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Chapter V
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Sleep had not been an easy thing to achieve that night. Rattled as he was, Stanley kept tossing and turning, unable to slip into a quiet comfort zone. When he did manage to doze, ghastly images filled his dreams. He kept seeing the mansion in his mind, like a hungry entity waiting to lure him into itself. And then he would see the trio of ghosts, leering at him, drawing nearer and nearer…
Snapping awake, Stanley sat bolt upright in bed and stifled a gasp. He felt exhausted, and it took him several moments to get his breathing back under control. He stared blankly at the sheets covering his legs, head swimming. He was almost afraid to avert his eyes, worried he might glimpse something he did not want to see.
Yet he did, and was glad that he was still surrounded by a standard motel room, daylight filtering in from around the curtain drawn over the window. In the other bed, Martin snored quietly, on leg hanging off at a strange angle. Stanley smirked and swung his feet out onto the carpet, crossing the room to the bathroom. Things were normal, as they should be.
He almost laughed as he splashed cold water from the sink on his face. What he had witnessed the night prior seemed ridiculous here and now. Martin gassed him up with ghost stories, and the mansion's strange décor added to it. His mind was playing tricks on him, obviously; making a nervous wreck out of him. He was appreciative to his cousin for simply getting them back into town and finding a place to stay for the night. He hadn't told Martin about his imagined ghouls in the backseat, too freaked at the time to manage the words. And he intended to keep that unknown.
Stanley felt a chill run up his spine, and he rubbed his arms. It was a little chilly in here. He was just to turn off the room's AC when two things happened:
First, he realized the AC wasn't on. They'd turned it off before turning in for the night.
Second, he looked up at the bathroom mirror and saw them again.
With the bathroom door open, the mirror managed to reflect most of the motel room. And they were in it – pale blue, transparent, and hazy. The tall, near-skeletal one with the bowler hat and the sunken eyes was looking at the little TV set on the dresser, one gnarled hand on his chin. The chubby round-faced specter, sporting a top hat and a carpetbag in one hand, also stared at the TV with a quizzical smile. The third one sat on the edge of his bed, a little figure whose entire face was hidden by long unruly hair and a beard, twiddling his thumbs. This one was dressed in a simple smock or gown, and Stanley saw a spectral ball and chain shackled to his ankle.
He blinked stupidly, his mind numb. Slack-jawed, he turned and looked at the room. No sign of the things in the mirror. He looked back. They were still reflected there. The two standing phantoms were nodding to each other, and while Top Hat set his carpetbag down and opened it, Skinny rubbed his hands together and reached for the TV, a glint in his eye.
"Martin!" Stanley cried weakly, his voice catching in his throat and coming out as a squeak. He coughed and spun on his heel, dashing over to his cousin and shaking his shoulder. "Martin! Get up!"
Martin snorted and rolled over, pulling a sheet over his head. He murmured something unintelligible.
Frustrated, Stanley grabbed the edge of the mattress and lifted it. The sudden movement sent Martin tumbling out of bed and onto the floor opposite. He fumbled about, caught in the covers, and tripped again the moment he stood up. Stanley ran around the bed to find Martin sitting there, a sleepy grin on his face.
"Morning already, cuz?" He yawned. "Where's the fire?"
Without warning, Stanley hauled Martin up by the collar of his pajamas and dragged him into the bathroom, pointing him toward the mirror.
"There!" said Stanley. "What do you see?"
Martin rubbed his eyes and stared at the mirror. "Well, not much without my glasses."
Stanley moaned. Looking into the mirror, he saw both he and Martin, but no sign of the three ghosts – the three figments of his imagination. Stanley kicked himself mentally. Was he going completely nuts?
Shaking, he sat down on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands, massaging his temples. It made no sense. None.
"Cripes, it's cold in here Stan," he heard Martin say. A moment later, light flooded the room as the curtain was pulled back. "Hey cuz, you alright? You don't look so hot."
Stanley groaned. "Understatement of the year," he said.
"Come to think of it," continued Martin, "you've been real jumpy since last night. I don't blame you. It was pretty creepy over there."
