#gracey for the soul

[chasmbreach]

oh right i forgot to post these doodles from last night

[jestercake]

Finished some writing for you lovelies! Sorry for the delay but the concept piece to go with it took more time than I expected it to.

Preliminary Before Reading:

This short story is based almost entirely off of Disney’s Haunted Mansion 2023 film, with some allusion to the 2003 film adaptation. All of the characters within this story belong to Disney and I have adapted many of them to my own personal interpretation. This storyline takes place the night before Ben Matthias enters the mansion and Kent has gone back to New Orleans in order to seek him out. This story is a tragedy! (NOTE: I often capitalize the pronoun “He/Him” in most sentences in order to identify the Hatbox Ghost.)

Word Count: 10,414

DISCLAIMER:

Before reading, this story has specific and mature content listed: Necrophagia, Suicide by manipulation, poisoning, implied assult, explicit violence to ghosts, and implied enslavement.

The Dining Room

…

Almost every night at midnight, many ghosts were forced to set the elongated dining table for dinner. Some servant spirits had no trouble setting the table for their previous masters of the house, William Gracey amongst them. However, those times were far behind them. Now that Gracey had fallen victim to what others called, “the Hatbox Ghost,” dinner was a time of misery and melancholia.

William Gracey watched the upper levels of the grand dining room with a sunken heart and a sunken soul. How, in retrospect, it used to glow with warm orange candlelight, full of life and merriment, especially when guests used to come round. Now, the only light was an ominous, cold purple, gloomy and wrong.

William decided to ignore the subtle beat of the grandfather clock, thumping akin to a metallic heart. It would soon strike the thirtieth hour, signifying evil was on its way. He dematerialized down to the grand hall with a fair swoop of blue light as he grappled his yellow lantern. He was fond of it, for it was reminiscent of Elanore’s warmth.

���Quiet night tonight, isn’t it?” The ghost of a footman seemed to exclaim with a mellow tone to Gracey.

They patted the obvious pillows upon the largest dining armchair. Gracey exhaled as if he still had life within his lungs, folding the napkins as if to make himself useful.

“Yes...it always seems so.”

“It’ll get lighter!” Another spirit had said rather optimistically.

“It was lighter then…” Gracey finished the rest of the napkins off as if he were a footman himself, contemplating how many would be eating here tonight.

Every night was different now that the new master of the house had taken authority. The unfortunate souls that had seemed to disturb His presence spent the rest of the night locked away in objects of his choice, or worse. Sometimes, it was any object He’d set eyes upon— such as a lamp or a curtain hanger. William particularly remembered a time where He trapped a soul inside a chaliace and started to drink from it. Really, it was all who enviced such cowardice that were selected, brought forth to their ferocious master, and were led off immediately to be punished as an atonement for their offense. It was quite tortuous actually, being trapped inside something inanimate just to further the idea of enslavement. Being used was another abuse.

“Oh don’t let Him get to you now, Master Gracey. Grief wants something in all of us, y’know.” A parlor-maid spoke after she had set the chairs in their places.

William Gracey looked around in anxiousness after the maid had called him ‘Master Gracey.’

“Don’t say that dear, not at this time. He could be listening.” Another parlor-maid had said in a sudden response.

William then noticed a much wilder, tall-stature spirit materialize across the room, but it was not black like a shadow. It was the Hatchet Ghost, titled that way by the Hatbox Ghost, where his mortal name was once Vincent Gracey. William’s shoulders ran tight when he spawned near the rest of the maid-servants and footmen.

Vincent wore the same tattered dark suit and tailcoat, accompanied by a straight Victorian bow tie. More noticeably, there lay a prominent and raw wound across his neck. He grimaced, side-glancing at one of the maids who addressed William as ‘Master.’

“Ah…I thought I’d heard something out of you few. Still resisting, are we?” Vincent sneered with his strange, grotesque smile and sickly bulged eyes.

His skin remained a ghastly color with somewhat sunken features. William Gracey watched the Hatchet Ghost paced past the two maidservants, skimming the decorative table once or twice. Then, he stopped at the dining armchair, scoffing.

“Who patted the pillows!? Our master likes them rather billowy! Was it you?” Vincent suddenly pointed at a servant who’s back had faced the scene.

Suddenly, the soul turned with a terrible expression while the Hatchet Ghost forced them to the floor with a strange unseen power. The ghosts screamed and were blasted out of the dining hall in a matter of seconds. The other servants cowered after the event, looking toward the floor with dreadful expressions, while others retreated themselves.

“That’s better...” Vincent grumbled as he turned his head back to the chair.

He took the time to readjust the pillows so that they were perfect. After he did so, his eyes met with William Gracey. Although William wanted to react, use what little power he could to resist, he had no control over the situation. Any situation, in that fact.

“Oh, William. Why the long face? You of all… specters should know these rules…” Vincent made his way over to his nephew.

There was a small moment of silence between the two until William decided to speak.

“I don’t care, Vincent. I don’t serve devils like you do.”

With subtle fury upon his face, Vincent closed his fists tightly in response. However, he was cunning enough to know William’s mannerisms would be dealt with rather soon.

“…I’m..sorry to hear that, William. I expected more from you. But…” Vincent paused for a moment as he neared his distant relative with an unforgivable face.

“I remember you’re just a coward who lives in the past.”

William Gracey stood his ground, but in response, the slight flame within him was snuffed out in a matter of seconds.

“…You’re stuck, Gracey, just like the rest of them. Stuck mourning over some dead drab that wouldn’t even remember you.” Vincent spoke with such poison.

William brought his head down to where it was less painful, contemplating those words that were sharp as spears. He knew his uncle was right and it sickened him. It almost made his bones twist deep within the Earth, as he knew the truth. No matter how much he tried to resist, how much he’d tried to better himself, nothing would change the fact that this was all his fault. All his damn fault.

“…Perhaps if you did your job you wouldn't be so…useless. Besides, I won’t be the one to help you when you’ll inevitably pay Him for your actions.” Vincent continued to speak.

“And I’m sure you know His punishments quite well…don’t you…William?”

The Hatchet Ghost smiled unpleasantly at William and watched him return to a submissive state of sorrow and regret. It wasn’t hard to degrade him, and he knew that all too well.

“Now then…How about you go and pour our Master His glass before he arrives. Make yourself useful for once…”

William kept his eyes off of Vincent as he passed him. However, it was obvious to him how the other spirits watched as he carried himself in misery towards the end of the table. As he passed the maidservant, she returned glances with him, truly sorry that he’d fallen victim to this darkness.

He poured a large chalice full of arsenic for the Master of the house. Arsenic was His favorite and quite a strong delicacy for dark spirits to consume. It was like any other form of alcohol in the mortal realm, though much more potent. Devil’s whiskey, he thought.

William set the glass back down as more spirits were forced into the grand hall without liberty. He could recognize a few of them in the large crowd, some of them distant friends he’d once known in his past life. However, many of them were new acquaintances that he’d met during his purgatory. He made his way to Victor, a pipe organist, and Dorian Gracey, a distant relative to himself. He was also good friends with a harpist who had no name, for she couldn’t remember what it was, but she was a kind spirit. Dorian was the first to speak.

“William, I wish I could say good afternoon to you, but…” Dorian’s voice faded slightly.

William Gracey only smiled with his lips in response, but his expression hadn’t changed.

“It’s good to see you intact, Dorian.” William said half-heartedly.

He knew Dorian was cursed and would soon start to deteriorate, but it was always good to remind him of his obvious beauty.

“I didn’t know you were helping tonight, Gracey. And if I’m being quite frank I’m not even hungry.” Victor had said afterwards as he met up with the small group of spirits.

“One is always…particularly hungry. We don’t even need to be here.” The flutist caught up with Victor, adding into the conversation.

“It’s good to see you both. The realms haven’t been so kind to me.” William spoke with a dreadful undertone, knowing the reasons why.

“Don’t dwell on the past, William. At least we can see each other now.” Dorian patted William’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yes, In the grand hall….Which I can never seem to escape…” Victor Giest scoffed in slight annoyance, though he was glad to be with his fellow spirits.

William exhaled a small laugh as the four of them continued to converse with each other. However, he couldn’t help but notice the darker spirits around them, maintaining the proper order of their master. Constance was one of them, corrupted by the Hatbox Ghost and forced to do his bidding unwillingly, despite her general liking to frightening mortals.

“You know, I sometimes wonder why He invites so many of us. One should not invite fewer than the Graces nor more than the Muses.” The flutist had commented upon the obvious, uneven amount of spirits present.

Constance met eyes with William suddenly, her eyes blinded with a strange blue light. Even for a ghostly entity, she was quite awful to look at. He inhaled suddenly, turning his head towards the upper levels of the house in a moment.

Suddenly, the grandfather clock echoed throughout the entire realm of the mansion, refracting perfectly as if to evoke fear upon every sorrowful soul. The painful ticking heartbeat seemed to cease after the twelfth stroke, as every spirit turned heads without content. William inhaled and watched as every exit seemingly faded away within the walls of the grand hall, which had stretched effortlessly in every direction. All spirits were lively, some even attempted to flee. However, an unknown presence forced their standing as if the floor became an ethereal cement. Even William had come to find himself stationary, which made every particle of his plasmic form circulate with worry and anticipation of what events would unfold.

Soon, the last chime of the clock echoed through the atmosphere and the repeated loud tapping of a cane’s ferrule could be heard everywhere, as if to snare the helpless souls once and for all. Every loud clap was a disturbing reminder of agonizing pain, akin to the sound of a whip to the abused. Each stab noisier than the last until the final blow came to a halt almost suddenly.

William Gracey looked around for the rest of his small group, no sign of the Hatbox Ghost anywhere. His eyes found movement when Vincent walked from the table effortlessly in silence. As he watched the spirit near one of the walls that had recently closed off, everything ran cold and still. Not a single Spector made a sound once the world around them grew dark with a black smog. He was near.

Trapped in thought, Gracey gripped onto his lantern in means of comfort, hardly able to make out his friends beside him in the thick fog. The feeling of grief began to overwhelm him without control, as he began to recall his beloved Elanore’s passing. Frightened souls wailed in the darkness as they heard the Hatchet Ghost’s calling.

“Everyone in their places…”

William shut his eyes as he was engulfed in terror, unable to escape. Every move seemed torturous as a now present sinfulness resonated throughout the endless realm, pure and maddening. The void of the fog started to reabsorb itself into one large, singular entity. An evil spirit of tyrannical might and manipulation. An infamous, malevolent entity.

“…Sir Hatbox Ghost…” Vincent exclaimed softly as he stood behind a nearby dining chair, arms folded.

The remaining section of a wall was ripped open as the dark spirit entered the room, only to have it close quickly after he’d entered. The air was deathly still as his cane tapped mockingly against the cold tiles. An animalistic growl escaped the entity as His great dark, ghostly cape dragged shortly after His grotesquely discomforting limp, a hatbox held in His left claw. The dark spirit had about him a spectral aura of blackness, something unnatural for even the ghost realm, where a strange bright orange light illuminated within the hatbox.

“…No reason to be…afraid…” came an omniscient, dark echo.

William Gracey attempted to move his feet, but to no avail. It was unwise that he had to stand so near the end of the table, for that was where the Hatbox Ghost approached. The Hatchet Ghost followed his master shortly after, making sure he drew the seat from the table.

However, before Hatbox Ghost took a seat, he stopped. Suddenly, the light within his hatbox faded to reveal a dark and desolate face of demoniacal features upon his hunched shoulders. He stared across the lengthened grand dining hall without a single sound, looming above them all. Only His great yellow eyes sifted every soul within His vicinity, followed by a deep, breathless inhale and a low snarl with bared teeth.

Many ghosts never saw his true face upon his shoulders, for he was a cursed entity, head bound to his hat box. Only during midnight was he able to soothe his own pain, once his head rested upon his shoulders.

The darkness within the dining hall never ceased as long as the Hatbox Ghost was present. No one held a voice, for he was too powerful to be spoken with. The only way one could stay below the radar was to disengage Him. But that was inevitable.

“Ah, what a…delightful bunch I have here tonight. I’m sure you are all…ecstatic upon my arrival.” He spoke through his booming, guttural, accented voice.

“Yes, Sir—Marvelous indeed!” One of his goons had said suddenly without context.

The Hatbox Ghost turned to face the outspoken spector, only to have them fall to silence instantly. Then he exhaled, finishing off his strained cycle towards his enlarged dining armchair.

Every eye watched with underlying dread as the Hatbox Ghost first analyzed the pillows. He glared with some content upon the work, akin to a critic, then held out his cane for a footman to take. Then he set his hat box beside him, still standing. Quickly, the footman took the large object in complete, almost robotic sync against his very will.

Something upon the entity’s face painted an impatient and ferocious expression in such a gradual manner as He stalked the still atmosphere. Then, He grimaced with sharpened, decayed teeth whilst he set himself down with a bit of strain. Within an instant, every spirit had made their way to the table without their will present. They all waited for Hatbox Ghost to sit before anyone could. Only after, did everyone take their seat in a repetitive manner.

William Gracey had found himself bending down until he and the rest of his friends were glued to their seats, unable to get up. It was an engaging, yet terrible entrapment caused by the evil spector’s supernatural abilities. Only He was in control.

After a moment of long silence, The massive ghost lifted His dark spell upon the spirits so that they could move freely. However, no one could leave their seat after He turned his clawed hand in a strange manner. Some whispering and vickering came shortly after the Hatbox Ghost had done so.

“Ah, yes. There’s no need to thank me, for I am rather…generous tonight.” A deep bellowing growl escaped His thin lips.

Then, He set his folded claws upon the edge of the table. It was in such terrible grace it made William Gracey feel quite weary. No one responded, in fear of what Hatbox Ghost might say or do to them. It was something every old spirit had painfully adapted to. However, some still spoke, for they were rather young and oblivious.

“Generous you are, Sir Hatbox Ghost! But, I was wondering something myself of late...” A rather plump spirit had responded, for it was Phineas, as most ghosts went by.

The Hatbox Ghost lifted his chin a bit, eyes now gazed upon the ghost irritatingly. His chest rose and one could notice the sheer width of his ribcage through his eccentric clothing.

“What do you…want, Phineas? Or should I say…you three.” Hatbox ghost snarled, for this has happened almost every evening occasion.

“Well, Phineas is just being quite chaste! If you—your uh—excellency…can lend us a car—” Another ghost beside him, Ezra, was brought into the conversation rather swiftly.

William Gracey, as for many of the other spirits at the table, observed the Hatbox Ghost as He pressed two of His long fingers against the sharp bridge of his sunken nose, closing His eyes in annoyance. This was the usual, everyone presumed.

