A/N: I got the names for the singing busts from the book The Haunted Mansion: From the Magic Kingdom to the Movies by Jason Surrell, an incredible book that I highly recommend for any Disney or Haunted Mansion fan. The name Dustin T. Dust is on one of the mausoleums just outside the ride's exit, but the character is my own creation. The name Rolly is a tip of the hat to Imagineer Rolly Crump.

Myrriah and Courtney stepped off of Gracey Manor's back porch and stopped at the entrance to the biggest cemetery they had ever seen. Acres upon acres of land were covered with scattered headstones, which seemed to jut out from the earth, and dozens of mausoleums, some simple and modest, and some extravagant and flashy, stood like small houses. Spooks of all shapes and sizes played, laughed, and danced as a nearby band performed a jazzy tune. Ghouls sprang up from behind gravestones, shrieking and cackling. Wispy spirits rose up from their graves and soared up into the night sky. Not even the most gifted and brilliant of poets could accurately describe this majestic sight.

"Jeezum crow," said Courtney. "That's a lot of dead people."

And neither could our young protagonists.

"Have you ever seen so many ghosts at one time?" she continued. "Kinda makes you feel a little insignificant, doesn't it? I mean, it's like, 'Boo-hoo, I'm dead, no more life, I'm a ghost, woe is me'. And then you see all of these ghosts and think 'Wow, I'm not so alone in this whole being dead thing, and maybe I'm not so special after all'. What do you think?" She turned to Myrriah, her hazel eyes wide with the excitement of her revelation.

"I think your philosophical contemplations are so staggering that Socrates and Plato themselves would bow down in awe," replied Myrriah. She began to walk down a slight hill into the graveyard.

"Really? You mean it?" Courtney pondered it for a moment. "Wait, you're being sarcastic again, aren't you?"

Myrriah turned around. "Nah." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Hey, you're doing that 'glasses thing'. You only do the glasses thing when you're lying to me!"

"No way." She pushed up her glasses again. "So what do we do here?"

"Well," said Courtney after a quick glance at her watch, which was still completely useless, "there haven't been any, uh, 'guests'," she made quotation marks with her fingers, "for a while and it seems pretty late, so I'm guessing there won't be many, if any, more tonight."

"So?" asked Myrriah.

"So, we party!"

"That, my friend, is a brilliant thought."

They wandered further into the graveyard, past the terrified mortal caretaker, who had run away, screaming, after Courtney had walked up to him and said, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Although his terrified yelling had been pretty much unintelligible, it seemed to have been along the lines of "This ain't worth nine bucks an hour!"

"Oh cool!" exclaimed Courtney. "A band!" She pointed to a group of minstrels that consisted of a kilt-wearing spook playing bagpipes; a ghost sitting in a coffin playing a flute; a spirit enthusiastically tooting a horn; and a drummer, who was beating on a casket with two bones.

"Hey!" she called out as she waved to them, "would you guys like an experienced piccolo player to join your group?"

The band exchanged uneasy glances and then huddled together. After a few moments of discussion they looked up. "Sure," said the drummer.

"All right!" Courtney shouted. "You guys rock! I'll be right there!" To Myrriah she said, "You don't mind if I hang out with them for a little while, do you? I don't want to ditch you."

"Go ahead, I'll be fine," said Myrriah nonchalantly. "I'll just mingle for a bit."

"'Kay, I'll see you in a few." She rushed off to join the band.

"Hey, there, little lady," a baritone voice called out, causing Myrriah to jump. She turned around to see five marble busts, each with a name placard underneath of them.

"Uh, hi," said Myrriah to the bust that had spoken. It was broken, the head laying pitifully on its side. She peered down at his name. "Uncle Theodore. Good evening."

"Good evening to you, too," said a bust named Rollo Rumkin. "Welcome to the graveyard jamboree."

"You're not one of the two new ghosts, are you?" asked a bust called Ned Nub.

The bust to Ned's left, Cousin Algernon, rolled his eyes. "Of course she is, dimwit. Who else would she be?"

"It was just an honest mistake," said P. Pock, who was to Ned's right. "There's no need for name calling, Al."

"Stuff it," said Algernon.

"See, this is why I hate being between you two," said Ned. "All you do is fight. And no matter how much we rehearse, you're always flat."

"You guys sing?" asked Myrriah, hoping to break up the argument.

Rollo grinned. "We've been a group for…" He paused. "Gosh, I can't remember."

"Do you want to hear our singing?" asked Uncle Theodore.

"Sure!" Myrriah said.

"Okay, boys," said Uncle Theodore. He cleared his throat and they started to sing. In perfect tone and pitch, they sang "Grim Grinning Ghosts".

"You guys are great," Myrriah said. "What do you call yourselves?"

"Well, I'm Ned Neb," Ned said brightly. "That's Rollo and he's Theo—"

"She means what's the name of our group, you twit," Algernon explained.

"Oh."

Theodore decided to answer her question. "We're the Mellow Men."

"No," said Rollo slowly. "We're the Phantom Five."

"That's not what it said on our contract."

"That contract expired when we expired. Now we're the Phantom Five!"

"Clearly, there's been some misunderstanding," said Pock to Ned.

"My name's not Clearly, it's Ned." Ned replied.

"Oh, will you two shut up!" yelled Algernon.

"I'm sick and tired of your attitude," said Pock. "You're the most annoying person anyone could ever be stuck near!"

"Oh, like you can talk? I'm tired of putting up with your nagging!"