This elicited another groan. "I'm just…I dunno. I'm seeing things, and it's freaking me out." He looked up at Martin, who was just putting on his glasses. "Don't even start about ghosts, though. I know I'm not seeing ghosts, because-"
"Because ghosts don't exist," Martin finished for him. He chuckled. "And I wasn't going to say anything about it. Maybe it's just night terrors or something." He shrugged.
That was possible. Stanley hoped it was just the lingering effects of a dream, or insomnia, or something other than his sanity. How was he supposed to explain, though, the hitchhikers popping up again and again? Or the panic he had experienced while in that dark, octagonal room? He hadn't felt anything like that for years. Not until last night. Not until he had started down that shadowy road toward the mansion.
It all settled around the mansion, he realized. Something there had triggered a forgotten part of his subconscious, and he knew it. But why?
And he suddenly remembered Uncle Yale's final message to him: Keep your head, and keep a stiff upper lip! Did he know something about this?
Too many questions, not enough answers – Stanley rightly felt that he was entangled in something big by this point. And he wouldn't back out.
Stanley got to his feet. "How soon can we go back to the estate?" he asked.
Martin looked surprised. "Oh? Well, I was hoping to get some positive feedback off my EVP device, see if I picked up anything." He gave a thumbs-up and grinned. "After that, though, I'm ready to hit the road."
"Good," said Stanley. "The sooner the better."
"Why rush?" Martin exclaimed, putting an arm around Stanley's shoulders. "I mean, even if you're not a believer in the supernatural, its best we go in the evening. We've got the whole day ahead of us, and I haven't even eaten breakfast." He chuckled, patting his cousin on the back. "But if you're looking for answers, than you might be inclined to poke around in the same place I want to go."
Stanley looked Martin in the eye. "Which is…?"
Martin winked. "Trust me on this one, Stan."
---
"Le Bat en Rouge?"
Martin smiled as he hopped out of the van. "Charming, isn't it?"
"Charming" wasn't exactly the word Stanley would apply to the strange shop. It was located in one of the winding, narrow side streets in old New Orleans, and the building it was a part of looked like it had been there since at least the early 1900's, judging from its architecture. The shop itself was easy to spot, its front windows hung with purple and black drapes and the bat-shaped iron sign that hung above the front door. The window display was a clutter of dusty objects, and on the wall above were painted the words "Antiques, Curios and Macabre Trinkets," in a flowing, red-colored script.
For once that day, Stanley cracked a smile. "Looks like your kinda place, Martin. You been here before?"
Martin shook his head. "I've read about it. You remember my insider friend? She works here, and I figured we'd stop in and say hello. She's a wealth of information about your place, I'll tell you what."
Stanley nodded. "You did mention her a couple times." He took a step over to the window display, peering through the dirty glass into the shadowy interior of the shop. A faded purple card was propped against some of the odds-and-ends in the window, advertising "Fortunes Told! Palm Reading, Teas Leaves, Crystal Gazing." It didn't give the medium's name, and Stanley wondered if it was just another antique or if it was for a service of Le Bat en Rouge.
Martin was opening the van's side door. "I'll head in a sec, alright? Gotta grab a couple things for the EVP test." As he rummaged around through the mess of books, Stanley smirked and turned back to the window.
There they were again. It was somehow less startling than before, but it was still a dull punch to the guts for Stanley. Reflected in the window, he saw the hitchhikers clamber out of the van, passing right through Martin's books and stepping around the younger cousin. Skinny grinned a horrible grin as he took in the surroundings, absently twirling his bowler derby between his fingers and setting it back on his head. Top Hat was trying to help Beardy out of the van, the shorter phantom struggling against the ball and chain he lugged behind him. With a tug on the arm, Top Hat pulled Beardy clear, and his transparent ball fell right through Martin's foot. Stanley gasped.
Martin didn't flinch, didn't even notice them there. All three ghosts looked at each other nervously, then at Beardy's ball and chain. The shaggy dwarf of an apparition finally shrugged and pulled at his shackle, rolling the ball clear of Martin.
