Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – That Giant Ghost House 1
Chapter 2 – Into the Gloom and Foreboding 12
Chapter 3 – I Saw, to My Surprise, a Note 17
Chapter 4 – You Must Live Here 24
Chapter 5 – Gold! More Gold! 29
Chapter 6 – Prized by Mary Lee Proctor 34
Chapter 7 – They Actually Like Him? 40
Chapter 8 – There Has To Be More Gold 43
Chapter 9 – We Just Can’t Afford It 48
Chapter 10 – We Are Here to Offer a Solution 55
Chapter 11 – Halls, Stairs, and Hidden Passageways 61
Chapter 12 – We Have To Go Back! 65
Chapter 13 – Your School Is a Good Thing 71
Chapter 14 – The Gold Has Been Returned 74
Chapter 15 – Living in the House for a Week 81
Chapter 16 – You Shall Host a Gala Event 88
Chapter 17 – Breakfast Is Already Breakfast 93
Chapter 18 – We’re Also Talking about Dreams 102
Chapter 19 – The Sleepy Old Storyteller 109
Chapter 20 – He Was Just a Shadow 115
Chapter 21 – It’s Special To Be a Ghost 120
Chapter 22 – Clever Modifications to that Chandelier 125
Chapter 23 – We Are Discussing Moon Metal 130
Chapter 24 – You Made Moon Metal Light Bulbs? 141
Chapter 25 – Did Prime Mary Lee Take the Bell? 149
Chapter 26 – It Was a Moon Metal Bell? 153
Chapter 27 – A Raspy Squealing Sound 158
Chapter 28 – Reaching for a Moonray 162
Chapter 29 – I Am Robbie Rattlebog 172
Chapter 30 – Miss Annabeth, Quiet I Shall Be 181
Chapter 31 – They Smelled the Snacks 187
Chapter 32 – When Moon Metal Is at Play 190
Chapter 33 – You May Easily Purchase this Mansion 196
Chapter 34 – See? Kids Being Kids 204
Chapter 35 – I Danced with Abandon 212
Chapter 36 – This House Is Full of Ghosts 220
Chapter 37 – Show Me these Ghosts 226
Chapter 38 – The Total Destruction of this House 234
Chapter 39 – I Won’t Tell Penelope 239
Chapter 40 – The Great Things Moonrays Can Do 247
Chapter 41 – We Can’t Take Any Chances 257
Chapter 42 – It’s Almost Time for the Party 260
Chapter 43 – She Did It Again! 265
Chapter 44 – No Intention of Hunting for Ghosts 273
Chapter 45 – Abby Lost Herself in the Dance 278
Chapter 46 – Part of the Armor Is Moon Metal? 285
Chapter 47 – It Proves the Presence of Ghosts? 291
Chapter 48 – I Shall Simply Take the Moon Metal 294
Chapter 49 – I’ll Just Stay in My Own Home 298
Chapter 50 – Music and Moonrays Together? 304
Chapter 1 – That Giant Ghost House
“Mrs. Banyon!”
Abby spun around enough to see Mr. Tate, wearing a flannel shirt coated with sawdust and waving his hammer toward her. Before she could respond with more than a raising of her eyebrows, her husband Orlando leaned close and snickered briefly before rushing his comment.
“He doesn’t know you’re Lady Proctor now?”
Shaking her head, grinning toward the contractor remodeling the cluttered space that would someday be her dance studio, she smirked and said, “He didn’t even know me when I was just Miss Abigail.”
She waved and said, “Really, Mr. Tate, Abby is fine. What’s going on?”
“You’re just Mom to us,” Andy said, prompting Lando to pat his back and give his shoulders a rub.
Abby rested her hand on his wavy brown hair but kept her eyes on Mr. Tate, who said, “Hang on a second, alright?” and started walking toward her.
“You have four names, Mom,” Annabeth said and held up four fingers for her mother’s quick glance.
“Oh, I do, do I?”
“Uh-huh. You’re Mom, and you’re Abby, and you’re those other names from the ghost house.”
Abby grabbed the eight-year-old’s fingers and held on, then said, “Honey, let me talk to nice Mr. Tate, alright? Besides, I still don’t think there are any such things as—”
Mr. Tate’s work boots got welded to the floor when one of his crew screamed behind him, and he dropped his hammer before he could pry loose his shoes and turn to look.
“Uh-oh,” Andy said, pointing toward the man who had yelled while facing away from them, toward the far end of the cavernous and chaotic space.
All of the Banyons stayed near the entrance, Lando with a hand on the knob, and watched the workman point toward a pile of materials—boxes, bags, things covered with a light tarp—then turn back to his boss.
“What is it?” said Mr. Tate.
“Um, there’s something under there.”
All eyes focused on the shabby blue cloth that sometimes bounced and shifted around.
“It’s a ghost,” Andy said with no trace of doubt. “They followed us here, Dad. Even Barkley thinks so.”
Barkley von Mayhem, renamed von Prime, barked softly at the ceiling and resumed panting and looking toward the commotion.
“AB, no,” Lando said, “it can’t be. Don’t we have to call the ghosts, do some experiments, or something like that?”
“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”
“Maybe it’s Mary Lee?”
