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seanpultz · 2 months

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Three Wiseguys in The Haunted Mansion

If the Ghostbusters, Abbott and Costello and The Three Stooges exploring The Haunted Mansion isn't enough, How about three wiseguys from Tony Soprano's outfit taking a little spook's tour.

WARNING: This contains strong language

Paulie Walnuts squinted up at the towering edifice, a grin playing on his weathered lips. "Lookit this shit, Chris. This place is like someone took the Rathbone mansion and slapped a Mickey Mouse sticker on it."

Christopher Moltisanti, his eyes wide with a mix of skepticism and childlike excitement, shot back, "You're full of it, Paulie. This is Disney, not some mobster's summer home. But I gotta admit, it's got that same spooky vibe."

Silvio Manfred Dante, ever the cool head, lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke curling. "Looks like we're in for a real taste of the high life now, huh?" he said with a smirk. "But keep it down, will ya? We're supposed to be on vacation, not scaring off the tourists."

Paulie, Chris, and Silvio shuffled along the winding queuing path, their eyes darting from the toppled birdbath to the eerie hearse. "What the fuck is this, a haunted junkyard?" Paulie quipped, nudging Chris with his elbow.

"I dunno, Paulie," Chris replied, trying to peer through the gloom. "But if I see one of those seven dwarfs trying to sell me a magic mirror, I'm outta here."

Silvio chuckled, flicking his cigarette butt into a bush. "Keep your cool, guys. It's all just props for the kiddies. Ain't no real spooks in this place."

But as they approached the mansion's entrance, the laughter died in their throats. A gust of wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant sound of organ music and a faint, ghostly wail. The air grew colder, and even Silvio's smirk faltered. "Well, shit," he murmured. "Maybe this ain't gonna be such a walk in the park after all."

"Look at these fuckin' faces," Paulie exclaimed, pointing at the busts as they shuffled closer. "They're staring at us like we owe 'em money. What kind of welcome is that?"

Chris leaned in, squinting at the nameplate beneath a particularly grim-looking bust. "Captain Culpepper Clyne? Sounds like a dick I knew back in the day."

Silvio rolled his eyes. "Keep it classy, Chris. This is supposed to be a family park."

The path grew narrower, lined with crypts and headstones that seemed to lean in as if whispering secrets. The mournful toll of a bell echoed through the air, and a sudden chill sent a shiver down their spines. "Ah, Christ," Paulie muttered. "Now I'm getting the willies."

"You're gonna love this, Paulie," Chris said, grinning. "Looks like we're going in through the servant's entrance. Just like home, right?"

Silvio chuckled, slapping Paulie on the back. "You've got that right, kid. Now, let's see if Mickey Mouse has any real surprises for us inside."

As they stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the three men squinted to make out the details in the flickering shadows. The musty smell of old wood and dust hung in the air, and the creaks and groans of the ancient floorboards seemed to be speaking in a language of their own. "Reminds me of my Uncle Vinny's place," Chris whispered. "Except Uncle Vinny didn't have a pet ghost."

Paulie chuckled nervously, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. "Yeah, but did Uncle Vinny's place have a fireplace like this?" He gestured to the foyer ahead, where a crackling fire cast a warm glow on the left side.

Silvio took a step closer to the picture above the mantel. "Who's the pretty boy?" he said, eyeing the handsome, young man in the portrait.

"Probably the guy who lost his fortune betting on the wrong horse," Chris quipped.

Paulie nodded in agreement. "Or maybe he's the one who's supposed to jump out and go 'Boo!' at us."

Suddenly a voice boomed out from the darkness: "When hinges creak in doorless chambers. When strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls. Whenever candlelights flicker when the air is deathly still… That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight."

"The fuck was that?" Paulie whispered, his hand reflexively reaching for his non-existent gun.

Chris leaned in, squinting at the portrait. "Look, Sil, the guy's getting older. This is like watching a time-lapse of someone's life going to shit."

Silvio chuckled, his nerves slightly calmed by the familiar banter. "Yeah, or like watching you after a night out with the guys."

The portrait's subject grew haggard, his smile fading into a grimace, until the final image was of an old man, surrounded by cobwebs and decay. Just as the transformation was complete, the wall beside it swung open with a dramatic creak, revealing a hidden octagonal chamber. The light from the fireplace danced on the dusty surfaces, illuminating a single, unblinking eye staring back at them from the shadows.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," Silvio murmured. "I think Mickey Mouse just told us to get our asses in gear."

