Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Ghost Lady on the Phone 1
Chapter 2 – She Called You Abigail Proctor Again 7
Chapter 3 – Prime Only Comes First for Barks 13
Chapter 4 – It Doesn’t Mean She’s a Ghost 17
Chapter 5 – The Opportunity and Enviable Honor 22
Chapter 6 – Through a Dark Doorway She Raced 25
Chapter 7 – His Specific, Delineated Terms 32
Chapter 8 – This Is Probably a Map, Right? 39
Chapter 9 – Another of Uncle Ghost’s Journals! 45
Chapter 10 – A Civilized Discussion of High Importance 50
Chapter 11 – This House Must Be Destroyed! 56
Chapter 12 – The Gold Would Be Hard to Find 61
Chapter 13 – Stay in the House? Babysit It? 66
Chapter 14 – Written by a Mad Genius Ghost 73
Chapter 15 – Troubled by a Troublesome Apparition 79
Chapter 16 – Someone Tore Pages Out 88
Chapter 17 – But Only During the Day, Alright? 93
Chapter 18 – Three Very Capable Primes 101
Chapter 19 – Meet Pembroke, Your Butler 104
Chapter 20 – I Will Encourage Your Dreams, Abby 112
Chapter 21 – Business Quite Urgent and Deadly Serious 116
Chapter 22 – Ghost Steps! Barkley Likes Them! 122
Chapter 23 – That’s Where the Ghosts Live 130
Chapter 24 – The Bell Has MLP on It 133
Chapter 25 – Shall I Herd Them into the Grand Foyer? 141
Chapter 26 – Because the Experiment Is About Echoes? 144
Chapter 27 – Panicked Children in the Kitchen 151
Chapter 28 – I Was the Very First Prime 154
Chapter 29 – The Gesture of Alarm or Danger 162
Chapter 30 – Just a Single Clear Ding 166
Chapter 31 – Primarily in Her Secret Place 175
Chapter 32 – This Useless and Unsightly Rubbish 183
Chapter 33 – Lannie, What About My Studio? 191
Chapter 34 – He’s Going to Burn the House Down! 198
Chapter 35 – My Dance Dreams Are Over 204
Chapter 36 – Dancing on an Echo 211
Chapter 37 – The Echoes Didn’t Work on You 217
Chapter 38 – I Do Hear Someone Talking 222
Chapter 39 – The Shiniest Coins of Gold 226
Chapter 40 – When It Is Offered Again as a Gift 232
Chapter 41 – I Shall Always, Always Be . . . 236
Chapter 42 – The Chandelier Brightly Lit 242
Chapter 43 – Lady Abigail Proctor 248
Chapter 44 – Was She the First Prime? 255
Chapter 1 – Ghost Lady on the Phone
“Andy, stop. AB, you’d better stop that!”
Annabeth glared at the spectacle from her comfy seat at the center of the couch. She began shaking her head in time with her scratches on the furry head of Barkley von Mayhem beside her.
Andy never looked, just smirked and said, “It’s still AB Prime,” and added another ancient, dusty book to the stack he was building on the living room floor.
“It’s all going to fall and break something. You’d better stop before Dad gets home!”
He scoffed and added another book, then held his breath when the shaky structure swayed, needing both of his hands to steady it.
“See? It’s falling Andy!”
“It’s Prime, ABB. You are too. Even Barkley von Prime is a Prime. We’re all Primes, remember?”
“I remember, but Dad’s going to—”
“No way. Mom probably has him sweeping her new dance studio. Remember how dirty that place was? I want to see how high I can make this. It’s the last box of old books from Uncle Proctor.”
“Uncle Ghost. Can we still call him Uncle Ghost even though we know he’s not really a ghost?”
“Shh,” he said as he placed another book at the very top.
With both hands ready to steady his stack, he said, without looking toward his sister, “Sure. I don’t think he’d mind.”
