When You Hear the Knell of a Requiem Bell by Flashbeagle
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: Um, the same as before.
In this chapter: Kim meets Master Gracey and gets a little bit tipsy.
"Miss Fox," a deep voice said the second I stepped into the room. The voice belonged to a man sitting at a giant desk. I could tell that he was very tall, and broad shouldered, with raven black hair and dark blue eyes under thick, arched eyebrows. His hair was an old-fashioned style, and he wore a blue shirt under an old-fashioned navy jacket. He was handsome, but in a freaky scary eerie sort of way. Kind of like a dashing, but evil, nobleman from some movie taking place in the 1800s. I can't describe what was so eerie about him...it was like there was some sort of aura radiating from him. And there was something about his eyes... "I am Edward Gracey. I have been expecting you." There was a slight Southern tinge to his voice.
"Nice to meet you." I said. "Kimberly Fox, Carr News."
He raised an eyebrow at me, similar to the way what's-his-face had. Oh God, I can't believe I've already forgotten his name. Real smart, Kim!
"Yes, I know. Ramsley already told me all about you."
That kind of put me on the edge. It had something to do with the way he said 'all about you'.
"Oh, okay." I shrugged. I tried to find the right words to say, but I couldn't. Mr. Gracey kept staring at me, even more intently than the butler did, and it really disturbed me. I hate being stared at. I don't know why. It always scares me, even when it's non-threatening. It's just the feeling of having someone's eyes constantly focused on me....ugh. I was getting a LOT of that right now. And it's all about the WAY he looks at me...I can't describe it. It's like he's...studying me.
"I just uh, wanted to introduce myself and uh, let you know that I'm planning to start tomorrow. Oh, and that I'll need um, access to any historical documents you have and that kind of stuff." I rattled nervously.
"All of that can be found in the attic." Mr. Gracey said, standing up from his chair. "Would you like me to show you where it is?"
"Oh, um, no! I promised an esteemed colleague of mine that I'd meet him to discuss some affairs." I said, hoping he wasn't able to tell that I had fabricated that very intelligent sounding line.
An odd, dreamy smile crept across his face. "Yes, then. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Miss Fox." He said.
"Thanks, um, likewise." I mumbled, inching towards the door.
"Would you like me to show you out?" He offered, looking me right in the eyes.
"Um, no thanks, Mr. Spacely. I'm sure Rowlandson will do it." I blurted, barely even realizing what I had just said. Spacely? Where the hell did that come from?
He gave me an amused look, similar to the way Williamson did.
"Yeah, well, see you tomorrow!" I said as I walked out the doors.
GREAT. That went well. I totally gave my spaced out ditz performance in there, didn't I? Spacely? Where did I get that from? I haven't even watched The Jetsons in years!
But then again, it wasn't my fault I got so creeped out. If Mr. Gracey and Rolando hadn't been staring at me like that, I would've been able to hold my own.
These were the thoughts swimming in my head when I exited the Manor. Rolferson wasn't anywhere to be found, but I managed to find the exit on my own. I noticed these creepy busts, like the ones in the movies that have eyes that seem to follow you everywhere you go.
It was really easy to find the exit. Turn left one way, take a right, and voila, I'm in the foyer again. It was really weird; it was like I knew the layout of the place by heart or something. I really think that Rabsley should lock the doors, but whatever. If he wants his master's stuff to get stolen, that's his problem.
As I left the Manor and got into my rental car, I had a weird feeling that I'd be seeing much more of Gracey Manor in the coming days than I wanted to.
This would be SO much more enjoyable if the Manor was in the Caribbean on a beach with white sand, next to a fancy hotel that served crème brulee through room service.
I went back to the hotel and changed into some more comfortable clothes, and took a taxi to the restaurant. No way was I going to drive myself. First off, I've never been to New Orleans before. Second, I'm probably going to be in some minor level of drunkenness when we finish eating, so yeah, not a good idea to drive.
I got to the restaurant around 7:30, fifteen minutes later than I was supposed to. Of course, Ben was already there, happily drinking a Budweiser.
