Well, here we are again. This chapter is signifigantly longer than the last two, so you're welcome. Disclaimer: I don't own Haunted Mansion. If I did, the movie would have been much, much better. Thanks to all my reviewers, (all two of you). You guys rock my socks!


The hallway was endless, or at least seemed to be, with nary a twist or turn. Doors lined the corridor and creepy eyed wallpaper seemed to follow Paula's every move. Some of the pictures that hung on the wall seemed to follow the same action as the wallpaper. Paula could not prove the action for whenever she looked to the paintings to prove the act, the eyes appeared to snap forward again. She was relieved when she passed those paintings and moved on to others. The new pictures were as strange as the last ones. As Paula passed them, they changed from normal paintings to the macabre. She fought a shiver, as the only sound in the hallway was the dull thud of her sneakers on the carpet.

Suddenly, a door handle began to rattle and a moan escaped form behind one of the closed doors. She jumped backwards into yet another door, startled by the sudden noise. A resounding thump echoed after the moan.

"Hey!"

Paula looked to the door she just bumped into. The annoyed voice traveled through the wood and into the corridor.

"Watch where you're going! This is hand carved mahogany."

"S-sorry," she squeaked. She walked on and behind her the voice continued, unaware that Paula had gone.

"Kids. They're all the same. Bumping into everything and disturbing people without so much as a 'how do you do'."

Now that the silence had been disturbed, noises sprang from all corners of the passageway. They ranged from ghostly moans and shrieks to casual greetings and remarks. She overheard a conversation over the state of the rooms.

"Honestly, do you think it would kill them to clean them every decade?"

"By the state of things, I'd think that it has."

After this statement, the two parties in question burst into laughter and a floating candelabrum stopped at the doors. A disembodied voice, one of many, sounded and the candlelight flickered with each word.

"Don't you have anything better to do than complain about my work?"

"Sorry, Miss Prudence. We know how much pride you take in your work." The voice was full of sarcasm.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry that I've got hundreds of rooms to clean and a miniature fiend to look after." Prudence's voice dripped with an equal amount of cynicism. They kept arguing until their voices faded into the din of the corridor. A few of the ghosts decided to take up singing since they could not join the 'swinging wake'. Paula assumed that they were trapped in their rooms as the rest of the ghouls seemed to be trapped in the manor and its grounds. The sound of a sepulchral piano began to overwhelm her ears as she passed an open doorway that seemed to lead into a music room. The only occupant of the room was invisible except for a shadow that spilled across the floor when shafts of moonlight broke through the clouds. Sheet music was strewn all over the floor. From the looks of it, most of it was unfinished. Notes spilled from the instrument as the pianist muttered to himself with a slight German accent.

"Gotta finish, keep working, keep working. Gotta finish."

"Excuse me. I'm looking for my brother. He's a shorter than me and has brown hair…"

The music stopped for a moment and the shadow seemed to look at her.

"Haven't stopped, haven't seen, gotta keep working, gotta finish."

The music resumed and Paula's face fell a little. She stepped back into the hallway and addressed him once again.

"Well, thank you. By the way, your work sounds lovely." She walked away from the musical spectre and did not notice him slowing to a stop. He looked back at the now empty doorway and wished that she had stayed back so that he could thank her for the first compliment he had received in over sixty years. Shrugging back into his normal character, he went back to his eternal composing.

Paula kept wandering the corridor, wondering where it would end. On her left, the closed wooden doors ended and two French doors stood open. The doors led into a steamy conservatory. In the centre of the room, surrounded by dying, exotic plants sat a coffin. A funereal wreath lay on an easel to the left of the coffin and a raven perched above the wreath. Two gnarled skeletal hands emerged from underneath the lid. A frantic voice sounded from inside the coffin.

"Is anyone out there?"

"Yes," Paula timidly answered the voice.

"Thank the Lord," the voice muttered. Louder he asked, "Is it night yet?"

"Er…yes."

"Good." He proceeded to try to push off the lid with his hands. Paula watched for a minute and then spoke up again.

"Um, I'm sorry to bother you sir, but have you seen a boy about thirteen years old with brown hair?"

The hands stopped pushing for a moment like their owner was thinking, then as the corpse answered, the hands resumed their task. His words were interspersed with the sound of the lid creaking.

"I haven't seen anything other than the interior of this coffin for years. I'm a vampire you know." He said the last sentence casually like there was nothing obscure about his condition. Paula was completely taken aback.

"Awhat?"

"A vampire. It's a very interesting story. It all started, oh, about a century ago when…"

"I'm sure your tale is very intriguing, but I've got to find my brother."

"What? Oh, well. The best of luck to you miss."

"Thank you." She went on her way and the vampire went on trying to escape his resting place.

