Remembering everything Leila had taught him, George managed to get to and park Paul's car in the driveway of his house.

He unlocked the front door with the key, and was greeted by the sight of a young red haired girl clammering down the staircase near the door.

"Geez Paul," she said in a high voice that suggested she was about ten or eleven, "You're awfully late. Been hanging out with your girlfriend?" She emphasised the word 'girlfriend' and wiggled her eyebrows.

"She's not Pau-…my…girlfriend," George said, trying to figure out how to lock the door. He managed to get it as the little girl scampered into the kitchen.

George looked around at Paul's house. The interior was pretty simple, with family portraits hanging throughout the house. The place wasn't decorated as unusually as Leila's, but it was still nice. There was a couch and a large black device sitting some feet away from it to his left. George stared at it curiously, and went over to inspect the strange device.

He saw that there were buttons underneath what looked like a shiny window. One said "Power," and George pressed it.

The TV suddenly blared on, and George jumped back with a start, spooked.

"Next, on Nova: Ghosts and Supernatural Beings – Do they really exist?" a woman's voice said from it, and George peered at the screen, trying to find out where it was coming from.

All of a sudden, the box turned off by itself, and George heard Penelope's voice.

"Well?"

"…Well what?" He asked, turning to her.

"It's eight 'o clock! Time for my bedtime story!" the girl said in a whiny voice that reminded George of Little Leota.

"Er-…Okay," George said, and Penelope, who had changed into pink flanel pajamas, scampered up the steps. The newly-appointed older brother followed obediently, not knowing the layout of the house and having this girl as his guide.

When they got to Penelope's room, George's first reaction was that a flamingo had exploded in it. Everything was pink. Pink walls, pink bedspread, pink curtains, and even cushy pink carpeting. Penelope jumped onto her pink bed, grabbed her pink bunny, and snuggled under the covers.

"Okay, what's it going to be tonight?" she asked in a bossy tone, "Make it something interesting!"

A gleam appeared in George's eye. Oh, he had an interesting story…

"Do you like ghost stories?" George asked the girl. She nodded.

"Of course I do. I'm not a sissy like you," Penelope said smartly.

"Touche," George remarked with a smile. He began to tell her the most horrific, terrible ghost story he could think of:

His.

For nearly half an hour he spoke to Paul's sister, recalling the events of his and the other residents' deaths. He told her about the battle between Atticus and Leota, and how the 'master of the house' was killed by being hung in the rafters.

"And to this day…the ghosts still haunted the mansion. Actually, there are nine-hundred and ninety nine of them…" he paused here and stared right at the young girl's wide eyes, "…but there's room for a thousand."

He stood up and went to the door.

"Well…good night!" he said cheerfully, and shut the lights off, leaving the poor girl alone in the darkness, shaking from fear.

Now that he had the whole house to himself, George wondered what he should do.

It was eight thirty. Leila had advised him to go to bed at ten, so he could be well rested for tomorrow. But that wasn't what was on his mind at the moment; he headed downstairs and faced the large talking box.

"We meet again," George said dramatically. He chuckled and headed over to it, his eyes flitting over the various pictures on his way to the couch. All of a sudden, a series of pictures caught his eye and made him stop.

They were all of a boy, and seemed to age from left to right. The most recent of them seemed to be one of a boy with spiky hair, thick black glasses and a goofy smile revealing shiny braces. George was just about to laugh at the nerdy looking kid when he realized it was Paul. He quickly stopped himself and headed to the couch.

Turning on the TV, he began to watch the Ghost program that he'd seen earlier. George made fun of every incorrect assumption about ghosts for hours, and when the show was finally over he looked at a nearby clock.

"Eleven thirty!" he gasped, "I need to get some sleep!" As he headed upstairs, he realized that he felt something he hadn't felt in ages: exhaustion.

George tiredly walked up to Paul's room and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed.

While the rest of the town slept however, the Haunted Mansion was a center of bustling activity. Ghosts of all sorts crowded around Paul in George's ghost, demanding answers and explanations.

"What's Atticus doing here!"

"Why haven't you gotten rid of him?"