He spared one hand from book stack duty to swipe some of his wavy brown hair from his eyes, then used it to wave a finger at Annabeth, causing a soft giggle, then reached for the next book. He’d just gotten a firm grip on it, eyes still on the unsteady column, and Barkley barked suddenly up toward the ceiling and started squirming away from the eight-year-old’s side.
“Barkley, no!” she said. “No Prime barks! You’ll make him—”
Andy laughed, didn’t look their way, and said, “They’re not Prime barks, ABB. Hold him still.”
He turned to look at the sound of playful growling and giggling and stared, eyes wide, as Barkley jumped off of the couch and began a speedy trip around the coffee table, on a collision course with his book pile. Annabeth was jumping up onto her feet on the couch cushion, causing her much longer wavy brown hair to flop all around.
“No, no, no!” Andy said. “Barkley, don’t!”
To the sound of a girl giggling and her ten-year-old brother trying to shield his work, the dog pounced on the books, two paws striking it at mid-height, and sent them all falling in every direction.
“No, you’re wrecking it!”
Annabeth stayed seated and let her giggles out while Andy staggered, arms flailing and reaching around to embrace what he could but to no avail.
“Barkley von Prime,” he said, “you shouldn’t have—”
He stopped at the sight of one of the higher-up books striking the floor, snapping open, and spitting out a folded sheet of crisp paper.
“ABB, you see that? There was something in that ghost book.”
“It’s a ghost letter, Andy.”
He was leaning toward it, hand ready to snatch it up, saying, “It’s still Prime,” when Barkley, a quick flash of fur, pinched it roughly in his jaws, then turned and ran for the stairs.
“He took it!” Andy said. “That Prime dog took it!”
He started running after a dog already halfway up the steps, screaming, “ABB, come on! We need that ghost letter!”
Squealing, she stepped from the couch onto the coffee table, then jumped and ran to join the chase.
“He went in Mom and Dad’s room! Come on!”
“I’m coming!”
Andy had just turned the corner at the bedroom’s doorway and got a fleeting view of a mischievous tail vanishing under the bed.
“He’s under there! Hurry!”
“I’m hurrying!”
They both dropped quickly, facedown, and peered under the bed only to see Barkley dart out the other side.
“No, stop him!”
“I can’t, Andy Prime, he’s too quick!”
They chased him down the hall, with Andy saying, “He’s getting it all wet! Catch him!”
The pursuit took to the stairs, and the two Banyon children, left home alone for just a moment while their father drove out to help with something at their mother’s soon-to-be dance studio, were out of breath at the bottom of the stairs. They stared at Barkley von Mayhem sitting on the couch, like he’d been before but with a ghost letter in his mouth.
Andy held her back, whispering, “Slow, ABB. We have to—”
“I’m still a real Prime, Andy Prime.”
“Oh, I know. But we can’t make him run again.”
They walked quietly, aside from an occasional Annabeth giggle, and Barkley stayed where he sat, unconcerned with their drawing near.
“Huh,” Andy said as he easily swiped the wet paper from the dog’s mouth. “Maybe he’s tired?”
“I am,” she said. “He’s still a good dog, right?”
“Always, ABB Prime. Yeah, he’s still Barkley von Prime.”
He held it where they could both see it, then unfolded it, revealing a peculiar pattern of straight lines, some forming squares and rectangles, all of them connected in some way.
“We have to dry this, then figure it out.”
“How?”
“Oh! The oven, ABB. We can—”
“No, Andy. You know we can’t play with the oven like that.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. But we have to dry out this ghost paper, then figure out what it is. ABB, it came from—”
“Prime, AB. I’m a Prime too.”
“Yeah, I know. ABB Prime. This came from Mom’s Uncle Ghost, and when it’s dry, we can—”
The phone on the kitchen wall rang out, causing two children and one dog to swivel their heads and look that way.
“It’s Mom,” Annabeth said with a squeal.
“Or Dad?”
Andy laid the sheet down on the coffee table, then pinched an edge and picked it back up.
“Better take it with us, ABB. That Prime Barkley might try to—”
“It’s Barkley von Prime, Andy. Prime doesn’t come first.”