Stanley shot a quick glance behind him – the scene was devoid of spirits, as he'd expected – and then quickly ducked into the shop.
Once inside, Stanley put a hand on his forehead and shook his head, barely taking in his surroundings. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he really was starting to crack up, seeing things that weren't there. He knew he was better than this, but he had to find a way to shake this off.
Somehow, he found the atmosphere of the shop soothing. There was musty, shoe-polish sort of smell; very faint but prevalent in the air. The shop itself looked like a cross between a museum, a roadside attraction, and someone's storage space. All manner of antique objects filled every available cranny and nook, either crammed onto wall shelves and freestanding cabinets or sitting on the floor, if they were big enough. Stanley practically bumped into an authentic-looking suit of armor as he took everything in. Even with the weak light that entered the shop through the grimy windows, he could tell the owners had packed a lot of stuff into a small room.
Near the back wall was a counter, where Stanley could hear faint Grunge music emanating. Cautiously, he made his way around the fragile-looking knickknacks toward it. The music, he saw, was coming from the set of headphones that the girl behind the counter wore – a girl that seemed to fit the word "Goth" to the letter. She had short, spiked black hair, a nose ring, black lipstick and mascara around her eyes, and was dressed almost entirely in black, preppy clothing. Her Converse (also black) were parked up on the countertop as she reclined back in a chair, reading a magazine and bobbing her head to the heavy beat.
Stanley stared for a moment. The girl was obviously unaware of his presence. Clearing his throat, he said, "Excuse me. Miss?"
No response. Stanley leaned against the counter and tried again. "Excuse me. Hello?"
The Goth girl flipped a page of her magazine, head nodding.
With a sigh, Stanley looked around the immediate area. Spying a portable CD player on the counter, Stanley casually hit the Pause button.
The music ceased. The girl, blinking, lifted one of the phones from here ear, and looked up, in an instant noticing Stanley. Her expression went from confusion to something like boredom.
"'Sup?" she said casually, sliding her feet off the counter.
Stanley wasn't sure what to say. He was a little surprised by the girl's audacity. He was a potential customer, after all. Even so, he kept going. "You work here?"
The girl almost rolled her eyes, but caught herself. "Sure do. What's up? You looking for something?" Before Stanley could speak, the Goth gestured behind her to a paint-chipped wooden door marked Employees Only. "If it's psychic stuff, can't help you. Ms. Audrey's upstairs with a cold, and it's 'clouding her vision,' or something."
Stanley smirked. "No. I'm just browsing. I heard this place had some good information on the local folklore."
The girl remained neutral. "Fab. You're in the right place for it, then. What do you want to know about?"
Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, he heard the door of the shop open and close. Both he and the girl looked up to see Martin, nearly hidden behind an armful of audio equipment, toddle into the room. He peered awkwardly around his burden at them, spotted the girl, and grinned.
"Zoe!"
The Goth's face broke into a similar grin, and she squealed. "Martin the Spartan!" she exclaimed. She moved around the counter and was at Martin's side in an instant, carefully grabbing some of the things he carried. "Cripes, you got a lot of stuff! Lemme help."
"Thanks," sighed Martin with relief. He noticed that Stanley was snickering quietly. "What's so funny?"
Stanley just waved a hand and went on chuckling. Martin the Spartan, he thought to himself with amusement. On the plus, he now knew who Martin's mysterious insider was, and how appropriately she fit that role. Everything seemed pretty silly right now, and it felt good to laugh.
"Glad to see you!" Zoe was saying, taking the objects back behind the counter. "I've been – Oh, you can put that stuff down there. It's chill."
Martin carefully set his hodgepodge of devices down against the wall. Most if it looked like old audio-mixing equipment, along with the tape deck Martin had used earlier. Once his hands were free, he turned to Zoe, and the two of them performed a complicated series of hand movements that Stanley could only surmise as a secret handshake of sorts. Giggling, Zoe gave Martin an energetic hug.
"How've you been?" she was saying. "Have you been over to the Gracey house yet? Oh jeez! Did you see anything creepy?"
