A/N: Howdy y'all! First off, I don't own The Haunted Mansion or The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, Disney does. Myrriah, Dustin, Courtney, and Paul are my own creations. Secondly, if you haven't read "Ghosts Numbers 1,000 and 1,001", I suggest doing so. It doesn't play a very big role in this, but throughout the story, there will be references to it. Reviews are very much appreciated!
A TERRORible Haunting
Chapter One: The Return of a Friend
"It was a dark and stormy night"would be a rather poor opening for the author to use, not only because it is terribly cliché, but also because it is a vast understatement. Dark clouds encased the crescent moon, smothering any possible light. Huge buckets of rain poured down far too quickly for windshield wipers to be of any good use. Thunder roared, making it sound as if the very heavens were shattering.
Looking very sinister amidst this torrent was an old Dutch-Gothic mansion, an abode that seemed about as inviting as the storm raging outside. If the foreboding house itself was not frightening enough, ancient, cracked tombstones littered the lawn. They seemed to scream, "Death surrounds this home!"
No one in his or her right mind would be out in a night like this, going to a place like that. But, sure enough, a lone being half ran, half limped up the mansion's long driveway and made its way to the house.
Silently, for the creaking was greatly overpowered by the thunder, the front door opened and the dark figure stepped inside. Lightning streaked across the starless black sky, illuminating the foyer for only a brief second. It was not enough light for a certain observer to discern the intruder's features, but that did not matter to him. The point was that someone had entered his home uninvited, and he knew how to handle trespassers. He just had to wait for the right moment to attack.
A light tap echoed in the room, followed by the squeak of a soaked sneaker. Whoever this intruder was, the observer speculated, he needed a cane to walk. This realization almost made him feel a stab of guilt, but he quickly brushed it aside. Shame was an emotion he did not like to associate himself with and his ego definitely would not allow it.
Tap…squeak…tap…squeak… The figure made his way to the grand fireplace. After fumbling in his pockets for a moment, he took out a match, lit it, and tossed it onto the firewood. Dull, flickering light, more reminiscent of a flashlight with a dying battery than of the blaze of a fire, cast an eerie glow in the foyer. After carefully placing the cane on the floor, he crouched in front of the smoldering logs and held out his gloved hands to warm them.
Even with this new light, it was difficult to tell what the person looked like. Sharp, dancing shadows obscured his features. He wore a long, black, leather coat. The collar of it was up, hiding any facial features below a pair of stylish glasses. An old bowler derby that seemed a little too big for the wearer made distinguishing the hair impossible. Simple blue jeans and black high tops completed the outfit.
After warming himself for a few minutes, the stranger took off his gloves. The watcher, who had been hiding in the shadows behind the "visitor", stepped forward, smirking wickedly. Before he could open his mouth to speak, his intended victim took off his bowler derby, causing a long, dark blond braid to tumble down. Then, the stranger took off the coat, revealing a maroon sweater and a curvy, definitely feminine form that had been hidden underneath of it.
The observer smiled smugly, not taken aback in the least bit. Just because his "guest" was a woman did not mean his plans would be changed in any way. In a strong, velvety voice, he proclaimed, "Welcome, foolish mortal!"
The young woman turned and her face lit with a grin when she saw the ghost. "G. G.!" she cried out happily.
"G.G.?" He stared blankly at the slender, twenty-something-years-old woman as she stood up unsteadily.
She picked up her cane, a black pole with a curved gold handle that was carved in the shape of a dragon's head. Leaning on it coolly, she said, "You don't remember me do you?" With her green eyes twinkling mischievously, she added, "Rampaging emus ring a bell?"
George Gracey grinned as he finally recognized the girl. "Miss Harolds?"
"In the flesh," said Myrriah.
"I'm sorry it's been so long since I've paid you a visit, Mr. Gracey, but things have been a little," Myrriah faltered for the right word, "hectic." She was sitting on a small, dust-coated couch in the foyer and George was sitting on a sofa across from her.
Victoria bustled into the room, carrying a mug of hot cocoa. "Here you are, dear, something to warm your bones." The plump redhead, George's aunt, handed the girl the steaming cup and then sat down beside her.
"Thanks," said Myrriah, taking a sip. She didn't ask where the ghost had gotten the cocoa, and felt that the topic was best left alone. "The last time I was here was for that Halloween party, remember?"
Victoria smiled. "That was so much fun! You were dressed up as Ezra, and your brother wore a costume to look like Georgie."
George winced when he heard his aunt's nickname for him.
"That was thirteen years ago," Myrriah chuckled. With a wistful sigh, she looked over the room. "I've actually missed the old place."
George cleared his throat.
"And you, too," she quickly added.
"How's Miss Carlson doing?" asked George.
"Miss Carlson has been Mrs. Burton for two years now. I was driving up to visit them and to see their new baby. Courtney and Paul dubbed me their little girl's godmother. The truth is, I'm here because my car broke down about half a mile down the road and I can't reach anyone on my cell phone."
The spirits stared at her blankly.