“Oh, okay. Come on,” he said over the phone’s continued ringing as they both marched that way, “it probably is Mom or Dad.”
Andy held the soggy note in the hand that he was also using to hold back Annabeth as he reached for the phone.
“Let me,” she said. “Let me answer.”
“Oh, fine,” he said, plucked up the receiver, and handed it to her.
While she was fumbling it around, raking aside her hair to get it oriented against an ear, Andy gave the speaker button a tap.
“Hello?” she said while laying the receiver on the table.
They both listened for a quiet second as the caller sighed loudly, then emitted a loud scoff.
“I am calling with the sincere intentions of speaking with one Abigail Proctor. You, whoever you are, clearly are not her.”
“I’m Annabeth. Abigail is Abby—she’s my mom.”
“Oh, you’re one of those two,” Priscilla said, her voice crisp and pointy, cutting its way through phone lines and stabbing out from the phone’s speaker. “Do you know who is speaking to you?”
“Uh-uh. Andy Prime might. If you want, I can ask—”
“I will save your tiny, frail voice for squeals and giggles and whatever else might erupt from you, all of it unnecessary and unrequested. The voice you hear is from the supremely qualified executrix of the dearly departed Prentiss Proctor’s estate, which is in dire need of—”
“You’re the ghost lady!”
“Oh,” Priscilla said, offering a laugh that more closely resembled a mocking scoff. “I did say boo once, did I not? Yes, that is with whom you speak, whether a genuine ghost or a true living servant, still, for the final wishes of the late Maestro Proctor.”
“Huh?”
Annabeth was shrugging, looking up at Andy’s scowl, when Priscilla said, “Here is a simpler form of my message for your juvenile, and likely in need of bathing and soapy scrubbing, ears: this is Priscilla Penobahosh, a living, breathing woman, and I’m not quite a ghost just yet. Are we clear now?”
“Uh-huh,” said Annabeth.
Andy said, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Very well. Neither of you likely recall my intent with calling your home, do you? No, of course, you do not. I require the immediate audience of one Abigail Proctor—Abby as she is known to some—without further delay. I do expect the next voice I hear to be hers.”
Andy and Annabeth stared at each other for a few silent seconds.
“Um,” Andy said, “she, uh, she—”
“That fumbling gibberish that I cut short is plainly not the voice of Abigail Proctor. I don’t strive for excessive displays of patience, but I will grant the parties on the receiving end of my earnest petition another opportunity to place the aforementioned party where her voice will be the very, very next voice that I hear.”
A second passed, then Annabeth leaned toward her brother and whispered, “She still likes to talk.”
“I heard that. I truly do hear all, and little of what I have heard from either of you amuses me in the slightest. Listen closely, young persons: I require an older person by the name of Abigail or Abby to―”
“She’s not here,” said Andy. “Um, sorry for interrupting. But she—”
“Oh. I see. If you are being untruthful, whether of your own volition or due to some nefarious coercion by a parental figure, and she is averse to conversing with me, then I—”
“She’s really not here,” Annabeth said, shaking her head.
“Oh. Well, then . . . boo!”
“Ah! Andy!”
“Hey, stop being a ghost!” he said. “Mom’s really not here.”
“You pose an interesting conjecture, young lesser Proctor. If I were indeed a ghost, would I have any method at my disposal that would enable me to stop being one?”
“Being one what?” said Annabeth.
“A ghost. A ghost likely cannot stop itself from being a ghost. Now, listen closely and answer truthfully: when will Abigail, also known as Abby, also known as Mom, be able to make herself available to—”
The front door snapped open loudly, eliciting a shrill squeal from Annabeth, and she said, “Dad’s home!”
“Or maybe Mom?”
“Pesky children as you undeniably are, though descended from a true and scholarly Proctor ancestry,” Priscilla said to an empty kitchen, “whichever of those parental figures is now subject to my spoken message must . . . hello? Is anyone there?”
