The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion (25 page)

I hear voices crying in the night and I go see what’s the matter. [But] You don’t make a dime that way.

—The Long Goodbye
, Raymond Chandler, 1953

 

 

 

LIKE THE LIVING room below, the master bedroom held all the cheer of an upholstered coffin. The windows were covered with bulky brocade, the four-poster bed was topped with a thick velvet canopy, and the weak bedside lamp barely held off the oppressive shadows. Surrounded by dark-stained, ornately carved furnishings, I felt like a fly caught in a gloomy cobweb.

Seymour pointed to the massive bed set against the wall. “You’ll be sleeping on Superman sheets,” he warned in a sheepish tone. “They’re the only ones I had that were big enough to fit this sucker. Sorry. I should have had king-sized sheets delivered with the mattress.”

“That’s okay. I always liked the Man of Steel. I feel bad kicking you out of your own bedroom, though.”

Seymour glanced around. “I actually prefer a northern exposure. I’d planned on moving this bed into the guest room next door, but guess what.” He grabbed one of the bed’s stout mahogany posts with both hands and shook it. The canopy quivered a little, but the bed didn’t budge. “It’s bolted to the floor! The moving guys couldn’t understand it, and they couldn’t move it, either. Saved me some money though.” He tapped the baseboard and grinned. “I didn’t need box springs. It’s a platform bed.”

He lifted the mattress to show me the wooden planks underneath. “Don’t worry. Even without the springs, the bed seems comfortable enough.”

“
Seems?
Haven’t you slept in it yet?”

“This is actually my first night in the mansion. I was supposed to stay here last night, but I was packing up my collection at the old place and it got so late I just crashed on the floor of my old room.”

I got the distinct impression from Seymour’s shaky tone that he wasn’t all that eager to be alone in Miss Todd’s house tonight. This eased some of my guilt about displacing him from the master bedroom—but it failed to mitigate the creepy vibe I was feeling from this space.

“Most of the drawers and stuff are still filled with Timothea’s things, and my crap is still packed up in bags and boxes.” As he spoke, Seymour fumbled through a pile of clothing on top of a chest of drawers. He tossed me a white T-shirt still wrapped in its original plastic. “It’s extra large, big enough for you to sleep in if you like.”

“Thanks, Seymour.” I stifled a yawn as I tore open the plastic wrapper around the big shirt. “Well, goodnight.”

I expected him to leave right then, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything, either, just stood there in the middle of the bedroom staring at me for an awkward minute.

“Something on your mind?” I finally asked.

He shifted from foot to foot. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Penelope.”

“Thanks. You’ve been a good friend to me, too.”

“Do you think that you and I should maybe—” He glanced away, then back to me. “I don’t know, maybe be more than that?”

Uh-oh,
said the ghost in my head.

My entire body went rigid. Maybe sleeping over wasn’t such a good idea. “Um, Seymour, I don’t really feel that way about you.”

Seymour blew out air. “Oh, good! I mean . . . I really like you and all, Pen, don’t get me wrong, but as a
friend
. I just don’t feel that romantic chemistry thing, you know?”

“Chemistry, right.”

“See, I didn’t want you to think I was insulting you or anything.”

“Insulting me?”

“By not making a pass.”

“Listen, Seymour, I think you’re a great guy.” I took his arm and began walking him to the door. “But I wouldn’t want us to put our friendship in jeopardy, you know? That’s too important to me.”

Seymour nodded. He stopped in the doorway and looked down at me with an excessively sympathetic look in his eyes. “I agree with you, Pen. Let’s just keep things on a friendship level between us. It’ll be better for you in the long run. You’ll see.”

I gritted my teeth. “
Anyway
, you have other romantic prospects to think about, don’t you? I mean, April Briggs was all over you tonight.”

“You noticed, too, huh?” Seymour waggled his eyebrows. “She couldn’t keep her hands off me, but you know, there was still something missing with her.”

“Missing?”

Seymour shrugged. “That chemistry thing again. I told her all about my comic collection, my pulp magazines, too, and she wasn’t even impressed. Hardly knew what to say.”

“Well, not every couple has everything in common. On the other hand, Seymour, maybe April’s not the one for you. Aunt Sadie always says there’s someone for everyone, and I’m sure your soul mate’s out there somewhere. You’ll know her when you meet her.”

“Well, maybe you’re right, Pen.” He smiled and walked into the hall. “Pleasant dreams, okay. I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

I closed the door behind him and collapsed against it. “Lord, what a night.” With a sigh, I moved back into the center of the shadowy room and glanced around. All of a sudden, I felt very alone.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jack,” I said as I changed into the oversized T-shirt. “Even though you really should have listened to me and ducked out. You dodged a bullet tonight with that Spirit Zapper guy, you know?”

“My point exactly. You can’t be too careful.”

I yawned as I pulled down the bedcovers and climbed into Seymour’s Superman sheets. I yawned again as I switched off the bedside lamp. Still sitting up, I looked around. With the light off, this room was much darker than my own room on Cranberry Street, where ambient light from the street seeped softly through my thin curtains. The closed brocade drapes on Miss Todd’s tall, narrow windows blocked even the moonlight.

They seemed to block all sound, too. Not that there was much to block in the first place. Up here on Larchmont, car traffic was minimal, pedestrian traffic was practically non-existent, and Miss Todd’s mansion sat high on a hill, a fair distance from her nearest neighbor.

I swallowed. The silence felt tomblike.

“Jack?”

“You want to talk?”

