Disclaimer: I own nothing. However, if Power Rangers did those spiffy novels like Star Trek and Star Wars, I'd be set for life. No infringement is intended.

DEAD MEN DO TELL TALES

By Etcetera Kit

Chapter Four: Hall of the Mountain King

Eric and Conner went up the attic stairs and burst into the attic. Eric looked over his shoulder to make sure that that ghost hadn't followed them up here. Nothing. He turned back to the attic and took a good look around. Nothing except for boxes and old trunks along with a lot of dust and cobwebs. He sighed. This was getting ridiculous. In all reality, what could a ghost do to hurt them other than scare them to death?

Conner collapsed into a spot against the wall. Eric eased himself onto the dusty floor beside the high school student. Spend a night in a haunted house, huh? He was going to throttle TJ, if by some odd change the Turbo Ranger showed up in the attic.

"What are we going to do?" Conner whispered.

"Find some way out of here," Eric replied firmly. "I'm sure that not all the doors and windows are boarded or locked. We give that ghost some time to simmer down and forget about us, then we get downstairs and find an open window."

"Can we look up here?"

"Do you want to figure out how to get off the roof?"

Conner fell silent. Eric figured that that would be their best bet. Finding a way out of here, away from murderous and crazy ghosts, seemed like an excellent idea. Screw the money and screw what the Angel Grove area would think of him. He had self-preservation in mind here and didn't plan on dying any time soon. Taylor… her name came floating into his consciousness and he realized that she was another reason to some out of this alive. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was looking forward to their wedding.

"What is that?"

Eric snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Conner's voice. He followed his gaze to the center of the large attic. At first, he would have said that it was fog or mist floating around in moonlight, but when it began to take on a form, he abandoned that thought. It slowly began to take shape and became… a guillotine?

Ghostly shapes began to form around it and Eric watched as a young man—a ghost like all the others—was brought forward to the transparent guillotine. Oh God… he knew what was about to happen… and someone eighteen years old didn't need to see it.

"Conner," Eric said slowly. "Close your eyes."

Noises slowly began to come in, as if from a badly tuned radio at first, but then louder and clearer. Eric glanced over and saw that Conner had squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hands. At least the kid had listened. He reached over and covered Conner's ears with his hands. There were some things that he did not believe someone so young needed to see and Conner had seen enough gruesome ghosts for one night.

"Still not going to tell us where the moonshine is?" a man asked. He looked like the prison ghost that they had seen earlier, but in a better time of his life.

Two others that Eric did not recognize brought the young man forward and wrestled him into place on the guillotine. The young man did not respond to the question, only giving his captors a steady glare.

"Do it."

The sharp blade of the guillotine came whistling down and, an instant later, the young man's head was severed from his body. Unlike all the blood they had seen earlier, this blood seemed ghostly and transparent as if they were viewing a memory and not actual ghosts. The scene faded back into the mists from whence it came. Eric removed his hands from Conner's ears, but Conner kept his eyes closed.

"It's over," Eric said.

"Hello!"

Both of them jumped at the sound of the friendly voice. It was tinged with a slight British accent. And it belonged to the ghost of a young man. Eric was so accustomed to running into ghosts at this point in time, that he almost found the friendly tone refreshing.

"I'm Thomas," the ghost said. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Cole asked after you and Father told me to make sure you stay safe." He paused. "You are Eric and Conner?"

"Yeah," Eric said quickly.

The ghost smiled. Conner had turned white. "Come with me," the ghost said. "We haven't much time to find your friends."

"Where is Cole?" Eric asked, as he stood up, dragging Conner with him who seemed like he would much rather stay where he was on the floor.

"He's with Father," Thomas said. "He's safe. Come on!"

"Leo!" Carter called down into the darkness. He had not heard anything since Leo fell down the steps with that sickening thud. "Are you all right?" A soft, feeble groan reached his ears. Carter turned and looked up at TJ. "Come on!"

As quickly as they dared, they moved down the rickety wooden steps. The stairs were steeper and went further down than Carter had originally thought. Carter was worried—had Leo gotten hurt badly enough from that tumble to be unconscious? Soon enough he and TJ were at the bottom of the stairs… and Leo was nowhere in sight.

