That's the Way the Fortune Cookie Crumbles

Out from the depths of the fog and rain, a mammoth beast with two blazing white eyes crept forth, snaking its way to the mansion. It sputtered and hacked and coughed loudly, spewing white, translucent fumes into the air. Hardly visible through the mists were the old letters painted across the side of the rectangular shaped monster.

Skaggz Cruthers And His Big Band! As seen in the Tip Top Club at the Hollywood Tower Hotel!

Finally, with a rumble and a long whine, the tour bus slowly came to a stop, tipping over a bird-filled birdbath in the process. There was a brief pause.

"Did we hit somethin'?"

A little window slid open and a head poked out. "Yeah, Skaggz. We hit something."

"What?" asked the voice from inside.

"Birdbath. Again."

Another little pause. "They won't notice."

With a hissing release of air and the squeak of sliding rubber, the bus's door opened. A solid looking—as solid as a ghost could look, anyway—man stepped out. In his left hand he held a black trumpet case. With his other hand, he smoothed out any wrinkles in his blue suit. The raindrops went through the brim of his wide hat as he surveyed Gracey Manor. With a cocky grin, he looked back into the tour bus. "Let's get on with the show, boys!"

With tired groans and mumblings of "whatever", the rest of the band trudged out, travel weary. Like Cruthers, they all had instruments too, but their cases were patched in places. All wearing baggy suits and scuffed-up shoes, they filed out. It would not have killed Skaggz to let them nap for a couple of hours. Things could be worse, though. At least they were playing somewhere new. This gig would be a nice change of scenery, they agreed. After all, how similar could a dilapidated old, haunted mansion be to a dilapidated, old haunted hotel?

A band of ghostly minstrels consisting of a bagpiper, a drummer, a flute player, a harpist, and a man playing a long horn, sat in front of the front door. As the new band approached them, they hastily picked up crudely made signs. Painted on them were things like "STRIKE!" and "Dead Bands Treated Unfairly!"

"So the rich lad thinks he can replace us with this lot, does he?" demanded the bagpiper. "Let's give these guys what for!"

As one they chanted. "Two, four, six eight! Better treatment for the late! Three, five, nine, eleven! This isn't exactly our idea of Heaven! One, three, five, nine! Our musical skills are really fine!"

"Unfortunately," said Skaggz, "your protest chanting leaves something to be desired."

The drummer stepped forward. "We've been here a century! And we're not about to budge for you!"

"Yeah!" cried the flute player. "Replacing an old band like us? How can you live with yourselves?"

"We don't," Skaggz said simply. "We're dead." He pushed through them and into the house. The rest of his crew mumbled apologetically as they brushed past, telling the other band to keep at it, and that this whole thing was just temporary, and, by the by, were they interested in some jazz musicians joining them?

After the rest of the Big Band shuffled in, the drummer grabbed the flute out of the hands of the protesting musician. He smacked the back of the poor flutist's head with it. "'How can you live with yourselves?' That's the best you can come up with?" In return, the flute player shrugged apologetically. The group sighed, resumed their post by the door, and waited for the whole thing to blow over.

"Are you nervous?" Myrriah whispered into Dustin's ear. They were just outside of the ballroom, watching the band set up. At the table, Carolyn was chatting happily with Lily. George was suffering through another of Gilbert's lectures on how to really scare people. All around them, the other ghosts were talking, laughing, or pretending to be drunk from all of the wine they couldn't drink.

"Nervous?" squeaked Dustin. "Me? Bloody nervous? Why the bloody hell would I be bloody nervous, I bloody well ask you?"

Always one to comfort, Emily said, "Because there's the enormous chance that you'll strike out miserably and spend the entirety of eternity heart broken, lonely, and too embarrassed to show your face ever again."

"Emily!" Myrriah snapped.

"What?" the bride asked innocently.

Myrriah rolled her eyes. To Dustin, she said, "Just go out there, say 'hi', and ask her to dance." She smiled encouragingly.

"Dance? You didn't say anything about dancing! I haven't danced in years. What if I step on her feet? Or she says no?"