Paulie swallowed hard, his grin gone. "Alright, let's go. But if we bump into Goofy with a knife, I'm holding you two responsible."

The trio cautiously entered the octagonal chamber, their eyes immediately drawn to the four portraits adorning the walls. A bearded gentleman in the first painting held a document with the pompous air of a mayor, while the young lady in the second seemed to flirt with her parasol, despite the grim setting. The old woman with the rose had a knowing smile that sent an eerie shiver down Paulie's spine, and the man in the bowler hat in the last portrait looked like he was about to tip it to them in greeting. "This is some weird shit," Paulie murmured, swiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

"Look, they're all watching us," Chris whispered, his gaze darting from one painting to the next.

Silvio, ever unflappable, took a closer look at the gargoyles. "Candles in their hands, huh? Maybe they're just the welcoming committee."

"Or maybe they're gonna drop 'em on our heads," Chris said, eyeing the flickering flames warily.

Paulie scoffed. "It's all tricks and mirrors, right? Nothing to worry about." But even as he spoke, the eyes of the man in the bowler hat seemed to follow him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone.

"Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion." The voice said. "I am your host, your ghost host. Our tour begins here in this gallery. Here, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now."

The door slammed shut with an ominous finality, the sound echoing through the chamber like a tomb sealing them in. Paulie's heart skipped a beat, and he turned to Silvio, his grin now a nervous twitch. "Well, shit. Didn't expect that."

"Look" Cristopher said, pointing at the walls.

Paulie's eyes bulged as the room stretched upwards, the paintings morphing into bizarre, macabre tableaus. "What the actual fuck?" he sputtered, pointing at the bearded man. "Is he about to blow his own balls off?"

Chris chuckled darkly. "Looks like he's got his hands full, doesn't he?"

Silvio's gaze shifted to the young lady on the tightrope. "And this broad, trying to be a circus act with a mouthful of teeth?"

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis." The Ghost Host continued. "Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm? And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!" Paulie, Christopher and Silvio are staring upward towards the ceiling as a bone chilling laugh fills the room. But then The Ghost Host added, "Of course, there’s always my way."

The lights winked out, plunging the chamber into a sudden abyss of darkness. A deafening crack of thunder rattled the mansion's bones, and a jagged bolt of lightning sliced through the night sky above them, illuminating the grisly sight of the Ghost Host's skeletal form, dangling from the rafters. "Oh, mother of God!" Paulie yelped, his voice cracking with fear. The ceiling had vanished, replaced by a view of the mansion's cupola, where the specter swayed eerily. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence, followed by the sickening crunch of bones shattering.

The lights flickered back on, and the skeletal figure of the Ghost Host disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The trio blinked, their hearts racing, as they took in the seemingly normal ceiling once more. The walls of the chamber had returned to their original state, the paintings once again serene and still. With a collective sigh of relief, they stepped through the newly revealed exit, into a short hallway lined with more cryptic artwork. "Christ, that was some next-level shit," Chris murmured, wiping his palms on his pants.

"Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely," The Ghost Host said apologetically with a slight touch of mirth. "The real chills come later. Now, as they say, “look alive,” and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please."

Paulie chuckled nervously, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, they're really going all out here."

Silvio, ever the cool customer, took a moment to regain his composure before speaking. "Let's keep moving, guys. No sense in sticking around to see if they've got more tricks up their sleeves."

As they approached the end of the hallway, the sound of a creaking gate grew louder, and before they knew it, the wall in front of them split open, revealing a grand portrait gallery. The air grew thick with anticipation as they stepped into the spacious room, their eyes drawn to the line of doombuggies that stretched before them.

"And now, a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural." The Ghost Host said. "Once on board, remain safely seated with your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside. And watch your children, please."

"Looks like we're riding this ghost train to the nuthouse," Silvio said, trying to lighten the mood.

Paulie's gaze lingered on the moving seats. "I dunno, Sil. This might be the only way out of here."

Chris's eyes widened. "Let's just get on, I don't wanna walk through this shit."

The three men climbed into the nearest doombuggy, the ride's mechanical click-clacking setting a rhythm of unease in their chests. As they began their descent into the bowels of the Haunted Mansion, they couldn't help but wonder if the ghosts they'd encountered so far were mere illusions, or if they were about to embark on a journey through the realm of the dead themselves.