When he saw me, he cracked up. "You're late, Fox."
"What can I say? Punctuality is not a Fox family trait. Unless of course, it's David we're talking about." David is my older, perfect brother. 6'2, with flashing dark eyes and shiny chestnut hair, he's also apparently something of a babe. He graduated from Harvard and is now doing something with business up in New York. He's the pride and joy of our family. I'm the baby. My parents love to treat me like I'm seven years old. Ok, I will admit that in some ways, I am really immature, but still! Whenever I would point out how much they overprotect me, saying that they never did that to David, they always say,
"David wasn't our baby."
That never fails to piss me off. But enough about St. David...
"Blaming your tardiness on genetics?"
"When don't I blame something on genetics?" I muttered as I sat down. "Or my parents."
The waiter came, and I ordered a Miller Lite, and we ordered some calamari for an appetizer. Ben and I love calamari. Yes, it's squid, and yes, the pieces that look like little octopuses are kind of gross, but it's also really, really good. As I was stuffing random bits of cephalopod into my mouth, Ben started talking about his new job, which had to do with overpriced hotels in the French Quarter. Ben is a financial travel reporter, because, like me, he likes to travel, and unlike me, he's good at math. I think Ben did my math homework all throughout high school. I never, ever got any sort of math more difficult than pre-algebra. My grade probably could have been higher, but I never turned anything in, due to the Montblanc Family Forgetfulness Gene, inherited from my mother.
"And this really strange group of schoolgirls was just staring at me, as I stood talking with the concierge about inflation for five-night stays, and they kept giggling. I thought it was because, you know, I'm devastatingly handsome, but it turns out that I had gotten some mud all over the seat of my pants and, yeah."
I burst out laughing. Actually, Ben is kind of handsome, I guess. I've known the guy since I was six; I still fail to see him as anything more than the kid who always squirted ketchup on his uniform blouse and could do a dead on impression of Garfield the Cat. Ben's as tall as His Royal Highness David of Perfection, has really bright hazel eyes, a perpetual great tan, and close-cropped black hair. He's also filthy rich; well, he will be. Both sets of grandparents are Mexican millionaires who live in these palaces in Cancun and Acapulco, and both Senora Torres and Senora Hernandes-Cortez look twenty years younger than they actually are, because of the extensive amount of plastic surgery they've had done, not to mention their wardrobes full of designer clothes. Quite a change from my grandmothers, Sherry Montblanc and Regina Fox, both stereotypical TV grandmothers who play bridge, brag about their grandchildren, knit lots of scarves and bake lots of cookies. But, I digress...Something I do a lot, actually.
"How'd it go, anyway?" Ben asked.
"Creepy as hell." I said, as a waiter placed some Cajun sausage in front of us.
"How so?" Ben asked, grabbing the biggest link for himself.
"Hey! Why do you always take the biggest piece?" I complained.
"I've got better reflexes." He smirked.
"You're such an ass."
"Just making that observation now, Kim? So what happened? What was so freaky about an old mansion haunted by 999 ghosts?"
"The owner and his butler, for one."
"That's two." Ben mumbled, with his mouth full of sausage. Most people would get repulsed at that, but I'm used to it.
"Whatever. From the minute I walked in, they both just kind of stared at me, with like, wide eyes. Their eyes followed me everywhere."
"Probably thought you were a stupid ditz or something."
"Could you possibly be any meaner to me?"
"Yeah!"
"Shut up, asshole." I said, rolling my eyes. Just so you know, 'asshole' is a term of endearment between Ben and me.
"If they didn't at first, they had to by the time I left. I called Mr. Gracey "Mr. Spacely" and I couldn't remember the butler's name and called him something really, really off!"
Ben burst out laughing. "Spacely? Kim, you're really something else, you know that, right?"
"Yep. I'm starting with research tomorrow." I said. "I still wonder how the place got 999 ghosts, even though I don't think there are ghosts there." I noticed that my words were slightly slurred, which meant that I was tipsy. "I wonder why they decided to use the number 9-9-9. Maybe because it's one short of a thousand...Maybe cause it's a lot."