"Where is he?" TJ hissed. "I wouldn't be moving after that fall."

Carter glanced around. "Where's his flashlight?"

"Good question."

TJ shone his flashlight around a bit, proving that the basement either was not as big as they had assumed or it just twisted and turned quite a bit. His beam of light stopped on what appeared to be a pile of wooden crates in the corner.

"There," TJ said softly.

Carter furrowed his brow and followed TJ to the crates. The Turbo Ranger moved aside the first crate and shone his flashlight behind, revealing… Leo? He was clutching his right arm at an odd angle and shaking like mad. How did Leo get back behind a bunch of crates so quickly, when he had obviously at least sprained his wrist? On closer examination, Carter decided that it looked more like Leo had broken his arm—there was a funny lump under the skin that would indicate a break. There were times it helped to be married to a doctor.

"Get out of here!" Leo hissed, his voice quavering and shaking both with fear and pain. "They want you too!"

"What?" TJ asked. "What are you talking about? Who wants us?"

"Them!" Leo nearly screamed, his voice rising in pitch and volume.

Carter and TJ swung around to see two apparitions appearing in the center of the pitch black basement. Or more, Carter assumed it was the center. His heart—which had already been pounding wildly in his chest, started beating even more irregularly. Cold sweat dripped down his back. Ghosts? But there was no such thing as ghosts… was there? Both the specters were of young men—one dressed in a suit typical of the 20s or 30s and the other clad in stereotypical prison clothing of yesteryear.

"More of them," the prison ghost snarled. "Father must be packing them in to make sure that I don't get the inheritance."

The other ghost studied them closely. "Charles, they don't look like any friends of Father's. They're dressed most peculiarly."

The jailbird rolled his eyes. "Let's just get rid of them."

"You really must get over this obsession of yours with killing people."

The two ghosts continued to argue about the convict's record in terms of killing people and whether or not he enjoyed it. If this had happened under any other circumstances, then Carter might have actually found the situation laughable. He and TJ exchanged a glance—the situation made all the more strange because it was illuminated by their flashlights.

"Charles, Jonathan," a third voice said. "That's enough."

A third ghost appeared and approached the two existing ghosts. They did not seem happy with this intrusion.

"And what would you know about it? You're a traitor. You betrayed your own brothers just so you could become Father's favorite."

The new ghost shook his head sadly. "It isn't like that. Father is going to make amends that should have been made before you poisoned him. These men are going to help him." The ghost paused. "It would not be to your advantage to kill them."

While the ghosts were arguing, Carter stepped over the crates and helped Leo get to his feet. He had had broken bones before and knew that the last thing one wanted to do in that situation was walk. TJ shoved the crates out of the way so that Leo wouldn't have to climb over them. As quietly as possible, the three of them made their way to the stairs. Carter was almost sure that they could hear his heart beating, but this seemed like their best chance. Dysfunctional ghosts… why couldn't he have met that ghost up in New England that stopped people from falling down the stairs?

"Stop them!"

They were almost to the stairs and the sound of that angry voice gave them the last jolt they needed to barrel up the stairs and burst back into the kitchen.

Cole turned the doorknob to a door that was on the first floor of the house. Lord Westmoor had been hovering behind him and telling him where to go, down a back staircase that was the most direct route here. The door swung open easily and he found himself in a small room that looked like it had been a study. The walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with books and a desk was situated in such a way that was conducive to receiving customers or clients.

"The papers for my son and I are in the desk," the ghost was saying. "The law firm I used still exists in Angel Grove although the son of my lawyer was a baby then."

He went over to the desk and opened the top drawer.

"It's a trick bottom on the second drawer," Lord Westmoor explained. "There's a button for it underneath the inkwell."

Cole removed the dusty inkwell and found the button that Westmoor had been talking about. His nerves had been numbed after spending inordinate amounts of time listening to the ghost's instructions. He had not seen hide nor hair of any of the others, but he had the ghost's word that none of them would be harmed. Of course, he had not been able to guarantee that the other ghosts were around—his older sons Charles and Jonathan, his daughter Veronica and his wife.