"Just go!" Emily shoved him out onto the floor. After regaining his balance, he cautiously walked over to Carolyn. When he turned back to look at the two women, they grinned and gestured that he keep going. Out of the corner of her smiling mouth, Emily muttered, "He's going to crash and burn."

"You're being awfully negative considering this was all your idea," Myrriah muttered back, waving and wearing as happy a face as possible.

"I can't help it! I mean, he's really, really pathetic."

Dropping her arm, the mortal looked at the ghost. "For all he's done, he deserves our confidence and help. He seems to be one of the few genuine people here who isn't caught up in the gimmick."

"And that's bad?" asked Emily. "For some of us, being caught up in the gimmick is the only way to keep our minds off of more depressing matters. But you would know that, wouldn't you? After all, you were little 1,001."

"Yeah." Myrriah could feel her mind slip back into fond memories. Being a ghost had been fun. Causing mischief and scaring the daylights out of people was something she had been good at. Emily was right, though. It was something she had done to take her mind off of the guilt she had felt. "What," she asked softly, "are you avoiding?"

Emily gestured for them to sit at the table, and Myrriah complied. Her leg was starting to hurt anyway. She propped her cane up against her chair. Emily began. "Did you ever hear about how I died?"

Myrriah nodded. Dustin had told her. "Madam Leota locked you in the trunk, right?"

"Yeah." Emily picked at a lace sleeve absentmindedly. "She was jealous. Of Master Gracey and me I mean. We were going to be married. Before you start 'aw-ing' and gushing over me"—Myrriah didn't have the heart to tell Emily that 'aw-ing and gushing' hadn't even been on her mind—"you should know that it really wasn't a marriage of love. It was an arrangement, I guess you could call it, for money and land." She scoffed. "I was young and spoiled. I'm just as guilty as he is." She nodded her head towards George. "Why do you think it's never mentioned? Why do you think I keep changing my story? It's to entertain people, sure, but also because the truth is not much of a story. My death is tragic, yes, and I was young and beautiful and almost everyone loved me, but the tale of a dead bride who really didn't care much for her groom in the first place doesn't make for that great of a ghost story.

"Also," she leaned down closer, so no one else would hear, "it's embarrassing! George and I never say a word about it." She looked up at where he was sitting. Lily had slyly left Carolyn alone with Dustin and had joined George. "Besides, they make a much cuter couple, don't you think?" George laughed at some joke Lily had made and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She playfully smacked the back of his head with her parasol and then gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Before anymore could be said, there was a muffled "oof" from underneath the table. Myrriah looked down into Little Leota's face. The ghost had just materialized. "Hi," greeted the mortal. "What new game are you playing now, Guess What This Guest Stepped In?"

After chancing a quick look around, L. L. fully emerged. "Is she here?" she asked.

"Who?"

"She-who-must-not-be-named."

The blond blinked a few times in puzzlement. "Who?"

"Shirley Temple's evil twin."

Understanding dawned on Myrriah. "Ah, Sally? No. She seems like a sweet kid. What's so bad about her?"

"Oh, other than the fact she is the spawn of Satan and evil incarnate, not much. I left her in the library with Milton. She was really interested in some of the books. I figured it was as good of a chance as any to get away."

There was a tentative knock at the front door. "I'll get it," chirped Little Leota, grinning wickedly. Happily, she skipped away. Very slowly, she opened the door, making it creak loudly. A teenage boy stood on the porch, dripping wet, and clutching a bag full of cardboard containers with faux Chinese writing on them. A tag that read "Roger" was pinned crookedly on his short. Luckily for him, the band had retired to the graveyard. (Chances are, he wouldn't have been the type to donate to the "Dead Musicians Cause" anyway.) He was trembling, but whether it was from cold or fear, L. L. did not know. If it was not fear, it would be soon.

She stared at him.

"Uh, h-hello, little g-girl. Who's paying for this?"

She did not answer. She just stared.

"Is your mommy here?" He smiled nervously.

Her eyes bore into his.

"Little kid, you're freaking me out. You know, you look like a ghost. I'd swear I could see through you." A chuckle caught in his throat

Silently she stared, stone faced, without some much as blinking an eye or cracking a hint of a smile.