Chuckling, Martin managed to pull away from the now-perky Goth. "One thing at a time, girl! I've barely gotten in the door!" He glanced at Stanley, then back to Zoe. "I've been doing alright. Can't complain, really. Just had an amazing stroke of luck with the whole mansion thing. That's why I'm here." He pointed to the equipment on the floor. "I was hoping you'd help me with the EVP."
"You bet!" she replied, nodding vigorously.
Stanley, watching the two of them, felt he had effectively faded into the background as much as the forgotten antiques. He coughed loudly, getting their attention. Then he said, "Mind introducing me to you friend, Martin?"
"Oh!" Martin laughed. "Right! Zoe, this is my cousin Stanley. He's the one who owns the mansion now."
Zoe was across the room in an instant, startling Stanley as she zipped over to him. "Fab!" she said enviously, sticking out a hand to shake. "Nice to meet 'cha! How was the place? You been inside yet?"
Stanley backed away slightly, bumping against the counter. "Yeah," he managed. The sudden change from indifferent to energetic made this girl a little unnerving. He added, "We didn't get very far in."
"Too bad," sighed Zoe. "I was hoping for some stories. Still, at least you crossed the threshold!" She laughed. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to take a look inside!"
Nodding, Stanley looked past her at Martin, who was grinning from ear to self-satisfied ear. Stanley furrowed his brows, but said nothing. More and more he felt like he was caught in the whirlwind of Martin's world.
"I can imagine," replied Stanley after a moment.
Zoe spun on her heel and faced Martin. "Cool! So, what say you we take your stuff into the back and I can fire up my comp? I'm dying to see if you caught any phenomena!"
Martin was already gathering some of his equipment. "Pun intended, right?" he smirked.
Again, Stanley felt the shadow of two very hyper geeks as they, with armfuls of radio equipment, gabbed enthusiastically about ghosts, goblins and other assorted bumps-in-the-night. He followed them as Zoe moved around the counter and opened the Employees Only for them. Down a short, cramped hall and past a narrow flight of stairs they went, reaching an unmarked door at the end. The conversation ceased for a moment as the Goth rummaged in her jeans pocket for a key while managing her burden of Martin's things.
"I keep it locked, just in case," she explained. Her tongue poked out of her mouth as she searched. There was a small metal piercing in it. "Dammit, it's never right there at the top."
Stanley was finally able to step back into things. "So," he said to Martin, "how long have you two known each other?"
Martin smiled. "Oh, for awhile now. Met on the GG&G forums, and we've been emailing each other a lot since."
"I've always been a fan of your cousin's show," Zoe chimed in. "You've got some talented relations – Ah! Here it is!" She triumphantly stuck the key in the door and turned. "We actually met in person for the first time at last year's HauntCon." She pulled the door open. "It was a scream."
Beyond the door was a closet. At least, it looked about the size of one. Somehow, the meager space had been filled with a small desk, a folding chair, and a desktop computer. On the walls were tacked dozens of printed articles, newspaper clippings, and photographs – all of them, Stanley noted at a glance, related to the mansion. As he stared, Zoe stepped in and switched the computer on. It hummed to life.
"Little tight in here," she said apologetically. "Ms. Audrey lets me use this for my research. So as long as neither of you have issues with personal space…"
Martin squeezed past Stanley. "Not a problem, Zoe! Let's get this show on the road!"
Hovering in the doorway, Stanley's eyes flicked across the information on the walls. "I'll just…stay here, thanks." He couldn't believe how much Zoe had apparently gathered on the manor. It felt like a detective's office – albeit a very small, windowless one.
Martin was put his equipment on the desk, Zoe plugging wires into the computer that fed into them, each of them occasionally muttering apologies and chuckling as they bumped into each other. "I gotta thank you for getting the word in we were coming," Martin said, "or we would have been locked out last night."
"No problem," Zoe replied casually. "I just gave Mr. O'Dell a call and told him to expect you."
That reminded Stanley of the question that had been hovering in the back of him mind since he'd arrived. "How do you know the groundskeeper so well, Zoe?"