-X-

After the conservatory, the doors practically stopped. The wallpapers stretched on and a few pictures of ghouls hung on the wall. Once again, the sound of music filled the corridor and the passageway stopped abruptly with two thick wooden doors. Even though the rest of the house was in disrepair, the two doorknobs were shining gold surrounded by two staring dragons. From each of their eyes gleamed a green jewel. Whether it was real emerald or some other stone, Paula had no idea, but what she did know was that she had to go through the doors. Nothing, she figured, could be stranger than what she had already seen. Taking this to heart, she steeled herself and opened the door.

"Well, I was wrong."

The room she had stepped into was ostensibly the grand ballroom. Transparent spooks of every kind danced, drank, or ate. How they could do the latter two, Paula did not know, for some of them, judging by their dress, had apparently been dead for centuries. The table was full of wispy cobwebs and dusty china. An old cake with ghostly burning candles sat in front of an orange haired woman who was attempting to blow out the candles. The ghost on either side of her winked out with every blow. Above the table, level with Paula's eyes, a pair that seemed to be like Antony and Cleopatra sat on the chandelier. Next to them, a small spirit, who looked like he had jumped from the pages of a Dickens novel, swung happily from his umbrella waving a glass of wine. Paula gaped as the merry spirit tipped his top hat to her.

She began to make her way down from the balcony over looking the room by way of a small, circular, metal staircase on the far end of the walkway near the organ. She ducked as translucent skulls floated out of the pipes. Once on the ballroom floor, she walked around a group of whirling dancers, who did not notice her as they spun to the organ's music. Some other ghosts bid her a friendly greeting as they floated in through a door; however, none of them stopped long enough for Paula to ask about her brother.

Paula figured that this party was the swinging wake that Master Gracey had alluded to. She saw the dancing, the food, and the company, but where was the…

"I challenge you to a duel, sir!"

Everyone looked up to a landing opposite from the one that Paula had just descended. Two men wearing top hats and fine clothing stood glaring at each other. The redhead from the table spoke up.

"Claude, Edward, stop this foolishness. This is your third duel today."

"Excuse me, ma'am," the duelist with dark hair and a dark goatee returned with a light drawl that revealed his Southern birth. "But if this blackguard wishes to insult me and my family, then certain steps must be taken to protect our honour."

"I insulted you?! I believe that you have said words against my mother, not the other way around!"

"Edward, shut your lying Yankee mouth!"

They both whipped out their pistols, which they held in front of their faces. At this point, most of the party's patrons went back to their normal activities. Only Paula's eyes remained on the pair. They were now deciding what number to pace to. The redhead abandoned her cake for a moment to address Paula's astonishment. The other guests at the table amused themselves with conversation, which revolved around a betting pool on how Pickwick would get down from the chandelier.

"Don't worry, dear. They do this all the time."

Paula ripped her eyes from the now pacing duelists. "What do you mean?"

"Well, just yesterday they fought over the pronunciation of the word Kraken."

"That seems familiar…"

Her words were broken off by the sound of two gunshots echoing in the hall. The two men had finished their duel and were both looking very smug.

"Ha! I got you. See there's a bullet hole right behind you in the wall."

"You wish, Edward. That hole is clearly from yesterday's fight. It was I who won the duel, just like yesterday."

"Your mind is all wrapped up in cotton, Claude! I won fair and square."

The bickering continued and another challenge ensued. The redhead rolled her eyes and sighed.

"They'll be at this all night. What about you, miss? Can I get you anything? I'm Victoria by the way."

The woman talked so quickly and bustled around just as frequently that she reminded Paula of a humming bird. Before she could respond, Victoria held out a glass of water and a napkin holding a few cookies on it. Paula took them gingerly.

"Thank you."

"Well, we always have to have something for our mortal guests." She giggled lightly and turned her attention back to the cake. "LL, you keep your fingers out of there!" A small black haired girl in a lovely white dress withdrew her pointer finger from the icing, licked it, and began to skip off when she noticed Paula.

"Hi! I'm LL." The girl curtsied and clutched her doll to her chest. "Your necklace is pretty."

Paula touched the small gold cross pendant that hung from a chain of the same colour. A small ruby, her birthstone, was set in the centre of the cross. "Thank you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my brother. He's a shorter than I am and he's got brown hair, have you seen him?"

LL thought for a moment.

"He must have been the one that came in out of the rain. He was cute." She giggled again.

Paula ignored the cute comment. It was hard to think of her little prankster of a brother being cute.

"Do you know where he is now?"

LL shook her head.

"Victoria?"

"I'm sorry, dear. Perhaps if you search some more you will find him. There can't be much more for you to search."

"I suppose not. Well, thank you."

She began to walk back to the balcony from whence she came when a voice interrupted her travel.

"Oi! Watch where you're walking!"