"Do not pull down on the safety bar, please." The Ghost Host continued. "I will lower it for you. And heed this warning: the spirits will materialize only if you remain quietly seated at all times."

The safty bar is lowered keeping them in place.

The doombuggy lurched forward into the stairwell, and despite the safety bar, the three men gripped the sides tightly as they angled downward. The flickering light from the floating candelabra above cast eerie shadows on their faces, making them look like ghosts themselves. As they passed beneath the landing, the candelabra swayed precariously, sending a cascade of wax droplets down onto their heads. "Jesus!" Chris cursed, brushing the hot wax off his shoulder.

They emerged into the hallway, their eyes drawn to the left where the white sheer drapes billowed with the tempest outside. Each flash of lightning painted the ghostly scenes across the fabric, briefly revealing the horrors lurking beyond the glass. On the right, the quartet of paintings taunted them with their transformation, the images morphing with each bolt of light. The woman on the daybed now lay in the jaws of a snarling tiger, the sloop was a ghostly wreck amidst the waves, the knight had become a skeletal rider, and Medusa glared at them with her stone gaze.

"Look at that shit," Paulie murmured, a mix of amazement and dread in his voice. "They're changing like a chameleon in a fucking paint factory."

Silvio nodded, his eyes fixed on the paintings. "I've seen some wild things in my life, but this… this is something else."

Chris leaned back, trying to put some space between himself and the shifting images. "Yeah, well, I've had enough art for one day. Let's get to the part where we get our money's worth and some actual screams."

"Oh yes, and no flash pictures, please." The Ghost Host said. "We spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights."

The doombuggy's journey continued into the dimly lit library, where the scent of aged paper and leather filled their nostrils. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the tomes within seemingly alive as they shivered and danced in the flickering candlelight. Invisible hands plucked at the books, sending them tumbling to the ground in a cacophony of thumps and whispers. A rolling ladder rattled back and forth, as if ridden by a ghostly librarian in a hurry. The chair by the fireplace rocked ominously, and the pages of a book on a side-table flipped with a sinister grace. The marble busts in their alcoves seemed to track their movement with cold, unblinking stares. "This place is giving me the creeps," Paulie murmured, his grip tightening on the safety bar.

Silvio nodded, his eyes flicking from book to bust. "I don't know what kind of books they got here, but I'm guessing 'How to Whack a Rat' isn't on the bestseller list."

Chris snickered. "More like 'The Art of Haunting for Dummies.'"

The Ghost Host's voice filled the chamber, seemingly coming from all around them. "Our library is well-stocked with priceless first editions — only ghost stories, of course — and marble busts of the greatest ghost writers the literary world has ever known."

The doombuggy glided into the opulent Music Room, the sound of Rachmaninoff's haunting melody swelling around them, played with a ghostly finesse on the grand piano. Despite the lack of a musician, the keys danced and leaped as if tickled by invisible fingers. The shadow of the phantom pianist stretched and contorted on the floor, a silent symphony of shadows. To the right, the deep resonance of a bass guitar seemed to pluck at their very souls, while the violin on the left chair swayed in an unseen breeze, its bow gliding across the strings with a mournful cry. "Who knew the afterlife had talent?" Silvio quipped, his voice a shade too loud in the unsettling quiet.

"Keep your eyes peeled," Chris whispered, leaning forward in his seat. "This is the kind of place you'd hide a body and make it look like a decoration."

Paulie's gaze darted around the room, taking in the grandeur with a mix of awe and suspicion. "Yeah, but who'd want to hide anything here? Place is like a fucking mausoleum."

"They have all retired here, to the Haunted Mansion." The Ghost Host continued. "Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here. But there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?"

They ascended the grand staircase, their doombuggy seemingly defying gravity as it climbed the impossible stairs that twisted in every conceivable direction. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, as they ventured into the heart of the mansion. The spectral footprints of the mansion's otherworldly inhabitants danced around them, a silent testament to the chaotic waltz of the supernatural beings that called this place home. "Look at this shit," Paulie murmured, his eyes wide. "It's like we're in a funhouse designed by a mad monk."

"Or a bad trip," Chris whispered, his voice tight with nerves.

Silvio leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowed. "I've seen some weird shit in my day, but this takes the cake."

"Well, if you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour." The Ghost Host continued. "A charming "ghostess" will be on hand to take your application."