“Yes Sir! I think we could be a great help if we weren’t—well, y’know—all cooped up in this house. Of course we all know you can't even leave the grounds yourself!” Another spirit, Gus, added his voice as well.

After a short bit of laughter, the trio changed expressions upon a quick thought. They noticed the Master’s widened, yellow eyes, beaming back at them unpleasantly. It was enough to even frighten the Hatchet Ghost, who sat closest to Him. It was rather animalistic and unnatural how small His pupils were slit.

Ezra looked away quickly, nudging the two others to quit their useless bickering. Then, he grinned back as if to relieve the thick atmosphere.

“We’re sorry, Master. Please…Do carry on in ignoring our requests. They are stupid requests…”

“Oh yes, childish!” Gus added.

The Hatbox Ghost exhaled with bared, slimy teeth. However, His terrible look was drowned out with a sudden, strange and false smile. Then, He spoke with sound gravel.

“The…only reason why I seem to be..stuck here…”

Suddenly, Hatbox Ghost clenched his fists and the three spirits were lifted slightly from their seats, which encouraged distressed cries. Then, they were all forced to face the evil Spector.

“Is due to the pitiful failures of little souls such as YOU THREE!” He bellowed.

Suddenly and by force, the Hatbox Ghost made the three of them strain painfully midair as if they were foolish puppets. Then, after enough torment, he brought them back down as they scrambled to their seats in a panicked frenzy. It was quite a terrible spectacle.

“Tedious old fools…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered.

William Gracey exchanged looks with Dorian, who now looked deathly sick as he reached the decomposition process of his curse. William turned his head in an instant, too overwhelmed to deal with Dorian’s malformations. Instead, he’d begun to fidget with his translucent, skeletal fingers underneath the table with his eyes shadowed.

“Now, where were we…” The Hatbox Ghost spoke with undertones of latent ravening. He was, however, quite capable of hiding such fury.

“The...mortals, Sir.” Vincent had imposed as he subtly whispered beside Him.

Slowly, the evil Spector wore a strange, deathly grin in light of the news, as He glided His vision across the table.

“Ah…yes. As many of you know, we have some new…guests with us of late.” He sneered.

The Hatbox Ghost grappled his chalice as he brought it to his gaunt lips with great emphasis. He took a rather considerable gulp, as he knew that all eyes were upon him.

It was strange to see the dark fluid melt into His ghostly form. William could see how it passed down His body, through His ribcage, every time lightning flashed into the room. It made him shudder. It was unnatural.

It brought Him much pleasure to be surrounded by the horror of others. Many souls knew He was not one of them, a cursed demon of sinfulness and lingering desires. Upon setting His toxic refreshment down, the Hatbox Ghost dragged his lengthy tongue across the surface of his teeth with such unpleasantness. His stare soon caught up to Victor, then to William Gracey, which made both of them presently unsettled.

“A priest, a mother and her…boy. What a bright little bunch if I do say so myself.” He spoke.

There was some short murmuring from the souls after the Hatbox Ghost addressed the news, most of them up to date. However, it was more due to their anticipation of the mortal guests that made them apprehensive.

“Oh…what will become of these most sorrowful souls?…” He spoke almost rhetorically, masking a wicked chuckle.

A grumble escaped the Hatbox Ghost as he failed to hide his content. It wasn’t unclear what the dark spirit would inevitably do to the mortals. For the entrapped souls, such as William Gracey, it was enslavement.

“Well, never mind that…for now. Let us dine together as acquaintances…”

After a moment of silence, the Hatbox Ghost raised his right claw and administered the footmen to leave the dining hall at once. As if it were almost routine, the ghouls headed towards the kitchen for the first course. That’s when the murmuring started up again.

“I heard the mother’s name was Gemma, or Gabbie, or something of that sort. Wonder where they’re from.” Victor spoke quietly from across the table to William Gracey and the Flutist.

“I do wish them well—That poor kid. He must be a bright young lad.” The Flutist had said to Gracey, who glanced back at her.

William attempted to disregard the obvious gaze from the Hatbox Ghost as he spoke to the spirits beside him.

“Uh—yes. Poor kid…” he muttered.

William Gracey now sifted his view upon Dorian, who’s skin had completely fallen apart from putrefaction. He was now an acrid skeleton, left in humiliation beside his friends. From the gratified look of Vincent, he enjoyed this quite awfully.

Dorian lifted the bare bones that were his hands, in an attempt to shield his brother’s gaze. However, William Gracey had stopped his relative before he could take any action, staring at him. Dorian looked back in slight bafflement.

“Don’t let them get to you..” William managed to say as he shook his head.

Vincent, among other goons, watched in subtle fury as the other spirits conversed, and perhaps even schemed, against the superintendency of the Hatbox Ghost. What dishonor they had for their glorious overlord, sitting in the very company of Him as if it meant nothing.

Willam Gracey set his eyes upon Vincent, and gave him a stern look. However, that soon vanished as the Hatbox Ghost suddenly gave him a look of absolute intent. It sent an unanticipated shiver down his entire form, filling him with despair, as he found himself frozen upon the deathly eyes. He couldn't help but relive those memories so long ago.

…

A pen had taken itself to parchment, he remembered. It was filled with words written in her handwriting. Every curve, every dot was hers. Instinctively, he wrote back to Eleanor, longing to see her again.

“I miss you as I loved you so. Why must death do us part?” He wrote in an expression that reflected his soul.

Madame Leota had warned him about this entity weeks on end, but he was blinded by grief and sorrow. He had seen Eleanor at times- as pretty as a picture and all the more. Sometimes she’d appear in a mirror or glass, refracting in a similar nature to water or dew. And sometimes, he heard her whisper things in his sleep. But mostly, she appeared in his dreams, and it was a presence that had wrapped him tight. A presence he couldn not escape.

“Gracey, my dearest love…” Eleanor had said within Gracey’s dream one night.

She caressed his false body, moving up his back and shoulders from behind. When William attempted to look at her, she set a hand upon his eyes and said,

“Mortal eyes cannot look directly upon the deceased…”

Gracey inhaled, soothed by her soft hand almost instantly. He moved his fingers across hers as he felt into complete darkness.

“…But why? Why can’t I look upon you, my love?” William remembered saying.

“…No man can gaze at My face and live. look at Me and you shall be lost for all eternity…”

“Then I beg of you to let me indulge in other senses! I want to picture you—remember you so that I don’t forget!”

After a subtle silence, Eleanor responded.

“…I will give you something…you will never forget.”

Her voice echoed within the darkness, giving off a shallow, uncanny feeling. It was as if it were doubled and strangled out in some strange way. But nonetheless, Gracey disregarded it.

With great dread and longing, he attempted to get the most out of his once lost love. He could remember her breath—absent of warmth—as she set her lips upon his. Together, they were in complete, desolate harmony as Gracey felt overcome with this lustful addiction. He continued to kiss her and so did she, arms intertwined as he felt her body like a blind man would with the world around him. He could almost picture her face clear in this dream until he felt hers draw away from his.

“…Eleanor…” Gracey exhaled, eyes locked away from sight as he shivered from the cold.

He gripped at her clothes, begging for more. However, slowly Eleanor had pulled away from him.

“—please—don’t leave me…” He uttered mournfully.

Gracey’s hands shook desperately as he held onto her.

“My time with you grows shorter. Listen to me, my love…”

“…no—please.”

“…Only the force of life has parted us from one another. You must give the life you have to Me. Only then will we reunite on the other side.”

“No!…”

Gracey reached out at nothing but ice-cold blackness as Eleanor faded away. On his knees he cried out, but she was no longer there to listen to his dreadful groans. In silence, he cupped his face with both hands until the dream slowly grew faint. But one echo was still heard from within the void, deep and omniscient.

“…Only through death can you see me once more…”

With the words reverberating infinitely in his mind, Gracey finally awoke in a sweat. Rapid breaths overcame him and quite suddenly, he drew away the covers to light a nearby candle. As he made his way towards the study of the mansion, the sound of spirits began to accompany him. Whispers filled the halls as he ran down them, trying to escape the chaos yet to unfold around the mansion. Nothing in the world would stop him from seeing his lost love tonight.

Upon entering the study, Gracey lit the fireplace to draw the darkness away. He stood within his office, noticing a piece of parchment enveloping an object on the large desk. with great anxiety and desire for action, he took the note and small object into grasp and brought it close to the light. He read the note first:

“Tonight we will meet on the other side. —Eleanor.”

Then, with terrible anticipation, he unraveled the note from the object, revealing a small bottle of arsenic. Poison.

Grasping the small bottle at hand, he covered his mouth and inhaled. It was all loud and true, and he knew what had to be done. However, even in grief something never set with him right. He started to quarrel with his morality as he paced in a panicked frenzy. Someone had told him once not to be envious of death, but Gracey felt as if even the malice of Hell would be meek compared to the torment of grief.

Gracey’s pacing subsided as he stopped to look upon the light of the fireplace, face wet with tears of confliction. It was warm and radiant— something he longed to feel again. Without Eleanor, he felt lost in the mortal world. Even after months of performing the same repetitive seance, it all felt futile, for he finally had a chance to see her again. He wouldn’t just let her fade away as if nothing had happened. It was only terror that seemed to engulf him. To live or to die, that was the question. The question that had brought him more pain than poison or hellfire. Finally, he felt as if he was in some control of his decision. He felt something other than misery.

And with this in mind, he slowly unscrewed the cork of arsenic as if it were a bottle of strong liquor. A liquor strong enough to stop a man’s heart. A subtle pop was heard and William Gracey glanced at the bottle with great apprehension, palms sweaty as his heart thundered. He winced away his fear and thought of Eleanore’s desperate command. With this in mind, his jaw tightened as he gradually brought the bottle to his lips. And finally, he slipped it down his throat with curled lips.

Upon finishing the bottle, he grimaced at the pungent and sour metallic flavor of the poison. He searched the room with rapid, uncontrollable thoughts, knowing there was no turning back. He gazed upon the table, setting his hand on the hard leather surface while he dragged his fingers across it. Then, he walked towards the fireplace, standing by it.

Hastily, Gracey’s breath started to stagger as he felt incredibly nauseous. His intestines screamed in anguish as he clutched his torso, for the pain never ceased afterward. It felt as if every organ and bone within him started to break apart and leak out in puddles upon the floor. He wretched out what he could in an attempt to free this sudden agony, but this acute state had him snared.

“AGH—” He screamed only once, gurgling a mixture containing vomit and foam.

His muscles had lost all control and he stumbled around the room with such terrible pain. Objects fell and broke all round him as every sinew within his body was electrified with excruciating pain. It was absolute Hell— something a simple poison could not inflict upon a mortal. This was something far greater.

Eventually, gravity had taken Gracey’s weight down to the cold hard tiles within the study. His eyes blurred the images about him as he faded in and out of consciousness. Now, in a deep state of paralysis, he only twitched in an attempt to move. The agony had overcome his state, for death would shortly arrive. Blood creeped down his lips in a deep red stream, indicating internal bleeding.

As William Gracey heaved his last breaths on the ground and awaited death, a cold presence overcame him. From what his eyes and mind could barely comprehend, he noticed a black silhouette on the left side of him, carrying a fog-like shadow as it moved across his lens. It was no angel like he’d imagined.

Slowly, the unlighted entity dragged itself toward him, circling him like doomed prey. It drew closer and closer with terrible rapping rhythm until it stopped close to Gracey’s face. It seemed to heave a deep and terrible breath, something that made his soul quiver in terror. This was not Eleanor…

Unable to escape, Gracey drew his last, long breath and the dark entity took it in like life. It groaned with terrible pleasure as it watched Gracey’s mortal form fall limp on the floor, bottle and note still at hand. The rest of his soul was devoured and trapped in an endless cycle of fear and grief as the entity had seized it from its eternal rest. This terrible entity was the first to greet him in the afterlife.

A demon.

…

All the painful memories flooded back as he stared at the Hatbox Ghost with fear and terrible regret. He held no conception of time as he did once so, never quite snapping out of it, heavy and lifeless breath engulfing his ribcage.

“Well…William Gracey. Once again pestering your relatives…” The Hatbox Ghost’s voice came, which accompanied a grim smile upon his face.

William opened his mouth to say something but quickly stopped himself. He stuttered, not knowing what to say to the evil Spector that sat before him. He was wrong— he was just attempting to ease Dorian’s humiliation. But, he knew he was just trying to convince his mind otherwise.

“I—” William stammered.

“Perhaps I should put an end to your…pestering…hm?” The Hatbox Ghost shifted slightly in his seat.

And before another stutter could escape, William Gracey was forced from his seat beside his friends and led down the table to where Hatbox Ghosts’s ghoulish goons sat, right beside the looming dark spirit that had entrapped him for eternity.

William, though persisting in his defiance by stance, could only withstand the agonizing pain of resistance for so long. Eventually, he stayed seated in order to keep the agony he felt at bay. It was a terrible feeling— to have the devil force one’s spirit like a puppet. With a widened lens, William looked around at the entities he sat with. They all stared at him with an occulted hatred as the Hatbox Ghost sat to the right of him, encompassing sinful pride with every expression. William looked down almost immediately.

“You see…That’s much better now. No more pitifully distracting side shows that squander my valuable time…”

Dorian attempted to comfort William from across the table, but it was obvious that he wasn’t responding to anyone, too frightened to do so.

“Speaking of wasting time…” The dark spirit spoke with prolonged groans in between.

He watched as the footmen carried in a multitude of silver platters, all of which were covered quite beautifully. Every spirit watched as the food came in, curling in their chairs with loads of anticipation. Despite the Hatbox Ghost’s torturous, inhumane mannerisms, he still allowed the ghosts to dine through offerings. It was a sick way of manipulating naive souls, causing them to almost believe He cared for them.

Normally, the feast was carried out with a variety of specific smells and memories found only in the past lives of the spirits. Whether it was the meaty scent of Jambalaya, or the pungent and delectable crawfish Étouffée with crispy crab cakes, it was a dish fit for a soul. And of course, a subtle glass of red wine on the side never hurt anyone. He knew that of all entities.

However, something was quite different as soon as the silver platters were placed in a manner that appeared planned. William slowly turned his head curiously and noticed the Hatbox Ghosts’s rotten grin when he spoke.

“Finally…something to celebrate my success. Satiate my hunger…”

Gracey inhaled without breath and winced almost immediately at a sudden odor. With terrible speculation, his fears were eventually portrayed through every spirit within the room. The platters were lifted up, revealing the nightmare.