Paula looked down and saw that she was standing in a pair of transparent legs. She jumped out of them and a transparent form crawled from beneath the table. The form stood up while Paula was apologising and she saw that he was a man; a very good-looking man. He was tall, perhaps an inch or so shorter than Master Gracey, and a little gangly with dark reddish-brown hair parted to the right. He wore grey pants and a black sweater. Underneath the sweater was a white shirt whose collar was tucked underneath the sweater. White cuffs showed from underneath the sweater and covered his wrists. There were no rings of any kind on his hands, which led Paula to believe that he never married before his death. He seemed too young to marry anyway, maybe in his mid-twenties. When he spoke, a light Irish accent accentuated his words. After standing up fully and realising who he was reprimanding, he stopped, self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck, and offered her a shy smile. His dark green eyes softened from angry to a friendly and slightly awkward expression. She returned his smile and continued her apology.

"I'm really sorry. No offense, but I didn't see you there."

"Oh, um, it's alright. I thought it was those three hooligans messing with people again, so I'm the one who should be apologising."

For a moment, the only sound between them was music and conversations of the other patrons. Dancers whirled past and Victoria kept trying to blow out the candles. The man was the one to break their silence. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

"I'm Sydney Blaine."

Paula took his hand.

"Paula Andersen."

"So you're the girl that people have been talking about."

"People are talking about me?"

"Word travels fast around here. We can walk through walls you know."

"What are they saying about me?"

"Just that you're looking for your brother."

"I am. Have you seen him? He's about thirteen with brown hair."

Sydney thought to himself for a moment and then spoke up.

"Was he the one that Gracey was…?"

"Sydney."

Master Gracey's voice sounded behind the pair. They both turned to see the master of the manor looking at them with an amused smile. Sydney jumped a bit in surprise, but retained most of his composure.

"Talking about me again? Nothing bad, I hope."

"Of course, not sir."

Paula got the vague notion that the two men were friends, but their discussion seemed strained.

"I noticed that Miss Vaughan…"

"George," Victoria broke in. "Even though we are dead, we're still at a masquerade party."

"Fine. I noticed that Miss…Voyant is over there, and if I'm not very much mistaken, she is waiting for you to ask her to dance."

A mischievous twinkle appeared in Gracey's eyes. Sydney looked over and, sure enough, a lovely girl was eyeing him shyly. A blush crept from beneath Sydney's collar. He excused himself and nervously walked over to the girl. After a short conversation, they joined the dancers on the floor. Sydney still looked nervous and he looked over to Paula for some sort of reassurance. She nodded to him and his expression eased. Now he actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Master Gracey still stood next to Paula.

"Have you found your brother yet?"

Paula shook her head.

"I'm beginning to think that Terry didn't come in here."

"Well, you haven't seen the rest of the house. Come, I show you some other hiding places I know of."

They climbed the staircase on which the duelists were still arguing. Gracey addressed them casually, like their argument was not happening.

"Mr. Huet, Mr. Audley."

"Master Gracey." They broke off their dispute long enough to answer and tip their hats to him in unison and then go back to arguing over whether it was the Civil War or the War Between the States. Before the master and his guest could go any further, LL skipped in front of their path. She clutched her doll to her chest again and addressed Gracey.

"Uncle George, when you have a moment, mother would like to see you."

"Alright, LL. Tell her I'll be there later tonight." He glanced uneasily at Paula.

"Okay," LL giggled as she skipped away.

The pair walked away not noticing that the eyes on LL's doll had lit up to a bright green before she skipped away.

In another part of the mansion, quite cut off from the parties and ghouls, a woman's eyes narrowed in thought. A raven cawed breaking her concentration and the image before her faded. All around the woman were exquisite tapestries and fabrics creating a gypsy wagon feeling in the circular room. Ornate, weathered, gold lamps hung from the ceiling and made some of the metallic threads sparkle in the otherwise dim room. The chair that the raven perched on stood behind a circular table covered by more fabric and tarot cards on which the woman sat. She smiled to herself as she reflected on the young woman who was searching the manor. Little does she know, the woman thought. That she's in over her head. Not only will she find her brother, but a secret that could doom us or save us all.


Hope you liked it. If anyone noticed, I introduced Sydney Blaine, one of my favourite ghosts in the manor, the seemingly drunk ghost. (Hugs Sydney) His name comes from Sydney Carton, the drunk guy in A Tale of Two Cities, and Richard Blaine, who, when asked for his nationality in the movie Casablanca said he was a drunkard. Also, for Blaine Gibson. Some may have also noticed I used LL's doll in the same way as I did in The Music Box Dancer (yeah, I know blatant insertion of another fic.) I'm done rambling. Push that lovely square button to review, because it might make the next chapter come faster and it feeds my ego. Thanks for reading!