by C. D. Gorri
He’d thought the worst had been done when they started knocking out walls, replacing the hand carved stairwell with wrought iron, and installing track lighting, but he’d been wrong.
All week, he’d watched as the two men had amped up the place as if they were throwing some sort of gala. He’d deliberately kept his distance, but when he overheard one of their conversations, whatever blood he had left iced over.
“If we pull this haunted house murder party off right, one of them is sure to speak ghost and then we can find the deed.”
The short one nodded, his dark eyes running over the walls of the dining room as if assessing which wall to take down next.
Lowell edged closer. They couldn’t see him.
“The journal says it’s here.”
“How many fucking walls are we going to have to demolish to find the damned thing?”
“As many as it takes.” His gaze flickered back to the other man. “Granddad said it was on the property and we’re going to find it. Bastards took his land and by God we’re going to take it back.”
A snort filled the room. “We already have.”
“Until the bank catches on.”
“Give it the weekend. That ghost hunter girl is supposed to be coming with an online magazine woman. They want to see if the place is haunted. Maybe then we can get one of the ghosts to lead us to it.”
The other man dissolved into mocking laughter, and swallowed a mouthful from the can he was holding.
“You just keep thinking that. We don’t need ghosts to help us find anything.” He shook his head in disgust, knocking back another swig of beer.
“The hell not. We’ve been at this for months and every time we demolish something they freak out.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy, am I? Who knocked that ladder out from under me last week? And who misplaced the keys to my truck so I couldn’t get the supplies for this weekend?”
“I think you’re an idiot. There’s no such things as ghosts.”
A snort was the other man’s answer.
“It’ll work. You hear that, ghosts? You tell us or we’re going to keep wrecking the place until we find it.”
Silence met his dare, but Lowell was listening and he knew the others were too.
*.*.*.*
People.
The living had taken over and it seemed there was no stopping them.
“Do they have to do that?” Mrs. Pennyweather wailed. “It’ll take me all day to clean up the mud they’re tracking through the house.”
He started to tell her it wasn’t her worry anymore but he didn’t want to be insensitive. Being a ghost was disconcerting at times, and Mrs. Pennyweather was inordinately attached to her role as housekeeper.
“I don’t care about no mud,” huffed Old Diesel, even as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Can’t wait 'till they get inside and I can haunt their asses.”
Trying to hold in the bark of laughter that threatened at the old mechanic’s blustering, he couldn’t help but wonder where McChesney, the gardener, had gotten off to. He liked the guests even less than the new owners and wasn’t above trying to sabotage any and everything to try and scare them away.
The only problem was, his hauntings seemed to encourage the bastards.
“It’s going to be a long weekend,” Lowell commented, watching the flux of people dragging suitcases and wearing silly costumes. If he had his druthers, he’d go and visit the old tearoom, but he didn’t want to leave the house in the state it was in. Mrs. Pennyweather would have never forgiven him.
“Halloween wasn’t meant to be celebrated like this. Daft idiots.” Diesel shook his head, annoyed. “Why they come here instead of staying home and letting the children come by for a treat…”
“These folks seem to make any excuse to hold a party,” Lowell observed. It was true. He’d watched them planning things from the corner of the room. His family’s home had become nothing more than an event space for people who loved murder mysteries and whodunits. Never mind the haunted house treatment they were giving it for Halloween.
In between, he’d watched them tear up the old house as if they were looking for something. And he knew exactly what that something was. His family left him heir to their fortune, but due to a lot of bad luck and even worse timing, he’d died before he could do much more than secure the deed of the property and the rest of his family’s estate in a place where, so far, no one had thought to look.
Murder was funny that way. His killers hadn’t gotten away with what they’d done. But that didn’t make much of a difference if he couldn’t be at peace. And between being his home being used as a sanitarium for tuberculosis patients and now some sort of tourist attraction, he was about to lose his ever-loving mind.
No one had found his family’s deed. So far, the bank acted like they owned the property, when in fact, they didn’t. Whoever found the deed would reap the benefits. The only problem was, the new owners weren’t much better than the men that brought him, Mrs. Pennyweather, Diesel, and McChesney into their current predicament. With every remodel they were getting closer and he didn’t like it one bit.
Endless DIY episodes played on the newfangled television in the lobby and from what he could tell, the two men running the place were about as clueless as the idiots they watched on the thing. But they were clearly here on a mission, and if they weren’t careful, they would destroy the very thing that kept him tethered to this place and he couldn’t let that happen.
It had been a pleasant escape to wander down to his family’s old restaurant on Main Street. His options were limited, being a ghost, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Running into Zoe had been a delight. She could see him. Touch him.
And she danced with him. It had been…delightful. He’d almost forgotten he was dead until after she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder and he’d drifted away, only to find himself back on the widow’s walk.
“Where you been, boy?” McChesney sputtered at him. “They’re at it again. This time they’re tearing up my gardens.”