“Annabeth, Honey,” said Abby, “I still don’t know what to think about that. I’m not convinced there’s anyone named Mary Lee.”
“Well, don’t just gawk at it,” yelled Mr. Tate to his employee. “See what that is. We have too much work to be messing with any kind of,”—he turned and pointed toward Andy—“ghost.”
“Way to go, young Prime,” Lando said and gave his shoulder another rub.
Mr. Tate turned back to watch the assistant carpenter cautiously lift the tarp, lean over to look, then jump back with a short scream as a crow, every bit of it black, squawked and launched itself out into the open.
“Whoa!” he said and laughed at Mr. Tate ducking as it flew toward him.
“Open that door!” he called out, and Lando gave it a shove, spinning it wide open.
“Mom,” Annabeth said with a quick squeal, “it’s a ghost crow!”
“Honey, no, it’s not—ah!”
Abby ducked down, taking Annabeth lower with her, and Lando and Andy stepped to one side. All of them felt the wind kicked up by the bird’s strong wings as it raced past them and out into the sunshine.
All four of them leaned enough to get a view of the powerful wings carrying it away, then up and out of sight. And they only turned back toward the interior when Mr. Tate made a comment.
“Jake, let’s keep that back door closed from now on, alright?”
“Sure, Boss. Alright.”
“Mr. Tate,” said Abby, “now that the—”
“Ghost crow!” Annabeth whispered, fighting to speak clearly with an impending giggle.
“—wildlife is back outside, what is it?”
“Oh, just that we’re sending someone for the first round of paint later. You still want that blue for the walls, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, “like we talked about—it’ll all be like the ocean, then we’ll get an artist in here to add fun stuff.”
“Alright. It’ll look good. Leave it to us.”
“I believe you’ll do a wonderful job, Mr. Tate. Thank you.”
He tipped his hat, picked up his hammer, and began walking back toward his project.
“Okay, well, I think we can get out of here,” Abby said, flipping around her ten-year-old son’s hair. “It’s not a ghost dance school, but thanks for coming to take a look.”
“You know who’s really a ghost, Mom?”
“Oh, Annabeth, Honey, let’s not—”
“That Priscilla lady,” she said, nodding and looking up at her mother.
“Honey, no, she’s not really a ghost.”
Abby pulled her daughter close to her side and looked toward Lando.
“Lannie, she’s not a ghost, that Priscilla lady, but it’s kind of nice that we haven’t heard from her in a week. Let’s head for home.”
Abby led the way out of the building that she and Lando were buying with the gold from her Uncle Proctor’s mansion, the many shiny coins offered to them by the ghost girl Mary Lee after she’d been called with one of Proctor’s odd experiments.
“Right,” said Lando as he followed, shepherding the children ahead of himself. “She’s not a ghost—just kind of, um, odd?”
“Creepy,” said Andy.
“We have to go back.”
“Annabeth, Honey,” said Abby, “we might not be able to go back even if we want to.”
“But Mom, we have to save Uncle Ghost.”
“Oh, you guys did tell me was trapped somewhere. I still don’t understand that.”
“We have to call Mary Lee too,” said Andy. “ABB and I think she might be the first Prime ever. We have to ask her.”
“Should we even say Prime anymore, Andy?”
“Probably not—not until we can talk with Mary Lee again and find out if—”
Abby was leading the way toward the car, and she said over her shoulder, “Kids, let’s not plan on going back, alright? We have enough to keep us busy without figuring out some ghost Prime stuff.”
Lando laughed quickly and said, “Yeah, things are moving along nicely. We have enough gold for your studio, and you know what I’m going to do? Turn off my phone.”
“Why, Lannie?”
“So Priscilla can’t even call us.”
“Oh, good idea. Me too.”
Andy and Annabeth frowned, watching both parents stopped in the parking lot, cell phones and out and switching them off.
“I feel better,” Lando said while piloting the car toward their home, “just knowing Priscilla can’t call us. Hey, let’s take the phone off the hook at home too.”
“Good plan, Lannie. There’s no reason for her to bother us anymore, but still . . .”
“They know where to find you, Mom.”
Abby turned toward the backseat, saw Annabeth sitting directly behind her, and Barkley, seated in the middle, tipped his head to study her.
“What, Honey? Those creepy Phil and Bob guys, those Proctor guys?”
She shook her head and said, “The crows, Mom.”
“Honey, no, there are crows everywhere. That wasn’t an Uncle Proctor crow just now.”
Lando snorted a quick laugh, then said, “Uh, wait a sec, Abby. When have you ever seen any crows anywhere but around that giant ghost house?”
“Lannie, come on. Let’s forget about ghosts, alright? It’s just a gigantic, creepy old place.”
Lando scoffed, kept his eyes on the road, and said, “You didn’t see her, Abby.”
“We saw her, ABB Prime and I,” said Andy. “I mean, just ABB.”
“Yeah, Andy. And Prime only comes first for Mary Lee,” said Annabeth. “She was probably the first.”
Lando and Abby shared a smile before he watched ahead and said, “But you can sure see a different ghost.”
“What, Lannie? Who?”
