Chapter Three: Breakfast and a Broken Car
The kitchen was surprisingly tiny, especially when it was compared to the other rooms of Gracey Manor. It did have the essentials though, which were certainly a great deal larger than average size appliances. A stovetop counter with several cabinets underneath of it was immediately to the left as one entered. Against the wall directly across from the door was a large icebox that had another counter with a giant sink to its left. Against the right wall was a great oven. To the right of the oven, a few feet away, was a cupboard that was taller than Myrriah. Most of its shelves were filled with canned goods and boxes with labels that were too dusty to read.
"I know there's something edible around here," muttered Lily.
"Of course there is, dear," said George as he materialized. Nathaniel sniffed at his ankles and opened his mouth as if to bite them off. George very nonchalantly kicked the croc's snout with the heel of his Italian loafer. Glaring at the reptile, he hissed, "Knock it off or I make you into my newest pair of shoes, got it?" With a broad smile, he looked back up at the two women. "We always offer plenty of commodities, even for our mortal guests." He opened a cabinet and took out a bright red box. "Okay, all we have is cereal, but still…"
"Beggars can't be choosers," said Myrriah with a smile. Lily placed a bowl and a spoon on the counter and Myrriah took the box from George. On its front was a demented looking leprechaun. "Yucky Charms," she read with a chuckle. "That's cute."
"We keep with a theme, you know."
"Let me guess, the milk is green, right?" asked Myrriah as she limped over to the icebox.
"No," replied George, "but it is nonfat."
"You're a sick puppy." Myrriah took out the carton, walked back to the counter, and began to pour her cereal. "Hey!" she cried. "There aren't any marshmallows! You're a cruel, cruel man Gracey!"
Less than half an hour after eating breakfast, Myrriah was sitting on the couch in the foyer with her left leg propped up on the table. She had found a small pillow to place underneath of her foot. Lily was tending to the conservatory's flowers. Victoria was probably in the ballroom, chatting with some other spirits. George was in his office, tinkering with something. Come to think of it, Myrriah thought, I haven't seen my cell phone since last night.
Everything was calm and serene. Not one door handle rattled, not a single wraith screamed, and the bride in the attic wasn't throwing a tantrum. All she could hear was the light thump of a birdie, (possibly a dead canary), being smacked back and forth in a game of badminton that had been set up in the backyard cemetery.
It was disturbing.
As much as she enjoyed peace and quiet, she wanted to hear the sounds of the Gracey Manor she remembered: the gunshots from Sewell and Huet dueling, Emily's overly dramatic shouting, and the Phantom Five's singing. Even Mr. Baker, the crotchety musician, wasn't playing his organ in the ballroom. Even if a guest had not shown up, they still tried to be prepared.
Have they given up? she thought with alarm. Have the ghosts decided to partake in a less "active" retirement? It was a depressing idea. What would Liberty Square be without its haunted mansion? Nothing but a bunch of shops full of smelly candles that tourists pay too much for, she answered her own question.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the foyer door creaked open. Looking behind her, she saw Gus slink in. "Hey, Gus. What's up?"
The little bearded man seemed confused by this statement. With a shrug, he guessed, "The sky?"
Myrriah shook her head. "No, I mean, how's it going?"
Gus pondered this for a moment. "Good news, bad news."
She sighed. "Give me the bad news."
"Flooded last night. Car was swept away."
"WHAT?" she cried, standing up as quickly as she could. Her heart pounded in her chest. I still had five payments left on it! Okay, so it had been a P.O.S. But it was MY P.O.S.!
"We found it. In a field with cows."
Myrriah's breathing relaxed a bit.
"A cow sat on it."
She flopped back down onto the couch. "What's the good news?"
Again, Gus had to give this serious consideration. "It hasn't fallen apart. Ezra and Phineas are trying to fix it."
"Well, I guess that's a little bit of a reassurance."
MEANWHILE…
"That ought a do it," said Ezra as he slid out from underneath the small, black car. The pasture was covered in almost three inches of water, but this of course didn't affect him. He tossed the wrench he was holding into Phineas's carpetbag, which was drenched and its bottom was covered in mud.
Phineas tapped the hood. "I can't get the dent out." The portly spirit glared at the bovine responsible for the mishap. In return, the cow chewed her cud and mooed in his face, spraying chewed grass through his head. "Eww!"
"Don't worry about it. The important thing is to get the car started." The skeletal spook sat in the driver's seat and jammed the keys into the ignition. After several attempts, and a lot of sputtering, the car came to life. "She's gonna run, just not very fast. Or very well."
Phineas tossed his bag onto the backseat. "The least we can do is get it to the mansion. Maybe now Myrriah can call someone to tow it." He started to climb onto the passenger seat.
"What are you doing?" asked Ezra.
"Well I was just going to ride shotgun."
Ezra pointed ahead of him. "Do you see that?"
"Yeah, it's a hill—Oh no! I'm not!"
"You just have to push for a little bit. It's a dinky hill, Phinny. It's just not dinky enough for the car to make it over with a little assistance."
"Okay, then, why don't you push it?"
"'Cause I gotta drive. Plus, I'm older."
"By about six months!"
"C'mon. Do it for mom."
"Your mom or my mom?"
"Oh. Right. Nevermind. Do it for dad."
Grumbling, Phineas stepped out of the vehicle. He stomped all the way to the bumper. He turned his head back. "Dad actually lived with you! Therefore, you should be back here!"
"Not after the divorce, he didn't! Just shut up and push the stupid car!"
Groaning and straining, Phineas managed to get it halfway up the hill before the automobile suddenly died and started to roll backwards. "No, no, no!" The car won the battle. Reacting quickly, he—for lack of a better term—made himself un-solid. It whooshed through him, raced back down the hill, and came to a stop in the pasture.
Ezra opened the door and stepped out. Then he slammed the door as hard as he could, making the vehicle shake violently. "Screw it, let's leave it and tell her it rolled into a lake. She's better off without this hunk of junk anyway. I'll call a cab and even pay for the fare, just as long as I don't have to see that—" His ranting was interrupted as a ghostly stretch limo sped by.
The limo stopped, and then backed up, and then once again stopped, this time in front of the two men. The black tinted window rolled down and the driver leaned over the empty passenger seat and looked out. With a good-natured grin, he said, "I say gents, it seems as if you're having a spot of trouble. Would you like to hitch a ride?"
"Would we?" cried Phineas. "Of course! Thanks, Dust." He went to grab his bag.
"You're welcome," said Dustin T. Dust. "By the way, whose motorcar is that?"
"It belongs to the Harolds girl," answered Ezra.
"She's not in it, I hope!" Dustin said worriedly. "It looks as if a bloody tree fell on it!"
"Nah, she's back at the mansion, safe and sound. And it was a cow that did that."
"Driver, why are we stopped?" demanded a snooty voice from somewhere in the back of the limousine.
Dustin turned around and called out, "Just, um, talking to someone Mr. London." Turning back to Phineas and Ezra, he pushed his rectangular spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and whispered, "You wouldn't mind sitting on the bumper, would you? They're a little touchy about space."
"Space?" snapped Ezra.
"They've got a whole stretch limo!" Phineas added.
Dustin shrugged one shoulder and offered them an apologetic smile. "Well, these Hollywood types are a bit eccentric."
AN: I don't own Lucky Charms. Actually, I've got a box in my cupboard, but that's not quite the same thing. :p