"Maybe the inhabitants of a graveyard just walked over and started to throw parties." Ben suggested, sounding a little bit drunk himself.
"I have this theory," I yawned. "That, like the place was built over an ancient Indian burial ground with like, five hundred graves, and then, some crazy guy killed two hundred people at a really crazy party, and two hundred and ninety nine more people like, relatives of the other people, like," I yawned in mid-sentence. "Came to another party at the house, and all died there too, and yeah."
"I thought there were no ghosts there." Ben said sarcastically.
"There aren't. But there has to be a story to why people would say, oh whatever. I don't care." I said. "I'm sleepy."
When I got back to the hotel, I just kind of fell on my bed and went to sleep right on the spot. Well, no. I took a shower, put on my pajamas, wrapped myself under the covers, and then crashed out. I slept really well that night- not sure if it was the fatigue or the alcohol.
When I got up, I kind of forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I was so comfortable in my bed, I didn't want to get up. It took me like, ten minutes to realize that I had a job to do.
"Oh, crap." I muttered as I got out of bed, changed and got ready to go. Since I was just going to spend time in a hot, sweaty, attic, I saw no need to dress up. I just threw on some jeans, a short sleeved shirt, and grabbed a jacket in case it was cold in the Manor. I put my hair up into a ponytail, slicked on some lip gloss, and I was out the door. When I hopped into the rental Toyota, it was a perfectly sunny day. When I was halfway there, the sky was overcast. When I finally arrived at Gracey Manor, the clouds were practically black, it was thundering, and it was lightning.
Sudden storm-like weather? Weird.
Before I go in, I made sure I have everything I'm going to need; five- subject notebook, various pens and pencils, a digital camera, a regular camera, a flashlight, a magnifying lens, and a tape recorder. Ah, the tape recorder. A journalist's ace in the hole. As long as you have your tape recorder, you can have a full documentation of a conversation without even paying attention, which happens a lot to me, as I have a really short attention span.
Too bad I always forget to turn it on. Ben says I should've brought an Ouija board or some mean of contacting the dead, but that's just dumb because it's not like ghosts even exist.
I don't even bother to knock on the door this time. When I walked in, Dillingsham's nowhere to be found.
Whatever. Mr. Gracey said something about the attic. I guess I should just go up there and start my research. I started up the stairs, but a startled voice came from behind me.
"Miss Fox? Where are you going?"
I turned around. "Oh, it's you, um, uh, um," I paused and snapped my fingers. "Wait, uh, er, ah..."
"Ramsley, Miss Fox."
"Oh, yeah, right." I laughed.
"We weren't expecting you so early." Ramsley said. "May I inquire as to where you are going?"
"Um, yesterday, Mr. Gracey said something about the attic, and um, I was gonna go find it."
"Yes, well, please wait here. I'll go inform Master Gracey of your arrival." Grimbsy-oops-Ramsley said.
"Why?" I asked. "Can't you just show me where it is?"
Ridgely, er, Ramsley, paused. (Ramsley, Fox, Ramsley!) "It is Master Gracey's home, Miss Fox."
"Ok, whatever. I'll just be waiting here." I smiled weakly.
He slightly returned my smile and walked off. I just kind of tapped my foot on the stairs and ran my hands up and down the carving on the banisters. Someone sure took a lot of time to carve them, and why? They're all full of dust anyway.
Not too long later, Ramsley returned with Mr. Gracey.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Fox." Mr. Gracey said, smiling.
"Uh, you too, Mr. Gracey." I said.
"Ramsley tells me that you're looking for the attic?" He asked simply. I noticed he was wearing the exact same thing that he was wearing yesterday.
"Um, yeah." I said.
"Let me show you." He offered.
"Ok." I shrugged. As we climbed up the stairs, he kept staring at me, but in a different way than yesterday. I can't really describe it, like he was happy to see me...like he missed me or something.