Upon the long table was a rotting corpse, still fresh in a sense that it gave off a significantly horrific odor of death and decay. On everyone’s plate was a random piece of it— a hand or cheek alike. However, a lifeless body formed across the table in front of the Hatbox Ghost. It was enough to make all the souls’ wretch back within their chairs or simply stare in shock. Even the hitchhikers and goons had sat in silence as they gazed back at their plates.

Many spirits watched in utmost terror as the Hatbox Ghost inhaled the putrid scent of the corpse as if it were a dessert. He let out a sickening cackle afterward as he pressed his palms against the table, his gloved hands squeezed involuntarily. It was absolutely horrid, and many of the souls would rather die again just to get away from the situation. Even Vincent, the Hatchet Ghost, found that ideal hard to resist.

The Hatbox Ghost then shifted his cruel gaze upon every expression, for he found a gruesome pride in the fact every spector had a new and profound fear of him. He traced his green tongue against his rotted teeth, chuckling in the back of his throat.

“What seems to be the matter? Haven’t any of you had your fair share of tartare before?”

The dark spirit bellowed out in maniacal laughter again shortly afterwards, akin to a madman, as he covered his chest as though he had a heart. Even when he joked, it was as if the sorrowful souls had perished again all those years ago.

“Please…let us dine together now on this fine evening…”

The Hatbox ghost adjusted within his seat as he began to remove his black gloves one finger at a time. He acted in a manner of which every ghost could watch him with grueling anticipation as he revealed his monstrous claws.

Too frightened to look upon his friends, William Gracey’s skeletal hands shook underneath the table as he stared onto his plate. He had to look more than once to realize it was. A heart— a mortal heart—on his plate, covered in an array of dull greens and purples. There wasn’t any blood pouring from what he could see, just holes deep within the ventricles and shriveled, brown fat encasing its shape. If he were alive he would have evacuated himself. But now, he just felt paralyzed as the heart gazed back at him quite menacingly.

It all made devastating sense as William watched the Hatbox Ghost’s prominent side-eye. It was as if He vouched for such a dish just to vex him. In fact, the dark spirit had been tormenting him ever since the beginning, and He would do the same now. There was always madness within Him, but it was madness with an underlying method to it. There was always something the Hatbox Ghost wanted.

Vincent among other ghosts continued to watch his master once he set his large talons upon the table. The dark spirit’s elbows and wrists ceased to touch the edge of the cloth, which was a rather polite courtesy. He even picked up the silverware neatly placed upon the cloth as he examined its condition. He brought the fork to his eye level and slowly turned it before his hands began to tremble subtly.

It was His humanity slowly disappearing.

Then, as if something had snapped within the Hatbox Ghost, immediately the pupils within his yellow eyes began to wane as he dropped the utensil. He then violently grabbed the atrocious corpse in his massive claws as he began to devour it vigorously, revealing his truly famished presence.

Some airless gasps and mourns could be heard from the ghosts present, for it was an utmost horrible sight to see. There was strenuous struggling within the dining room chairs as the souls attempted to get away, unable to watch the beast take fourth in His sinful actions.

The Hatbox Ghost’s eyes evinced his pleasure as his whole massive frame hunched forward, continuing to partake in the gluttony. He felt a joyous impulse as he saw the fluids of innocence flow through his fingertips.

William nearly gagged as he watched Him, thoroughly revolted by His manners. But he knew the Hatbox Ghost was cursed to feed off of the living and deceased alike, truly unable to enjoy memories of food He had once indulged in. He knew this dark spirit truly felt hunger—something that all of the trapped souls did not.

The ghost’s claws were covered in the grotesque green and brown coloration, but nevertheless, His talons grabbed what was left of the slimy entrails. He seemed to devour most of them within minutes. However, time was irrelevant in the realm of darkness, and to some ghosts, it felt like He was eating for hours on end.

The souls that sat nearest to the Hatbox Ghost were quickly splashed and dirtied by the gush of old blood and gruel. William Gracey couldn't help but shed tears of misery and pain of what had unraveled before him. He was filled with agony, for the lifeless corpse returned him to his constant bereavement.

Oh—Why must this be so! To live among Satans whilst Eleanor lived in the realm of kings and queens? Was she even watching from above? He felt torn apart at the thought of her forgetfulness of him, mangled from the infinite pain, with no hope and no home. This was not the region beyond as he was promised. This was Hell. Because, unlike the eternal dream, this was the land where souls dwelled in torment and agony, forced to watch the Hatbox Ghost take his share of blood, flesh, and marrow. It was, of course, the acrid flavor that He desired, barely enough to satisfy His superimposed gluttony. The way He ate was enough to degrade even the toughest of souls.

William Gracey kept his face hidden, reminiscent of his dread. Normally, the Hatbox Ghost’s goons would’ve helped out with his wicked pestering, but they were all strictly preoccupied with his latent ravening. It was enough of a distraction until Gracey started to sniffle. Goodness—why did he have to sniffle?

Nevertheless it was heard, which had caught the attention of the monster to the left of him. The Hatbox Ghost’s claws unsheathed the mess intertwined in them, which fell from his hands slowly like a bloodied slime. Then, He quickly looked toward William with an unkenneled pleasure.

William, who shielded himself from many lingering eyes, wiped the tears and purged the marks from his face in an attempt to alleviate his constant dismay. However, he couldn’t stop pouring himself out with dreary wet tears once he’d started, which was no help to him in the end.

The Hatbox Ghost slowly leaned closer to Gracey and smelt the almost tangible atmosphere around him. He emitted a terrible groan—the sound of a monster as he widened his mouth to taste the addictive sensation. His ghostly hair seemed to stick on end subtly. In the Ghost Realm, sensations were like memories that gave off the scent of nostalgia, sorrow or any other deep emotion as a replacement of taste. Of course, they weren’t as pungent as the feelings of mourning spirits and mortals. And how pungent grief was to Him.

It didn’t take long for the Hatbox Ghost to become addicted to it, eyes maddened with the same inherent voracious prodigality. Many ghouls and spirits attempted to leave their seats again, aware of the inevitable outcome of this display. Eventually, The Hatbox Ghost would lose any mannerisms he had previously held before dinner, and would leave behind a madman. This needed to be stopped before anyone was permanently harmed. Vincent quickly proposed this ideal as the evil spector moved Himself closer to Gracey.

“Now, Your Excellency— Master of the Realms— perhaps you should finish devouring your lovely meal?” Vincent exclaimed quickly.

Other spirits had started to add onto this distraction in an attempt to draw the Master of the House away from the stench of grief. However, The Hatbox Ghost had already started to drool ferociously with every spectacle matching his inward appearance.

“Yes!— I think we all enjoyed the courtesy of your meal! Perhaps we should be excused before you—”

“SILENCE!” He roared.

And presently, not a sound was heard afterward, other than the mourns of William Gracey, who’d attempted to cease his internal dilemmas rather quickly.

William shut his eyes and only sniffled now that he had shielded his rather robustious cries. Though it was hard, he couldn’t let the demon before him get what He desired so desperately and with such ease. Even with eternal blackness to cloud out his vision, William pictured Him perfectly. It was disturbing how every component was laid out within his mind with no comparison to a painting. And it was that same painting that had been stuck within his mind ever since he’d died so many decades ago.

Slowly, the evil spirit made His way towards William Gracey, not hesitating to push his chair away from the long table. As He stood tall over William, many heads turned in utter terror, for they knew they were nothing against the wrath of their unwilling Master. This was quickly proven as Hatbox Ghost looked at everyone with a sudden animalistic fury.

“…What are you all looking at?! DINE!” He spat.

Almost suddenly, every ghost took up their forks and knives like puppets that feasted without hunger or desire. It was such an ugly sight to anyone, even the deceased, that some spirits would much rather suffer for years trapped inside an airtight box than have to face eating the remnants of a human. The spitting of sludge and crunching of bones was a bitter enmity to anyone forced to participate or even listen, the crimes justified only by Hell itself. After all, it was His realm now.

Even William was forced to take up the fork. He unwillingly sliced off a stiff piece of the old, wretched heart, much like the rest of the thralled spirits, forced to bring it to his tongue and eat it. Nothing in the mortal realm before prepared him for the disgust as he began to chew without will. Every empty tear fell to the floor without a stain, almost as if every one of them meant nothing in a dimension of infinite sorrow. They were tears in the rain, pointless to remember even if they meant something. Once William swallowed with great misery, he’d given into the inevitable that was The Hatbox Ghost’s eternal torment.

“—Why…” William had said rhetorically with a cloudy and woeful expression.

He spoke aloud but with little volume, for his spirit felt low and chained from within. It was more than just a spell that he and the ghosts were under— it was a curse. A terrible curse.

As if the deathly dimension couldn't take any more away from him, William was quickly torn from his seat by a large set of claws that had tightened painfully around the rest of his torso. He yelled only once, before the large hands suffocated him as if he had air to breathe. He couldn’t escape it.

The Hatbox Ghost ceased his terrible laughter as he neared William Gracey to his monstrous facade. His ferocious and lifeless breath exited the emptiness of his nose cavity. It was truly His face altogether that expressed His violent yearning towards such helpless and innocent souls. There was no exaggeration as He savored the grieving spirit’s aroma grotesquely, full of content.

“Mmm…You smell of…Misery…”

It was William's fragrance of grief that He’d found irresistible. It was enough to impose the sins of Gluttony and Lust simultaneously. What a mistake it was to show this heartfelt pain. He’d begun to feed a demon.

“…In-toxicating…”

William felt his ghostly form ripple painfully as the Hatbox Ghost took fourth in his own obscenities. He fed off Gracey’s grief, which caused his spirit to cripple and lose all thoughts that were dear to him during the process. The love he held for his friends turned sour, into dread and sorrow instead. He began to focus on Eleanor’s death once again.

“Leave him alone!” One of the maids screamed toward the Hatbox Ghost with a small spark of resistance.

The Hatbox Ghost let out a deep chuckle as he violently grabbed Williams neck instead, allowing him to dangle midair. William let out a strained noise as the grasp tightened like a serpent around his neck, firm and constricting.

“Oh, you really care for him, don’t you?…” The Hatbox Ghost’s voice seemed to grow darker as he gazed at the parlor maid with monsterous eyes.

“…Willing to share the same fate?…”

Suddenly, the maiden fell into the floor that stretched open beneath her. She let out a shrill scream of terror as she fell into a large pit of black sand that emitted a dark aura. The ghosts around her gasped audibly as some peered into the gaping hole next to them, which began to fill up quickly and swallow up the poor soul. Her screams ceased as the floor closed up afterward with a strike of lightning from outside.

The Hatbox Ghost let out a horrendous, boisterous laughter afterward, and it was clear he gained sickening satisfaction from the event.

William gripped at the Hatbox Ghost, almost in a pleading manner, desperate to be set free from the torment. This elicited the dark spirit to focus his gaze back toward him. He bared his slimy teeth as He fought His ferocious desire to confiscate and devour Gracey’s kind spirit in an instant.

Even in sorrow, William was so full of life—brilliant and caring—everything Hatbox Ghost was not. But He was patient.

“Don’t you recall…that night…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered as he neared William’s face closer to his own.

William scrunched his expression horribly as he struggled to relieve himself from the monster's grip. His translucent, skeletal fingers grappled the Master’s tough dark claws in an attempt to relieve himself from the constant, agonizing restriction.

“The night Eleanor deserted you…” The Hatbox Ghost whispered through a chuckle.

His eyes fiercely studied William’s, for He still desired much more delicious grief from him. William quickly felt the torment burn down on his soul again, which had forced his sorrowful tears to pool in his sockets. And those terrible words repeated endlessly within his head. It was all his fault…

“She never loved you…” The Hatbox Ghost uttered through a masked grin, eyes pulsating with a strange, yellow aura. Soon, He would get what He desired. And how He deserved it.

Gracey mouthed “no,” too weak to project any resistance. Even if he were a strong and enduring spirit, nothing could withstand the excruciation of this Devil.

“…She…left you here, allowing your torment. To waste away and rot in your own home…Just to suffer.” His words came again like poison.

William let out a strained sob as he shut his eyes. The misery was almost too much to bear, for tears began to stream rapidly down his face without an end, almost forced out. The Hatbox Ghost’s eyes widened at the tormented soul with an exhilarated pleasure. Only He noticed the visible aura of misery and grief illuminated around William. This is what he longed for.

William kept his eyes shut tight as he felt the Hatbox Ghost lean in towards him. He could feel a demented chill wash over his spectral form as he realized quickly that he was being drained of his life force slowly—feasted upon.

William understood the enslavement he constantly found himself under—all willing souls shared this fate. Many of the willing souls He fed on were wasted away into entities too weak to move or speak. In other words, they only existed for Him and his desires to satiate Himself. They were the true course— the reason why the Hatbox Ghost hosted the demeaning dinners. Why was he to be damned for all eternity this way, devoured into nothingness—Left with empty torture and grief?

The Hatbox Ghost groaned pleasantly as he began to consume William’s soul, exhausting him in the process. His jaws opened extensively whilst he drew in the concentrated anguish and suffering from Gracey. It roused and stirred the madness within, rather thrilling to Him.

“You’re…Mine!” He growled.

The Hatbox Ghost wheezed airily as he took in another lifeless breath full of grief and pain. lightning crackled in a much more electrified manner outside the windows, which had flashed in strange shapes of purple and green. Every loud crack against the immaterial realm sent a shrill scream of terror throughout the dining room, adding onto His deranged symphony.

Even Vincent, the Hatchet Ghost, had taken recognition of this most demonic sight, watching his very nephew waine and weep as he was feasted upon by the new Master of the house. He couldn’t help feeling an indiscretion deep within his spectral form, for he found the execution incredibly hard to watch. He suddenly intervened on behalf of any ghost unwilling to make the sacrifice.

“Master— Must you stop this…this madness?!”

A jolt of loud thunder was heard afterwards, silenced through the ferocious stare of the Hatbox Ghost. His beady, yellow, and menacing eyes were enough to stop any mortal heart— any soul’s at that. And it sent a terrible, antagonizing might that stunned Vincent into a state of pure shock. The only movement he could bear was his own trembling. It was only through this reaction that The Hatbox Ghost temporarily recessed his gruesome mannerisms, snarling as he spat.

“You DARE…disrupt ME?!”

The Demon roared with great severity towards the Hatchet Ghost among the other trembling spirits. The dining room had darkened all around them and all fears had been brought forth to their salacious Master. William, still trapped beneath the claws of the massive spector, held only the strength to look toward Vincent Gracey, who stood his ground even in fear. He winced in appealing agony with tears that could’ve burned at his skin if he were still alive. Why was he doing this for him— a ghost weak and pathetic beyond comparison? This was all his fault…

“Sir—” Vincent had managed to say before the fear had restricted his lifeless vocal chords.

