in a completely different place. They were back out in the pet cemetery where a few ghosts were gathered around going about their daily routine.
The Host sighed and let go of Lillian to go ask for help navigating the staircase. Because that worked so well before. Five headbusts were busy arguing with five musicians about music.
"Your new funko style is nothing compared to the classics!" One of the headbusts shouted. The horn player replied in a heavy voice, "Your old acapella is worn down and doesn't hold up to our new tunes!"
"What good is it if you can't sing worth a viper's tongue?" A moustached headbust replied, his deep voice echoing. The Host walked up to try to reason with them, "Excuse me, I'm looking for directions through the Web of Stairs?"
"Ah! Host! Methinks you can resolve this little dispute!" The string player pointed to him. The Host objected, "This really isn't necessary. I need to be working…"
"Yeah Host, you tell us which sounds better! Classic, older songs that were revolutionary then or calice newer music?" A headbust challenged.
"You mean, new, gorgeous and updated music that can use new techniques to improve its quality?" the drummer asked, sneering at the acapella singers. The Host sighed and said, "I suppose so. Lillian, sit down, you might learn something!"
"If you think its cool I probably won't!" Lillian shouted back. The Host sighed and sat down to listen to the two, "Headbusts, you go first."
"Excellent. What will it be?" The balding headbust asked. The Host sighed and thought, "Do a song about the bride."
"As you wish." The balding headbust replied, and started, "And a one and a two and a one two three!"
Hackaway!
Hatchaway!
I will love you all my days!
So you say!
Ms Hatchaway!
Some say she was a florist!
And we hoped she'd join our chorus!
But she did nothin' for us
Ms. Hatchaway!
Some say her love is lies
Or a fake disguise
And if someone tries,
She's already deep inside
Your frozen heart
Frozen heart!
If her life's going one way
I think I'll go that fun way
And maybe hope that one day
Hatchaway can hackaway from me!
Hack away! Hatchaway!
I'll give the stars and light of day
Don't throw our petty gestures all away!
And though you're in love with your crimes
You're always on my mind!
Ms Hatchaway!
Lillian eventually sat down next to the Host to listen, asking, "So what's going on?"
"We're trying to figure out which one is better at music, old or new." The Host answered. Lillian nodded, "Oh."
You saw our estates
You thought they were great!
We went up to the bedroom
And soon…
"Bedroom?" Lillian asked. The Host quickly realized something very wrong about older songs and covered Lillian's ears just in case.
You hacked away
So we decay
At the dismay
We'll never again be with Hatchaway!
The busts finished and the Host breathed a sigh of relief. The skinny bust asked, "Not too bad, eh? Classy, yet spooky."
"Did you listen to the lyrics! It's pretty easy to guess what was going on in a bedroom!" The Host corrected, "Don't you have any other songs that are a little more appropriate?"
"Of course!" The skinny headbust assured him.
I've got to go away
But baby it's cold outside…
I really can't stay
But baby it's cold outside…
"No no no! Did any of you read the lyrics?" The Host interrupted them. The busts looked at one another, "No, it's a classic, we didn't really think about it."
"That song is obviously about a very specific kind o R."
"Protecter?" One bust asked. The Host facepalmed and explained, "Yes, old songs are wonderful, but perspectives on matters change. What was appropriate once doesn't make it appropriate now. It's charming, but you could easily make small changes to make the song a bit more…acceptable."
"Well then, if you're so stuck up, how about you ask the newer musicians?" The moustached bust asked. The Host sighed, and looked to the Phantom Five, who were much more confident now that the Host criticized the busts. The Host sighed, then nodded to the players, "Go."
A swinging beat began to play from the tune.
Ba che ba de la dadede
Ba che ba de la dadede
Ba che ba de la dadada!
Hey!
Yeah
Alright.
Mm hmm
Zip doo ba
Dop
Dop
Ba ba
Zip leedee
Bop
Bop
Rew!
Shi la dee baba bop bop zing!
Dee la dee and a wop a ting!
La la la dee loppa ding dang doom
Shubuluba hubula
Ring rang room
Alright!
Alright now!
Be cha ba de la deee
Be cha ba de la deee
Zip dop zipper wop
Dance along to the Phantom Bop
Oh yeah
That's right
Oh yeah
That's right now
Zeepa liddle doodie a bop bop raew.
Lillian cheered, but the Host still had a few problems. He stared at them as the Phantom Five accepted the applause and bowed while the busts stuck their tongues out and scowled.