Disclaimer: Um, the same as before.
In this chapter: Kim meets Master Gracey and gets a little bit tipsy.
"Miss Fox," a deep voice said the second I stepped into the room. The voice belonged to a man sitting at a giant desk. I could tell that he was very tall, and broad shouldered, with raven black hair and dark blue eyes under thick, arched eyebrows. His hair was an old-fashioned style, and he wore a blue shirt under an old-fashioned navy jacket. He was handsome, but in a freaky scary eerie sort of way. Kind of like a dashing, but evil, nobleman from some movie taking place in the 1800s. I can't describe what was so eerie about him...it was like there was some sort of aura radiating from him. And there was something about his eyes... "I am Edward Gracey. I have been expecting you." There was a slight Southern tinge to his voice.
"Nice to meet you." I said. "Kimberly Fox, Carr News."
He raised an eyebrow at me, similar to the way what's-his-face had. Oh God, I can't believe I've already forgotten his name. Real smart, Kim!
"Yes, I know. Ramsley already told me all about you."
That kind of put me on the edge. It had something to do with the way he said 'all about you'.
"Oh, okay." I shrugged. I tried to find the right words to say, but I couldn't. Mr. Gracey kept staring at me, even more intently than the butler did, and it really disturbed me. I hate being stared at. I don't know why. It always scares me, even when it's non-threatening. It's just the feeling of having someone's eyes constantly focused on me....ugh. I was getting a LOT of that right now. And it's all about the WAY he looks at me...I can't describe it. It's like he's...studying me.
"I just uh, wanted to introduce myself and uh, let you know that I'm planning to start tomorrow. Oh, and that I'll need um, access to any historical documents you have and that kind of stuff." I rattled nervously.
"All of that can be found in the attic." Mr. Gracey said, standing up from his chair. "Would you like me to show you where it is?"
"Oh, um, no! I promised an esteemed colleague of mine that I'd meet him to discuss some affairs." I said, hoping he wasn't able to tell that I had fabricated that very intelligent sounding line.
An odd, dreamy smile crept across his face. "Yes, then. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Miss Fox." He said.
"Thanks, um, likewise." I mumbled, inching towards the door.
"Would you like me to show you out?" He offered, looking me right in the eyes.
"Um, no thanks, Mr. Spacely. I'm sure Rowlandson will do it." I blurted, barely even realizing what I had just said. Spacely? Where the hell did that come from?
He gave me an amused look, similar to the way Williamson did.
"Yeah, well, see you tomorrow!" I said as I walked out the doors.
GREAT. That went well. I totally gave my spaced out ditz performance in there, didn't I? Spacely? Where did I get that from? I haven't even watched The Jetsons in years!
But then again, it wasn't my fault I got so creeped out. If Mr. Gracey and Rolando hadn't been staring at me like that, I would've been able to hold my own.
These were the thoughts swimming in my head when I exited the Manor. Rolferson wasn't anywhere to be found, but I managed to find the exit on my own. I noticed these creepy busts, like the ones in the movies that have eyes that seem to follow you everywhere you go.
It was really easy to find the exit. Turn left one way, take a right, and voila, I'm in the foyer again. It was really weird; it was like I knew the layout of the place by heart or something. I really think that Rabsley should lock the doors, but whatever. If he wants his master's stuff to get stolen, that's his problem.
As I left the Manor and got into my rental car, I had a weird feeling that I'd be seeing much more of Gracey Manor in the coming days than I wanted to.
This would be SO much more enjoyable if the Manor was in the Caribbean on a beach with white sand, next to a fancy hotel that served crème brulee through room service.
I went back to the hotel and changed into some more comfortable clothes, and took a taxi to the restaurant. No way was I going to drive myself. First off, I've never been to New Orleans before. Second, I'm probably going to be in some minor level of drunkenness when we finish eating, so yeah, not a good idea to drive.
I got to the restaurant around 7:30, fifteen minutes later than I was supposed to. Of course, Ben was already there, happily drinking a Budweiser.