The girl looked up from her work and smirked. "Probably because I'm always snooping around the place. It's been a hobby of mine to study the mansion. As much as I can, at least." She gestured to her plethora of items on the walls.
"Has he always been so…jittery?" asked Stanley
"Oh yeah, the poor man. He's a real sweetheart. And his dog is an adorable little thing. But he lives out there by himself. I think he's seen more than he lets on. Either way, though he's been real nice to me, he still won't let me in." She blushed slightly. "He caught me trying to hop the fence a couple times. Let me off with a warning."
"Any idea why he works around a place that's abandoned?"
Zoe shrugged. "No clue. He told me he gets paid, but he won't say whose paying. I've seen his work though. He does a good job keeping the place from falling apart."
Something still seemed fishy to Stanley. "So you've been around there a lot?"
"You bet! It's spookalicious!"
Both the cousins chortled, though Martin hid it by taking off his cap and putting on a battered pair of headphones. He flicked the switch on his tape deck and listened intently. "Cool. Got it," he said. "Mind running this through a filter, Zoe?"
Zoe obligingly turned back to the computer and opened a program. On screen, a window popped up with the pixilated images of sound: various bars moving up and down in one corner and a pulse of colored plenoptic waves in another.
"How does it sound, Marty?" Zoe inquired.
Martin shook his head. "Nothing yet. The playback's fine, but I haven't heard anything through the EVP."
Zoe nodded. "I could switch it to the main speakers if you'd like."
"Let me just hear through it once like this," replied Martin. The glow from the monitor made his glasses shine, and the reflection hid his eyes.
"Right on, right on. Anyway," she said, returning to her conversation with Stanley, "the mansion's been a part of our local legend for a long time, and I've been interested in it ever since I was a little kid. Not to brag or anything, but I am a bit of an authority on the Gracey estate, even if I've never been inside the old house." She folded her arms and fixed Stanley with a mock glare. "And here you are; the new owner. I envy you."
Stanley shook his head. "It sort of came as a surprise…" He trailed off when he noticed Zoe had turned back to the monitor. He sighed. Stanley still had his questions, but he opted to let the two concentrate on their task. It wasn't like they would find anything anyway. And yet…
He happened to see a reflection of the room in Martin's glasses. A faint greenish-bluish glow was coming from behind him in the reflection, and he looked over his shoulder quickly, just to reassure himself he was still only seeing things. Then he returned to looking at Zoe's findings, almost forcefully reading the first thing he saw: an old newspaper front page copied and printed on newer paper. The paper, titled the Delta Witness, advertised its main story in bold letters:
GEORGE GRACEY SLAIN BEFORE NEW BRIDE'S EYES
Immediately below this was an illustration of a mustached gentleman with thinning hair, side-by-side with the image of the mansion in its heyday. Though some of the print was small and worn, Stanley squinted and followed the story as best he could. It was just like Martin had said earlier – there was a documented incident of murder.
He had gotten through a bit of the story, reading up on how George Gracey had been killed on the night of his wedding by a then-unknown assailant, when he heard Martin gasp "Holy cow!"
He spun around. Martin was staring at the monitor, a look of shock and awe on his face. He hit the Rewind button on his cassette player and made a couple adjustments on the computer program, then hit Play. Again, he gasped.
"What? What?" Zoe looked from the screen to Martin. "I saw the meter spike. Is that a good thing?"
Martin, not answering, hit Rewind again, made even more adjustments, and listened again.
"You gotta hear this," he whispered, pulling off his headphones. Without prompting, Zoe turned the computer's speakers on. Martin rewound the tape a third time. Stanley leaned slightly into the closet/room, intrigued.
There was a buzz, and then he heard Martin's voice. "Brr…It's colder in here. That's a good sign…Hey! Check out these paintings!"
"Paintings?" said Zoe suddenly. She stared at Martin, looking like a little girl told she was going to Disneyland. "Oh my gosh! What kind of paintings? There's still a bunch of old junk in there? Wicked!"
Martin made a shushing sound, looking unusually serious. Zoe collected herself, flustered, and continued listening. Stanley listened too.