While shaking his head, he tapped the rearview mirror, then hooked a thumb toward the car’s back window. Abby turned to look, and two children and a dog squirmed around and looked too.
“Oh, I don’t believe it.”
Annabeth squealed and said, “It’s the ghost lady!”
“Drive faster, Dad! She’s going to get us!”
“Andy, let’s all settle down. Priscilla isn’t going to get anyone.”
“What does she want, Lannie? Even with our phones off, she’s coming after us?”
“It’s what ghosts do, Mom.”
“Thanks, Honey. That’s helpful.”
“It’s better than that suit of armor chasing our car.”
“Stop it, Andy. Stop joking about that armor. It’s never going to walk around!”
“Only at night, ABB. That’s when—”
“Kids! Hush a second, alright? Lannie, we’re home. Just pull in, maybe she just happened to be driving behind us.”
Lando snickered and said, “That ghost lady doesn’t just ‘happen’ to do anything, Abby.”
Abby sighed and ignored the giggling and laughing and friendly growling coming from the backseat as Lando parked the car in their driveway. She turned, then gasped before facing forward again.
“I don’t believe it. The kids were right.”
“About her being a ghost? Abby, I don’t know if she’s really—”
“No, Lannie—about her coming after us. She’s parked right behind us!”
He snapped the shifting lever into park, said, “I’ll go see what she wants,” then reached for his door handle.
But he gasped, too, and pulled his hand back at seeing Priscilla standing barely two steps from his door.
Looking up at her, but speaking from the corner of his mouth back toward Abby, he said quietly, “How does she do that? How could she—”
“I continue to hear all, husband of Lady Proctor, and do not fancy the prospect of being the subject of comments, spoken plainly or whispered in a failing attempt to keep them private, as if I am not present. As you can see, I am quite present.”
She stood with hands clasped in front of her, dressed all in vintage black garments which refused to cooperate with the warm breezes keeping the leaves above twisting and flapping. A single black feather rose from the side of her stylish black hat, which featured a brim generous enough to catch mostly shadows beneath it, leaving only her eyes as obvious facial features.
Without moving anything else, she swept the eyes to focus on the backseat, then past Lando at Abby, then back to Lando.
“Yeah, uh, you’re right there. You were in your car, then you just somehow—”
She held up one slender finger, silencing Lando, then she leaned forward and aimed her eyes at two children and a dog, all of them already silent.
“Boo.”
“Mom!” Annabeth whispered.
“Honey, she’s just playing. Hello, Priscilla,” said Abby. “What brings you to the neighborhood?”
Maintaining an upright posture, hands still clasped, Priscilla took two steps backwards, paused, then said, “Just one moment.”
Andy snickered and said, “Dad, that was only three—”
“Your attempt at humor, involving numbers of words spoken only as a preliminary warning of a cavalcade of them to follow, young lesser Proctor, is clever but unwelcome. Need I deliver any more classic ghost exclamations to you or your sister or that ravenous beast thankfully tethered securely where it sits?”
“Huh? Dad, what did—”
“Andy, uh, we’ll talk about it later. So, uh, Priscilla what do you . . .”
Lando watched, as did the rest of them, as Priscilla pivoted smoothly as if a greased pin connected the heel of one boot to the concrete of the driveway, then began a graceful but determined walk toward their front door.
“The ghost lady wants our house, Mom.”
“Honey, no, and we wouldn’t let that ghost move in. I mean, that lady.”
“What’s she doing?”
Lando said, “Do we ever know with her, Andy? Let’s just sit here a second and see.”
They watched Priscilla climb the few steps up onto the porch, then again spin like a well-oiled mechanism to face them. None of them could see for sure if she was looking at them, but she paused like that for a moment, then snapped her arms out to her sides and kept them there.
“Mom, she’s scaring me.”
“Annabeth, I know. Me, too, kind of.”
“Guys,” said Lando, “it’s fine. She’s just really dramatic.”
The dramatic woman dressed in black remained at the top of the stairs, arms stretched wide, and was joined by several blue jays swiping past, screeching, and a few colorful hummingbirds hovering lazily around her hat before zipping off to one side. Her only motion was a slow but impatient gesture with one hand to encourage a bright monarch butterfly to refrain from landing on her nose.
“We don’t have our own crows, Dad.”
“Yeah, Andy. I mean, Prime—AB Prime.”
“Just Andy, Dad. Until we can talk to Mary Lee.”
“Oh, sure. Andy, then. Hey, there aren’t any crows haunting this house of ours.”
Abby scoffed and said, “They weren’t haunting Uncle Proctor’s either, Lannie. Living there, sure, but not haunting.”
“Oh, hang on, she’s coming back.”
Priscilla had let her arms drop to her sides, and she descended the stairs without an entourage of birds or butterflies. All in the car remained quiet as she approached, seeming to glide over whatever surfaces she crossed.
“There,” she said, standing where she had been before. “The preliminary display, functioning as an appropriate reference image, is complete.”
She stared for a second at a car full of quiet people and one quiet dog.
“Now, on to the business at hand.”
Priscilla’s eyes fixed on each of them in the car for a moment, then she spoke toward Abby.
“We can now—”
“Wait a second,” said Abby.
“Yes, Lady Proctor?”
