Courtney and Myrriah stepped into the foyer just as they heard a door softly slide shut. They looked about, searching for the source of the noise.
"Aha," Myrriah murmured.
"What?" asked Courtney.
Myrriah grabbed the top of her friend's head and turned it so that she was looking at the wall to the left of the foyer's grand fireplace. A small, vertical sliver of light could be seen. It stretched from the edge of the ceiling, down to the carpet. "A hidden door," Myrriah said simply.
Courtney nodded. As Myrriah walked toward it, a look of confusion washed over Courtney's face. "So…?" she asked slowly.
"So, that means someone's here. And that means it's scarin' time."
"Oh, right." She sheepishly followed Myrriah to the wall and they stepped through. They entered a small, octagonal shaped room. Perched along the walls were gargoyle sconces, clutching dusty candles in their clawed hands. Along the walls were four portraits. The first depicted a lovely young woman holding a pink parasol. To the right of it, was a painting of an older woman with her hair up in a loose bun, clutching a rose. The next showed a man with a smug appearance wearing a derby and a suit with his hands crossed over his chest. The last portrait was of a serious, dignified man wearing a black suit and a sash.
"Look," Courtney hissed into Myrriah's ear.
With his back to them, oblivious to the ghosts, was Paul. He was staring up at the paintings with awe. On a strap around his neck was his old camera. He lifted it up and snapped a picture of each portrait.
"No flash pictures, please," said Master Gracey's voice. The ghost was nowhere to be seen. "We don't want to repeat what happened last time, do we?"
Paul jumped, shocked to hear George's voice. "S-sorry. There's something I need to tell you-"
Master Gracey, too caught up in his spiel to hear Paul, continued. "Welcome to the gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests." As he spoke, the walls seemed to be stretching upward. Even the paintings elongated with the room, quickly turning from quaint to creepy. The woman with the parasol was actually standing on a tightrope that was right above the open jaws of a crocodile. The sweet old lady was sitting on a gravestone that had a bust of a man at the base of it with an axe thrust into it. The haughty man was sitting on the shoulders of a worried looking man, who was sitting on the shoulders of a terrified looking man who was waist deep in quicksand. The gentleman with the serious expression was standing in his boxers on top of a lit keg of dynamite.
"I get the other ones," said Paul. "But why is that dude in his underwear? What was he doing with dynamite while in his briefs?"
Courtney had to suppress giggles. The two young spirits had remained silent so as not to disrupt the mood that Master Gracey was trying to set up.
The ghost host chose to ignore the questions, although whether it was to just get on with his commentary or because that particular story was not something he cared to discuss, was unknown. "As you can see, there are no windows and no doors."
"Um, but I just came in through a door," Paul mumbled.
"Well, it's gone now, isn't it?" George snapped. "Now," his voice grew more ominous, "I offer you this chilling challenge: To find a way out."
"You know, if I just nudged that panel again, that might open it," Paul said lamely. He pointed back to the hidden door with his thumb.
Master Gracey sighed. "Of course," he said, most of his enthusiasm gone, "there's always my way." Suddenly, the room became pitch black. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed as Master Gracey's dramatic laugh echoed throughout the gallery.
"Um, okay…"
"Look up, you dolt!"
Paul did as he was told. The ceiling seemed to have vanished, replaced by nearly rotted rafters. Swaying gently, like a clock's pendulum, was a skeleton in a tattered tuxedo. Paul peered up at the cadaver. He studied it for nearly a minute before he said, "You were short."
The room became lit once again and the ceiling was back. Master Gracey materialized in front of Paul, rubbing his temples. "I poured my very soul into that performance and all I get is, 'you were short'!" He let his hands fall by his sides and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He suddenly looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide and nearly watering and his lower lip quivering.
"Oh," said Paul, feeling guilty. "It was great! Really, I'm too…scared to…uh, even scream in terror. Yeah. Aah! See? I'm scared. My brain just had to catch up with the rest of me because I'm so horrified."
George didn't look as if he believed him, but he smiled and said, "I aim to please." His expression soon turned to curiosity and amusement as he glanced over Paul's shoulder. "It looks like we've got company."
Paul turned around… and screamed at the top of his lungs! Myrriah and Courtney were still behind him, but they were now juggling their heads and Myrriah's left foot back and forth. Courtney put her head back on and tossed her friend's body parts back in her general direction.
"Hi, Paul," she said as she glided over to him.
Behind her, Myrriah was fumbling for her appendages. Her sneaker landed on her shoulders where her cranium should have, and her head tumbled into some corner of the room. "Little help?"
"I was wondering when you would come back," said Courtney with a smile. "I put the rose you gave me into a vase so it would last longer."
Paul grinned shyly. "Cool, I thought you thought that the flower was stupid and that I was a big dork." He suddenly looked nervous. "You don't do you?"
"No way. I really like the rose and I really like-"
"Hey," cried Myrriah, who still had her shoe in place of her head "guess who I am!" In a silly voice she said, "I'm crazy shoe head! My head ain't normal! It's a damn shoe! Isn't that bizarre? Now give me some candy! And I don't mean the gum on the sole!"
Courtney glared at her.
"What?" asked Myrriah, the tongue of the shoe flapping.
Grumbling under her breath, Courtney snatched off the sneaker, picked Myrriah's head up off the floor, and jammed it back onto her shoulders. "There. That better, Adam Sandler?"
Myrriah reattached her foot. "Nobody appreciates a good SNL /Sandler bit anymore."
"I think," George whispered to Myrriah with a knowing smile, "that your joking wasn't appreciated for a far different reason." He winked. "So," he said loud enough for everyone to hear, "were you trying to tell me something earlier, Paul?"
Paul and Courtney, who seemed to be unable to decide whether they should be looking at each other or looking at the floor, turned their attention to him. Paul's eyes were filled with anxiety behind his thick lenses. "I've got some really bad news," he began slowly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say. "My dad owns the mansion."
A/N: Parts of what George says, like the "No windows and no doors" bit, is from the ride. And "crazy shoe head" was inspired by the "low cost Halloween costume ideas" skits Adam Sandler used to do on Saturday Night Live.