Fed up with the game, Roger called out, "Hello? I have the take-out you ordered. Who's going to pay?"

"Take-out?" asked a voice near his ear. "Chinese food? I love Chinese food!"

The boy turned to see a plump, smiling ghost standing beside him. Peeking into the bag, Phineas asked, "Are there any fortune cookies?"

There was no doubt in Roger's mind what the portly, bluish-greenish glowing man standing next to him was. He dropped the bag and bolted for his car. Phineas watched him speed away and then picked up the bag and walked inside. There was no point in letting good food go to waste. He could easily guess whom it was for.

"Would you like something to drink?" asked Dewey Todd as he walked by Myrriah. He held a tray with one goblet on it.

"Thanks," she said, taking it. Without looking, she gulped, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was. Coughing, she put the glass down. "That's some old wine," she gasped.

"Vintage 1790. Good year."

"I'll say. I didn't think bellhops served drinks. Not that I'm not grateful, Todd," she quickly added.

"There's nothing better for me to do." Suddenly, an invisible being grabbed his arm. With amazing enthusiasm, Prudence suggested, "Let's dance! If we move our feet right, we can trip the rich folk!" Without protest, he let her drag him onto the dance floor. The band had started up, prompting the other ghosts to converge on the floor as well. Unlike the graveyard musicians, Mr. Baker the organist was enjoying his break. He was dancing with Victoria.

Phineas and Little Leota appeared in front of Myrriah with her food. Dropping the bag onto the table, the fat phantom said cheerfully, "One order of egg drop soup and a quart of chicken fried rice."

"Wow, George did take care of dinner," Myrriah muttered. Finally, the thought that had been nagging at the back of her mind made it's way to her mouth. "How was he able to call this in?"

"He probably just used the phone," answered Phineas.

"There's a phone here?"

"Yeah, it's in Leota's room."

Myrriah got up unsteadily. Even with her cane, she staggered. Shaking her head to clear it, she thought, Maybe I drank that wine a little too quickly. Phineas walked by her side, glancing worriedly at her occasionally.

"I can't believe George didn't tell me he had a phone!"

"You didn't ask, did you?"

"No," Myrriah admitted. She should have known that George was the sort who would not give anything unless it was specifically asked for. He could really be a jerk when he wanted to. Still, he should have—"Ow."

"There's a door," said Phineas.

"Yeah, I know, I just walked into it, thanks." Myrriah stood back and rubbed her nose. How could she not have noticed that? She reached down and opened it. Slipping inside the room, she closed the door behind her. Phineas stepped though.

The séance room was not as tranquil as it usually was. For the most part, it was just as Myrriah remembered it. Tapestries of unicorns, demons, and serpents hung on the walls. In the darkness, details were hard to make out. In the center of the room was a small, round table. No one sat in the red velvet high-backed chair next to it. A crystal ball, glowing bright green, sat in a little tarnished stand on the table. Within the crystal ball was a woman's head, which was currently yelling at two figures standing in the corner.

"Get out!" Madame Leota, the disembodied contact for the disembodied, screamed. "I'm trying to meditate!"

The two people Myrriah discerned in the gloom were Gus and Ezra. They stood in front of a table nearly half the size of the one Madame Leota sat on. On that table was her salvation.

"Just one more," said Ezra, picking up the phone. "Geeze, that woman wouldn't know a joke if it smacked her on the—" He stopped. "Er, head." He turned to his bearded friend. "Dial away, Gussie. Give me a challenge." The whirr and click of the rotary phone was heard. There was a brief pause as Ezra listened. "Hello? Albuquerque Baked Chicken? Yeah, I have a question about your premium meal mixed bucket." He tried to hold back a snigger. "Do you have plump thighs and juicy—"

Myrriah slammed down the phone.

"Hey!" Ezra cried. "What did you do that for? That was a classic!"

"I really need to use the phone." She picked it up. Peering down at the rotary unsurely, she spun it. Even though the room was dim, the numbers should not have been that blurry.

"You okay?" asked Gus. "Your pupils are huge." He made his eyes look gigantic in an imitation of her.