As the doombuggy descended into the inky blackness of the next chamber, the walls around them began to pulse with a ghostly glow. Twin rows of eyes blinked into existence, following their every movement with an unsettling curiosity. "You guys feel like we're being watched?" Paulie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chris nodded, his eyes darting around the room. "Yeah, it's like someone's got a pet roomful of Cheshire Cats."

Silvio twitched in the gloom. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starting to feel like the cheese in this mouse trap."

"We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat." The Ghost Host said. "Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills."

The trio's doombuggy drifted past the second floor passageway, and the sight of the endless corridor sent a shiver down their spines. The solitary candelabra hovered in the middle, casting a flickering, ghostly glow that stretched the shadows of the doors into menacing fingers. To their left, the suit of armor shifted almost imperceptibly, as if it were alive and watching their every move. On the right, the armchair's "face" leered at them, its wooden features twisted into a silent, mocking grin. "What the fuck is up with that chair?" Paulie hissed, his eyes glued to the disturbing sight.

Chris leaned in, whispering, "Looks like someone's idea of a good time went bad. Like they tried to carve a jack-o'-lantern but forgot to stop at the pumpkin."

Silvio's eyes narrowed. "I think I've sat in that chair at Uncle June's place. Except it didn't have the teeth."

"Shhh, listen!" The Ghost Host hissed.

A keening sounding like a banshee is heard.

Paulie's eyes widened as the doombuggy slowed before the conservatory's grim display. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he whispered, his voice shaking. "What the fuck is in that box?"

Chris leaned in, his heart racing. "Looks like someone's trying to RSVP for their own funeral," he said, his attempt at humor falling flat in the face of the macabre scene.

Silvio's gaze was fixed on the struggling skeleton. "That's gotta be a record for worst escape artist," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and horror.

The doombuggy lurched backward, sending their stomachs into their throats as they descended the eerie corridor. The walls closed in around them, the doors seeming to pulse with a malevolent life force. "What the fuck is going on here?" Paulie exclaimed, his eyes darting from door to door as the muffled sounds grew more frantic. The doorknockers clacked in a staccato rhythm, as if eager to join the cacophony of horrors. The "family portraits" on the walls were a ghastly array of twisted, leering faces, the subjects' lifeless eyes following their every move. Chris leaned back, his hands gripping the safety bar. "I've seen some messed-up shit, but this is like a fucking family reunion from hell." Silvio's eyes narrowed, his expression grim. "Keep your cool, guys. This is just the warm-up act."

The doombuggy rolled to a halt before the grandiose grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging erratically. The numbers on its face spun in reverse, the chime striking 13 with a gong that seemed to echo through the very fabric of the mansion. The shadow of a clawed hand darted across the clock face, and for a brief moment, the room grew colder than the grave. Silvio's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking to the shadows beyond the clock. "You don't see that every day," he murmured, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

The doombuggy rolled into the heart of the shadowy Séance Circle, the air thick with the scent of incense and a palpable anticipation. The trio stared in awe at the large table in the center, surrounded by a whirl of spectral lights. The high-backed chair, with its raven sentinel, seemed to beckon them closer, the crystal ball atop it pulsing with a ghostly glow. The image of a floating head, the spirit of Madame Leota, appeared within the ball, her eyes locked on theirs. Her haunting chant grew louder, the words sending a shiver down their spines.

"Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat, call in the spirits, wherever they’re at! Rap on a table — it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond…Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine! Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond! Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint, by ringing a bell!"

Paulie leaned over to Silvio. "What's with the raven?" he whispered.

Silvio's eyes never left the crystal. "It's probably her pet spy," he murmured. "Making sure we don't mess with the merchandise."

Chris snickered nervously. "Merchandise? Like, the dead guys we're supposed to be scared of?"

Suddenly The Ghost Host spoke: "The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize. They’re assembling for a swinging wake, and they’ll be expecting me… I’ll see you all a little later."

Paulie's jaw hung open as they cruised along the balcony, the Grand Hall sprawling before them. "Look at these party animals," he murmured, his eyes wide. "They're throwing a shindig that'd make the Sopranos' Christmas bash look like a tea party."

Chris leaned over the railing, watching the spectral partygoers with a mix of fascination and horror. "And who's the birthday boy with the fireproof hair?"

Silvio chuckled, nodding towards the table. "Probably the kind of guy who thinks 'going out with a bang' is a good way to go."