Although he loathed his nephew, he couldn’t face the fact that he too was a willing soul just like him.

And how He craved the Willing.

“Even my most…Loyal adversary…Seeking to betray Me?…”

The Hatbox Ghost sifted himself towards the Hatchet ghost with William Gracey still snared in between his massive talons, much like a hawk with its prey. He bared His gray, rotten teeth at the demented, meek spirit with no desire to blink even once. The darkened aura seemed to engulf most of His cape now as if to stretch His shadow across the room, which gave Him a much larger expression than before.

“Of…of course not—” Vincent managed to speak.

The darkness around him started to crawl close to the putrid scar embedded across his fleshy, green neck. It made him grunt due to the sudden enforced agony.

“You’re not…caring for him, are you now? Much like…the others?”

The Evil Spector studied the Hatchet Ghost’s perturbed expression, His eyes enticed with such insanity and deception, they were enough to entrance any ghost who gazed directly at them. Every spirit hid their eyes from Him. All except Vincent Gracey.

“I…” Vincent muttered, enraptured by the Hatbox Ghost’s pulsating yellow eyes. He couldn’t resist them.

William Gracey watched in horror as his relative fell under the hypnotic and tractable spell. His eyes— Why must he look into those eyes?! He had almost seen Vincent Gracey’s true self, shrouded out within an instant through the manipulative power of the Hatbox Ghost. He almost had his uncle back. He almost had hope.

“Besides…I won’t be the one to help you when you’ll inevitably pay him for your actions…Right?…” He chuckled.

The Hatbox Ghost restated the Hatchet Ghost’s previous statement to William Gracey as if He’d known of their recent encounter. It sent a petrified chill down William’s spine.

He listens. He heard everything. And all roads lead to Him in the end…

The Hatchet Ghost strangely inhaled as the darkness faded around him, seemingly done with him. Then, those hypotonic clouds ceased within his eyes and revealed the same bitterness William Gracey had always seen in him. Hatred.

“...Of course, Master. Thank you for your…assistance.”

William Gracey faintly struggled within the Hatbox Ghost’s claws and watched as the Hatchet Ghost got up from his seat without hassle. It was quite alarming for the rest of the sorrowful souls, still glued to their seats without content. It was a statement which meant the loyal were favored over the enslaved. A terrible statement that meant one had to give into the dark spirit’s bidding just to be free. It was all an illusion, however. No one was free.

The Hatbox Ghost’s perpetual smile sneered all the more wider, now that the Hatchet Ghost had gazed at William with such unpleasantness. It made William shed more empty tears, no longer recognizing Vincent Gracey in those addhorrent, misshapen eyes.

“What do you think of…poor William Gracey now?…” The Hatbox Ghost snarled in his guttural voice.

Presently, He lowered William Gracey back down to the hard tiles so that Vincent could gaze upon him. William’s knees buckled from his lack of strength, kneeling as he held a heavily depleted expression. The Hatbox Ghost still kept an intense hold of his neck and torso while he wheezed, watching Vincent walk up to him with a sadistic grin upon his face.

For a moment, the Hatchet Ghost lingered his daunting smile at William Gracey, who had no choice but to gaze back with tired eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke…

“I want him to…suffer…” He spoke through an inhale.

“I want to…watch you break him. Only I…”

Vincent’s voice was layered with darkness as he knelt down in front of his tormented relative. What was said was something imparable and vile, addressed to no one except the once luminescent soul before him. Now, he was nothing but an eternal feast for the demon before him.

“…And let the others’ blindness overcome them with a fear far greater than the sweet escape of closure…” The Hatchet Ghost added, looking up to his dark ruler.

William shook with a sunken head, eyes glassy and darkened by the condition of his very being. He could only listen to the quaked voices of his fellow friends, for they too always winded up paying for his actions. Why must this always be so? This was all his fault. Always his fault.

“What a…pleasant surprise…” The Hatbox Ghost uttered through an utmost sinister chuckle.

He was infatuated by the animosity He’d caused between a once happy family. How he loved the capability of destruction caused by His own making. He was a monster, vain and vile, created with misanthropic power and the disposition for committing atrocity.

“Wouldn’t you agree…William? He bellowed.

The dark spirit hunched down with a most wretched snarl, one claw upon the floor, while his eyes gazed upon William Gracey. He was once again lifted off the ground with such ease and carried back towards the Hatbox Ghost’s mummified facade. It was acrid and dark, his face. Void of any life or pleasantry it had once possessed in a forgotten timeline. His nose cavities enlarged after every powerful, lifeless inhale, eyes but yellow fragments of hellfire as they stared back at William. William had made no effort to voice out even a feeble ‘no,’ too dreadfully exhausted to do so. All he could muster was a heart-wrenching stare at the dark spirit before him, eyes blurred from tears.

“Well then. I shall see to this manner…personally. Within a more…confined setting...”

As the Hatbox Ghost straightened himself up back into his menacing, overbearing stance, he fixed his eyes upon every quivering ghost and spirit within the room that had watched the grimful spectacle commence. He groaned and bared his spear-like teeth as he made his gaze known across the room, then inevitably stopped at William’s acquaintances.

Victor, the Flutist, and Dorian Gracey couldn’t help but share the same alarmed expression with each other, the rules made known to all of them clearly. The Master was never wrong. The Master was always listening. And if He shall ever look upon you with greatness, He will do so with great reason. And ‘great’, He was. It was this final oath that had made them tremble with anticipation.

The darkness began to ripple throughout the massive dining hall, which had echoed its deathly sweet lullaby into the infinite chambers of the mansion. Sometimes it thundered like lightning or rippled akin to waves. Nevertheless, it taunted every soul under His mighty curse. Haunted them.

“Oh, I hate to be a terrible host and run, but I do think it’s time for me to go. You see, I have some…important matters to attend to…”

The Hatbox Ghost’s aura had begun to ripple and mystify him as he took a gradual step back from the chair that was his throne. Everyone had eyes on the Master of the house as he took William Gracey with him into the blackness that had been summoned. The Hatchet Ghost was beside his Master, and observed as the black veins started to crawl and intertwine around them. Although it was inevitable to show fear, he’d embraced it long long ago: something his nephew did not.

“Enjoy the dinner…Ta-ta, now…” The Hatbox Ghost muttered in an exaggerated voice.

The dark spirit quickly dematerialized within His own darkness alongside the other two spirits. He always spoke the final word. Even after He’d vanished just as elegantly as He’d come, no one was allowed to leave until they were finished with their dish. And Every ghoul alike held this deep and unforgiving punishment, the solemn supper being only the beginning of it all.

Many had known what this celebration had meant, for it was all loud and clear what the Hatbox Ghost had in store for the delicious mortal souls entrapped within the mansion. Eventually, they would all share the same fate as every ghost had—forced to abide by the dark spector’s command. And the willing souls? The willing were special to Him; potent to Him. It was something He craved ever since his arrival, something eternal that would fuel his insatiable hunger for more. Because, unlike the mortal realm, there was no escape from the infinite oblivion waiting for them on the other side.

And how He waited ever so patiently…

…

[gabessquishytum]

I've spent almost all day at work thinking about my Haunted Mansion AU. I might actually end up writing this. So, some more of my ideas:

Just like in the film, Hob dies during a Masquerade Ball. He and Roderick meet to discuss 'business' and end up going to Morpheus' study, where they're supposed to wait for him. Hob doesn't trust Roderick but believes that he is safe because surely Roderick won't do anything stupid in the middle of a huge party. While waiting, Hob grabs wine for them, but Roderick poisons Hob's drink. Morpheus arrives, realizes what Roderick has just done, and loses it. Roderick assumed he'd be okay (ironically for the same reason Hob thought everything would be fine), but he doesn’t realize Morpheus is a very old and powerful vampire. Morpheus kills Roderick and then cries over Hob's body, eventually ending the Masquerade Ball by carrying his body through the party.

Like Mr. Gracey in the movie, he plans to kill himself to join his beloved in the afterlife but his eldest brother, Destiny, who can see the future, comes to him. Destiny tells Morpheus that Hob will be reborn in time (as Hob has always been one to reject death, which is part of the reason he and Morpheus worked so well together) and if Morpheus kills himself, he'll not actually be joining Hob in the afterlife. He won't tell Morpheus how long, but he tells Morpheus to wait. So Morpheus does.

I had the thought that instead of Ramsley, Lucienne is the butler, but she's also the librarian of the Manor because she spent so much time there that Morpheus just kind of gave it to her. She's also an Elf.

Jessamy and Matthew take the places of the Maid and Not-Butler (The "Inconceivable!" Guy) and they are siblings who are Fae. They both have the ability to shapeshift into Ravens.

I haven't decided if Corinthian is in this yet. Probably not because I can't figure out where to put him.

I also had the thought that Robert, the real estate agent that is Hob reincarnated, would spend a week at the Manor, and every night he would dream a little more about his life as Hob. How he and Morpheus met, fell in love, and it all culminates in Hob's murder.

Morpheus spends the entire time trying to Be Normal™ about this man who is absolutely his beloved returned to him, just as his elder brother promised. He's so busy trying to Be Normal™ (which, for the record, he's horrendous at lol) that he misses the very obvious hints Rob has been dropping about his memories slowly coming back. At least until Rob has his final dream, where he actually TALKS to Hob, the part of his soul that IS Hob. They have a conversation and realize they aren't all that different, and Rob admits he wouldn't mind if they... became one for lack of a better term. So they sort of merged into one being. He's still Rob, but he's also Hob now.

Hob/Rob talk to Morpheus, explain the situation, and they live happily ever after once Morpheus turns him.

- 🐺

I really really hope that you decide to write this, I love this outline so much. I love the inclusion of Matthew and Jessamy, I love how much the setting of the haunted mansion suits Dream’s vibes so incredibly well.

I love how well Hob can fit into this au as well, because it's almost like you can have 1389 Hob and 2023 Hob talking to eachother (only in this au its Hob and Rob ofc). I just think that could be really poignant and lovely. Like I said I really hope you write this up as a full fic, but even if you don't these ideas are really wonderful already <3

[alistairs-raven]

Lunar Eyes

The story of why my Alistair and Hattie designs have mirrored dead eyes.

Story also available on AO3

No triggers. PG

I truly hope you all enjoy it!

---

It was his first day at Gracey Manor, or rather it was the first for everyone. Hundreds of spirits had been summoned to the house and they had quickly made themselves at home. Some of them sat together and talked, while others danced and sang. There were shy ghosts as well, who found quieter places in the house. He was one of these spirits, and he had found the attic most to his liking.

The Hatbox Ghost was his name or simply Hattie by his friends. He was a short man, made even shorter as he braced himself against his cane. Upon his balding head was a tall top hat that made him more noticeable, but his most unique trait was the hatbox that gave him his name. Hatbox’s mortal life had ended when he was murdered by an axe to the neck, and now his head had a nasty habit of falling off. To the delight of his visitors, it would land in his hatbox before returning to his shoulders. 

In stark contrast, there was another spirit who shared his space in the attic. To some she would appear a fearsome presence. She stood tall in the wedding dress she had lost her life in, and her visibly beating heart glowed in her chest. It was for this trait that she came to be known as the Beating Heart Bride. But to Hatbox, she was Emily, his closest and dearest friend.

As the day’s guests left and the house became truly theirs, the happy haunts were free to simply enjoy each other's company. The sounds of the other ghosts moving about and laughing was distant, which suited the pair in the attic just fine. Emily smiled happily as she heard the sound of his cane on the hard wooden floor as he approached. Ever a gentleman, the man set his hatbox down and tipped his hat to her. As he did, his head fell into the hatbox, causing Emily to giggle as she returned the greeting, taking her long gown in her hand before bending into a curtsy. 

“I wasn’t sure at first but I think I’m going to like this place.” Hatbox answered the question before Emily could ask it.

He saw the visible relief upon her face as she replied. “I like it here as well. We have a home now.” For so long they had been wandering spirits. Always together and forever in close sync, tragedy had bound them together. 

Gently setting the candle and bouquet of flowers she held onto a nearby table, Emily turned to gaze out the window. Outside the full moon shone bright against a clear night. Hatbox came to her side and took her hand. She looked at him, pleased to see his head had returned to his shoulders. Some may have liked when his head peaked out from his hatbox, but she knew he preferred that it stay attached. She squeezed his boney hand, enjoying the peaceful moment. They were quieter ghosts. Not much needs to be said when one knows another soul so well. 

“They’re dancing downstairs.” Hatbox broke the silence. “They’ve been dancing all day down in the ballroom.” “Do you think we should go down and join them?” Emily asked. After such an eventful day she would be surprised if he did.

Hatbox laughed. “No, I want to stay up here. But I do think dancing sounds very nice.” He set the cane against the wall and took Emily’s other hand in his. 

The pair danced together as the light of the moon cast their shadows across the room. They could have danced together until the end of time and Hatbox would have been happy.

But like mortal life, everything has an end, and the night they danced was the last time Hatbox ever saw Emily. 

Decades passed, generations of mortals came and went, and the happy haunts continued their joyous fun. No one seemed to notice that Hatbox left the mansion and never returned. No one except Emily. She waited for him, the glowing heart in her chest dimming. One day it went dark and the Beating Heart Bride faded away. 

—

When Hatbox returned to Gracey Manor few remembered him, but those who did were overjoyed. He quickly found himself overwhelmed by ghosts and mortals alike wishing to see him. Wishing for some quiet, he returned to his preferred spot in the attic only to find it inhabited by a stranger. 

Constance was her name. At first sight she could have been mistaken for Emily, but Hatbox knew immediately this wasn’t his soul mate. She was a cold, cruel woman who in life had killed multiple husbands. In her hand she carried the axe used for the crimes. The sight of it made Hatbox’s neck hurt, and he kept as much distance as he could from her. 

“I can’t find Emily, have you seen her?” Hatbox found himself wandering the hallways that night, asking everyone he could find if they’d seen her.

“Yes, I’ve seen her. She was looking for you.” The Host Ghost was the first to provide some much needed answers. He had been one of the few to recognize Hatbox when he returned, and he inwardly kicked himself for not realizing earlier that this was the man to ask about anything in the mansion. 

“Oh wonderful! Where is she now?” Hatbox asked, his grin wide. It slowly faded as Host rubbed his chin, seemingly having trouble remembering. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s been awhile.” “How long is awhile?” Hatbox’s voice mirrored his growing irritation.