She hesitated a second, then said, as if to herself, “Perhaps the two of you have become a quiet sort of ghost yourselves?”
They led Lando into the kitchen, each pulling on an arm, and Andy said, “It’s her, Dad. She wants to talk to Mom.”
“Her who? Andy, who wants—”
“He’s Andy Prime, Dad. It’s the ghost lady on the phone!”
Lando snorted a quick laugh, then got himself close enough to the phone unit on the wall, took note of his son and daughter grinning and pointing at the thing, then said, “Hello?”
Chapter 2 – She Called You Abigail Proctor Again
Priscilla pecked her words through the speaker like a crow sharpening its already-sharp beak on a peak of the departed scholar Proctor’s mansion.
“When your youngest, squeakiest offspring spouted her commentary about me being a ghost, I heard that quite clearly. Do recall that I hear all, Orlando, the non-Proctor husband of a true descendant, Abigail Proctor. What those young things have not told you, but what you likely have deduced, with a remembrance of our previous conversation in exactly this arrangement, is that I wish to speak immediately with Abigail Proctor.”
Lando was inhaling, ready to speak, when Annabeth mixed a giggle with the words, “Mom’s name is Abby.”
Grinning, tousling her hair, Lando was about to address Priscilla’s opening comments when Andy chimed in, saying, “And she’s a Banyon. She’s Abby Banyon.”
Lando pointed at him, still grinning, and was about to speak when razor-sharp words sliced their way out of the phone’s speaker.
“We have been through these deliberations multiple times without any outcome that I would call desirable. Fine. Abby. Abby Banyon. Please summon her to the phone with extreme haste so that—”
“Hey!” Lando said, laughing. “Can I talk even a little?”
They all heard her scoff, then she said, “Obviously, you can talk since you did just that. A clear and proper version of your question would be to inquire if you may talk. Perhaps, you can use your speaking abilities to summon one Abigail—”
Laughing, Lando said, “Oh, come on—not that again. Really, no one summons Abby anywhere. And you, Priscilla Penoba . . . um . . .”
“Penobahosh! My name is irrelevant to the matters at hand, husband of Abigail, a true Proctor. Whether through summoning or inviting or beckoning or via any other—”
“Whoa! Come on—take a breath. Look, seriously, Abby isn’t here. What exactly do you need this time?”
“I’ll state it as directly and briefly as I’m able, without my usual wealth of affectations, clever vocabulary, or cherished colloquialisms, and without demanding, as I should, complete silence and attentiveness from you, your urchins, who are likely smearing remains of their meals on the woodwork, or that shaggy thing down on all fours that should always be restrained by—”
“Whoa! Stop! That’s what you call direct and brief?”
“She likes to talk, Dad.”
“I know, Honey Prime. She—”
“I’m Honey Prime!”
“Yes, you are,” he said, again tousling her hair.
Still giving her some affection, he said to the phone, “Look, tell me what you want with Abby and just for fun, try using ten words or less.”
“That’s telling her, Dad.”
“I do try, AB Prime.”
“Very well! And my tally of words to not exceed the unrealistically and unimaginative number you wish to impose on my oratory will begin now: I require Abigail Proctor’s presence now at the maestro’s mansion.”
Lando was counting her words with his fingers, to the giggling of both children.
“Congratulations. See?” he said, “You can do it if you try. You said what you wanted to in exactly—”
“Do not expect me to comply with such unreasonable requests in the future. So, I am at the good gentleman’s estate, and I fully expect to see Abigail Proctor before me before any clock in this house has exercised its sweeping hands to any significant extent. There. Lots of words, husband of a Proctor.”
“Why?” he said.
He grinned at the sight of Annabeth holding up one finger and mouthing the word, “One!”
“Why what?” Priscilla said.
She giggled and held up two fingers, and Lando wrapped his hand all around hers and said to the phone, “Why do you need to see Abby?”