"I'm fine. Stop that. You look like a manga drawing." She turned her back to them, knowing that it was ridiculous since the concept of privacy did not exist to the three dead men. Holding her breath, she waited. One ring, then two, three, four… Suddenly, there was a little click as an answering machine message turned on.

"Hi, you've reached the Burton residence," said an all too familiar perky voice. "We're not in right now but if you—Paul, could you get Alex? She's crying. What do you mean the bottle isn't in the cupboard? What do you mean I lost it? Oh, for crying out loud—BEEP!"

"Hey, Court, it's Myrriah. If you're there, for the love of God pick up."

There was another click, this time of the phone being answered. "Hi! Where are you? We've been waiting for hours. Why haven't you called?"

"It's a long story." Her best friend's voice was reassuring. It was just so mundane, if somewhat shrill.

"Give me the summary."

"My car broke down and my cell phone's been misplaced by someone who shouldn't have had it. And you'll never guess where I've been staying."

"The Pop Century Resort?"

"Close. Gracey Manor." She held the phone away from her ear as Courtney squealed.

"Wow! How's everyone been? Can I say hi?"

With a sigh, Myrriah held the phone up as Courtney yelled, "Hey all you groovy ghouls!"

"Hi Courtney!" Phineas, Ezra, and Gus chorused.

Myrriah put the phone back to her ear. "I need you to pick me up if you can."

"Sure thing. Are you okay? You sound a little, uh, slurry. Have you taken your medication?"

"No." The room suddenly seemed to shift, tilting like a boat in a storm. Myrriah grabbed onto the table for support. "I'm fine, really. Just try to get here as soon as you can."

"Okay. Stay put. It shouldn't be too long until Paul and I get there."

"Thanks."

"Any time, mi amiga. Hey, Paul, get Alex into her car seat. We're going on a trip!" They both hung up at the same time.

As Myrriah staggered out of the séance chamber, Ezra asked, "Where're you going?"

"Room. Gotta lie down. Feel sick."

"Hmm," muttered Madame Leota thoughtfully as the door did not quite shut completely behind the young woman. "There are dark forces at work here."

"You mean other than you?" joked Ezra.

The medium glared at him. "I have decided that my quest for freedom has come to a stop for the time being. As you can see, I have accepted my defeat with as much dignity as possible."

"What are you talking about? You just stopped screaming about revenge last week."

She ignored him. "It is not I you should be worried about. Her fortune is grim, I fear."

"Speaking of which…" Phineas stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fortune cookie. Shamefully he admitted, "I swiped it." He opened the plastic wrapper and took out the sweet. He cracked it open, catching a little piece of parchment as it drifted out. After clearing his throat, he read it. "'A change of altitude is in your imminent future.' Huh, must mean 'attitude'."

"No," murmured the psychic, "I think 'altitude' is correct if what I foresee is true."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Gus.

Leota did not answer. Her face had disappeared into the swirling green mists of the crystal ball. Very faintly, her murmuring could be heard.

"Something's up, boys," Ezra declared. With authority, he pushed his derby forward. "We're going to find out what it is."

Myrriah could hear the arguing as she passed the ballroom.

"How dare you dance with her, you despicable piece of dirt!"

"I have had enough of you, Mr. London! I'm sure Carolyn has too… She's gone! She ran away because of you!"

"Dustin," Master Gracey's voice interrupted, "calm down."

Of course, Myrriah thought bitterly, it would be Dustin who should calm down, right? Not the rude guest! Can't offend the guest, can you George? She reached her hand out and leaned against a wall as her vision swam. Because making this whole haunted house tour thing work is more important than your friends, right?

"I think, Mr. Gracey, that I've overstayed my welcome," snarled Gilbert. "There's nothing I could do for this pathetic tour of yours anyway. Cheerio, old sport," he spat.

"This is that Harolds girl's doing isn't it?" snapped George. "After I told her—"

Myrriah tuned out the rest as she stumbled into the guestroom. She didn't know whether to fall asleep or throw up. She nearly tripped on her coat. Had it been on the floor before? She couldn't remember. Poor Dustin. It had been her fault. What was she thinking, turning him into some kind of Cinderella? Dustella.

The room spun. A voice cried, "Grab her!" Everything went dark.