“Years I believe. I’d have to check the records for the exact time.” Host’s voice was emotionless as he merely spouted facts. 

“YEARS?!?” Hatbox felt his temper flare.

Host raised an eyebrow, an impressive feat for a man who had a skull for a face. “Yes, that’s what I said. She was like you, just left without a word. I assumed she’d stopped waiting and finally went off to find you.”

Hatbox was shaking. Should he leave again and go after her? Or should he stay and wait for her to return? His soul felt hollow and the shaking caused his head to fall into the hatbox he carried at his side. Host patted the headless man on the shoulder.

“You returned after all these years. Perhaps she will as well?” He tried. Unfortunately offering comfort was not his forte. 

Hatbox didn’t know how to respond so he simply settled for “I’m going to return to the attic.” “Be careful up there.” Host warned. “The woman up there is a scary one. We keep her up there because she’s a bit of a buzz kill.”

“Thanks…” Hatbox’s cane thudded against the floor as he solemnly made his way up the stairs. His head had just returned to him when he entered the attic to find Constance gone. Perhaps she had decided to wander the mansion as well. She seemed the type to be where the people were-

Constance jumped out from where she’d been hiding and swung at Hatbox with her axe. The motion did nothing to a ghost, but unfortunately it startled him enough that he leapt back and his head fell off once more. The woman laughed darkly. “Oh, you’re going to be fun.” She shoved past him and he watched as she made her way down the stairs and disappeared, leaving him alone. If only he could lock her out for good. 

Hatbox made his way to the window, his head returning as he set the hatbox down. He reached out with his hand and gently touched the cold glass. That night felt like it had just happened. How could it have been years? Outside the moon emerged from behind the clouds. It was a full moon, just like that night, and the irony made Hatbox’s dead heart hurt even more.

The sounds of the other ghosts became background noise as he got lost in his thoughts. He was only brought out when the grandfather clock rang midnight, and the chime echoed powerfully throughout the manor. As he listened he noticed the lights above him sway. With the last chime of the clock they went from yellow to bright purple. 

Hatbox didn’t have much time to ponder before he felt strange. It was like he was being pulled away from the manor once more and he panicked. No! He couldn’t leave. He needed to stay in case Emily returned. He resisted the pull but it quickly became too strong. In his ear he heard a cruel laugh that sent a chill through him. 

“Don’t fight it. You’re already suffering, it will only hurt you more.”

“Who are you?” Hatbox tried to sound strong against the dark, echoing voice.

The laugh got more boisterous. “Why, I’m you. Or rather, I am a better you. A you that is without grief.”

Hatbox felt himself fading. He no longer felt in control of himself. “What have you done?!” He shouted, the words failing to come out of his mouth. The dark entity must have heard it anyway because he responded. 

“You can leave the mansion. It’s what I desire, so I’m taking control.”

“No!” How was this even possible? “No, no, no!” Hatbox cried out again and again as he became merely an observer. 

—

Alistair Crump smiled out the window at the full moon. In the glass he could see his reflection and his smirk disappeared. The face was his but more skeletal, with no lips or eyelids. His eyes were now colorless and his hair was longer. He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of eternity looking like this. 

Stepping away from the window, the man picked up the hatbox and made his way out and down the stairs. He had just reached the bottom when Constance jumped out at him, swinging her axe with glee. Alistair didn’t even blink and instead he looked up at her with squinted eyes. “A bit more respect would serve you well. I don’t tolerate such foolishness.”

Constance blinked at the reaction, or rather the lack thereof. She opened her mouth to speak but seemed to change her mind and instead moved past him to return to her place upstairs. Alistair rolled his eyes and continued making his way through the manor. 

Alistair knew the Gracey manor well. He had spent well over a century ruling over it after all. The exit wasn’t far, but he couldn’t help wanting to have a little fun. He had a natural desire to be noticed and instead made his way to the ballroom. 

As always it was packed full of ghosts. The organ was playing, there was dancing, and of course there was an endless feast. Normally it would have been cleared out as he arrived, but now the party simply continued as he was welcomed as one of them. 

“Well if it isn’t the Hatbox Ghost, finally out of the attic.” Alistair recognized that voice and turned to look at the hitchhiking ghosts. He disliked these three because no matter what he did they never seemed bothered. But they had been quite useful to him. At least, in another afterlife.

“If I had known you three were going to be here I’d have stayed up there.” Alistair growled through his lipless teeth. 

“Uhhh” Phineas seemed too dumbfounded to say real words, but Ezra did it for him.

“Are you feeling okay, Hattie?” “Yea, I know you’ve been having a hard time looking for Emily.” Gus chimed in.

“Who’s Emily?” Alistair asked. The dumb faces he got in response made him sigh. Choosing to move on he made his way past them to the table. The lack of pillows on his favorite seat caused his hackles to raise for a moment before he remembered this wasn’t ‘his’ Gracey Manor. The ghosts here were a leaderless, chaotic lot. The thought made him sick.

“Leave and go back where you came from, then.”  Hatbox’s voice was faint in his mind but Alistair still heard him.

“I told you, we will be leaving.” His thoughts became words that Hatbox could hear. Alistair turned to leave the ballroom, suddenly no longer feeling the need to be here. He still needed to keep up appearances, and if he couldn’t rule over and torment the other ghosts what was even the point.

As he made his way to more quieter halls, Hatbox spoke to him once more. “Your name is Alistair.” 

“How do you know that?!” Alistair stopped in his tracks, his attention going completely to internal conversation. 

“We’re sharing a mind. I can see everything.” Hatbox explained. “Alistair Crump. You own a manor on the other side of the country.”

“Two can play this game, I see your memories as well.” Alistair didn’t like anyone knowing personal information about him. This seemed to be an unfortunate side effect of his spell. “I see you were a weak man with very little. But a woman foolishly fell for you anyway. Her name was… Emily.” Outside their minds an evil smirk crossed the man’s face. “She agreed to marry you but then someone murdered you both.”

Hatbox had long since come to peace with their deaths. It was nothing he could change, and as ghosts they still had eachother. At least, they did. Alistair chuckled as he saw the thoughts flash through his mind.

“She gave up on you. You left the manor and abandoned her.”

“That’s not true!” 

“Then why did you leave?” It was a genuine question disguised as a cruel one. Alistair couldn’t find anywhere in his memories why Hatbox had left, only that he had. 

“I don’t know! One moment I was happy, and the next almost 50 years had passed.” His voice shook as he added. “I would never have abandoned Emily.”

Alistair’s laugh echoed through their minds as he enjoyed the pain Hatbox felt. “For love he lost his head now this man spends his days cold and dead.”

Hatbox didn’t need to ask to know what he was talking about. He’d seen the graves. In fact, he’d seen all this man’s crimes. It filled him with disgust to know that in another time he could be like this. “You deserved to be banished.”

“I deserve revenge. I deserve respect and admiration from those too weak to seek it for themselves. My ritual failed, but once we get out of here that won’t matter.”

Alistair continued down the halls, his cane echoing as he slammed it down harder than needed to. He was almost out of here. He was finally going to be free from this wretched manor. 

He just needed to get past the seance room.

The man quieted his steps as he entered, hoping that this late at night Madame Leota would be more dormant, having spent the entire day reciting spells. He seemed to be in luck, because she didn’t seem to notice him until he was almost to the other side of the room and out the door when she spoke. “Where are you going, Hatbox?”

Alistair tried to sound friendlier. Tricking her would be far harder than the three idiots from earlier. “I’ve been looking for Emily. I wonder if she’s outside looking for me.” 

“Emily never left.” 

Inside of their shared mind, Hatbox suddenly came to attention. “Never left..?”

“I see…” Alistair responded aloud. “Well, regardless I need to step outside.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Leota asked. “I remember when you left before.”

“You do?” Hatbox asked silently and Alistair asked aloud.

“Oh Hatbox, I should have told you before. When I summoned you here, your soul arrived different then the others. It wasn’t… complete. Part of your soul was here, and another was somewhere else. As a result, you couldn’t stay. You were cast out of the manor. But Emily is a bound soul. Without you, she faded away.” 

Hatbox tried to process as he was overcome with grief. He cried out in anguish, the sound so loud that Alistair had a hard time forming his own response. “His- My soul isn’t complete?! And you call yourself the world’s greatest medium.” 

Madame Leota recognized that voice. “Crump?!?” 

It seemed the game was up. “I decided banishment to my manor wasn’t for me. And so I’m here now, but don’t worry. I was just seeing myself out.”

“I will send you back. And keep a better watch on you this time!”

“Not without punishing an innocent soul.” Alistair laughed darkly as he felt once again he had the upper hand on the medium. 

“We shall see.” Leota began chanting, much to Alistair’s surprise. He hadn’t expected her to so willingly endanger another soul, which meant she thought this spell would work. 

“You told me his soul doesn’t belong to the manor. It won’t stay!” Alistair tried to manipulate the medium with her own words.

“Hatbox… Hattie, you have to choose.” Madame Leota’s words reached the grieving man trapped in his own mind. “Is this your home?”

The Hatbox Ghost thought back to that first night at the Gracey Manor. How Emily had called it their home now. If that’s what she had wanted, then that’s what he wanted as well. He missed her so much. He felt so hollow with the missing part of him. “Emily, this is our home.” 

“Quiet. All of you, quiet!” Alistair demanded, for once fear evident in his voice. He cried out and suddenly Hatbox was back in control of his body.

Hatbox almost fell and lost his head immediately but quickly found his legs. He looked around, recognizing the seance room. There was Madame Leota, floating in her crystal ball. But her attention wasn’t on him. He followed her gaze and he felt his dead heart jump.

There was Alistair Crump being held aloft by Emily. He writhed in her grip, trying to tear her hands away from his neck but she held him firm. 

“EMILY!” Hatbox was too elated to care about anything else. “EMILY HOW.?” “You chose to be here.” Leota spoke calmly behind them. “Your soul belongs here now and therefore, so does your soul mate.”

“You all make me sick!” Alistair snarled, still trying to get free. 

“Bring him over here, let me have a good look at him.” Leota couldn’t help the amusement in her voice as Emily brought him over and pinned him down on the table. He looked different than she remembered. His lips and eyelids were gone. His right eye was an intense yellow, but the left one was dead. Pale, like the full moon that gave him his powers. Behind him, she could see that Hatbox hadn’t been left unmarked. In an inverse, his right eye was dead and ghostly. “I’m sorry this had to happen, but I promise he will not escape this time.” 

“Don’t lie to them. This will not be the last time we see eachother.” Alistair promised as he was chained to the table by purple light. He continued to glare at Hatbox, the ghost who shared part of his soul, until he vanished. Banished back home to Crump Manor, this time they all hoped for good.

Emily turned to Hatbox, tears in both of their eyes. They embraced, her heart beating loudly against him. Decades had passed, and most had forgotten their bond. But it still burned as strong as ever. Hatbox never wanted to let her go but finally she loosened her embrace and said “Let’s go upstairs where we belong”. 

Hatbox nodded, tears wetting his eyes and face. “Thank you, Madame.” He tipped his hat to the medium.

—

Nighttime continued in the Gracey Manor. Most were oblivious to the night's happenings. As far as everyone was concerned, everything was normal. Except for Constance, who tried to tell everyone who would listen that “they” kicked her out of the attic. “We’ll just find somewhere else for you later, don’t worry.” The Host Ghost told her dismissively.

In the attic, two ghosts held hands. Emily touched Hatbox’s face, which was now changed by the pale eye. She didn’t care and told him not to worry either as she kissed him on the forehead.

In a strange way, the dark man had reunited them. Hatbox wanted to forget him as he danced with his beating heart bride once more. But as they slowly swayed together, he felt his dead right eye water. He tried to rub out whatever was in his eye when he realized they were tears. Far away, in another manor, Alistair was sad. It seemed they were bound together as well. Perhaps he was correct when he’d said they’d see eachother again some day. But for now he let those concerns fade away into the night. 

-----

Written with my friend Draco in mind. I enjoy our conversations.

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

Danse Macabre

Decided to write some Haunted Mansion 2023 stuff that isn't my RH Au. So here's some pre-movie fanfiction.

This was supposed to go out on Halloween. But I've had a really stressful last couple of weeks with school and all that junk. Anyways, happy reading! 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Summary: The first week of staying in the afterlife has come to a close for the newest ,sorrowful spirit by the name of WilliamGracey. That being so, the Hatbox Ghost decides to "check up" on his favorite toy to torment.

Pairing: William Gracey & The Hatbox Ghost

WARNINGS ⚠️ : Grief, Sadism, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Enslavement, Violence, Physical Abuse, Forced Dancing, Implied Suicide, The Hatbox Ghost is a warning in it of itself to be completly honest, Poor Gracey is not having a good time.

Word count: 4.6k

Every night when the clock struck the thirteenth hour, all ghosts of the manor would flee from the ever-dark presence of the Hatbox Ghost. At least, those who were allowed to flee did; A ghost by the name of  William Gracey did not have such a luxury.

He should have heeded the warnings of Leota and stopped when he had the chance; Not having listened to the enticing, addictive, yet always deceitful words of the dark spirit. But it was too late now. It had already been too late the moment the bottle of arsenic was raised to his lips by his very own hand, sealing his fate for all eternity. 

And now in the ghost world, he wandered.

 He wandered up and down the mansion with a heavy heart and anxious soul as the chiming of the grandfather clock grew ever closer; All the mortals in the manor were now sound asleep and for the time being, for the most part, blissfully unaware of the demonic horrors that lurked inside the home. Meanwhile, there were other spirits just like himself- trapped, roaming the manor.

It was all his fault.

There was only one minute left now.

 He knew no other spirits were hiding in the hallway where he resided; They had all gone elsewhere. Many of them had quickly understood the pattern of the home's new master, and, even more so, understood that poor William Gracey would be the main target of his torment for at the very least a long while. So they found it best to avoid the mansion’s freshest soul when the upcoming arrival of the dark spirit drew near.

 The loud chiming of the grandfather clock eventually began to echo throughout the mansion’s halls, bringing great despair and helplessness to all who heard it. William could perfectly picture his fellow remaining spirits who had been brave enough to stay out for a moment more, fleeing to find a place to hide; Terrified of what would happen if the demon arriving was to give them his utmost attention. 

William tried to follow in their example. But as the clock continued emitting its dreadful sounds, the sorrowful spirit found himself stuck. 

His body was heavy.

It was as if there were multiple invisible chains locked around him, keeping him bound in the same spot with no ability to move his feet whatsoever. The more freedom he tried to gain, the less he acquired as the binding felt tighter and more painful with each attempt to break away from whatever grip this force had on him. But as the final chime of the grandfather clock came and went, William finally gave in to his entrapment and stopped fighting his bondage. 