“As a thoroughly experienced and competent representative of the extended Proctor family, I must adhere to an array of strict guidelines. I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars in this fashion, only during a meeting of live individuals—not ghosts, you can tell that squeakiest of your somewhat-Proctor descendants.”
“Sheesh. Alright, I hear you. Um, is it okay if I’m there too?”
“My assessment would be that you’re asking only out of politeness, and you have no intention of not being present. Am I correct?”
“Uh, yeah. Uh-huh. How about the kids?”
“If they are under continuous supervision and subject to any and all restraint that might be needed, which can include verbal regulation or, what I would recommend—stout cordage of sufficient breaking strength—then an allowance for their presence can be made.”
Lando looked down at feeling the sleeve of his shirt getting tugged. Annabeth was yanking on it gently and pointing toward Barkley, who tipped his head and met Lando’s gaze.
“Uh, the, uh, dog too?”
“Very well! Be sure that the thing’s leash has sufficient tensile strength to prevent an untimely snapping and subsequent scurrying of his likely filthy paws all over the glorious mansion of the departed—”
“Hey! Look, I get it. You can take a breath. Um, I’ll have to pick up Abby, then we’ll get there as quick as we can.”
“Very well. When next we speak, it will be in the gloomy shadows contained within a majestic mansion, shade that is often impenetrable even by whatever ancestors long ago walked those halls and might yet remain surprisingly near. Good day.”
They all sighed after the sound of her hanging up.
“Wow,” Lando said. “She’s, uh, something.”
“She’s a ghost, Dad.”
“No, Honey Prime, I don’t think so.”
“Ghosts talk a lot, Dad,” said Andy.
Lando sighed, smiled at them both, then said, “Well, that one sure does. Alright, I’m calling Mom.”
“She’s really a ghost?”
“No, Annabeth, probably not. Everything about that house and those people is kind of odd, though.”
“There might be ghosts there,” said Andy. “I’m sure that armor walks around at night.”
“Andy Prime, stop it. That’s scary.”
“AB, you’re scaring your sister.”
“She’s just little. She’d never get away from that armor when it chases her around and—”
“Hey, you guys. Look, I think we have to hurry. That ghost lady, I mean Priscilla, wants to see Mom quick. Maybe it’s important.”
While Lando was rummaging through his pocket for the dance studio’s number, then tapping it on the phone, Andy sneaked the drying paper off of the table and folded it back up behind him.
Only Annabeth noticed and when she started to giggle, Andy whispered, “Shh, ABB.”
Lando looked and said, “Why are you shushing your sister?”
“Oh, uh, just so you can talk. You know. To Mom.”
“Right. Okay.”
“Put it on speaker, Dad.”
“Good thinking, AB Prime.”
He gave the unit another tap, and they listened to it ringing at the studio a couple of times before Abby said, “Hello?”
“Hey,” Lando said, laughing, “shouldn’t you be answering it by saying the studio name?”
“Oh, Lannie, you know I haven’t figured out a good name for the place yet—I’m waiting to hear suggestions on that. And there’s so much work to be done before it can even open. It’s nice of you to call, though. Why not the cell phone?”
“Just for fun, Abby. You’ll have to get used to saying the name of the place when you decide on that. Hey, that Priscilla character just called, asking for you.”
“Oh, that woman again? I haven’t even thought about her since we last saw her. What was that, a week ago? Two?”
“I think it was two. Yeah, well, it’s the same deal like last time: she called you Abigail Proctor again and wants to see you at Uncle Proctor’s mansion.”
“We’re calling him Uncle Ghost again, Dad.”
“You are, Andy? You sure that’s okay?”
“He won’t mind, Dad,” said Annabeth. “We should still try to save him.”
“I know, Honey. Maybe if—”
“Lannie,” said Abby, “I’m, uh, still here.”
“Oh. Right. Just, uh, you know. Anyway, can you let things go for a while to see what that ghost wants? She—”
“Again with the ghosts, Lan? Sure, she’s a bit odd, but I don’t think she’s an actual ghost.”