"Here's the first thing I noticed," Martin pointed out quietly. And Stanley shivered; over the recording, he could hear the eerie, rhythmic creaking sound he had heard the night before. It sent his blood running cold.
"Huh? What's wrong with this thing? I just got new batteries for it," said Martin's recorded voice. Everyone leaned in slightly, trying to pick up the creaks over the talking. "Ah. No, this has happened before. This is a very good sign. Power tends to drain from things when ghosts are…Stan?"
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Stanley's mouth felt very dry very suddenly. He managed to croak out. "You guys hear it too?"
Zoe and Martin nodded, and Stanley gulped. Either only he had picked it up before, or Martin had lied about not hearing the sound.
They were listening so intently that they were scarcely prepared for the deep, booming voice that said, "Welcome."
Stanley jumped. Zoe squeaked. Martin put a hand to his brow, then paused the recording. Slowly, he turned to face Stanley. His expression was somewhere between nervousness and giddiness.
"See what I mean?" he said.
"Oh my God." Zoe shivered. "You guys didn't hear that last night?"
Stanley shook his head. "It sounded like…"
"Play it again," insisted Zoe. Martin did so, rewinding the tape and hitting Play. Again, there was Martin talking. Again, the creaking noise.
"Welcome."
It wasn't as startling the second time, but that just made it creepier. The voice over the recording was too distinct to be anything but what it was: a voice saying "Welcome."
"So," said Martin, once they had played the recording a third time.
Zoe said, after a moment, "Is there anything else on the recording?"
Martin shook his head. "I haven't heard it all yet. We recorded past this, but this just caught me by surprise." His eyes lit up behind his glasses. "But this is amazing! It was clear voice! Loud, too!"
The Goth girl nodded enthusiastically. "And scary! And you swear you didn't hear this before?" She looked at Stanley as she said this. Caught off guard, he shook his head. He really hadn't.
He didn't want to put stock in it. Not yet. But already too many weird things had been happening within the last couple days. He was beginning to think that anything – even ghosts – were possible. And it made his inner skeptic weep. How was he going to rationalize all this?
Martin seemed ecstatic. "Far out! I knew this place would be my big break! If what we heard is really what we heard, then I've got one very haunted mansion to investigate!"
Zoe laughed. "I knew it! Oh cripes, dude!" Martin jumped and they hugged each other, giggling. Stanley merely gaped, his expression null. Then he quietly stepped out of the doorway and back down the hall, where he could hopefully find a quiet place to scream, than calmly return to his normal way of life.
---
"What's with your cousin?" Zoe asked, watching Stanley go.
Martin shrugged. "He's not big on stuff like this. We're probably confusing him."
The perky Goth scratched her head. "He's a skeptic, then? Why would your uncle leave a haunted mansion to a skeptic?"
"Beats me," Martin answered with a sigh. "Still, he was cool enough to let me do some paranormal investigations in his new place."
"Lucky." Zoe stuck her tongue out at him, than giggled. "Martin, you gotta take me with you when you head back!"
Martin rubbed his chin. "I'd love to, but that's really up to Stan. It's his place." When her face fell, he added, "I'll talk to him, OK? It should be alright."
Zoe smiled. "Thanks Marty. Gosh, you have no idea how long I've wanted to poke around in there…"
"Martin!" Stanley's voice came shouting from down the hall.
Martin poked his head out and called back. "What?"
"I just called the motel we were staying in," Stanley stated, "and I asked them if they were missing their TV!"
Martin looked puzzled. "Why?"
"Because there's a TV sitting in the back of your van, and it's a dead ringer to the one the management just got done yelling at me about!"
---
(Woo! Here it is, folks! Chapter V! The semester is over, so I haves scads of free time. I'm working on other projects here and there, but I haven't forgotten about this one! I'll try and get more frequent posts in.
For this particular chapter, I owe major thanks to Aquarian Wolf for letting me use Zoe, a character of hers she used in "Ghostly Retreat," the Haunted Mansion RPG. I had a lot of fun writing her, and I hope I did her justice. Thanks again, AW!
So, until next time, I return to the writer's cave...Feel free to leave a review.)