Fighting was no use. He had become completely immobile from the waist down, and a change in atmosphere was now evident as overwhelming darkness engulfed the hall; Black fog quickly crept in and spread itself along the floor; The sound of a cane striking the ground sounded in his ears. Then again . . .  and again . . . the sound becoming closer with each strike.

William’s shoulders tightened on instinct as the sound filled his ears. It came from every direction and he did not know whether to anticipate the oncoming demon to appear in front of him or behind him. But then the noises stopped entirely, which, in all honesty, was even less of a comfort; His grip on the lantern he always carried with him also tightened as he brought it closer to himself.

A different noise then began to ring through his ears. It was the sound of a beating heart- His heart. It thumped violently in his ribcage, and at such a speed that William- if he had still been a mortal man- very well would have assumed for his heart to suddenly stop entirely and for he himself to topple over-dead; The organ wearing itself out to the point of dysfunction.

“ Ahh . . . Mr.Gracey . . .” A dark echo suddenly spoke up from behind him; the smallest amount of amusement present in its’ tone. Every hair stood on end on the ghostly form of poor William Gracey as the darkness around him was now so suffocating that he felt his lungs might burst. “There you are.” 

 A chill crawled down William’s spine as the words manifested right next to his face and into his ear. The upper part of his body, which was still able to move somewhat, began to tremble. In the corner of his eye, he took notice of the bright light shining from a hatbox; His body tensed even more than he thought possible as he bore witness to the slimy, toothy grin plastered on the head that found its home inside the object. 

 “ And here I thought you were trying to avoid my company...”

William quickly darted his eyes to the floor. He dared not to look at the cursed entity, for even the sight of him filled the poor spirit with the kind of sorrow and grief that was unavoidable to feel; Grief was something he could not risk showing so easily.

It took William a moment to swallow the lump in his throat; This spirit was not like him nor was he like any of the others. The Hatbox Ghost was completely different- cruel and wrong- bursting with unnatural evil and maliciousness. The closeness of this demon in proximity to William’s own form made it extremely difficult for the poor spirit to keep his composure as he attempted to hold some form of a brave face. For he had only been there a short while and had not yet discovered the sorrowful truth; That it is never wise to fight against the torturous enslavement of the Hatbox Ghost. 

Every ghost and ghoul in the mansion would have to learn this lesson at some point; it would surely be the lesson Willliam learned tonight, and his abuser was eager to be the teacher.

“ Hatbox Ghost.” William acknowledged the entity’s presence. His voice did not come off as strong as he had wanted it to be. Rather it was quite small and pathetic sounding.

The voice continued.  “ Now now, no reason to be afraid  . . . after all . . .”

William let out a small yelp as his form was suddenly yanked backward by a force unseen by any eye; It took his breath away as his balance was lost. “ We’ve known each other for quite a while now, have we not?”

That was a lie.

The Hatbox Ghost had never presented himself to William as anyone but the poor spirit’s dear wife who had been too soon departed from the world; He had conformed to her mannerisms and likeness for a whole year. In truth, he was just as much a stranger as he ever had been before. But William did not dare correct the dark spirit’s statement.

Regaining his balance, William felt the presence of the Hatbox Ghost leave his side in order to travel elsewhere as the dark fog surrounding the room vanished slowly. They were in the ballroom now, but it was completely barren of people- man or ghost. There was nobody there; Nobody eating and conversing at the long table, no music being played on the organ, and no one gracefully dancing across the floor. They were completely alone together- William Gracey and the Hatbox Ghost. And that fact alone worried William to no end.

“ So. Do tell me, Mr.Gracey . . .” The Hatbox Ghost continued to speak. For a split moment, William felt the ever-so-slightest sliver of confidence as he brought his gaze up from the floor to gaze upon the demonic entity.

 He was truly ghastly and unpleasant to look at -The Hatbox Ghost. An awful sight to behold. He was a monster dripping with power and vile; A monster much bigger and grander in stature than William, even as he was hunched over slightly and with his limp leg. Despite his horrid physical features, the Hatbox Ghost wore extremely rich attire; It was clear he had been an extremely wealthy man in his past life. That was, if he ever was even a human to begin with; William had always held a slight suspicion that his tormenter had been born from the very depths of hell itself and, in turn, had never once walked the earth as a mortal.  

Where the dark spirit’s head should have been, was instead a tall, floating black tophat. On his shoulders, a long cape dragged along the floor; In his left hand was his cane that helped support his disabled body; The top of the cane was seemingly made out of gold, and what looked like human faces were carved into it, contorting in sorrow and agony; their features were exaggerated and stretched in order to show their horror to the fullest extent- screeching- groaning out in pain.

In the Hatbox Ghost’s right hand, was his black hatbox which held his very own head; It was a head cursed to be trapped there until the darkest hours of the night struck. William watched as the demon turned his back away from him and made his way to the grand table. “You have been here in the ghost realm for a week now if I am not mistaken, Yes?”

“ Yes.” William’s voice remained small and soft. He watched his new master in awful astonishment. “I believe I have. . . ”

“Hm.” Setting his cane to rest on the closest dining chair, the Hatbox Ghost placed his hatbox down onto the table as his head disappeared from its confinement; It then soon reappeared atop the shoulders of his cursed form. Letting out a long growl of discomfort, he slowly tilted his head from side to side in order to allow his neck to get well-adjusted with the new weight. The demonic entity could feel the horror-filled eyes of William Gracey on him, and he reviled in such delight from it; Bringing fear to others filled his black soul with great pride.

“ And the others?” The Hatbox Ghost asked, looking over his shoulder. William’s courage was immediately snuffed out by the fierce gaze of two deep, cold yellow eyes looking upon him with utmost intent; He felt as though he were nothing but prey being stared down by a ravenous predator. William’s eyes immediately darted back down to the floor. “Have you met them yet? Been conversing with some of them, perhaps?”

 William took a moment to answer. “ I . . . I-ive met a few of them.”

“Good . . . Good . . .”   In the blink of an eye, The Hatbox Ghost had vanished from his spot at the table and had now found himself in front of William’s trapped form. William himself only wished to just disappear at that moment; Perhaps he would somehow pass out. At least then he would have some moment of peace; It had been months since he had felt real peace in any sense of the word.“Care for a dance, Mr.Gracey?”

The question took poor William aback as he responded with only a feeble “ what?”  

“ I think you heard me well enough.” 

 William suddenly dropped his lantern as his arm quickly reacted to the painful grip of sharp claws plunging themselves deep into his wrist. The other claw immediately followed, wrapping around his waist and digging into his back. He let out a loud yelp of pain as his body was pulled to the larger spirit’s chest. 

“ Wa-wait! Wait!” William frantically stuttered out. 

The Hatbox Ghost’s smile merely widened at every frightened movement and sound of the poor spirit at his mercy- or more so lack thereof. It was clear that he was relishing in William’s panic. “Now, now . . . No need to be shy. You’re rather good at dancing, are you not?”

He cocked his head to the side slightly as William tried to stammer something back out at him, making him let out a chuckle. This immediately shut the weaker spirit up.

“ Whatever’s the matter?” He taunted the figure below him with fake sympathy. “Have nothing to say, do you? That’s just fine then.”

William felt slight relief as the sharp, leathery claw holding his wrist loosened its iron grip to where it was no longer piercing his translucent flesh; Though the other claw remained painfully digging deep into his back. If he were still mortal, blood would have been spilling out of his body. But there was no blood to draw; There would only be nasty bruises that slowly faded away within a few hours surrounding empty holes where the claws pierced him.

Tears were threatening to form his eyes, but the spirit knew he had to try and hold them in; He could not give the demon the thing he wanted. At least not so easily if he could help it.

“ Why dancing . . . e-exactly?” His voice found the bravery to stutter out. 

“ Why not?” The dark spirit responded to William’s sudden courage; It was truly humorous. “It’s such a lovely night after all. It would do you some good, you know- To partake in something. Not just sulk and sob in a pile of your own self-pity as you always do.”

The first thing out of the Hatbox Ghost’s mouth was another lie that William did not correct; It was not a lovely night. Outside, a great storm stirred as heavy rain beat against the mansion’s exterior. Strong winds blew as they tried to force the windows open, and strange, purple lightning flashed as thunder roared.

Looking around for a moment, William caught the dim light of his lantern which had fallen a few inches away from him. He attempted to try and reach for it with his free hand. However, the hand that he reached with was swiftly grabbed by the same claw that entrapped his other hand; both hands were now bound together in the same, single grip. His captor watched for a few moments as William struggled like a little rabbit trying to free itself from a hawk.

“ You seem . . . Tense. . . Mr. Gracey.” The Hatbox Ghost stated. His slimy grin was still present as ever on his disturbing, gray face. 

You want something from me, William wished to say. He knew what the Hatbox Ghost wanted. It’s what the evil spirit always wanted; How exactly do you plan on acquiring it by doing this?

Suddenly, the organ began to play, but nobody was playing it as far as William could tell; His eyes wandered over his shoulder as he attempted to turn his head a bit in order to get a better look. Sensing the smaller spirit’s confusion, The Hatbox Ghost spoke up as he let go of William’s left hand. And against William’s own will, that same hand moved to gently grab his tormenter’s shoulder,

 “ Well? Shall we then?”

It was not as if William had any sort of choice; Even now with his legs becoming freely mobile once again, he could hardly recognize it happening due to the iron grip forcibly moving his body. The pace at which they moved across the floor was slow, yet elegant all the same, even with the demon’s limp; The mounting sound coming from the ominous music of the organ and the raging storm filled the room.

“ You did this with her quite often, if I’m not mistaken . . .” The Hatbox Ghost calmly stated. William did not say anything in response, so he kept speaking, “With Elenore, I mean. . .  Such a shame really - That the two of you will never be able to do this again.”

William's eyes began to water; a tear or two slowly ran down his face; The implications of the dark spirit’s words sank deep into his heart as he now had a solid understanding of what was about to happen. 

He could only pray it would be over quickly.

“ Yes . . .” The Hatbox Ghost continued. His words dripped into William’s brain like poison, “Quite a shame. I assume it was something the both of you enjoyed. Please . . . enlighten me Mr.Gracey; What exactly was the part that you enjoyed the most?”

“N-no . .. “ William quietly choked out. A lump had begun to form in his throat.

“ Was it that you loved showing off to her; did she merely boost your ego?” The hatbox ghost leaned down; His chilling breath spread along the smaller spirit's neck. It made William violently shiver as the sob he had been trying so desperately to hold in, was forcibly released. “No, that could not be the reason . . . you do not seem like the prideful type . . .”

William could not control the tears which now violently fell from his eyes as he was completely overcome by fear and sorrow. All the sounds around him mixed with the closeness of this demon- the sharp pain of the claws digging into his skeletal, translucent form- it was making him extremely overstimulated. 

And the Hatbox Ghost loved it.

He could taste all the grief radiating off William; It was a rather salty sensation, making the craving for it become ever greater the longer it lingered on his tongue and graced his lips; It filled him with an animalistic greed and wanting for more- everything the cowering little ghost in his grasp had, until there was nothing left to take. But he could not do that. Not yet at least.

He knew self-control was the best way to go when it came to William Gracey; the poor spirit was far too easy to degrade and pick apart. There was always a new way to make him sob- to make him submit to the misery. The former master of the mansion had so much sorrow for him to slowly exploit and feast on for what was probably decades to come- a nice long meal. And until the day came when he had finally gained his thousand willing souls - even after that time finally arrived- the fact that remained was quite simple:

 William was his. 

The pathetic, tortured soul before him, had indeed belonged to him before even putting the bottle of arsenic to his lips that fateful night. 

“ Perhaps it was the way she looked in those pretty dresses . . . or was it  her lovely eyes?”

“ S-stop it . . .” William pleaded.

“ Or perhaps it was the warmth of her skin . . . her hand in yours . . .”  The Hatbox Ghost spirit continued to taunt. William only answered him with a feeble ‘no’.

“No?” Hmmm . . . Well then, I must say Mr.Gracey, You have truly stumped me. . . unless . . .”  Something strange began to happen with the dark spirit's voice. It became softer- warmer- lighter and mixed with an undertone of echoing uncanniness. William’s lifeless breath hitched as the familiarity of it quickly sunk in. “Maybe it was her voice . . . Just so sweet and soothing to the ears . . .”

The voice of the demon who now held dominion of the ghost realm was no more. Instead, it was replaced with the replicated voice of William’s wife- Elenore’s voice.

Tears continued to purge poor William’s face as that realization hit him. It had been so long since he had heard his dear wife’s voice- her real voice- not just when he closed his eyes and dreamed of her.  He had been so desperate to hear even a moment of it after her passing if he could; He was desperate for anything and everything about her in all honesty. That was the main reason both he and all the other spirits- all the future spirits as well- were now trapped in the mansion, was it not? 

It was all William’s fault.

The Hatbox Ghost had realized William’s desperation- his grief- more than likely the very moment passing through the ever-thinning veil of the ghost realm. He would appear in the broken, sorrowful man’s dreams, along with Elenor’s voice, the same as a siren song, along with everything about her- a fanned, copied image of the deceased woman. He had used William’s desperation against him by fully conforming it and twisting it into a tool for his own horrid benefit.

“ Oh, I seem to have struck a nerve,” The Hatbox Ghost continued to speak through the voice of Elenore Gracey, unable to hide his smugness “ I assume I’m correct then.”

William closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down and slow the constant stream of tears running down his cheeks. The voice of his wife continued to talk down to him, but it was muffled now in the midst of all his tormented thoughts. Everything hurt; he just wanted it all to stop.

Make it stop . . .

Make it stop . . .

Make it stop . . .

How could he make it stop?; He could not run, he could not hide; The demon held all power here- it was the Hatbox Ghost’s realm now. A realm for the dark spirit to control, morph, and use to his own liking.

Deep down, William knew he deserved this. It was all his damn fault. . . He needed to separate himself somehow- an inch or maybe two would be enough. Even being just somewhat out of the rough, dominant grasp of his tormentor would help William with all this physical and emotional turmoil. He was completely overwhelmed; he was in a panic and there was nothing more to it. He needed to get away from this . . . Spirit?.  . . Demon?... Whatever this thing was! It did not matter! He needed to get away!

It was then in the midst of all his panic, that William suddenly noticed himself slightly stumbling over his own feet. And then it all finally registered; he was in control of his body. Though the upper half of it was still trapped in the grasp of his new, cruel master, his feet were freely mobile and without a huge amount of restraint placed upon them. . . He knew what he wanted to do. But was he willing to risk whatever punishment awaited him if he decided to do it? 