“Uh, yeah. Probably not. Anyway, how about if we pick you up and head on over there?”
“We, meaning the kids, too, right?”
“Well, yeah. I kind of want to see if that armor really is running around that old house.”
“Stop it, Lannie. There are no ghosts, no matter what actually happened with Uncle Proctor. Sure, I can leave any time—just swing on by.”
“Don’t let the armor ghost get me, Mom.”
“Honey, I never would. Don’t even think about that.”
“Can we bring it home this time?”
“Andy, maybe we’ll ask the nice lady about that. Lannie, you guys leaving right now?”
“Yep. See you in a minute.”
“Okay. Bye, you guys.”
“Bye, Mom,” the children said together, and Lando tapped the button, ending the call.
Chapter 3 – Prime Only Comes First for Barks
Still far down the lonely street leading past Proctor’s mansion, Lando let the car slow to idle speed well before they could see around the dense tangle of tall shrubbery crowding the cracked sidewalk.
No one complained and told him to hurry, and he gently pressed the brake pedal, then put the car in park.
Abby turned to him and said, “What?”
“Don’t we have to prepare ourselves before we head back into that place?”
“I’m ready,” Andy said from the backseat.
Barkley von Mayhem beside him barked softly at the car’s ceiling, and Annabeth said, “Me too, Dad.”
“Abby?”
“Oh, Lannie, sure. I’m not scared of that old place or even Priscilla the ghost lady.”
“I knew she was a ghost,” Annabeth whispered, causing her brother to snicker.
While still looking toward Lando, Abby turned her head toward the back, brushed her long, wavy brown hair aside, and said, “She’s not really a ghost, Honey. No one is.”
Lando was about to comment on that, and she continued, saying, “Lannie, let’s just get in there and see what this is about. I don’t have a clue. Did Priscilla say anything at all?”
“Only a constant reminder that you were once, and she thinks always will be, a Proctor. Oh, and Abigail not Abby. Other than that, I have no idea.”
“Gold,” Andy said while looking out his side window.
“We took the gold,” said Abby. “You said my uncle handed it to you from . . . somewhere. I still don’t understand any of that.”
“He might be right, Abby. Maybe the old ghost had more.”
“It wouldn’t matter, Lannie. There’s no way she’d call us there and hand us a pile of gold. Besides, wouldn’t that Philip Proctor the Fourth guy and his brother Bob try to steal it anyway?”
“They would. Yeah. Alright, so, let’s forget about gold. We dragged you away from your studio for this, and I think we’re all ready.”
“Barkley von Ghost Armor is ready.”
“Oh boy,” said Andy. “Here we go again with the names.”
The dog bounced on the seat as he barked straight up, causing giggles then a big hug from Annabeth.
She pointed a finger at her brother and said, “Those were happy Prime barks, Andy.”
Both parents were grinning and looking back at the discussion.
“You know what that makes you?” said Andy. “Prime Anna Beth Banyon—that’s Prime ABB.”
“Andy, stop it. Prime only comes first for barks.”
He met his father’s gaze and shrugged, getting a laugh from Lando.
“Alright, enough of that. Let’s go.”
He got the car rolling again, tires crunching leaves and snapping dead branches as they cruised out from under the frantic grasping of gnarled and withered bare branches and around the mostly brown shrubs, but he didn’t pull into the driveway. He just kept the car in the road, and they all looked out through the passenger side windows at a house taller and more dark and imposing than even they remembered.
“Wow,” said Lando. “I think it’s even bigger than last time.”
The ancient Victorian mansion sat far back from the road, three stories high with a maze of steeply sloping roofs leading to sharp peaks. Across the full width of the house there lurked a porch, deep enough and covered well by its own roof that seemed to be hugging its shadows close.
“It’s a ghost house,” Andy said knowingly. “The ghosts need lots of room.”
“Well,” said Abby, “if there are ghosts, they’re probably the only ones that ever go into all those upstairs rooms. And look how high the peaks are.”
“Crows!” Annabeth said, pointing past her brother. “A lot of crows!”