When he saw me, he cracked up. "You're late, Fox."
"What can I say? Punctuality is not a Fox family trait. Unless of course, it's David we're talking about." David is my older, perfect brother. 6'2, with flashing dark eyes and shiny chestnut hair, he's also apparently something of a babe. He graduated from Harvard and is now doing something with business up in New York. He's the pride and joy of our family. I'm the baby. My parents love to treat me like I'm seven years old. Ok, I will admit that in some ways, I am really immature, but still! Whenever I would point out how much they overprotect me, saying that they never did that to David, they always say,
"David wasn't our baby."
That never fails to piss me off. But enough about St. David...
"Blaming your tardiness on genetics?"
"When don't I blame something on genetics?" I muttered as I sat down. "Or my parents."
The waiter came, and I ordered a Miller Lite, and we ordered some calamari for an appetizer. Ben and I love calamari. Yes, it's squid, and yes, the pieces that look like little octopuses are kind of gross, but it's also really, really good. As I was stuffing random bits of cephalopod into my mouth, Ben started talking about his new job, which had to do with overpriced hotels in the French Quarter. Ben is a financial travel reporter, because, like me, he likes to travel, and unlike me, he's good at math. I think Ben did my math homework all throughout high school. I never, ever got any sort of math more difficult than pre-algebra. My grade probably could have been higher, but I never turned anything in, due to the Montblanc Family Forgetfulness Gene, inherited from my mother.
"And this really strange group of schoolgirls was just staring at me, as I stood talking with the concierge about inflation for five-night stays, and they kept giggling. I thought it was because, you know, I'm devastatingly handsome, but it turns out that I had gotten some mud all over the seat of my pants and, yeah."
I burst out laughing. Actually, Ben is kind of handsome, I guess. I've known the guy since I was six; I still fail to see him as anything more than the kid who always squirted ketchup on his uniform blouse and could do a dead on impression of Garfield the Cat. Ben's as tall as His Royal Highness David of Perfection, has really bright hazel eyes, a perpetual great tan, and close-cropped black hair. He's also filthy rich; well, he will be. Both sets of grandparents are Mexican millionaires who live in these palaces in Cancun and Acapulco, and both Senora Torres and Senora Hernandes-Cortez look twenty years younger than they actually are, because of the extensive amount of plastic surgery they've had done, not to mention their wardrobes full of designer clothes. Quite a change from my grandmothers, Sherry Montblanc and Regina Fox, both stereotypical TV grandmothers who play bridge, brag about their grandchildren, knit lots of scarves and bake lots of cookies. But, I digress...Something I do a lot, actually.
"How'd it go, anyway?" Ben asked.
"Creepy as hell." I said, as a waiter placed some Cajun sausage in front of us.
"How so?" Ben asked, grabbing the biggest link for himself.
"Hey! Why do you always take the biggest piece?" I complained.
"I've got better reflexes." He smirked.
"You're such an ass."
"Just making that observation now, Kim? So what happened? What was so freaky about an old mansion haunted by 999 ghosts?"
"The owner and his butler, for one."
"That's two." Ben mumbled, with his mouth full of sausage. Most people would get repulsed at that, but I'm used to it.
"Whatever. From the minute I walked in, they both just kind of stared at me, with like, wide eyes. Their eyes followed me everywhere."
"Probably thought you were a stupid ditz or something."
"Could you possibly be any meaner to me?"
"Yeah!"
"Shut up, asshole." I said, rolling my eyes. Just so you know, 'asshole' is a term of endearment between Ben and me.
"If they didn't at first, they had to by the time I left. I called Mr. Gracey "Mr. Spacely" and I couldn't remember the butler's name and called him something really, really off!"
Ben burst out laughing. "Spacely? Kim, you're really something else, you know that, right?"
"Yep. I'm starting with research tomorrow." I said. "I still wonder how the place got 999 ghosts, even though I don't think there are ghosts there." I noticed that my words were slightly slurred, which meant that I was tipsy. "I wonder why they decided to use the number 9-9-9. Maybe because it's one short of a thousand...Maybe cause it's a lot."