“Come on. We can’t just act like none of that just happened. What was that all about?”
She clasped her hands and became little more than a grayish form lodged against the many hues and textures behind her. Abby and all the rest watched as the woman’s eyes again visited each of them before settling on hers again.
“Our world and indeed, the supposed world where ghosts frolic and cavort, is one built upon endless similarities and contrasts. The simple theatrical actions taken by this supremely qualified, thorough, and meticulous emissary of the extended Proctor family was meant to focus every eye and every perception—except perhaps those of the canine, which is most likely thinking only of feeding itself far beyond any genuine hunger—on but one example, but a striking one, of a glaring contrast which should surprise none of you.”
“Dad,” said Andy, “what did—”
“I, uh, I’m not sure, Andy. Let’s just wait and—”
“May I continue? Thank you. Such a plain contrast needs no amplification nor clarification, even from someone—I—that can easily gush forth unlimited words, phrases, and sentences to define, describe, and delineate in painful detail to assemble a vocal representation of what you all have just witnessed.”
Lando scoffed and whispered back toward Abby, “Why use a thousand words when—”
“Millions!” Annabeth whispered.
“Yeah, Honey, when millions would do just—”
“I must continue,” Priscilla said, each word like a strike of her knee to Lando’s door, “whether permission is granted or withheld out of some misplaced aversion to my skillfully and accurately applied ruminations on the topic. Now, here is the caption to the scene still replaying with the utmost clarity and detail in your memories.”
She paused, a second passed, then Abby scoffed, following that with a quick cough.
“Uh, sorry. Something, uh, just—”
“Yes, Lady Proctor. You have likely already decoded the simple message that I have conveyed. That message is simply this: while your home is comfortable, it is modest and attracts only lesser birds and a variety of colorful insects which are undeserving of the acclaim so often directed toward them. The contrast, you see, is with the fine manor home of the esteemed scholar, Maestro Proctor.”
“It’s bigger,” Andy said, nodding.
“There are crows?” Annabeth said with her eyebrows up high.
“The kids are right,” said Lando. “Fine, we get it, it’s a much bigger house.”
“And it’s got crows and stuff,” said Abby. “So?”
“Armor too,” Andy whispered, then laughed from Annabeth’s elbow catching him by surprise.
“Andy, hush a second,” said Abby. “Priscilla, so?”
“So, Lady Proctor, replay this dramatic scene continuously in your memory while you all follow me back to the revered gentleman’s estate, where I will announce to you all a message of critical importance.”
“Oh, come on, Priscilla,” said Abby. “What is this . . .”
Abby fell silent and stared as the emissary of the extended Proctor family had already begun her glide back to her car, stopping after the first step to swing a hand toward a jittery butterfly with an interest in her hat, then she continued on her way.
“Sheesh,” said Lando. “I guess we’re going back to the ghost house.”
“Lannie, come on. No ghosts, alright?”
“Mom, I told you.”
Abby twisted around and said, “Honey, what did you tell me?”
“That crow came for us.”
“Uh-uh,” said Andy. “No, ABB, it would have come here. It went to your studio, Mom. That crow came for you.”
Chapter 2 – Into the Gloom and Foreboding
“Lannie, what do you think this is about this time?”
Lando held the brake pedal down, the car still in the street, and they watched Priscilla roll along the driveway of the Proctor estate and stop close to the house.
Her car almost vanished in the shadows cast by the three-story Victorian mansion. Its roof, a maze of sloping surfaces meeting at sharp peaks, including one nearly high enough to cut through the few clouds, was crowded with lines of black dots, side by side and packed together tightly.
Uncle Proctor’s old house featured a front porch running the entire width of the structure, covered completely by a low roof held up by a line of solemn stone columns. The front door kept itself mostly hidden way back in the shade, and just enough light ventured back that far to show that it was closed.
“No idea, Abby. Hey, maybe she’ll hand us a bag of gold.”
“More gold!”
“Annabeth, your father is joking. Don’t plan on ever seeing another coin out of this old place.”
“Mom’s right, Honey. Can’t plan on that. We can hope, though.”
“Well, we might as well drive up there, Lannie. Let’s get this over with and get back home, alright?”
“Okay, let’s do this,” he said, then eased up on the brake enough to idle the car along until it was close behind Priscilla’s.
He put it in park, turned toward Abby, and said, “Maybe she’s going to send that butler home with us so he can . . . what?”
Abby was staring past him toward his car window, poking a finger silently, so he turned to look.
And he met the serious stare of a woman as gray and dim as the confines of the porch.
“How do . . . how can you—”
“Perhaps your mischievous offspring are quite accurate even when they believe, if perhaps only to comfort themselves, that they merely send out snide commentary and complain little when they are told repeatedly that their conjecture cannot possibly be true.”
“You, uh . . . huh?
Priscilla scoffed, loudly enough to be heard but not so carelessly as to deviate the brim of her hat from its exact horizontal orientation.
“They comment often, husband of Lady Proctor, that—”
“It really is Lando. I mean, I’m thrilled to be her husband, this beautiful Lady Proctor that—”
“Very well! Lando it is, then. Your fidgety and often disagreeable descendants, which would include, if it could speak our language, that four-legged thing that you cart about with you quite often, sometimes offer the opinion that I am . . .”