“But, you’ve been gone the last few nights. This is a good time to catch up—”

I stifled a yawn. “Why don’t you tell me more about that case of yours?” I yawned again as I settled myself under the covers. “Did you ever find”—(yawn)—“little J. J. Conway’s mother?”

If Jack answered, I didn’t hear. I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

 

“WHAT THE—?”

A noise woke me from the sleep of the dead. I lay on my side, stiff and still, peering into the inky dark.

“Where am I?”

The mattress didn’t feel like my own. I glanced around and saw four posts, a thick canopy draped overhead. That’s when I remembered: I was in Miss Todd’s room. Then the noise came again—

The thunderous explosion shook the massive bed. Another one came and then another.

“My God!”

More booms came in rapid succession, until the sounds overlapped like the mechanical roar of a freight train running right through my head. I sat up and screamed—

The noise abruptly ceased.

A moment later, the master bedroom’s heavy door slammed open. By the light of the hallway I saw Seymour standing there in pea-green Incredible Hulk pajamas.

“Pen! Are you okay? I heard you screaming!”

“Did you hear it?” I asked, clicking on the bedside lamp.

Seymour blinked. “I heard
you
.”

“Not
me
! Those booms! Like a giant stomping through the mansion! Then it started running. The rumble was so loud the bed was shaking!”

Seymour’s expression was no longer alarmed, and I stopped chattering. He shook his head. “Listen, Pen. I think you had a—”

“Don’t say it!” I folded my arms, lowered my voice to a rational volume. “It wasn’t a nightmare. I heard it, I tell you.”

“Right. Okay. Maybe you did hear a, uh, giant, but he’s gone now.” Seymour was now gazing at me with excessive sympathy, as if he were once again breaking it to me that we had no romantic chemistry.

“So where did he go?” I asked flatly.

“Maybe back to the Valley along with the original Jolly Green Giant to grow more vegetables. Ho. Ho. Ho!”

I knew the man was just trying to lighten the tension, but I wasn’t in the mood for Chuckles the Clown.

Seymour noticed my scowl. “Sorry. You want me to stick around?”

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”

Seymour bid me goodnight again and closed the door. Warily, I lay back down, but I didn’t close my eyes, just peered unhappily at the thick velvet canopy above me.

“Jack, where are you?” I whispered.

His voice sounded far away, but I held on to it like a lifeline. “Stick close, huh?”

“At the moment, I’m scared of both, okay? Did you hear the noises?”

“So you did hear?”

I heard. But I can’t explain it to you.
The ghost breezed past my ear.
Get some sleep. I can tell you need it.

“I can’t sleep. I’m too freaked out.”

“You know any?”

“That’s not a lullaby.”

Quiet descended.

“I still can’t sleep.”

“Working?”

“Fine,” I said, throwing the covers aside. But before I got out of bed, I heard what sounded like a sob.

“Did you make a noise just now, Jack?”

Then I heard it again: a woman’s sob. The sound was filled with misery, a cry of anguish. I switched on the bedside lamp, fully expecting the sob to vanish. But it only got louder. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Then I crossed the rug in bare feet, trying to locate the sound. It seemed to come from everywhere.

“Miss Todd? Is that you?” I called. “Why are you crying?”

The sobs intensified.

“If it is you, Timothea, please show yourself!”

The sound faded until I had to strain to hear it. Finally all I could hear was the accelerated beat of my own heart. Then I heard heavy footsteps in the hall outside my door. I pulled my slacks on, tucked in the oversized T-shirt, and shoved my feet into my flat sandals.

I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it. There was definitely someone or something on the other side of the wood. I held my breath, closed my fingers around the glass handle, and ripped the door open.

I heard a scream a split second before I was blinded by a blazing light. Then I screamed, too.

“Pen!” Seymour cried. “You scared the hell out of me, opening the door like that! I thought you were—”

“The flashlight! It’s shining in my eyes!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Seymour lowered the Maglite until its beam illuminated the carpet that ran down the center of the hall.

“What happened to the electricity?” I asked, trying to rub the white spots from my eyes.

“The lights flickered and then went out.”

“The light in my room is working fine—” I faced the bedroom I’d just left and saw it was now completely dark in there, too. “Well, it
was
working. When did the electricity fail?”

“Right around the time I heard what sounded like a woman crying.”

“You heard it, too?”

“Listen!”

The sobs began again. Then the lights flickered in the hall and came on. “Thank goodness! At least we don’t have to stumble around in the dark—”

“Holy crap! Look at the clock!”

I followed Seymour’s flashlight beam to the old grandfather and gasped. The hands on the face were spinning like propellers. Then the clock began to chime, its repeated gongs filling the narrow space.

“Let’s go!” Seymour began pushing me toward the stairs. He didn’t have to push hard; I’d definitely seen enough! I turned and together we raced to the end of the hall.

As we ran, the sobs intensified, until the wretched sound of crying was louder than the noise of the gonging grandfather clock. When we reached the bottom of the staircase, the clock finally stopped making noise. That was when I noticed lights flickering in the living room and strange wisps of white rolling through the door. Seymour saw it, too.

“Holy smoke!” he said. “Is that a fire?”

“No. There’s no smell, no heat.”

Taking a deep breath, I pulled away from Seymour and moved through the doorway to the living room. Seymour had left two lamps on, but as soon as I moved over the threshold, they went off. I continued forward in the dark.

The sobbing suddenly ceased. I stopped dead.

“Miss Todd?” I called and waited. But everything in the house remained silent and still. I took another step forward—and gasped. A shroud of frigid air suddenly enveloped me.

“Pen?” Seymour’s voice sounded shaky. I turned to see his flashlight beam at the door.