Vans of party equipment and a wooden platform for dancing were being set up on one end of the property. On the other, two of the men headed into the brush with shovels, the distraction proving the perfect cover for whatever mischief they had in mind.
His lips clamped tight, Lowell grimaced. “They won’t find it.”
“I sure as hell hope not,” Diesel replied.
“Let’s you and me make sure, shall we?” McChesney replied, narrowing his eyes at the two as they vanished into the woods.
“A Murder Mystery weekend?” Mrs. Pennyweather chortled. “As if they would know what a real murder looked like. Traipsing through here…upsetting the spirits. It’s not right.”
She was, as usual, spot on.
It wasn’t right and he was going to do something about it.
Lowell wasn’t going to give up without a fight. He’d wake every damned ghost on the property and give these people a weekend like they’d never seen if it meant saving his home.
“Come on. We have some haunting to do.”
Chapter Four
Zoe tossed the suitcase on her bed and groaned. Just the walk up to the house had been a trial all its own. As expected, Vie’s bag ended up rolling halfway down the hill and she had to go fetch it while Zoe guarded the rest of their possessions. She could have sworn she saw a blur of someone push it out of the corner of her eye. Turning to give Randall a piece of her mind, she paused. It wasn’t him. He was still standing on the grass, sulking.
“Why do we have to wait? She can bring it herself,” Randall whined.
“Really?”
“It’s dark out here. And so far, there hasn’t been a cute guy for miles.”
“Did you push it?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Did you see anyone, then?”
Randall sighed. “There are ghosts everywhere. And this place, from what I can see, has plenty of them.”
She didn’t want to open up. It was easier to keep her spectral attention on Randall alone and keep it muted. If she released the stopper on her gift, there was a danger of more ghosts latching on to her, and that was the absolute last thing she needed.
“The luggage?” she prompted.
An irritated harrumph met her ears. “You’re going to have to see for yourself. She dragged you here to tell her if the place was haunted, not me.”
Zoe rolled her eyes and smiled as Vie caught up.
“I swear. The next time I get the idea to bring a round suitcase to a place with so many damned stairs, just shoot me.”
“Can I?” A grin taking over Randall’s surly expression.
“Shut up,” Zoe growled.
“Is that ghost of yours being an asshole again?”
“When has he ever stopped?”
“Hey.”
Randall did have a point. She might not want to see what was right under her nose, but if she was going to get through this weekend, she might not have any choice.
Slowly, Zoe released the stopper and let the energies around her come into view.
She observed the curious forms of several spirits as they made their way to the front walk. Determined not to engage, she kept her gaze straight on and kept on going.
“Jesus, Zoe. Wait up!” Vie growled, her suitcase wheels bouncing against the uneven gravel walk. “It’s not even paved!”
Sighing, Zoe had to stop herself from another eye roll. If the owners were sticking to the original look of the place, they probably wouldn’t want to mangle it with concrete sidewalks and a driveway.
Then there was the inside. Three ghosts in the lobby. Four in the halls and two in the bathroom. There were supposed to be two guys helping guests with the luggage, but apparently, they’d vanished.
Instead of waiting for the front desk to get their ducks in a row, she’d decided to drag her luggage up to her room herself.
“Vie, I’ll see you later.”
Her friend waved her on, pissed that her weekend was starting off with an inconvenience. The young woman behind the desk looked like she was either going to cry or gouge Vie’s eyes out with the pen attached to the guest book.
She wasn’t going to stick around to see that one through. Vie could handle herself, and she had reached her wall and was about to slide down, face first. A few minutes alone in her room was what the doctor ordered, even if that meant introducing Randall to the room service phone and the remote control to the television.
Five minutes. That was all she needed.
Grateful that Vie had opted for a room on her own, Zoe sighed. If she had to listen to her romantic conquests on top of everything else, she really was going to stab someone, and it wouldn’t just be with a spare piece of office equipment.
There on the bed was an envelope.
Greetings Murder Mystery Guest.
Hmmm.
“What’s that?” Randall busied himself with inspecting every nook and cranny of the room with a critical eye. “They could have done the curtains up a little more. But I do like that bed.”
He jumped, landing on it without even a ripple.
“Maybe it’s an itinerary.”
Good grief. She hoped not. Some of these murder mystery things were downright intrusive with their playacting. All she wanted to do was blend in with the wallpaper, figure out if the claims of the owners were true, and go home. One night tops, if she had her way about it.
She opened the envelope.
Itinerary it was. But there was also another small envelope enclosed within.
Greetings honored guest. We welcome you to a weekend of hauntings and murder mystery. Below is your itinerary. You will also find a small envelope that you will use to develop your character while you are here. Please do not open the small envelope until you arrive at Friday evening’s dinner.
Friday night social (cash bar)- 5:30pm to 6:15pm
Friday night dinner- 6:30pm to 8:30pm
Introductions made and parts announced. The plot is laid out. Each guest opens their small envelope and learns their role.
Saturday breakfast-8:00am
Lunch- 11:30
The plot thickens. Each guest refers to their card.