The answer to that question was apparently ‘yes’. 

William could not tell if it was bravery or stupidity guiding him through his actions - probably both- but there was no turning back now. His mind was already made up.

“ Let . . . Go Of Me!!” He demanded. Even in trying to be assertive, the fear was still fully present in his voice as he spoke. William tightly shut his eyes; Using all his might, he lifted his foot up before forcing it back down as it struck the Hatbox Ghost’s limp leg, making the bigger ghost stagger in surprise for a quick moment.

Both of them immediately halted to a stop. The music from the organ went silent with the only sounds now being that of the storm still going on outside; It had become more violent than before- Rain and wind growing heavier as purple lighting shot around frantically.

William let out a scream of agony as the claw in his back penetrated him deeper- the claw that held his arm sinking itself back into his wrist- piercing him with new marks. His back arched as it happened; his head was thrown back as he was hit with the sudden sensation. Even though he had expected this reaction from the Hatbox Ghost, that did not mean it was at all less painful.

He dared to open his eyes again. And staring back at him were two yellow pupils burning through him- furious.  

The Hatbox Ghost did not have an outburst at William’s action; He stood still and remained stiff as a board- only staring at the cowardly ghost in his grasp; It was possibly even more frightening than any sudden outburst in William’s opinion.

As their eyes remained locked on one another, neither of them spoke as tension in the air grew. And again William heard it- That quick thumping of his own, dead heart. He wanted nothing more than for the new master of the realm to just get it over with already. But his tormenter was nothing if not unpredictable- A python waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He could strike at any point and William would not be ready to stop it; The growing anticipation William felt was downright awful. The Hatbox Ghost stared at William with fury on his face, mixed with a combination of disgust and annoyance; He watched the cowering little spirit once again become still- As still as he could get anyhow.

William could not control his mouth- letting out small whimpers of pain and discomfort- his form witching and trembling somewhat around the claws that penetrated him.

Without warning, the claw in William’s back was thrust out with great force and quickness. It caused him to let out yet another scream before he tried to silence himself- His eyes once again closing as his face scrunched and contorted into an unpleasant expression. And it was only then that he realized- without the stability from the claw- just how truly drained his body had become.

“You know, William . . .” The Hatbox Ghost finally spoke- His true voice coming back. And though he spoke calmly, his anger was still fully present. “I’m surprised that you of all people would have the audacity to attempt what you just did. . . “

William’s knees were bent and his feet remained on the floor; He was held up only by his arm which was still entrapped by the Hatbox Ghost’s claw. His left hand then limply fell from the stronger spirit’s shoulder; With very little strength, he lifted said left hand to grasp his right arm and give himself more stability. 

He was looking back down to the floor- William Gracey- It was his instinct that caused him to do so. But it was in vain; For it was only a moment before his head forcibly snapped back up to meet his tormentor's stern, piercing gaze.

“ Who thinned the veil.” The Hatbox Ghost asked. When William did not answer, he simply squeezed the spirit’s wrist. William let out another scream as his wrist was easily broken with a violent crunch. His body spasmed and shifted- His hand went limp- The Hatbox Ghost did not care.

“ I suggest you answer my question.” He said. “ Who thinned the veil to the spirit world, William?”

Tears in William’s eyes continued to flow as he tried his best to speak “Me. . .” He admitted. But the Hatbox Ghost had already known the answer to the question. Both of them understood that the dark spirit merely wished for William to admit it out loud. “ It was me  . . .” 

The Hatbox Ghost then - almost gently- grasped William’s neck with his free claw. William could not help but lean into his uncomforting touch for a moment. It kept his tired body somewhat more station- held him up better and helped keep his form stabilized more than his own faulty, sad attempt.

“ That is correct . . . If anything . . . This is what you deserve, yes?” The dark spirit continued. “ I’m certain all the other spirits residing with us would think so. . . You’re the one who doomed them, William . . .They were at peace, and you took them away from that. Merely to fulfill your own selfish desires . . .”

“ I-I . . .” William went to say something but immediately stopped himself. The Hatbox Ghost was right; He deserved this- All of it- For all those suffering in the mansion now and all those who would soon be suffering down the line.

The Hatbox Ghost let out a dry laugh- void of humor, “ You truly are a pathetic man . . . No wonder Elenore deserted you and left you to rot all by your lonesome. It makes a person wonder if she ever even loved you to begin with . . .”

William said nothing. He did not have the strength nor did he have the energy too. The dark spirit’s words pierced through him like a dagger.

This was all his fault . . . 

[crypticsketchpad]

mkay sorry for the messy sketches but i came up with this au a while ago and figured i'd finally share it

so basically: what if Emily was movie!Hatty's first wife- and partner in crime?

we don't learn the names of any of Alistair Crump's wives in the film, in fact there's nothing about his first wife mentioned at all (iirc, ive only watched the movie twice lmao), so personally i hc that his first wife was named Emily at least because lol

but for this au, what if she was actually a big part of the plot?

as a mortal, Emily falls in love with and marries Alistair, knowing nothing about his ties to the occult. after some time though, she finds out about his seances and sacrifices, but instead of being disgusted and frightened, she wants in. after some time, the two hatch a plan together to bind their souls together and increase their paranormal power in both life and the afterlife. Emily allows Alistair to sacrifice her in a private ritual between the two (pics 1-3), while Alistair covers it up by claiming another person murdered her, continuing his seances under the guise of wishing to contact his deceased lover. meanwhile, Emily is able to assist Alistair from beyond the grave, using her ghostly powers to aid in his dark rituals (pic 4). after Alistair passes away, they reunite in the afterlife, gleefully terrorizing other spirits and mortals together.

now of course, some of the events in the movie's story would be different:

Emily initially poses as benevolent, acting sympathetic towards the mortals and pretending to protect them from the "evil spirits", while eventually luring them right into her husband's clutches

she's the one who shapeshifts into Alyssa to trick Ben, and the one who pretended to be Eleanor Gracey in order to convince William Gracey to commit Die

Alistair continues to pretend she was murdered by someone else, using his loss to relate to Ben; “I know how it feels to have your love taken away from you so suddenly Ben, but I can help you reunite with her at last, just as I have with my dearest Emily…”

rather than Alistair possessing Bruce near the end, Emily possesses Harriet while she's distracted by Bruce's heart attack; due to her cause of death being that she was stabbed in the chest, Emily's ghost form has a tendency to bleed from the mouth when using her powers; instead of Bruce's nosebleed giving it away, blood starts coming from Harriet's mouth as Emily's deception comes undone

both Emily and Alistair end up banished at the end, with Alistair going first and Emily grabbing Ben's ankles as she's pulled down in order to try and take him with them

so yeah! that's my evil!Emily au. maybe one day i'll write a fic about it, i've already started one actually but if i could do a full movie rewrite i would... the mortal parts are good and all but we needed more ghost action tbh

[happicstplace]

the manor was crumbling, his birthright left to rot and decay. and it should. the cursed place should be left to crumble into dust, forgotten by every living soul. perhaps then, with the physical structure gone, the spirits would be released. and yet the living footsteps were proof that the ghosts were not to be left in peace this day. ' whoever dared you to be here, i suggest you ignore them and leave. ' it was an effort to be seen by the living, but better this than another ghost to entertain at the end of the day.

OPEN // edward gracey

[asktheghosthost]

Finally saw the new Mansion movie and it felt very… 6.5/10, not enough ghosts. Like you could change the title and it would be a good movie on its own but it’s almost not a Haunted Mansion TM movie? Severe lack of proper Host and Constance and everyone else really. Anyhow, what did you think?

That's a very fair assessment. I wonder if I would have liked it more if it wasn't called The Haunted Mansion and didn't have the brand connection. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it; I did. I liked the characters, (but potentially controversial opinion: I do think some of them could have been combined or cut out), and I liked the story. Set design was fantastic. The obvious, over the top product placement was cringe- inducing, though.

But... what I want is a plot about the ghosts. I want them to take center stage. In this movie, they were practically background characters, except for Leota and Hattie. I get the idea of wanting a mortal protagonist as a proxy for the audience, but I don't think it's necessary. I really think you can have a story about the ghosts and audiences would connect with them.

What would I do none of you asked? It starts with a handful of recognizable ghosts all coming to terms with the fact they're now haunting this house together. (Maybe Ghost Host, Master Gracey, Madame Leota, Constance, and Hattie as the starters.) They discover other ghosts haunting the mansion, and realize it's a beacon for wandering souls. With all of these spirits coming in, it's proposed the mansion is made into a safe home for haunts. (Despite some tantrums from Constance and Gracey.) The Ghost Relations Department is created, and we get a fun montage of haunted objects being placed, beloved ghosts showing up, people finding/ falling into hidden passageways, etc. The various ghosts start to really bond and we get a nice found family set up.

Enter: Our threat. One of two things.

A. Mortal antagonist. Someone that wants to destroy/ misuse the Mansion, thereby displacing all of these ghosts who've finally found a home. Maybe they want to make it into an amusement park for extra meta commentary or something.

B. And what I prefer. One of the ghosts welcomed in isn't a ghost at all, but the demonic One Eyed Black Cat. The ghosts band together to save their home and exorcize the monster.

C. Combo of the two. Could be doable.

Or that animated series about the little girl befriending the ghosts gets reconsidered. That looked adorable.

At the end of the day, it was a cute movie. There were some scenes I loved, like Ben talking about his dead wife, and the discussions about grief. It's going into my Halloween rotation with the Muppets Haunted Mansion, HM 2003, and Hocus Pocus. Better than I expected, but still not the story I would have told. But still better than The Haunted Mansion: Storm and Shade novel that came out recently. I haven't even bothered discussing that one here yet.

[seahere]

Just watched Haunted Mansion (2023) and yeah, they did good. In my opinion, at least. (SPOILERS as I ramble my thoughts. Obviously.)

Enough park canon material included to make me very happy! And best of all! We still don't know the origin of the Mansion! Ahhh! Perfect!

They have the WDW Mansion belong to Hattie (movie verse's Alistair Crump), but our classic mansion, while owned by Gracey who made a big mess with the help of Leota, still has an undefined origin.

There was an emphasis on the Captain. I do like that. He's a major hitchhiking ghost and one of the friendlier ones right away (technically). He's still left ambiguous, though. His haunts make him the Mariner, but he's anyone from Captain Gore, to Culpepper Clyne, to unnamed and forgotten captain.

I am actually a big fan of Gracey and I love his inclusion. He's the owner, or was the most notable one, at least. Not the originator of the place, but he was handed the role of "fucked up stupendously" and I love that for him. I'm speaking lightly but genuinely, this movie does show us grief in a lot of its forms and I can honestly say that I laughed and cried my way through the movie. They did very well.

So yeah, I enjoyed seeing the way they played out the cycle of grief, his desperation inviting the madness of a dark player. Hattie's origins are good by me. I only cared that he was NOT tied to Constance. The two can be diabolical ghosts but I didn't want him to be one of her victims. Big bad murderer in his own right is good with me. Love that journey for him. I do wish the cgi had been a little more...greenish and glowy. And I wish he'd been a little more playfully devious. But I was good with it. No surprise villain or unexpected twist—just ghosts we know, weaved into a tale, and real humans that worked.

I also loved the art style during Bruce's expositional talk about Alistair Crump. Like, damn, I want more of that. Deeply love it.

From cheesy to heartfelt to genuinely nice, this was a great ride. I laughed, I cried, I loved the story. I love that it was about the people. It was about genuinely difficult emotions that none of us can outrun. I love that there's a Mansion full of Happy Haunts in the end.

It didn't feel like they were rewriting or forcing a new canon. Hell, they had Bruce reference the endless crazy theories about the place. The ghost appearances came straight from existing, physical characters (love the Mummy of course). Stories like the dueling brothers and Constance already existed, and played right into the Tragic Souls after Gracey and Leota had already poisoned the Mansion through his grief.

Hatbox Ghost was the only one given an expanded backstory because the story needed an antagonist. I was good with that. Honestly the Crump Manor bit surprised and delighted me. But I also don't care if people view this as only one of many possible theories. I, personally, quite like it. I could probably ramble on this point further but I'll end it here.

Good movie. Well suited to the material. Playful, spooky, intense. I will definitely be watching it again.

[ktb90s]

The Haunted Mansion (2003) - Edward/Elizabeth/Sara

I had a thought or an alternative to The Haunted Mansion 2003 movie.

What if instead of making Sara Elizabeth's doppelganger, they made her a descendant of Edward and Elizabeth.

Edward and Elizabeth could have gotten married in secret. The two servants, Ezra and Emma, are happy for them but Ramsley is still opposed to their union. Elizabeth becomes pregnant. Ramsley tells her that the child and their union would never be accepted by society, thinly veiling a threat against her and her child. Elizabeth leaves in secret with the help of Emma and Ezra but she leaves a letter for Edward. Edward discovers she's gone but is unaware of her pregnancy. He takes his own life or dies from heartbreak, thus beginning the curse that plagues Gracey Manor. It would only be broken when Elizabeth returns.

Elizabeth gives birth to her child who has children and grandchildren which leads to Sara being born. Sara grows up and marries Jim and they have Megan and Michael. Sara is called back to Gracey Manor when their real estate flyer gets noticed by the ghosts. They go to the mansion and go through their ordeal. Everyone finds out that she is not Elizabeth but Elizabeth's and Edward's descendant (which would explain the resemblance). Elizabeth, in her spirit ball form, comes back to Gracey Manor to aid her family and reunite with Edward at last. Edward gives the Evers the deed to the house as they are his heirs. Edward, Elizabeth and the rest of the souls go in peace to Heaven.

I saw this movie 20 years ago and it's still one of my favorites. I just thought of this scenario this morning as pretty much all the answers to the problem were in the house for over a century (Elizabeth as a ghost ball, the hidden letter, hell, her would've-been wedding dress, etc.). Also, one of my other favorites is The Haunting 1999 movie (it's a bad-good film) and something similar happens in that adaption.

The scenario could also work because of the library scene between Edward and Sara when she asks him why he would sell it as the house was in his family for generations (not knowing he was a ghost).

And while I loved Marsha Thomason in this, she was too young to be playing wife and mother to Eddie Murphy and his children. She was 25 to 26 when they filmed the movie and 27 when it was released. He was in his early fourties. I was 13 when I saw this movie. 20 years later, I'm like

The wonderful world of acting.