The trio couldn't help but stare as the ghosts danced and played, their transparent forms weaving through the air like misty shadows. The rocking chair old woman was giving them a show, popping in and out of existence with a grace that belied her years. "I guess when you're dead, you've got all the time in the world to perfect your disappearing act," Silvio said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

As the doombuggy descended closer to the action, the duelists in their paintings caught their eye. The clang of their pistols echoed through the hall, each shot a silent reminder of the drama unfolding in the flickering candlelight. "Those two are really packing some heat," Paulie quipped, his voice betraying his nerves.

"And look at that," Chris whispered, pointing to the organ. "It's like the ghost of Elton John went full Beetlejuice."

Paulie's eyes widened as he took in the grand ballroom, the air thick with the ethereal glow of the ghostly dancers. "Look at these broads," he murmured to Silvio. "They're throwing a hoedown in the afterlife."

Silvio nodded, his gaze lingering on the spectral figures as they waltzed and twirled. "They've got more moves than John Travolta at a disco."

The doombuggy drifted closer to the dance floor, the music swelling around them. The dancers' laughter was like the tinkling of chimes in the wind, and their grace was both mesmerizing and unsettling. "I bet none of 'em step on your toes," Chris said, his voice a mix of envy and dread.

The three men watched in silent awe as the party unfolded before them, the living and the dead sharing a space in a dance that seemed to have no end. Despite the chills that danced up their spines, there was something undeniably enchanting about the sight.

Leaving the Grand Hall, the trio's doombuggy ventured into the attic, a place where the air was thick with dust and the smell of forgotten memories. The sound of a mournful piano playing "The Wedding March" grew louder, the notes weaving through the shadows like a ghostly serenade. The room was cluttered with remnants of a life once lived, and the eerie glow of a swinging chandelier cast flickering lights across the bric-a-brac. Amidst the chaos, five paintings of a bride with a chilling smile caught their attention. The grooms, however, had a less consistent presence, their heads vanishing and reappearing as if playing a macabre game of peek-a-boo. "Look at this shit," Paulie murmured, his eyes narrowing at the grisly display. "This chick's got more exes than a Vegas marriage chapel."

Silvio nodded, his gaze fixed on the spectral pianist's shadow. "Yeah, and she's got a taste for 'til death do us part' alright."

Chris leaned in, his voice a hushed whisper. "And what's with the hatchet?"

Paulie grunted. "Probably for the grooms who couldn't keep up with the alimony."

As they approached the final portrait, the ghostly visage of the bride, Constance, emerged from the canvas, her eyes gleaming with a madness that sent a chill down their spines. She recited her twisted vows with a laugh that seemed to echo through the very rafters. "As long as we both shall live," she cackled, a spectral hatchet appearing and disappearing in her hands.

"Fuck that!" the three men exclaimed in unison, their laughter a nervous release of the tension building in their chests. The doombuggy lurched forward, carrying them away from the bride's chilling presence and deeper into the mansion's secrets.

The doombuggy squeaked to a stop on the balcony, the Attic's horrors behind them, but the eerie party had only just begun. As they peered over the edge, the graveyard sprawled before them, a sea of spectral figures rising from the ground. The raven on the branch cawed a greeting, its eyes gleaming with mischief. The caretaker and his trembling mutt looked up, their fear palpable in the chilly air. The sound of music filled the night, a cacophony of instruments that seemed to come from every direction, setting their teeth on edge. To their left, the graveyard band played a tune that seemed to shake the very bones of the dead, while the living statues of a King, Queen, and Duchess cavorted among the tombstones, their movements as unnatural as their existence. The skeletal wolf's howl pierced the darkness, sending a shiver down their spines. On the right, the five Singing Busts serenaded them with a tune that was equal parts jovial and eerie, their faces alight with an otherworldly glow. The trio exchanged nervous glances as the ghosts grew denser, their laughter and chatter a reminder that they were far from alone in this haunted realm. The Mummy's futile attempts to converse with the deaf spirit had them all snickering, while the Phantoms of the Opera belted out their tune with enough passion to stir the very souls of the dead. The Beheaded Knight and his companions sang a macabre trio, their heads floating in the air as if in a ghostly game of catch. The ride's final act was playing out before them, and it was clear that the Haunted Mansion's residents were ready to keep the party going all night long. "Well, shit," Silvio murmured. "Looks like we're not the only ones who know how to throw a bash."

