Something Spooky This Way Comes

Where were the blasted ghosts?

Mandy brushed a spider off the carved stone bench before she sat down. She looked up and squinted. Overcast gray sky, creepy Spanish moss hanging from the trees, cloyingly sweet flower scent—it was the perfect place for a ghost sighting. And, the only place she hadn’t tried yet. She closed her eyes and concentrated, then opened them again expecting to see….

Ugh, still just trees and flowers.

She was going to get fired. Only she could spend an entire week in the most celebrated haunted estate in the country and not see one single, solitary ghost. She closed her eyes again trying to come up with a new spin for her article. She heard something. Rustling leaves? A spirit presence? She opened her eyes.

It was only Mrs. Whitlock, the owner, coming down the garden path. The lady stopped beside Mandy and spoke.

“You look unhappy.”

Mandy nodded. “My editor is going to be furious. He really went to bat for me, getting the expenses for this assignment approved, and so far I’m striking out. I still haven’t seen a single one of your ghosts.”
Mrs. Whitlock smiled. “Well, you don’t leave until tomorrow and it is supposed to storm tonight.” She winked. “My dear, I know your magazine booked the entire house for you exclusively, so I hope you don’t mind. I’ve invited some guests to dine with us this evening. Locals that can give you their perspectives on the estate. I thought that may help you.”

“Thank you.” Mandy said. “That’s so kind.”

Mrs. Whitlock started toward the gate at the back of the garden. “I’m going to the neighbors for some fresh vegetables. Their garden is doing exceptionally well this year and they’ve offered to share their bounty.” Then she added. “Maybe you can at least write about the wonderful food you experienced during your stay.”

Mandy shook her head. “I write for Haunted America not Bon Appetite.”
“No matter.” Mrs. Whitlock said. “I’m sure it will work out. We’ll eat at eight o‘clock. Oh, and we’ll be dressing in the style of the 1930s. Give the ghosts some atmosphere.” She raised her eyebrows and laughed. “Some added incentive to show up.”

“But I don’t have anything like that with me,” Mandy said.
“Oh, there are racks full upstairs, in the attic you can choose from. I’m sure we have something that will fit you,” Mrs. Whitlock said as she disappeared through the gate.

When Mandy came out of her room just before eight o‘clock, she felt like she had been transported inside the pages of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. She stood for a few minutes along the balcony railing that led to the grand staircase, watching as uniformed butlers served champagne and hors d’oeuvres to a room full of costumed guests.
Cole Porter tunes were coming from the baby grand player piano. She smiled, how appropriate. Mandy had gone for the Linda Porter look.
Linda Lee Thomas Porter, Cole’s wife, had been a fashion icon of the 1920s and 1930s and, like Mandy, a native Kentuckian.

A movement at the bottom of the stairs startled her. A gentleman in a cut-away evening coat with slicked back black hair stared up at her.
“Oh, you frightened me,” Mandy gasped. “I didn’t see you standing there a moment ago.”

He smiled. “I do apologize, Mrs…Porter, I presume?”

Mandy giggled. “Yes. I can’t believe you got it so quickly. I was afraid I’d over done it.”

“Nonsense, you do the lady proud. And I should know.” His eyes twinkled. “She is a personal friend of mine.” He waited as Mandy walked to the bottom of the stairs.

“I must confess that I was skulking around back here being nosey.” He pointed to a curved wall toward the back of the staircase on the opposite side of the hallway that led into the dining room. “I was wondering if they’d replaced the painting yet.”

“What painting?” Mandy asked.