"Um, it's a small, portable telephone," Myrriah explained. She took it out of her pocket and held it up for them to see. George reached for it and she pulled it back. "Just look," she warned sternly, knowing his love for tinkering with any gizmos he could get his hands on. "Anyway, I think the storm's messing up the reception, so I was hoping I could stay here until the weather clears up." She batted her eyelashes andsmiled hopefully.
"Of course, dear," said Victoria.
George nodded. "I'll have Prudence find a room for you so you can get some rest."
"That's not necessary, I can find one on my-"
"PRUDENCE!" George bellowed.
A candelabrum floated into the foyer, its carrier invisible. In a dull, nasal tone, a voice asked, "You rang, sir?"
"Yes, find a bedroom for our guest, and make sure the blankets and pillows are nice and clean, please. And chase out any spiders you find. Those things are huge." He shuddered.
"Maybe I'll just sleep in the car," Myrriah suggested warily.
"Nonsense, it's no trouble, right Prudence?"
Prudence sighed wearily. "No sir, no trouble at all, it just requires me searching through room after room after room to find a suitable bed that isn't currently being used by any of the nine hundred and ninety-nine inhabitants, and then I just have to find some sheets that aren't covered by seventy years worth of dust." After another long and dreary sigh, the candelabrum turned and floated out. "No trouble at all."
"How's Dustin?" asked Myrriah. She had fond memories of the good-natured Englishman whose beloved buggy she had wrecked. "I still feel guilty about the hearse."
"He left this morning to go pick up some guests," said George.
"Guests? Like, ghost guests?"
George nodded. "Business has been… Well to put it quite frankly, horrible. We've gotten hardly any visitors in the past ten years. Some teenagers come around every once in a while, but they're not exactly interested in seeing ghosts." He cleared his throat. "And scaring them is getting increasingly difficult. Do you have any idea how much of a blow to the ego it is when you put on your most horrific act and all you get is, 'Dude, I'm trying to make out'?" He shuddered again. "Today's youth…" he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"What about the guests?" prompted Myrriah.
"I've decided to update our image a little bit and add some pizzazz. I put a haunt wanted ad in the Ghoul Gazette and got a reply."
Myrriah giggled so hard she snorted. "You're kidding, right?"
George shook his head. "I'm dead serious. We've got a group of some of the greatest actors of Hollywood's golden age to help us bring in some hauntees. Dustin should be back tomorrow morning with them. If it's all right, I'd love for you to meet them."
"Sounds fun," said Myrriah thoughtfully. "I'd like to talk to Dustin before I leave anyway."
"Oh sure," whined a voice dripping with sarcasm, "you want to talk to Dustin. Nevermind poor, ol' Ezra."
"And poor ol' Phineas," chimed another voice.
"Or Gus!" a third sobbed loudly.
All three men materialized in front of her. Phineas said, "My word Ezra, is this really that wiry whelp that haunted here all those years ago?"
"Can't be," said Gus looking her over, "she's too pretty."
Myrriah chuckled and tried not to blush. "You say that like I was ugly before."
Ezra nudged Phineas playfully with his elbow and whispered, "Kinda makes you regret being dead, eh?" He winked.
"What have my three favorite cons been up to?" Myrriah asked.
"That's all you have to say to us after thirteen years?" said Phineas. "You don't call, you don't write, you don't visit."
"Things have been…" Again she faltered. "…tough. I've had to deal with ongoing physical therapy, a surgery, high school and college, and my job. The accident left me with some nerve problems that have gotten worse over the years, hence the cane."
"I'm sorry, kiddo," Ezra said, surprisingly sincere. "How's your friend?"
"Courtney's fine. She didn't have any problems after the wreck. She and Paul got married a couple of years ago, and just had a kid. Paul's a photographer for some supernatural phenomenon magazine, and Courtney plays in a band for a local jazz club."
"What about you?" Victoria asked.
"I run a used book store, and I've been working on a novel for the past few years."
"Oh, that's fascinating," gushed Victoria. "What's it about?"
With an impish little half smile Myrriah replied, "A couple of harebrained ghosts with a lot of dumb luck." She yawned.
Right on cue, the floating candelabrum glided back into the foyer. "Your room is ready, miss Harolds."
"Thanks Prudence." Unsteadily, Myrriah stood up, cane in hand, and followed the invisible spirit. Before entering the hallway, she paused and turned. "It was great seeing you all again." Then she tapped all the way to her room.
Victoria sighed with alook of pity on her face. "Poor girl."
"A limp is better than the alternative," said George. "She could be dead." He turned to Ezra, Phineas, and Gus. "Her car's broke down. Think you can fix it?"
"We're your satanic mechanics," Ezra said. "There ain't no make or model we haven't seen. So long as we got the tools, we can fix it."
Phineas snapped his fingers and his carpetbag appeared beside him. He opened it and looked inside. "Yep, we've got everything."
George looked out the window. The storm had lessened, but it was still pouring. "Great, get started on it first thing tomorrow morning."
Some more A/N: "Satanic mechanic" is a very pathetic attempt to get some sort of Rocky Horror Picture Show tribute in my story. The cane Myrriah has is a replica of a cane I have, but the dragon handle on mine also serves as the handle for a small sword that's hidden in the cane. (Isn't that just awesome!)