“Awwrhhll!” I couldn’t say anything other than that. A few hours after learning to speak as a ghost, I found myself unable to speak as a haunted corpse. I was back at square one!
“Oh, just shut up, Crutchley. We need to get you dressed, prim and proper. I’ll throw money at the local tailor, enough for a good wardrobe and his discretion.”
The tailor must have been massively compensated for suiting me up that evening. I remained partially conscious and only half-heard the ordeal. I remember hearing talk of chest measurements, ties, polished shoes and many other things I am usually quite interested in. I didn’t know the lie Mr. Tweed had told the tailor, but I’m sure the lie worked. Tweed shined when it came to lying.
We pulled into Tweed Manor late into the evening. He stood me upright and pointed to the servants' entrance. Tweed wasted no time when it came to his agenda, even though I didn’t quite understand that agenda, it felt nice to be home. I made my first attempt to walk and, although my knees weren’t able to bend, I found myself at the servants' entrance and gave it a knock.
Ms. Hobbs opened the door and smiled. “You must be the new butler, nice to meet you, I’m Tanna Hobbs and this is Jif Teeker. Mr. Tweed was nice enough to send a note ahead. What a coincidence it was to see that your last name is Crutchley as well. You know, the last butler had the same name. ”
Even in my state, I marveled at the absolute ignorance and innocence of these two. How could they believe this story? I then reminded myself that they both thought the manor magically maintained itself and decided never to question it. I believe the phrase they used was “just roll with it.” You cannot pay for this level of jolly blindness. I wondered if Tweed had them under a spell.
Ms. Hobbs, always a pleasant red-faced host, gestured to a drink.
“Nawr, awrl rawly shawdn’t.” I said as a drop of my drool hit the floor. I held up my stiff hands and waved them shooing the drink away. The drink offer seemed quite familiar.
“Oh come now! We heard you got roughed up a bit at the train station and thought the drink would do you some good.” Mr. Teeker said, just as pleasant as he had been the first time I arrived just days before.
This made me feel less than special! They would put on this show for anyone. This tiny display of “let’s make the new guy feel comfy” remained just a dispassionate routine. I began to tear up. Ms. Hobbs noticed and grabbed my hand.
“There, there. You don’t need a drink. Maybe just some rest?” Ms. Hobbs then looked over to Mr. Teeker. He nodded in agreement.
“Let’s help you to your bed, Mr. Crutchley.” Mr. Teeker said.
“Awwhd lahk daht. Nawhr, Tawhrmarrawh whawl ba dawfrent.” I said, doing my best to enunciate.
“Yes, tomorrow will be different.” Ms. Hobbs assured me.
The two helped me up the stairs and into the bedroom that used to belong to my other body. Ms. Hobbs turned down the blanket and sheets on the simple bed that I had laid on for just one night in my tall, long-nosed form.
Mr. Teeker removed nightwear from my suitcase (those must have been purchased at the tailor, I had no recollection of the transaction) and laid them out for me.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. Teeker pointed a finger over to the book. “Just one rule about this room, Mr. Crutchley. Mr. Tweed told us that under no circumstances that this book be removed from the room. Ya see, that book belongs to a dead man, just buried him this afternoon.”
YOU ARE READING
Oscar Tweed: A String of Novelettes
Misteri / ThrillerOscar Tweed paid good money to have his fancy London butler shipped all the way to Boston just to make the perfect cup of tea. The butler, Cyril Crutchley, doesn't even last a day! In a freak accident, he falls to his death and becomes a ghost. The...