In the quiet pause, a solitary crow on the highest peak screeched, then cackled softly as if laughing.
“. . . a ghost. Rest assured, Proctor heirs and related non-Proctor associates, that I am not, to the best of my knowledge and self-awareness, a ghost of any type. There. That topic has been settled, and we should all aspire to some solid finality to its ever being discussed again.”
“Millions!”
“Annabeth, Honey, hush for now. So, Priscilla,” said Abby, “we’re here, and we have no idea why. What’s going on?”
Priscilla glanced toward the front door, then again faced inside the car, though her hat brim made any exact positioning of her eyes difficult to determine.
“It is a routinely used but rarely accurate thing to ask what is going on, Lady Proctor. By strict definition, that forces the respondent to describe events which may have already transpired as if they are current—as if they are things that are ‘going on’ even as the answer is given. But we shall not dwell on such subtleties at this time. Rather, I will get right to the point about—”
“It’s already too late for that,” Lando said, laughing even as Abby gave his shoulder a shove.
In the backseat, Annabeth whispered, “Millions!”
Abby turned to look, saw that she had both hands up, every digit twitching around feverishly, and she grabbed and held as many as she could with one hand extended back over the seat.
“Honey, hush, okay? Let the nice lady finish.”
“Be that as it may!” Priscilla said, her voice rising steadily to finish her exclamation. “Whether I get right to the point or not is not really the point, right?”
“Huh?”
“Andy, hang on a sec.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Priscilla sighed loudly, then said, “This overly labored detour into linguistic and timekeeping realities will not deter me from those duties entrusted to me from the extended Proctor family members. There are two things that have already happened, and my task is to convey details of those occurrences to you, Lady Proctor.”
“Uh, sure. Alright. I’m listening.”
“You do seem to be listening, but it is also apparent that you are not within the confines of this stately manor home, the locale in which all such dissertations must be relayed to you. Kindly exit your vehicle and maintain a steadfast and relentless control over the younger, less civilized members of your party. We shall all step into the gloom and foreboding that will not depart from this stately structure despite all attempts at providing more light and a cheerful atmosphere.”
Before anyone could respond or even bark, she spun again on an invisible mechanism, one functioning quite smoothly and quietly, and began a steady glide toward the Proctor mansion’s porch steps.
“Wow,” Lando said, raking both sets of fingers through his wavy brown hair. “That, uh, she’s really—”
“I give up,” Abby said, snorting a quick laugh. “Let’s just assume that she is a ghost.”
“She likes to talk, Mom.”
“Armor ghosts don’t talk,” Andy said, laughing too much to speak clearly. “They just run around in the dark, chasing little—”
“Andy, be nice to your sister. No jokes about that armor. Lannie, we’ve come this far and listened to . . . how many was it, Annabeth?”
With fingers wiggling while she giggled, she answered, “Millions!”
“I won’t argue with that either.”
“Fine,” said Lando. “Let’s go see what this is all about.”
“Then?”
“Then, we go home and scare up some food. I’m starving.”
“Me too. Let’s make it quick.”
He cracked open his door, and Abby and the children all opened theirs. Barkley seemed undecided about which way to go, but the leash in Annabeth’s hand had a suggestion.
To the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, Lando began his walk toward the house. Abby skipped a few steps and took his hand, and the children followed closely with Barkley in tow.
“Uh-oh, Dad.”
“I see them, Prime. I mean, just Andy.”
“I stopped being a Prime, too, remember?”
“I remember, Honey.”
“I’m still Honey, though?”
“Well, yeah,” Lando said, turning to give her a smile. “You earned that. It’s a good name. But guess what.”
“What?”
“The crows don’t care. Look out!”
The first of the flock squawked loudly and zipped past, low to the ground and between them and their car.
“Run, everyone!”
Lando gave Abby a hard pull, got her running, and they both laughed at the sounds of the children laughing and giggling and one of them barking as they all ran up the porch steps, then through the open door, which Priscilla then creaked shut with a solid boom.
Chapter 3 – I Saw, to My Surprise, a Note
To the dwindling cacophony of crows screeching and squawking beyond the closed front door to Uncle Proctor’s mansion, Priscilla added a modest thump when she leaned her back into that door, then engaged the lock.
Everyone was looking all around the expansive grand foyer, a nearly square area with solid wood floors and an elegant, elaborate though unlit chandelier suspended high above it. But Lando turned back toward Priscilla, then squinted at seeing that her overall lack of color was being absorbed by the dimmer and more persistent grays of wall surfaces behind her.
“You, uh, you’re worried about those birds coming inside, aren’t you? You think they might want to take over the place?”
The brim of her hat could have been built there, part of the structure and intended to never move, as she replied, “They shall all just have to remain appreciative that they maintain their absolute reign over the many roof surfaces and surrounding vegetation of this stately manor home. They may still, one day, exert complete control of the interior as well, but that day, I can state with confidence, is not today.”
“Uh, sure. Okay.”
He turned back toward the vast foyer when Abby said, “Lannie, that light,” and pointed up at the countless hanging crystals and oddly shaped vintage bulbs.
