Whisked Away

Later that night..

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Later that night:
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After Jeffery dropped me off at my house, I immediately changed out of my dress.

"What a relief it is to be out of that dress. At least I'm not running in it again." Genevieve said to herself.

I was in my comfy purple pjs a and was laying in bed when I remembered the paper from my dress pocket.

Oh no, my mind groaned. Should I look at it now? I got up. I might as well now.

I slipped the letter from its pocket and gazed at it. Its Manila envelope looked faded and worn but nevertheless had the Graceys signature G. I spent the ride home running my finger over the initial the entire time.

I opened the envelopes wax seal and tore out the letter.

It read:

"Dearest Genevieve,

How I do so wish I could have said it plainer but alas, time got the best of us both. Time now, time later, my unfortunate demise all those years ago, and yours in the future.

I'll tell you a secret, I knew my cause of death and refuse to tell anyone but you. As it never states on my grave, nor death certificate, it was a series of things. But each worked slower than the last attempt.

My only option was hanging.

My ghost haunts the entire mansion yes, but the second portrait gallery is my preference. You see, once I died, grave robbers and the poor tried to loot Gracey Manor. Their first place they tried to loot was the gallery. This was ''my'' house and would you let anyone do that to your own estate?

But this night was different. I could tell you weren't a looter, nor by the extravagance of your dress were you poor.

I don't usually hold parties for the living, or any at all. But I needed to talk to you. And so this magical night unfolded. I'm sure you won't forget it as long as you live, which will surely surpass my age of death.

So I say to you, Genevieve Amelia Haddingford, live life. Never stop dreaming(or breathing) and dancing.

I hope a fine gentleman is worthy enough to court you, as I know I would if I were still alive. After all, you do have a ring.

Good spirits,

Master Edward Gracey II"

I looked at the letter as a whole.

"How can he write so tiny?" I squinted at the page.
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Gracey POV

He suspected Genevieve has read the letter by now. He also suspects that she doesn't know the ring is a fake. He couldn't give her the ring that his very life force was in, could he? He's glad he gave her the picture device back, besides what use would he have of it..

Gracey still stood facing his window. He had been here for over thirty minutes.

Still in his room after she left, he stands there, grasping two things. The iron axe that was imbedded in the ballroom wall by the hunter and the scrap of Genevieve's dress that she tore on the bushes walking into the manor.

Gracey sighed. He put the scrap of fabric into his outer breast pocket on his suit, and the axe upon his bed. With a shaking hand he wanted the fabric, but he felt his body move for the axe. He decided to leave the room, nothing good would come from a room such as this.

He held the axe in his hand. He felt angry, and didn't know why.

With both hands he grasped the axe and started hacking the door frame. The frame started melting. In a panic, Gracey looked at the blue dress fabric with wild eyes. It calmed him. But not enough. He took the axe and kept hacking. He axed the doors, wallpaper, he axed everything he laid eyes upon.

By the time he got to the ballroom, he ran straight for the organ. The thing that caused him so much pain over the years, wouldn't play for him once. But when she came it played almost instantly.

He lifted his axe and it landed straight in the middle of the pipes.

From there, he ran to the portrait gallery. The place where he woke up from when he was first turned into a ghost.

He arrived, and tried to rip the paintings down, but they were all too far up upon the walls. So, he threw the axe. It never made it to any of the paintings.

What goes up, must come down.

The axe lands in the middle of his skull. It sticks there, and blood starts dripping from his head.

"Gracey.. Gracey.." The voice tsks. Gracey is frozen in place.

The ghost host steps out of one of the paintings above him. His black shadowy form oozes down to the bloody carpet. "How many times must I keep you living?"

Gracey smiles sickly. "Till the 999th visitor comes, as always." His blood from his head starts running town his face, and goes into his mouth a bit.

"Really Gracey, you must stop all of these suicides. It's not good for your ghostly palor." The ghost host chuckles. He snaps his fingers and Gracey is fixed. He looks like a freshly made man. He reeks like a rotting corpse but is dressed finely enough for a funeral.

"Haven't you figured it out yet? Living suicides aren't like dead suicides. The living just die; whereas we, well, we just restart the game."

"Game? Oh what game would this be? The game of seeking? The game of eternal punishment?" Gracey mocks.

"No, silly. The game of death." Even if he cannot see his face, Gracey can tell that the ghost host is smiling maliciously.

"Now, go back to your room like a good boy." The host commands. Gracey starts fading almost immediately.

Even if he is fading, Gracey feels defiant. "You do know that we'll never get the 999th visitor to the manor, correct?"

The ghost hosts black puddle stares at him. "Oh my dear boy, have you lost count? That girl was our 998th visitor."

Gracey has now faded to his room where he screams in frustration. The ghost house crawls back up the wall and back into the paintings. While Katie, just hangs there, as a warning who are foolish enough enter Gracey mansion without a purpose.

If you do.. Foolish mortals, well, welcome to Gracey Manor.