“Oh, you’re not kidding, Honey. They’re lined up on every peak up there. What are they doing on this house? Really, I never see them anywhere else.”
“Uncle Ghost wrote about that, Abby. I remember. He said crows like shiny things. He called them covetous.”
“Oh, you too, Lannie? You think they’re all up on that roof because they know there’s more gold in there somewhere?”
“They’re pretty smart, Abby. Everyone knows that. I read somewhere that they’re always thinking, and they seem to have good imaginations too.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean that—”
“Ah! It’s a ghost!”
Everyone looked when Annabeth shouted out her warning. The front door of the decrepit mansion, buried way back in the stubborn shadows under the long porch roof, was swinging into the house.
“Honey, no,” said Lando. “It’s probably just—”
The cawing of countless crows silenced him as they all took to the air at once, then dove toward the ground, then executed what seemed like choreographed flight paths, horizontally and at every height between the ground and the gutter of the porch roof. They became a wall of flapping blackness, screeching and thumping their wings as they flew left and right, never colliding, never allowing the slimmest of views through their spectacle.
When at last they’d thinned, the last of them following the leaders up to reclaim wing-to-wing stations along every sharp feature of the roof, the wide-open front door of the Proctor mansion could again be seen.
And blocking a complete view of it, Priscilla stood at the edge of the porch, her long black dress, vintage but somehow new, too, shifting in the light breezes where it draped down near her shiny black boots.
Her hands were clasped as if in prayer, and everyone held their breath at the sight of her head tipping to one side, noticeable only from the brim of her fine black hat being so wide.
And everyone in the car, including Barkley von Mayhem, shifted around uneasily, knowing that her eyes, which she claimed functioned quite well and missed not the smallest detail, were aimed directly at them.
Chapter 4 – It Doesn’t Mean She’s a Ghost
What appeared from the car, despite the sunny skies, to be a somewhat shapeless gray shape that they all suspected, and hoped, was Priscilla, began a measured walk down the porch steps and toward the car still parked in the road.
“She’s a ghost, Mom.”
“Honey, no,” said Abby. “She’s, uh, probably not.”
Lando, looking past Abby at the smooth, unhurried gate of the approaching apparition, said, “We should probably just leave that as a question. I mean, everything about Uncle Ghost and his ghost house is just kind of creepy.”
“Especially the armor,” said Andy. “Oh! It’s looking out of a second-story window!”
“Stop it, Andy! No, it’s not!”
“Andy, stop scaring your sister.”
Abby turned enough to see that her intervention had helped, then smiled at Annabeth smirking and jabbing a finger at her brother.
But she grinned and added, “Huh. Now, it’s looking out a third-story window.”
“Mom, stop it! Don’t play like Andy!”
“All of you Primes back there,” Lando said, “we have enough to worry about with Priscilla coming after us again.”
“Oh, Lannie, she’s only coming out to greet us. She’s just, I don’t know, very formal. Very regimented.”
“She sure is that.”
Andy said, “How does she control those birds?”
“That,” said Abby, “is just some kind of coincidence. It doesn’t mean she’s a ghost.”
She was turned to look toward Lando, and the kids were watching him, too, when he said, “Ah!” and pointed past her.
All heads turned to see that Priscilla had somehow traversed the remaining distance at what must have been a sprint. She stood only several steps from the passenger side of their car, with hands neatly folded and face like a blur of fireplace ash tucked away under the wide brim of her hat.
“How does she . . .”
“This time,” Priscilla said, “I need not inquire as I recognize the most significant Proctor within that vehicle. Greetings, Miss Abigail.”
“Oh, uh, greetings,” Abby said, tipping her head from side to side, trying to discern any details of Priscilla’s cloaked visage. “Lando called me, picked me up, and we hurried right over.”