“Oh, let’s see.”
He reached toward the light switch next to the door, then locked his hand in place, staring at Priscilla—his hand out as if he were reaching for her instead.
“Oh, uh, sorry, just, um . . .”
“You are testing the home’s electrical systems? That is prudent and recommended, especially owing to the urgent topics which shall be disclosed in mere moments.”
She stepped away from the door, her boots breaking the otherwise solid silence of the place, but the elevation of her hat brim never changed in the slightest.
“Uh, thanks,” he said, then hit the switch, and the entire room filled with light, and tiny, shifting shadows from light passing through multi-faceted crystals clung to every wall, ceiling, and floor surface.
“Oh, Lannie,” Abby said, “it still works.”
“Indeed, it does,” Priscilla said, her voice coming from a motionless shape of grays and blacks against the solid, drab construction behind her. “And we are all aware and will never forget that you became known as Lady Proctor at the moment that said light fixture regained its life and resumed its task of chasing away some of the gloom present in every corner of this home. It is as the departed Maestro Proctor envisioned: that regal ring of light would reclaim its life only when a rebirth, or perhaps a new direction, had become the reality for the Proctor lineage.”
“Mom, what did—”
“Annabeth, Honey, wait just a second.”
To Priscilla, Abby said, “Okay, I’m Lady Proctor now. I kind of like it.”
“You liked being Miss Abigail, too, Mom.”
“Andy, that’s kind of true. Sure. So, Priscilla, as Lady Proctor, I’m curious what this is all about?”
“Of course. Let’s put aside for now discussions of merciless bird attacks and rejuvenated lighting appliances. As I’d mentioned earlier, there are two events which have led to the invitation to venture into this dark abode. I shall narrate them in chronological order.”
“Uh, sounds good,” said Lando. “So . . . first?”
She held his gaze for a moment, eyes more obvious than any other feature, then looked toward the beginning of the grand staircase, a wide, gently curving bit of old craftsmanship hugging one wall as it rose up toward the second-floor landing.
She began a steady glide in that direction, paused then spun around before taking a step, and faced them again.
“The first topic requires a brief preamble, a relaying of events leading to the disclosure of that first topic. That event occurred shortly after Miss Abigail became Lady Proctor and performed a quite astounding dance, with the additional contributions of the youngest of your coalition, who, I have noticed, has discarded a decorative pink item from her wardrobe.”
“Oh, her tutu,” Abby said. “Yeah, uh, she’s saving that for when I open my school.”
“Quite prudent of her. After that dance performance, you all rightfully and understandably fled from this home, perhaps fearing that it would soon erupt into an inferno of burning timbers and perhaps memories too.
“During your rapid departure, you might have noted that an unruly assembly of aggressive birds—large black crows to be precise—threatened me with bodily harm and coerced me into remaining in my automobile. After you vacated the estate, those birds abandoned their torment of me and resumed their tolerated presence on the roof peaks.
“Free of their abuse, I ventured back into this magnificent home, intending to be sure that it was secure before following after Phil Fourth and Bob. But something prompted me, perhaps a hint of a voice mixed with thick layers of shade, to climb these stairs, which, I am sure you would all agree, are quite grand.”
“I like them!” said Annabeth.
“We all do,” said Abby. “Yeah, they’re grand alright. So, you went upstairs.”
“Yes, as shall we all in but a moment. Although the reborn round fabrication of lights high above the floor was already donating a share of its light to that landing, I added,”—she reached back without looking and hit a switch—“those very lights.”
The wall sconces situated evenly along the second-floor landing came to life.
“And there, in an area of dust undisturbed by small footprints or smaller and more troublesome paw prints, I saw, to my surprise, a note. The lines and features of every letter had not yet acquired so much as a speck of dust, so, you must all agree, it had quite recently been left there.”
“Who wrote the note?” said Andy. “What did it say?”
With her hands still clasped in front of her, her posture rigid but calm, Priscilla focused on Andy and said, “Firstly, the contents of the note cannot be referred to as if it is in the past. More correctly, one should ask what it does say. For expediency and convenience, we shall neglect for now the obvious reality that it does not say anything.”
“Oh, uh, okay,” he said, then got a pat on his back from Lando.
“To your first question, though there is no signature, the note’s author can be only . . .”
Everyone held their breath and waited. Barkley kept his tail still and stared up at the woman.
“. . . Uncle Ghost.”
Priscilla didn’t wait for any reaction before turning and beginning her ascent toward the landing, but Lando stopped her on the third step.
“Wait a sec. You’re admitting that he’s a ghost?”
Without turning back toward him, she said, “I am admitting no such thing. I am merely speaking in terms that I know will be understood by all, providing also some degree of amusement to temper the seriousness of these proceedings. Please, make use of these grand stairs, and we shall rejoin our discussion as we all view the message left, I believe, by a departed scholar who might or might not be an actual ghost.”
Priscilla resumed her climb, but no one followed her right away.
“Lannie, there’s always some new creepiness to this place. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Mom, no,” said Andy. “I want to see what Uncle Ghost wrote.”
“Me too, Mom.”
“Well, I’m with the kids, Abby. Besides, that’s where AB and I saw—”
“Lan, really, I like the name Andy. Annabeth is a very nice name too.”
