Welcome, foolish mortals to another HM fanfic! This was an idea I've been tweaking with for a few months and I finally decided to type it up. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, send me a review and I'll continue the story.

Disney owns The Haunted Mansion. Master George Gracey is a cast member/fan creation, although in this story he is heavily influenced by the Ghost Host, which is a Disney character. Myrriah and Courtney are my own original characters. The notice is actually from the Disneyland ride.

Ghosts Numbers 1000 and 1001

"Notice! All Ghosts and Restless Spirits, post-lifetime leases are now available in this Haunted Mansion! Don't be left out in the sunshine! Leases include license to scare the daylights out of guests visiting the Portrait Gallery, the graveyard, and other happy haunting grounds. For reservations, send resume of past experience to: Ghost Relations Dept."

"Myrriah, you've read that sign three times already," said Courtney with a huff. "Now, let's just go."

Myrriah pushed up her glasses and squinted at the sign. "Do you see any fine print?"

"No, there is no fine print. Come on, we shouldn't keep him waiting. And it's starting to rain. And I'm cold." Courtney shivered.

"We're always cold. It's comes with the whole being-dead-thing." Myrriah frowned and looked back at the sign. "I just don't know about this."

"'Don't know about this'?" Courtney demanded. She put her hands on her hips. "We have an opportunity to haunt the Gracey Mansion and you're getting cold feet?"

Myrriah shrugged.

"Who told everyone at school all of those stories about Gracey Manor?" demanded Courtney.

"Me," Myrriah muttered.

"Who came up with five reasons as to why Master Gracey killed himself?"

"It was six reasons."

"And who used to take pictures of the mansion every day, just to see if ghosts would show up in the picture?"

"I did."

"Who suggested that we check out the house and see if it was really haunted?"

"Me."

"And who said, 'We should totally haunt this place when we become ghosts'?"

"I did."

"And who made that pact with you when we died that we would come back and haunt the mansion?"

Myrriah smiled. "You did."

"So what's the problem?" asked Courtney.

"I don't know. What if it's like a country club? And all the ghosts are snobs?"

"Then we won't stay."

"What if you really like the house, and I don't?" asked Myrriah.

"Like I'm just gonna ditch you like that," said Courtney. "Honestly, how many years have we been friends?"

Myrriah pondered it for a moment. "You know, I've lost count."

"Exactly," said Courtney, as if that settled the matter entirely.

"I've had job interviews that weren't this awkward," Myrriah hissed into Courtney's ear.

Both friends sat in very old, dust-coated chairs in front of a large equally ancient desk. Seated at the desk was none other than the master of the mansion, George Gracey. He was surprisingly young looking, hardly past his mid thirties, but the girls couldn't tell if he had died at that age, or simply chose to look that young. Ghosts can very easily alter their appearance. Myrriah and Courtney both suspected that George was the vain sort who would make himself seem much younger.

His youth didn't catch them off guard as much as his voice did. He had a deep, almost silky voice that could easily change from comforting to threatening. He was also quite the dramatic as well, and he had a strong aristocratic flair to him that greatly reflected his high social standing.

He read over their application forms, one hand resting on the desk, drumming his fingers.

"You used to haunt an elementary school?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Courtney. "Why? Is there something wrong with that?"

George looked up from the papers. "No, I just thought it was funny." He set the forms down on the desk.

"What makes you want to haunt Gracey Manor?"

"Nothing better to do," said Courtney.

Myrriah elbowed her side. "What my friend means to say is that we've been on this earth long enough to go everywhere we wanted to go: historical monuments, old hang-outs, family members' houses. After traveling, we took up haunting as a hobby."

George smiled. "Why did you get into haunting?"

Both girls shrugged. "For kicks," they answered simultaneously.

"It says here you died at the age of thirteen. How did that happen?"

Both friends looked at each other solemnly.

Myrriah sighed. "Fine, I'll say it." She cleared her throat. "Rampaging emus."

"What?" George asked.

"Rampaging emus," Myrriah repeated slowly.

"You know," said Courtney. "They're kind of like ostriches, only smaller."

"I know what an emu is," said George. "But...death by emu?"

"Yep," said Courtney. "One of the zookeepers left the gate of the emu cage open, let out a couple dozen of them."

"Tragic," said Myrriah. "Two fatalities."

"Yeah," added Courtney. "Us. Scarred me for the rest of my afterlife."

"I'm emotionally traumatized."

"She's got night terrors now."

"And she twitches."

George looked over their paperwork again. "What kind of people..." he paused to think of the right word, "do you tend to work around?"

"Little kids mostly," said Courtney. "They're a lot of fun."

"What is your area of expertise?" asked George.

"We try to be subtle," said Myrriah. "We move stuff, mix things up, turn radios on and off, little things that people don't quite notice right away."

"Have you ever harmed anybody?"

Both girls shook their heads.

"Why do you want to haunt here?"

"This is the coolest haunted house in the world," said Courtney. "We've been telling stories and listening to tales about this mansion for years. We're huge fans."

"Well," said George with a grin, "welcome aboard, ladies." He set their resumes down and shook their hands. "Ghosts number 1,000." He looked at Courtney. "And 1,001." He glanced at Myrriah. "Enjoy your stay at the haunted mansion."