The fake bottom of the drawer popped up when he pushed the button. He lifted it out and then scooped out a handful of yellowed papers, covered in dust.

"That is my will and the will of Thomas," the ghost said. "I left my entire estate and assets to Thomas. In Thomas' will, if he had no heir, then his inheritance goes to the next living relative that is closely related to him."

"His niece?"

"Yes. She would be old now, but very much alive." He paused. "I trust you will have no trouble finding her?"

He shook his head. Westmoor had named the niece earlier and Cole had not heard of her. Then again, he didn't live in Angel Grove. He just wanted to get out of this house and never see it again after this night. If he imagined correctly, then the others would want to get out of here too.

"Good. I want this settled. I want all our spirits to be at rest."

"You guys have been hanging around upwards of seventy years over an inheritance dispute?"

Lord Westmoor chuckled. "Hard to believe. I doubt that the memories will leave this house—it is full of memory. But hopefully the active spirits will leave." He paused. "There is a reason that Charles and Jonathan ran off the new owners. They believed that they would just throw away the desk with the papers."

"Why me?"

The ghost shrugged. "You lads seemed dedicated to helping people. I sensed that about you the moment you set foot in this house."

"So why did you lock us in here?"

Lord Westmoor looked amused. "Lock you in here? Why the devil would I want to lock you in here? Even Charles and Jonathan, who would want you gone, would not have locked the door. How else were you supposed to leave? Most everything else is boarded up."

Cole was stunned. If the ghosts didn't lock them in, then who did? Then it dawned on him—Eric had been right. That publicist locked them in here. He wondered how many of the strange things that had happened could be attributed to the publicist and how many things the ghost actually did. Then it occurred to him that if they had just stayed in the parlor all night, they probably wouldn't have run into any of the ghosts in the first place. A wry smile cracked his face when he realized that this was all Eric's fault. Not that Eric would listen to that or ever admit to it. He shook his head.

"We'll get this to your lawyer at sunrise," Cole assured him.

"Very good." Lord Westmoor looked up. "You now need to round up all your friends and go back to the parlor where you were. You'll stay safe there." He paused. "I assume that your shady publicist friend will open the door sometime before dawn."

"Thank you," Cole said softly.

"Try to get some sleep. Come, I'll take you back to the parlor."

Tommy and Wes almost fell down the wide staircase running away from the crazed little girl and Andros and Jason had to brace themselves from falling on top of them. Andros turned around and looked up the staircase. The ghost of the little girl was gone and the staircase was as it had been when they had first descended it.

"What time is it?" Tommy asked after he caught his breath.

Wes looked at his watch by the flashlight. "Almost midnight."

"We need to get back," Jason said. "The others might be looking for us."

"Doesn't look like they've had any luck with the lights," Tommy commented.

Andros noticed that they were studiously avoiding the fact that they had just seen two ghosts and were no closer to finding Eric, Conner and Cole. It was almost too much for their nervous systems. They were used to things being very fixed—nothing out of the ordinary. They slowly walked back to the parlor. Andros noticed a lot of shifting flashlight beams, as if making sure that nothing could pop out of the walls at them.

The parlor was as they had left it—none of their things had been disturbed. But it was absent of the people that should have been there.

"So where are they?" Jason asked.

No one needed to be told who he was talking about this time—TJ, Carter and Leo. They had been in the front hall trying the master switch Jason had flipped earlier. Andros supposed that they had gone down to the basement where most of the fuse boxes would be.

"I don't know," Tommy replied, sinking onto the floor next to the cooler and a pile of sleeping bags and pillows.

"Should we give them some time or go look for them?" Andros questioned.

Wes gave him an incredulous look. "Did you happen to take note of how much luck we had looking for Eric and Conner and Cole?" He paused, his voice rising hysterically. "What makes you think we can find the others?"

"Wes, calm down," Tommy said sharply. "They just went in the basement. What could be down in the basement?"

"More ghosts of people they buried down there!"