Cocktail hour (cash bar)- 5:30 to 6:15pm
Dinner- 6:30 to 8:30pm
Sunday breakfast with final whodunnit wrap-up.
Well, that was interesting.
And she didn’t think she was going to do any of it. This was Vie’s party. She was just along for the ride.
So why did she have a part to play?
Curiosity niggled and she nibbled her lip.
Open the small envelope and break the rules, or don’t and go in blind?
Zoe picked up the small envelope, her fingers itching to open it and see what was in store.
How much did they know their guests?
Reluctantly, she put the envelopes on the nightstand and checked the time. It was already five minutes to six, which meant she needed to hurry if she was going to wander and get a feel of the place.
Missing drinks and the Friday night social wasn’t a big deal. She’d learned a long time ago that staying sober while she was in an unfamiliar locale was always a best practice.
She touched up her lipstick in the bedroom mirror and fluffed at her shoulder length, black hair. The freckles on her nose were particularly noticeable after her time in the car today. Irritated, she stormed into the bathroom and scooped up her compact from the sink. The giggling sound of children’s voices echoed in the small space.
Zoe sighed and made her way back into the bedroom.
“Randall, can’t you do something and get them to leave me alone?”
“Sorry, Zoe. You know it doesn’t work that way.” The ghost shrugged and went back to watching cable television. “Why don’t you have this channel at home? Sharknado is the bomb.”
Just then, a bar of soap sailed out of the bathroom, thudding on the bedroom carpet.
“Oh my God.” Nope. Not tonight.
Zoe stalked back to the bathroom and snatched the shower curtain back, glaring. There, standing in the old-fashioned claw foot tub were two small ghostly boys, waiting to sneak a peek.
They gawped up at her, apparently stunned they were the ones getting spied on instead.
“I’m going down to the party, but when I get back you two had better not be here. Understood?” Her tone brooked no refusal. She spun on her heel and marched out of the bathroom, heels clicking on the tile floor.
Well, at least she could say without a doubt that the place was haunted and she didn’t need to slog her way through some play acted dinner to ascertain that little nugget.
Now to at least breeze through the party and make her excuses. Her finger itched to dial an Uber to take her home, but first she needed to at least be seen and check in with Vie.
“Randall, you stay here, please. If I have to try and hold two conversations with you and Vie tonight, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go. This show is just getting good. Come on! Rip off his face!” The ghost cheered, bouncing on the loveseat in the small seating area. The two bathroom ghosts craned their heads around the door.
“Randall?” Zoe snapped. “Are you listening?”
“Do it! Come on!” Randall pumped his fist in the air, completely ignoring her.
“Okay, then.” Zoe sniffed. She collected her clutch and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Determined to not engage the ghosts lingering in the hallway, she propelled herself through the maze of ectoplasmic personalities and pushed through to the elaborate staircase. There had been a great deal of work done on the place to make it habitable for guests, but the core decay of the building still resonated.
Going up wasn’t a problem, and she hoped going down wouldn’t be either. Mischievous ghosts loved to play tricks on the living, especially once they figured out she could see them.
“Arachnophobia. Fear of spiders. A
goraphobia. Fear of leaving home.” She paced out her list of phobias and took the first step.
Why wasn’t there a word for fear of stairs?
Now that was just wrong. Maybe there was, but damn it all, she couldn’t think of it.
The long fronds on her flapper dress swung as she took each step one at a time. She had a sudden urge to just stand in one place and swing her hips just to see the little stringy fibers all flair out at the same time.
Maybe she would be able to just flit around for a little while and Vie wouldn’t notice she’d retreated back up to her room for a break. Dinner wasn’t for another half an hour, so maybe it would work.
Odds were high that Vie would find the mysterious Dre within the first thirty minutes and vanish into her room despite her assignment to do a feature story on the new murder mystery event destination. It wouldn’t have been a first time for that, either.
She made it to the bottom, and Zoe gave a sigh of relieve, almost colliding into a giggling woman in a witch costume as she bounded up the stairs.
“Sorry!” the woman called out, chased by a man dressed as a werewolf.
“Yeah. No problem.” She sighed and made her way down the hall toward the main part of the house.
Behind the new coat of paint and the cheerful potted plants, there was a sadness about the place. If she had the choice, she’d go back to her room and do a little more research in Vie’s master file before her friend demanded it back. But she needed to at least make an appearance before she either headed to bed with her book or got the heck out of dodge.
It was easier to manage ghosts and the residue of the departed when she knew what she was up against. Instead, she was flying blind and she didn’t like it one bit. But she’d promised Vie, and another half an hour wouldn’t kill her.
Not to mention Randall was upstairs with Sharknado, and earplugs aside, there was probably no way she was going to sleep tonight, no matter how the dice landed.
Looks like she had to stick it out. At least for a little while longer.
The dining room was attractive, but the two ghostly children swinging on the chandelier made her cringe. She quickly made her way into the library but backed out as she spotted a stack of books floating in midair.