“Yeah, me too. Nice names. But, uh, when you two were dancing during that storm, we really did see something that was probably the ghost of your Uncle Ghost. He was . . . what?”
Abby’s laughing stopped him, and she said, “Come on, this is getting even sillier. The ghost of my Uncle Ghost?”
“Oh, yeah, that sure is kind of silly. Still, though, that’s where he was, watching you again like when you were little. Tell me you’re not curious.”
“Well, sure, Lannie. Yeah, I’m curious. But we should just—”
Annabeth pulled her hand loose from her mother’s with a muffled squeal and began running up the steps, her long hair bouncing all the way.
“I’m with ABB,” Andy said before following her.
“Oh, fine,” Abby said, took Lando’s hand, and joined the climb to where Priscilla was already motionless, gray, and watching their progress.
After acknowledging their arrival, Priscilla offered a slight nod, a gentle tipping of the brim of her hat, then took gliding steps over toward the note in the dust.
Annabeth never gave up her lead, and she was the first to stand right beside Priscilla, who looked down at her. Annabeth looked up, covered her muted giggle with one hand, then waved with a slow curling of her fingers.
“Hmm. You remain unquestionably a lesser Proctor, but you were prompt in following the directions given. You may yet earn a title as has your mother, the Lady Proctor.”
“Okay.”
“Hmm.”
The rest caught up and looked down at the scribblings on the floor, plain and legible in the ample light.
“You think my uncle wrote that? Really?”
“I do indeed, Lady Proctor. Upon the vocal recounting by the young orator of your group of the words imprinted there”—she unclasped her hands long enough to point a finger toward Andy—“we will all attest to the style and phrasing being undeniably characteristic of the writings of the lauded scholar and avid experimenter, the departed Maestro Proctor.”
Andy looked up at Lando and said, “Uh, Dad, should I—”
“Yeah, Andy. Just read it.”
Andy positioned himself better, looked down at the note, then cleared his throat and read it out loud.
“Precious Abigail,
“Your smiles were delightful, your dance filled this room,
When you visited as a child, you chased away the gloom.
Those foyer lights are special, they’ve waited so long.
Then you became Lady Proctor, and this is where you belong.”
Lando squeezed Abby in closer to himself, and Andy and Annabeth looked up at her.
“Mom, Uncle Ghost wrote this to you. He really did.”
Abby scoffed and looked for a moment at every member of her family smiling back at her.
“Guys, come on. What is this? Who wrote this, Priscilla?”
Priscilla pointed toward the letters in the dust and said, “Does this message not read like something the departed scholar would write?”
“Well, yeah, sure. But still, that doesn’t mean—”
“I assure you that between the time you fled with your bags of treasure, and before—”
“Saddlebags,” Andy said with a restrained snicker.
Priscilla said, “What?”
Annabeth’s eyes got big, and she looked up at her mother with one finger pointed up.
“Honey, yes, just one word.”
Priscilla scoffed and said, “Do not become accustomed to such unnatural and infrequent limitations. We all know that I can gush out words enough to outnumber every single drop flowing incessantly in any of the largest rivers in our world. We shall end our debate on the origins of this message and move on to the second topic, which is—”
“Wait a second,” said Lando. “You’re sure that Philly guy didn’t sneak in here and write that? How about Otto or his sisters?”
“Hmm. Have any of those individuals impressed upon you their knack and fondness for communicating in such a way? Would you venture a claim that any of them would so quickly convey such a message as a rhyming verse?”
“Well, uh, I—”
“No, you would not make that claim. None of us would. Now, if I may continue?”
“Uh, sure,” said Abby. “What else?”
“It is simply this: upon my notification of the contents of this message to members of the extended Proctor family, an urgent and necessary meeting was organized and held. The decision was unanimous.”
Everyone waited, ignoring the scrawled message from a departed ghost uncle and instead, trying to focus on Priscilla’s eyes, which were mostly hidden in the shadows of her significant hat brim.
“This house and its sizable grounds will not be put on the market. No, it will be offered, at a substantially discounted price to, as Uncle Ghost has advised, Lady Proctor.”
Chapter 4 – You Must Live Here
Abby laughed, looked around on the landing quickly, then gave a glance over the railing toward the grand foyer, then focused again on Priscilla, who remained still and without any apparent humor.
“What? That’s silly. We can’t buy this gigantic house even if we wanted it.”
“The actual purchase of this estate is an insignificant detail handled with stacks of forms to sign and quantities of valuable goods to be transferred. No, Lady Proctor, the most critical goal is that you make this venerable estate your home. You must live here as so clearly and poetically directed by the departed gentleman.”
“Even if we could afford it, which we can’t, and even if this note in the dust is real, which it probably isn’t, and even if—”
“Honey,” Lando said, laughing and pulling her into an embrace, “I think we need to slow way down here.”
He kept his hug of her tight as he turned enough to get Priscilla’s attention.
“Look, that’s incredible, but it’s a lot to think about. I mean, we don’t know how we even feel about it, how the kids—”
“I want to live in the ghost house!” Annabeth said, shaking silently from a repressed giggle.