Andros hated to agree with a near-hysterical person, but Wes had a point. He doubted that there were only the two ghosts from what they had said. It was probably the entire family here like TJ had been telling them earlier.

"Look," Tommy said in a voice that was probably deceptively calm. "Jason and I can go down there and look for them." He paused, looking at Andros. "You two stay here." Andros knew what that look meant—make sure Wes doesn't go completely hysterical. He knew that he had been given that task for the simple fact that he was a father.

Jason and Tommy got up and left the parlor. Wes was huddled next to someone's duffel bag, shaking like mad. Andros didn't say anything. He just picked up an extra flashlight someone had brought that turned into a lantern and set it on the cooler, which happened to be in the center of the room. It provided a pale light that was slightly reassuring, since it lit up enough of the room. All the furniture was pressed against the walls, so it worked moderately well.

The silence stretched on until Andros heard voices in the hallway and Jason and Tommy reappeared with TJ, Leo and Carter. Leo was clutching his arm at an odd angle and he was pale and sweating more than the rest of them.

"His arm is broken," Carter said softly.

"The front door's locked," TJ said. "Everything else is boarded up. No cell phone reception."

"We can't get out until morning," Tommy added.

"Great!" Jason snapped. "We've got someone who needs medical attention and we're locked into a place with no first aide kit. I thought this was supposed to be fun!"

"You weren't the only one," TJ muttered.

Andros didn't say anything as they fashioned a sling out of someone's flannel shirt and Tommy put ice from the cooler on the arm. Leo hadn't uttered a sound, but he looked like he was in pain and was scared. Wes' eyes had widened when he saw that Leo was hurt, but he didn't move either.

"Hey guys!"

They all looked up to see Cole coming into the parlor with a handful of old yellowed papers. Seven jaws dropped at once.

"Cole?" Tommy asked. "Where're Eric and Conner?"

Cole frowned. "I thought they were with you. Lord Westmoor said that they would be with you guys."

"Who is Lord Westmoor?" Jason asked, as if he was fearing the answer.

"The father of the family TJ was telling us about." Cole looked around at all the bewildered faces. "I guess Eric and Conner are on their way here. Lord Westmoor just said that we should all stay here and try to get some sleep. We'll be safe here."

"Sleep?" Leo snorted. "You've got to be kidding."

The house was silent and still as Eric and Conner followed Thomas down a back staircase. Thomas explained that that was the servant's staircase and used by the family to get places faster in the house. Both of them had grown accustomed to their talkative ghost guide throughout the house. He had left them in an upstairs bedroom for a moment while he went to talk to the other ghosts, but returned and was now leading them back to the parlor.

"I know it all seems strange," Thomas was saying as they entered the large living room that could function as a ball room. "But Father knows what's best. He said that you should try to get some sleep once back in the parlor. Nothing will hurt you. He thinks that the man that brought you here was the one who locked you in. He'll probably open the door just before dawn." He paused as they entered the front hall. "And here we are. Good night!"

With that, the ghost vanished. Eric and Conner exchanged glances and then entered the parlor. Eric had expected to see everyone there, but had not expected to see everyone with the obvious exception of Leo in their sleeping bags and fast asleep.

"What the hell?" Eric muttered.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Leo replied.

Eric looked at the makeshift sling Leo's arm was in. "What happened to you?"

Leo shook his head. "Long story." He nodded towards their sleeping bags. "You guys might want to get some sleep. I figure we're stuck here for another five or six hours."

Eric didn't even bother to ask questions. He and Conner found their sleeping bags and managed to find places to sleep where they wouldn't be crammed in with everyone else. This had been one weird night and it wasn't over yet. Hopefully they would make it until sunrise. At least, he would get to see Taylor then…

Until sunrise…

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: Wow! Thanks for all the awesome reviews-- I'm flattered that this story is succeeding on some level. I think I scared myself a couple times when I was writing it. :) I'm also extremely flattered that one of the C2 communities put 'Roaring On the Wind' in their archives. I'd like to know how I missed that. (lol) But thanks again guys! I'll see you at the next update! --EK