Paulie's hand tightened on the safety bar as the doombuggy rolled into the Mausoleum, the final act of their chilling journey. The raven perched above the door cawed a greeting that sounded suspiciously like a warning. "You think this bird's got any good gambling tips?" he quipped, his voice a shaky attempt at bravado.

Chris leaned in, eyeing the raven warily. "I don't think he's the type to share the wealth, Paulie."

Silvio nodded in agreement. "More likely to steal your wallet than give you the winning lotto numbers."

Then a familiar voice is heard, "Ah, there you are!" It was The Ghost Host. "And just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention."

"Beware of Hitchhiking Ghosts!"

Paulie's eyes bulged as he took in the three hitchhiking spirits: a grinning Traveler, a cackling Skeleton, and a ghostly Prisoner with a knapsack full of mischief. "Ah, what the fuck is this?" he exclaimed, reaching over to swat at the apparitions. But his hand passed right through them, leaving him feeling like he'd just slapped at a cloud of smoke. The doombuggy rolled through the wall of mirrors, and suddenly their new companions were right beside them, reflected in every pane. "Looks like we've got some stowaways," Silvio said, his voice calm despite the sudden turn of events.

Chris's eyes widened as he saw the Hitchhikers in the mirrors. "Shit, they're everywhere!"

Paulie's panic grew as he watched the Traveler lean in, his ethereal hand reaching for the steering wheel. "Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted, swiping at the spirit with all his might. But his hand met only cold air.

Silvio chuckled, his eyes on the mirrors. "Don't bother, Paulie. They're just along for the ride."

The Skeleton's laugh echoed around them, and the Prisoner's hand shot out of the mirror, giving them a thumbs up. Paulie's heart raced as he realized the Hitchhikers were indeed in their doombuggy. "Christ almighty, we're gonna have to split a fare with these freaks!"

"They have selected you to fill our quota, and they’ll haunt you until you return!" The Ghost Host stated.

As the doombuggy rolled through the Mausoleum, a ghostly figure caught their eye on a stone ledge high above. It was Little Leota, the Ghostess, her tiny form shrouded in a hooded dress that made her appear almost bridal. Her long, blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her skin glowed an eerie pale blue in the moonlight. In her hand, she clutched a bouquet of what looked like dried herbs. "What the hell is that?" Paulie whispered, his eyes darting up to the spectral figure.

"Looks like the bride's got some backup," Chris murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and unease.

Silvio leaned back, watching Little Leota with a careful eye. "Keep moving, guys. Don't let her give us the stink eye."

The doombuggy passed beneath her, and she leaned over the edge, her eyes following them as if she had a message only they could hear. "Hurry back," she whispered, her voice faint and haunting, carried on a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. "Hurry back. Be sure to bring your death certificate, if you decide to join us. Make final arrangements now! We've been dying… to have you…"

Paulie shivered, his hand gripping the safety bar even tighter. "That's it," he said, his voice gruff. "I'm not getting married anytime soon."

"Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!" Laughed The Ghost Host.

The safety bar lifted with a metallic groan, and without a second thought, the trio bolted out of the doombuggy, their laughter replaced by frantic gasps. They sprinted through the Mausoleum, their feet pounding against the stone floor. The Hitchhikers' laughter grew fainter as they put distance between themselves and the spectral partygoers. "Keep running, you fucks!" Silvio shouted over his shoulder, his breath coming in ragged bursts. They burst through the mansion's doors, the night air a welcome reprieve from the chilling grip of the Haunted Mansion. They didn't stop until they were clear of the graveyard, the lights of the park twinkling like a beacon of safety in the distance. Paulie leaned against a lamppost, panting heavily. "Well, that was… something else," he managed to get out between gasps.

Chris looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide. "You think they're still with us?"

Silvio straightened his tie. "Nah, we're in the clear."

But as they turned to walk away, a faint cackle echoed through the night, and the flicker of three ghostly thumbs-ups reflected in the window of a nearby souvenir shop. The trio exchanged a look that said it all: they'd just become part of the Haunted Mansion's eternal guest list.

#walt disney world #the sopranos #the haunted mansion #Paulie Walnuts Gualtieri #Tony Sirico #Christopher Moltisanti #Michael Imperioli #Silvio Manfred Dante #Steven Van Zandt

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