"Thank you. Thank you." The Horn player smiled broadly, confident they had won. The Host tentatively asked, "So…what was the story?"
"What?" The drummer asked.
"Everything needs a story. You could make the best song in the world but without a story it can't relate to people. The old songs all had stories. Some of them inappropriate and insensitive, but they were there." The Host explained. The Phantom Five were speechless for a second.
"Rather than trying to figure out which one is better, maybe you should instead work together to find out a catchy song that has a story behind it and will interest people. You know Grim Grinning Ghosts right?" The Host asked. Everyone nodded and the Host explained, "The reason its so timeless is because it's catchy and tells a story about all of us retiring here to the mansion to relax. So, instead of trying to say one or the other is better, integrating the two will yield something timeless."
"Hmm…" The balding bust looked to the Phantom Five and exchanged looks. "Fine then. We'll…try it."
"We really need some more vocals." The Phantom Five agreed.
"And we can't really get as high as that horn of yours." The mustached bust nodded reluctantly. The Host smiled broadly, knowing he had solved a problem, "Wonderful, now, do mind explaining to me, how to navigate the web of stairs?"
"I think the thespian knows. But he's a little busy right at the moment." The strings player admitted.
"With what?"
"As usual. Trying to impress the opera singer." The thin bust explained. The Host nodded, "Alright then…I sense a dangerous pattern emerging."
The Host lumbered over to the Thesbian, a scrawny ghost with a massive mustache who was hiding in the bushes as he watched a plump woman sing. He took a sigh and watched in awe, flutterstruck with love and admiration as the opera singer sang.
In den vergangenen Jahren habe ich gewartet
In langst erahnten Traumen…
Dass du an meiner Seite warst
Ich wache aus meinem Bett,
Und weiβt du,
Dass du gelogen hast Also werde ich
Scattdessen schlafen
Weicher Winter and Regen Halte uns weider zuruck
Also warden wir stattdessen schlafen…
In unseren traumen gehoren sie uns
Aus der Birke, aus der wir aufwachen Wir warden tanzen
Wie damals Zuruck,
Wer wir damals waren Die Nacht kommt
Und so warden wir wider schafen…
The thespian watched in a dreamy sigh. The Host interrupted him and scared the poor man to death, "Thespian!"
"Oh! Host! You startled me." The thespian held his chest. Lillian kindly asked, "We need your help navigating the Web of Stairs."
"I'd love to, really! But. I have to go in. Wish me luck!" The thespian left off as the Host tried to stop him, and he too sang the same song to the opera singer to impress her. When he finished, the woman clapped, "Wonderful my friend! Wonderful!"
She clapped, then went back and attended to do her own thing. The thespian, in the meantime tried to spark a conversation, "Ah yes, now, would you care to go and have dinner and…she's gone."
He slumped to the floor and frowned, his mustache following his lead. The Host walked up and kindly asked, "Would you care to share the vital information regarding navigating the web of stairs?"
"I would but…I am too heartbroken." He flailed back in a dramatic fashion.
"I see where this is going." The Host commented.
"If you could help me…"
"Here it comes…"
"I could help you…"
"Of course."
"Navigate the stairs."
The Host took a deep breath then called out to me, "Leota, are you trying to detract us from this paper thin plot as much as you possibly can? Would it kill you? Kill you? Just to focus on the story for three seconds?"
"Ok." Lillian agreed.
"You're too kind." The Thespian held his heart. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. I know she loves the song and I know she loves me singing it, but she isn't fascinated by it! She just laughs like its quaint!"
"Have you tried something else?" The Host asked as he rubbed his forehead.
"I don't trust it! I don't know any other songs she likes!"
"Ah yes, infatuation and poor foundation, the model of a perfect relationship…" The Host muttered to himself before asking, "Why don't you just write a new song?"
"What if she doesn't like it?"
"Then keep trying. Not every new thing you show someone is going to be likeable, but if you put effort and charm into it, perhaps they'll like it better than some of the other things they like." The Host explained before grumbling, "Expand your horizons, rather than carbon copying everything you do."
"But…"
"Go. Please. Please before I lock you both in a coffin and ship you down the river." The Host's eye was the size of a lightbulb in impatience.
"Very well, I will try. I shall spend the rest of my waking moments working to create the perfect song for her. I will not rest until—"
"Do this after you show us the way through the web please." The Host insisted. The Thespian obliged and agreed, "Yes, I cannot do it with you two breathing down my back. Now come! I will show you the way!"