"How come you and Leota aren't doing anything?"

"Please," Paul gasped nervously, "We're trying to, um…take control of the situation, and Leota and I are…working on a spell that will stop Atticus!" he finished quickly to try to stop the mobbing. He glanced at his three friends with a look that said 'Help me!' and they came to the rescue.

"Okay people, nothin' to see here, your complaints are being registered one at a time, please take a number!" Ezra instructed while Phineas pulled a ticket counter out of his bag. The ghosts quickly lined up behind it and began to take numbers.

"Bloody hell!" Paul heard someone yell from the back of the line. It was a thick British accent, and Paul headed over to see who it was, as well as to escape from the crowd.

At the very end of the line was a ghost wearing a top hat and tuxedo with a burgundy silk vest. He had a very disgruntled look on his face, and when he saw Paul come over he smiled sheepishly at him.

"Nine hundred and ninety-nine," he said lamely, holding his little ticket. Paul held back a laugh and smiled at the British ghost. All of a sudden he heard a bunch of ghosts shouting his name and looking for him, so he quickly left the area of his study and through the house.

Paul had to find somewhere to hide, not only from Atticus but from the angry residents! He wasn't really looking where he was going, and soon found himself in a part of the house that he'd never seen before.

In front of him was a long rickety staircase with a door at the top. It seemed pretty innocent, but Paul could swear he heard a low thud coming from it, like someone had the bass cranked up on their stereo.

Figuring it was a safe place to hide, Paul hurried up the stairs and opened the door. He had found the attic.

It was by far the most cluttered attic he had ever seen. Paul actually had to walk through things to get through the room; he suspected that, had he been mortal, he could never navigate through the attic.

Paul followed the low thumping and it got louder and louder…he realized he had nothing to worry about, being already dead, but being the nervous type he was the boy was hesitant to follow the unnerving noise. When he discovered what the source of the low, continuous beat was, he was taken aback: it was a woman.

A bride, to be exact. Paul couldn't see her face; she was wearing a long veil, and an exquisite white lace dress. He could see through the dress that there was a faint red glow coming from where her heart was…or was supposed to be, maybe.

It was the thumping. The bride's heart was beating, nonstop, even though she was dead.

"Uh…excuse me," he said, clearing his throat. The bride turned, and he saw her face.

She was young, and had very pale white skin. Her eyes were silver, but seemed to glow in the eerie light. She was wearing blush and rose red lipstick, and looked as if she was ready to walk down the aisle at any moment.

"George?" the woman asked with a gasp. She jumped up and hugged Paul tightly. If he was alive, all of the wind would've been knocked out of him by her force.

"I've been waiting for you for so long…where have you been?" the woman asked, pulling away. She ran a thin finger down Paul's cheek lovingly.

"Uh…er…" Paul stammered. He certainly hadn't expected this. What should he do?

"What's wrong George? Don't you recognize me?" the woman asked, backing up. There was moonlight shining through a nearby window, and when the bride backed into it, Paul gasped with horror.

In the moonlight, her beautiful skin became a dark blue color, and looked like it had been rotting for some time. The girl's eyes vanished, leaving only glowing yellow eye sockets. Her hair turned a brilliant white, and her hands became skeletal with bits of flesh still attatched.

Paul stared at this poor soul, seemingly trapped between life and death. He continued to back up uncertainly, stumbling through an assortment of old junk. The bride walked towards him, and once out of the moonlight, returned to her seemingly corporeal self.

"Where're you going?" she asked, taking steps toward him, also walking through things.

"Er…I…it's just…there's something…downstairs…er…" He faltered, realizing he didn't know the girl's name.

"Sophia," the bride said with a sad smile, "Don't you remember? But I suppose that since it's been so long…"

She seemed crestfallen. Paul watched as a tear fell from her eye.

Maybe his reaction had been too hasty. He didn't mean to hurt her feelings.

"Er…yeah, I remember," Paul said, stopping, "but…it has been a long time…why don't you tell me what happened again?"

He sat down on a box after falling through it the first try, and Sophia giggled and joined him. She began to reaccount her tale of anguish, romance, and tragedy.