"And I'm tired of your ego. If your head we're any bigger—"

Ned laughed. "Big head. It's funny 'cause we're just heads." He chuckled weakly. "I'll just be quiet now."

"Good," said Algernon. "Now be quiet for the next century or two."

"Don't be such a bully," snapped Pock.

And that started up another round of arguments. Myrriah walked away. After spotting an old hearse buggy, she leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Perhaps coming here had not been such a genius idea after all. She glanced over at the band. Courtney seemed to be getting along just fine as she joked with them. Myrriah could overhear her say something about being attacked by "rabid, flesh eating llamas". She couldn't remember how long ago they had started their little game of thinking up bizarre death scenarios, and she couldn't remember who was winning. However, she did know that "rabid, flesh eating llamas" had to be worth at least five points.

"Hello there," a kind voice with a thick English accent said, interrupting her thoughts. Myrriah glanced up to see a man leaning against the hearse, holding a cup of tea. She surmised that he had died quite a long time ago, judging by his clothing. His trousers and shoes would have been a little difficult for her to place in an exact time period, but his coat and top hat appeared to be straight out of the late eighteen hundreds. Rectangular spectacles sat on the end of his nose. He seemed to be about thirty and was tall and thin.

"I take it you're rather new around here," he said with a smile.

Myrriah looked down at her flared jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt for a second, and for the first time realized how much she and Courtney must have stood out compared to the other ghosts. "Yeah, my friend and I just joined this afternoon. I'm Myrriah." She shook his hand.

"Dustin T. Dust, at your humble service." He blinked a few times. "Or is it 'humbly at your service'?" he added thoughtfully. He shook his head. "Bugger it, never mind." He took a sip of his tea. After a moment of silence, he said, "It always bothers me to see someone so young here."

Myrriah looked up at him. He was staring down into his cup, frowning slightly. "I know there are accidents, things that can't be undone," he continued. "And they say things happen for a reason, but I can never fathom why a child's life should be taken."

The sudden loud whinnying of a horse interrupted him. He tore his gaze away from the cup and looked to the front of the buggy. Myrriah hadn't noticed that the harness for the horse was still attached to it. No horse could be seen, but the harness floated in the air, proof that a ghostly horse was indeed hitched to the hearse.

"Quiet, Rolly," Dustin said kindly as he patted what Myrriah assumed to be the horse's back. Dustin chuckled. "He hates it when I babble on. Poor skittish thing is so neurotic he stays invisible." He cleared his throat. "I do apologize for carrying on in such a manner. If it isn't too impolite of me to ask, how long have you been deceased?"

Myrriah thought it over for a moment. "About six months," she answered truthfully. "It doesn't sound like such a long time, but it certainly feels like it."

"How…" He stopped.

"How did me and Courtney die?"

"Yes. I'm-I'm terribly sorry! I was just curious. I hope you don't think of me as rude for inquiring."

"That's not rude at all. Um." She thought about it for a moment. She felt the compelling urge to tell Dustin—or anyone for that matter—the truth. At the same time, she didn't think she could actually make herself say it. A feeling of guilt washed over her. She was tired of playing the game. She had to come clean sooner or later. "You see," she began, "I—" She paused. There was noise coming from the house. She listened. "Somebody's screaming."

Both Dustin and Myrriah turned and looked toward Gracey Manor. The screams were coming from the attic. Many of the other ghosts stopped what they were doing and looked at the mansion, too. It didn't sound like the cries of scared mortals. It sounded like…

"Emily," said Dustin. "I wonder what's wrong."

No sooner had he spoken than Victoria ran out of the house. Ghosts immediately crowded around her, wondering what was going on. "Settle down everyone," said Victoria. The elderly woman waved her hands slightly to signal to everyone to quiet down. After a hush fell over the crowd, she spoke. "Emily is quite all right. It seems that a guest decided to bring a camera with him and he took a few pictures of her without her permission." Victoria grinned. "She started screaming because he got her bad side and her hair was a little frizzy." The ghosts groaned and rolled their eyes. Victoria became serious. "However, she claims that she saw another guest, who was with the first one, grab something and tuck it into his coat. Due to the camera's flash, she didn't see his face or see them run out. Both seem to have vanished. No one saw them run out of the front door. Which means they're probably still hiding in the house. Georgie's looking for them right now."

There were some sniggers from the crowd. "Georgie?" asked Myrriah with an arched eyebrow.

Dustin chuckled. "Victoria is a sweet woman, but she manages to embarrass her nephew on an almost daily basis."

Victoria waited for the chatter to die down. "We do need some help though. Bea Witch, Manny Festation, search the conservatory, please. Pearl E. Gates, check the kitchen. Dustin, help Xavier search in the ballroom."

Dustin nodded. He turned back to Myrriah. "Could you keep an eye on Rolly, please? I'm afraid he might run off if someone isn't here to watch him."

"Sure thing, Mr. Dust." She smiled and waved to him as he walked away. "Okay, Rolly, I'm babysitting you for a while." The invisible horse whinnied. "Don't take that tone with me." Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of light in the forest. "What was that?" She had a nagging feeling that she should go investigate; at the same time she knew she couldn't leave the horse. She looked around. Everyone seemed busy, even Courtney. She was having a lengthy discussion with the flute player that involved her shouting a lot and waving her arms around frantically.

Myrriah looked back at the hearse and then back at the woods. "Come on, Rolly, we're going for a little ride."