"Maybe the inhabitants of a graveyard just walked over and started to throw parties." Ben suggested, sounding a little bit drunk himself.
"I have this theory," I yawned. "That, like the place was built over an ancient Indian burial ground with like, five hundred graves, and then, some crazy guy killed two hundred people at a really crazy party, and two hundred and ninety nine more people like, relatives of the other people, like," I yawned in mid-sentence. "Came to another party at the house, and all died there too, and yeah."
"I thought there were no ghosts there." Ben said sarcastically.
"There aren't. But there has to be a story to why people would say, oh whatever. I don't care." I said. "I'm sleepy."
When I got back to the hotel, I just kind of fell on my bed and went to sleep right on the spot. Well, no. I took a shower, put on my pajamas, wrapped myself under the covers, and then crashed out. I slept really well that night- not sure if it was the fatigue or the alcohol.
When I got up, I kind of forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I was so comfortable in my bed, I didn't want to get up. It took me like, ten minutes to realize that I had a job to do.
"Oh, crap." I muttered as I got out of bed, changed and got ready to go. Since I was just going to spend time in a hot, sweaty, attic, I saw no need to dress up. I just threw on some jeans, a short sleeved shirt, and grabbed a jacket in case it was cold in the Manor. I put my hair up into a ponytail, slicked on some lip gloss, and I was out the door. When I hopped into the rental Toyota, it was a perfectly sunny day. When I was halfway there, the sky was overcast. When I finally arrived at Gracey Manor, the clouds were practically black, it was thundering, and it was lightning.
Sudden storm-like weather? Weird.
Before I go in, I made sure I have everything I'm going to need; five- subject notebook, various pens and pencils, a digital camera, a regular camera, a flashlight, a magnifying lens, and a tape recorder. Ah, the tape recorder. A journalist's ace in the hole. As long as you have your tape recorder, you can have a full documentation of a conversation without even paying attention, which happens a lot to me, as I have a really short attention span.
Too bad I always forget to turn it on. Ben says I should've brought an Ouija board or some mean of contacting the dead, but that's just dumb because it's not like ghosts even exist.
I don't even bother to knock on the door this time. When I walked in, Dillingsham's nowhere to be found.
Whatever. Mr. Gracey said something about the attic. I guess I should just go up there and start my research. I started up the stairs, but a startled voice came from behind me.
"Miss Fox? Where are you going?"
I turned around. "Oh, it's you, um, uh, um," I paused and snapped my fingers. "Wait, uh, er, ah..."
"Ramsley, Miss Fox."
"Oh, yeah, right." I laughed.
"We weren't expecting you so early." Ramsley said. "May I inquire as to where you are going?"
"Um, yesterday, Mr. Gracey said something about the attic, and um, I was gonna go find it."
"Yes, well, please wait here. I'll go inform Master Gracey of your arrival." Grimbsy-oops-Ramsley said.
"Why?" I asked. "Can't you just show me where it is?"
Ridgely, er, Ramsley, paused. (Ramsley, Fox, Ramsley!) "It is Master Gracey's home, Miss Fox."
"Ok, whatever. I'll just be waiting here." I smiled weakly.
He slightly returned my smile and walked off. I just kind of tapped my foot on the stairs and ran my hands up and down the carving on the banisters. Someone sure took a lot of time to carve them, and why? They're all full of dust anyway.
Not too long later, Ramsley returned with Mr. Gracey.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Fox." Mr. Gracey said, smiling.
"Uh, you too, Mr. Gracey." I said.
"Ramsley tells me that you're looking for the attic?" He asked simply. I noticed he was wearing the exact same thing that he was wearing yesterday.
"Um, yeah." I said.
"Let me show you." He offered.
"Ok." I shrugged. As we climbed up the stairs, he kept staring at me, but in a different way than yesterday. I can't really describe it, like he was happy to see me...like he missed me or something.