[kismetconstellations]

🔥 + anything Zac Efron related, please & thank you :)

(You can ignore the first one. I should really read instructions all the way through before sending in asks)

No worries. You are totally fine. ^//^

Let's hope this doesn't get too inflammatory.

I'm not a fan of the Marvel Cinematic Universe for a variety of reasons, and would prefer Zac never be a part of it.

I think Zac's indie dramas are infinitely more fascinating than his mainstream comedies (they also come with the added bonus of not humiliating and disrespecting him while also objectifying him at every turn), and hope that he continues to do more of them.

Honestly, anything that keeps him out of Hollywood and away from the toxicity of the industry is all right with me.

Seeing his malnourished Baywatch physique continually held up as some sort of "ideal" upsets me to my core. All the more so, knowing just how negatively the whole experience affected him, contributing to his depression and insomnia and causing him to tear up on-camera when he was finally able to eat carbs, again.

This will come as absolutely no shock to anyone who has been following me since 2016, when the world was treated to, as I like to call them, High School Musical Shitstorm: Parts Un and Deux, but I strongly feel that Zac doesn't owe the collective High School Musical fandom any reprisals of his role as the heart and soul of the franchise. Especially when so many people who consider themselves a part of that fanbase are all too keen to minimize or outright ignore Zac and Troy's significance to the original trilogy's success, mock and deride both of them as "boring" or worse, and leave nasty comments like this--

-- on social media posts of members of the cast reuniting. (Please do not seek out or bother any of the people in the above screenshot, by the way. I don't believe that you or any of my other followers would, but it's still a necessary precaution, just in case. Please be kind, everyone. Even when others are not.) I know it's immature and petty on my end, but I don't see why people who behave this way and treat Zac's professional attempts to distance himself from this franchise with scorn and further mockery, even though his past reputation as a "tween heartthrob" still colors directors' perceptions of him, resulting in him needing to prove himself worthy nearly twenty years on, should be rewarded. I feel for the fans who crave a High School Musical reunion because it would take them back to a simpler, happier time in their lives, but the films are right there and always will be there to be revisited at any time. The past is the past for a reason, and Zac, just like anyone else, should be allowed to move on.

Zac was perfectly cast as Phillip Carlyle. There is no one else who could have brought Phillip to life as immaculately, and no actor more deserving of the career revitalization The Greatest Showman delivered tenfold. My sympathies go out to Jeremy Jordan if he legitimately did have to sing live demos of "all of Hugh's songs", as well as Phillip's, before the studio executives while recovering from a nasty bout of laryngitis. That does not, however, make him entitled to a role he never so much as considered auditioning for.

Zac, on the other hand, had already been involved with the production for four years, alluding to a potential upcoming role in a movie musical as early as 2015, and contacting studios on director Michael Gracey's behalf to assist him, Hugh, and the rest of the crew in getting the green light.

Thus, you can imagine how thoroughly it rankles me to see fans of Mr. Jordan insinuating that Zac, a legitimate triple threat, was an inferior choice made to secure the support of Zac's larger fanbase, or- even more deluded- to placate the "ego" of show business veteran Hugh Jackman, who was supposedly "threatened" by Mr. Jordan's vocal prowess.

The Greatest Showman Cast is superior to the High School Musical Cast; in terms of talent, camaraderie, and maturity. You don't see any of them making backhanded comments years later about Zac being their "worst on-screen kiss", or their "favorite scene" with Zac being one where his character was "so dumb". (Even though Troy was very obviously emotionally manipulated into believing that something was going on with Ryan and Gabriella, by Gabriella. That's such a low, douchebaggy thing to say, and my already minimal respect for Lucas Grabeel has dropped to near non-existent because of it.)

---

And, I think that's about it. Thank you so very much for asking, and I sincerely apologize a million times over for it taking me so long to post this response! I've been quite busy babysitting my niece and tending to personal affairs, and haven't had the energy to properly run this blog. But, I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things, and put more lovely things onto my followers' dashboards.

I appreciate your patience, and I hope that these answers prove to be worth the wait. ❤

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"P-Please, don't apologize, there...there's no need," Susannah was quick to reassure him, her brows rising at this, her heart having skipped a beat at this impassioned declaration of his-one she felt certain he needed to give voice to.

So many mixed feelings were swirling around in her gut at hearing all of this, it was hard to categorize them all...her knee-jerk reaction, of course, was frustration with the Gracey's and the de Clair's for their attempt to put Philippe and Doreen together-not because they thought they'd make a good couple, but because they were eligible and in the same class, that was all. It set her teeth on edge in annoyance, that both parents would have such little care for their children that the only thing that mattered was that they married well, not that they were happy with their spouse...

...but at the same time, this annoyance was tempered by a small sense of relief at the idea of Philippe and Doreen finding not romance, but friendship with one another. Given how lonely of souls they were, stuck in very similar circumstances, it made her smile, knowing they had each other to lean on despite all that.

And then came her irritation with some of the less than pleasant bachelorettes, the ones who showed their true colors when Philippe politely turned them down...she hated to think of anyone being so cruel, so unpleasant to someone as lovely as him, and it made her resentful of his parents for putting him in such an awful, awkward position.

And then, of course, there was still that sense of guilt at her coldness to him early on the day before: She had been so brusque with him, writing him off without giving him a fair shake, and she couldn't help but wince at her attitude, an attitude she'd been given more than a few times in her life. To think she'd turned around and done the same to someone else...it was an awful feeling.

And yet, in the midst of all of this, there was this warm, light sensation in the center of her heart, one stirred by his declaration, one she couldn't quite put a name too, though it made her heart feel as if it were about to take flight. Was it...was it...

...hope?

"H-H-Have you ever..." she began, the question coming past her lips before she could even think twice about it. "H-Have you ever...b-been in...in love b-before? Wi-With anyone?"

[nerdyfoxperfection]

This is Inspired by @swanpyart i will pin there art on my blog

I have been Writing this for a while. But this is the first chapter of my Holy ghost fic this is not Beta read so sorry For any spelling mistakes

Quick Plot summary.It's been three months since the events of the Musical and Grace chastity has been a hard at work. "Cleanse" All the dirty dudes out of hatchet field when 1 day the lords in black get tired of being summoned all the time.So they give her a helper that she knows very well from drowsy town Will her and her new Help be able to make peace after what happened Or are they doomed to fight forever?And rumors are going to round that the God Heard about Grace's Amtics. And is higher two people to get rid of her

I'll pray for you 1

The TV Turned on To the news channel where Dan and Donna. were sharing the scoop On the frequent disappearances in Hatchetfield As Donna said “ 3 months ago, Jason Cain disappeared the night of Homecoming 2021 Little did we know that this was not a one time event. 39 Young men have disappeared over the span of 3 Months And no bodies have ever been found. And nothing is known about this incident. If you have any knowledge of the disappearances, please tell authorities immediately any lead, Could bring the authorities one step closer To giving these families. The Justice they deserve.”

As we Turn to chris chasting on alley way with her date Grace chastity said “They're probably fine. People disappearing in hatchefield all the time. What makes these disappearances any different?” She said As her date turned and said “Yeah You're probably right”. He said as he put his arm around Grace. gasped in disbelief David. “ what is it Grace” David Said As Grace continued “we are only Eighteen You dirty dud”. “Oh, sorry, I”

“Save It” David Grace said As she pulled the Black Book from her bag. Grace “Calm down it's not that serious” when he noticed the Black Book. “What's that” As. Grace said “this is what happens to all those dirty dudes like you”. As she held up the Black Book and began the summoning spell. One by one's the lords in black appeared ready to send David to drowsy town.

As Wiggly said hello fwendy-wends and Begins to Sings with his brothers out of the Dpths of Hell and back. Us spawn from the plack and cover our souls with robes black and take up the arms of night. Nibbleline wants his sacrifice and Wiggly want his wrath we dance aound and pentagram and take all our Kingdoms back babbil the spell that gets it done babbie it on Command won't stop until all the blood is drawn the lords in black demand you summon US once, you US twice, you summon us for the Fortieth time la la la and you gambil It on a roll of a dice the devil has won it can't be undone the book has all but closed on your life

As a hall opend up to Swallow david hole

“hello Gracey you know where all Palywell's here but” Nibley I In traps and says “You summon us too much. We don't have time to play with are toys” “With you summoning us fourteen times a Month” “we have more important things to do” Grace said “What is more important than getting rid of these Dirty dudes” “well We don't have time for this anymore, so I'm giving an old fwendy-wends to help you with this. So we still get Our new. Toys and you get to get rid of all those “dirty dudes” wiggly said as he walked behind Gracey held her shoulders before quickly. Fixing his posture and snapping his fingers and just like that, the lords in black disappeared and in their place. Studied the shadow of a man that Grace has not seen in 3 months a man that would strike fear into the hearts of every nerd in Hatchet field high As he was shrouded in smoke

, max began to cough As max tried to dust away , the smoke Once the smoke had faded Max and Grace made eye contact. Max's eyes squinted and He clenched his fist. And said “so did you miss me Or did you just want to Torture me yourself” Max said “I don't want you here either, Max. But the lord in black are to Busy to help me anymore. So that's why you're here”. Max replied “I'm just you're bich now ” Grace said “l wouldn't use that language more like helper. You're gonna help me get rid of all these dirty dudes”. max asked “what if I don't” Grace Said “well, you'll probably go back to hell”

Max sighed and said fine. I'll help you but I'm not happy about it as Grace nodded and Crossed her arms Saying neither am

Thank you for reading this is my one of first fic so please leave Criticism or recommendations on how I could make my writing better Thank you again and have a nice day

[askthebrokenones-fm]

((Pt 2 of HITS headcanon list for the Haunts of Gracey Manor!

((We're covering a special little dude, that being OEBC (The One Eyed Black Cat) or Obec as Egore calls him

OEBC (Obec)

The OEBC technically doesn't have a name and prefers it that way. Egore gave him one to fuck with him, that being a slight swapping of letters in his anagram, Obec

Obec is very much treated in a Don't You Dare Speak His Name way with the other residents that were actually around during his haunting though (this includes Sinclair, Leota, Host, Organist, etc). So like 1/5th of the Happy Haunts. They don't really talk about him anyhow

It's unknown where Obec formally haunted before being summoned to the Mansion. Back in the early days, Leota was very new to the concept of summoning ghosts, so never really knew where she was dragging from (thus the collection in the Crypt)

Egore jokes Obec was an angry cat haunting a swamp, but Leota and Host aren't so receptive to that

Obec is a fragment of a human soul though. Why he's a cat is largely scrutinized by Host and Leota but Obec's personal statement is he likes looking like one sooo

But when should you ever take a narcissist and perpetual liar at face value

Obec remembers nothing of his mortal life, like Host. However his memory is in worst condition since he forces himself to bury things rather than learn like Host does. He is good at remembering present things however

Nowadays, Obec is confined to his silver statue wrapped in sealing bandages and sitting in a sealed stone room in the Crypt

Obec is still fully aware while bound, simply unable to move or utilize his powers. He can see, hear, and speak though

Despite his ability to speak in his prison, he doesn't make a sound unless someone naive that he thinks he can manipulate enters his prison

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

DISCOMFORTING TOUCH

On today's episode of making angst, genderbend stuff for a Disney ghost movie . . .

Touch

Ever since the passing of her dear husband Elijah, and even a good bit before that, Willow Gracey had never really liked being touched minus a few rare exceptions.

The Hatbox Ghost was most certainly not one of them.

The fierce claws of the demonic spirit were cold. So cold to the point that it felt as though they were burning what once was here skin. And they were almost never gentil.

Cuts, scrapes, and bruises.

Being thrown, kicked, and choked.

They were simply some of the many physical, not even counting mental, abuses that she endured in the living hell her afterlife had become.

Nowadays, she would simply flinch away from anyone who got even a foot away from her. And eventually, there were no such things as exceptions for her anymore.

One thing Gracey knew for certain in the presence of the home's dark mistress was that she and the other trapped souls were simply kept there only to suffer. To be thrown again and again and again into a deeper pit of grief and agony. Only to be feasted upon before being thrown back down again.

And unfortunately for her, she was the one spirit whom the Hatbox Ghost enjoyed tormenting the most.

[theghostlyartofclubs46]

Name: Hannhson

Middle/Last name: Dillie' Timewell

Full name: Hannhson Dillie' Timewell

Eye color: Green

Hair color: Red

DOB: Oct 13-Halloween

Date of Death: Jan,1957-Murder by an unknown killer

Skin color: Blue (like a ghost)

Sex: Female

Lives: Ireland then moved to New Orleans

Accent: Irish

Height: Short

Weight: Like picking up a couple flowers

Pets: The One Eyed Black Cat that she called Oneie,another black cat with no eyes but only a mouth!

Abilities: Turning mortals & certain ghosts into cats or paintings trapping them in her cursed painting!,Dark Magic & Black magic, Shape shifting/mimicking others voices

Resident: The Gracey Manor

Relationship: Professor Phineas plump

Friends: The Hitchhiking Ghosts,the ghostly cats,The Ghost Host,Master Gracey,The Organist,The Cat Lady,Not so friendly ghosts,The Dread Family, Madame Leota

Enemies: The Hatbox Ghost, Constance,The Mummy (she just gets annoyed by him),Her parents/Twin siblings, Henry Ravenswood/The Phantom, Ramsey,Mortals,The Headless Horseman,Zeke

Species: Ghost,Cat,demon

Family: Mrs.Timewell,Mr.Timewell,Alex Timewell(Twin sibling),and Phobe Timewell(twin sibling)

Age: 33

Birthday: Oct, Halloween 31

Likes: Stitch,Lilo & Stitch,Duffy Bear,riding on Stitch's Great Escape,Likes riding on the Duffy Bear bus,Reading books,Reading the Legend of Sleepy Hollow books (she has a series of books),Going merch shopping

Dislike: Getting baths in her cat form, getting yelled at,other ghouls going into her room,her things being broken

History:

Hannhson is a beautiful redhead girl who runs a flower shop during the spring and summer seasons but she closes it during Winter and Autumn season.During mortal life she enjoyed doing paranormal investigation,being an urban explorer (exploring abandoned places!) But most men would find her VERY attractive because of her pretty face or some men would immediately dumb her because Hannhson was in the paranormal!

Until in Jan of 1957 in the winter she kick the bucket: Unknown killer ended her life by shoot a bullet threw her head and finishing her off with 90x bullets to her left hip making her bleed to death,her body was buried at the Pet Cemetery (60 ft deep) outside of New Orleans with no headstone so no one would find her!

Since then Hannhson have been an angry human spirit collecting mortal souls and certain ghosts and trapping them in her cursed painting that she now haunts in the Gracey Manor being 1000 soul there!