“I’m with ABB,” said Andy, containing his enthusiasm more effectively except for his smile and nodding head. “The ghost house. Our house!”
“Kids,” said Abby, “your father’s right—we need to all sit down and talk about this until—”
All eyes turned toward Priscilla, who remained unaffected in any noticeable way by the sound of a gong coming from somewhere around her. It ramped up to its peak volume, then succumbed to a steady decrescendo until it had gone silent.
She kept her eyes on Abby, reached into a pocket, and withdrew her phone. With a straight arm, she raised it to where it almost blocked their shared line of sight, then she moved her eyes just enough to give it a brief look before stowing it away again.
“I must return to the home office at once. My role as emissary to the extended Proctor relations—the notifications of both this cryptic note in the dust and the offer to purchase every bit of the immense structure surrounding said note—is complete. For now.”
She turned and took one step toward the stairway, then paused to look back at them.
“Do be sure to lock up this majestic mansion when you leave.”
“Crows,” Andy said.
“The lesser Proctor is correct. One can never determine with certainty whether they are or are not satisfied with the ridges and valleys of the roof which they have claimed and will likely never relinquish without some drastic occurrence of breathtaking severity. But it could be that they might desire some retreat from the weather.”
“Hey,” Abby said, pointing up, “if they want the house, do they get it at the same price?”
“Well, you raise an interesting point. Yes, Lady Proctor, they have likely snatched and squirreled away enough gold coins over the centuries to amass the fortune necessary to purchase this estate. You understand well how capable and—”
“What? No, I wasn’t saying they had that much gold. That’s just silly. Priscilla, it was a joke.”
“Oh. A joke. I will admit that your comment, viewed from that perspective, can be taken as quite humorous.”
“That’s as close as you come to laughing?” Lando said, bouncing his eyebrows at her.
“Hmm. Some of your party of Proctors and non-Proctors,”—she gave Barkley a quick sneer—“are of the opinion that I might be a ghost. If that is the truth of the matter, I might be of the variety that prefers haunts to humor. Now, I must go and,”—she leaned forward to look more directly into Annabeth’s eyes—“haunt the home office.”
“Mom . . .” Annabeth said in a strained whisper.
“Annabeth, Honey, it’s fine. She’s just playing.”
Abby looked again toward Priscilla, nodding and tipping her head toward Annabeth. Priscilla managed a tight grin, just a hint of a fissure in the shadows that comprised her face beneath the wide brim of her hat.
“Have you considered, youngest human thing of your group, that my home office is actually a sanctuary for . . . ghosts?”
“Ah! Mom!”
“Hey, come on, Priscilla,” Lando said, fighting to not laugh.
The slight fissuring in the gray vanished, Priscilla scoffed, and she turned and began her usual gliding walk toward the stairway.
“Honey, really,” Abby said to Annabeth, “that’s just her way of having fun. She’s not a ghost.”
Annabeth held her mother’s gaze and shook her head slowly.
“Okay,” Abby added, “maybe we’re not entirely sure.”
Lando took Abby’s arm and said, “Hey, over here,” and led her toward the railing overlooking the grand foyer.
The children joined them, and they watched as Priscilla descended the stairs as if sliding smoothly along a flat surface, with none of the expected light bouncing or even the slightest movement of her hat.
“How does she do that?”
“I don’t know, Lannie. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
She’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and then, after a few steps, reached for the front door. But she held herself still, hand out, as the gong tone ramped up, peaked, then fizzled itself down into silence.
With the phone out and held to her ear, she scoffed loudly enough for the audience on the landing above to hear, and they watched her rhythmic head shakes cut the air cleanly with the brim of her hat.
She yanked open the front door, stood where the outside world and its waves of communications signals could see her phone, then held still with it at her ear.
“Very well,” she said before packing away the device.
Everyone watched her take smooth, gliding steps, never enough to rustle the fabric of her dress or tip her hat, toward the library, the entrance door of which was part of the walls surrounding the grand foyer.
Standing before the door which she’d just closed, she snapped her arms straight up at her sides, bent them at the elbows, and retrieved the bone key from one of the sleeves. It took only a second for her to insert it into the lock, give it a forceful twist, and send a solid clunk out into the silent mansion.
No one spoke from the landing as they watched her hide away the key, then exit the house, closing the front door with a soft boom.
“She’s a ghost,” Andy said.
“Andy, no, probably not.”
“Andy’s right, Mom. Why did she lock the library?”
“Oh, I know,” said Andy. “Mom and Dad won’t buy the house if the armor is running around screaming.”
“Andy, stop it. No armor ghosts.”
“Kids, no one’s a ghost—not Priscilla, not the armor, and not Uncle Proctor. I don’t know who wrote that in the dust, though.”
“Abby,” said Lando, “AB, I mean Andy and I are pretty sure we saw him when you and ABB were dancing while that storm—”
The front door got snapped open, banging against the wall, and Priscilla rushed in with a backdrop of hefty black birds racing past the open doorway.
She looked up, straightened the hat which was leaning to one side, then said, “They are quite resolute in their wrath, those bold black birds. Be sure to lock this door!”
She set the lock on the knob, switched off the grand chandelier, then stepped out and boomed shut the door.