“Yes, your travels were of an acceptably brief duration. There is no need for anyone other than you to become privy to the specifics of what I must present to you. But since there will be some natural effects for all members of your clan,”—she leaned closer, making it obvious that she was studying the backseat occupants—“whether untamed or just prone to unruliness, it is wise for all to hear the offer as it is presented, in this glorious manor house, by the exceedingly qualified and thorough executrix of—”
“Ten words,” Lando said, laughing. “Come on, we know you can do it. You did it once.”
“Well, of course, husband of—Lando, I mean. When I’m in the mood, that is fine. Otherwise, words will flow continuously like constantly discarded feathers from rowdy, roosting crows on a stately roof. Those feathers can easily number in the thousands, and my words can, without any overt effort, increase that number by a factor of ten or more.”
She waited, hands folded together in front of her and shade bathing her face, and a quiet moment passed. All in the car stared, some with their mouths open, one shaking slightly, about to either bark or hide on the floor.
“Come with me. We will enter this prestigious home for a recital of the most serious notations that led to the summoning—oh, that’s not correct. No, the correct term is ‘invitation.’ Miss Abigail Proctor, you have been invited to this home. Please—”
“Again with that?” said Lando. “Look, she really is married, she’s Abby not Abigail, and she’s a Banyon not a—”
“Very well! But none of that, whether true or fictitious or spoken in some ill-advised pursuit of frivolity, has any bearing on the matters at hand.”
Her hidden eyes seemed to be holding the gaze of each pair in the car, then she unwrapped her hands, clapped them together, and said, “Do follow closely for the safety and bodily integrity of all.”
She spun smoothly as if mounted to a post connected to a boot, slicing the brim of her hat in a perfectly horizontal line, then began graceful, determined steps toward the house.
“Lannie, that woman is even creepier than the last time we saw her. Why don’t we just get out of here?”
“What? Aren’t you curious what this is all about?”
“I am,” said Andy. “I’m sure Prime ABB is too.”
“I am, but stop it, Andy. Prime doesn’t come first.”
“You started it when you said Barkley von Prime was Prime barking.”
“He was! And I didn’t mean for you to—”
“Guys!” Lando said, turned enough to smile at both of them. “Let’s forget the Prime stuff for a second. You’re all Primes, and that’s what matters most.”
He focused on Abby, the back of her head because she was gazing at the ashen figure who had stopped halfway to the house, gloomy even in brilliant sunlight.
“Abby, we should at least find out what’s going on. Maybe they found more gold and a note from that old genius ghost saying you should have it. Could be, right?”
She kept her eyes locked on Priscilla for a moment, then turned toward him and said, “Oh, more gold. I really doubt it, Lannie. That sure would be helpful, though.”
“Hey, it was the right thing to do. We saved just enough for what we want—stuff for the kids and dog, your studio remodeling, and college for me.”
“Oh, I don’t regret giving my parents a big chunk of that gold Uncle Proctor said should go to us. That’s helping my parents a lot.”
“Can we go visit them, Mom? I want to go to the beach.”
“Honey, maybe someday soon, we can—”
“Are there ghosts in the Bahamas too?” said Andy. “No armor, probably. No one on a beach would ever wear—”
“Guys, really,” said Lando. “You heard Mom—someday.”
“Lannie, I think maybe you should get this car moving, drop me back at the studio, get these young, growing things some food, then we can—”
She winced at an explosion of agitated cawing from countless crows, and her eyes stretched open at seeing Lando looking past her, his eyes big and staring.
“Why are those birds always . . .”
She fell silent as they all watched streams of flapping birds descend then form a black cyclone around Priscilla. In the middle of the swirling and squawking, she held her arms straight out to her sides and spun slowly, as if the force of their flight was tugging at her, compelling her to join them.
Just as quickly as they had descended, they formed tight lines and rose to reclaim the roof, leaving Priscilla facing the car again.
Abby turned back toward Lando and said, “We waited too long.”
Both parents looked toward the children and dog, and Abby continued, saying, “Now, she’s coming back to—”
Lando blindly grabbed her shoulder and said, “How can she . . .”
Abby spun around and saw Priscilla two steps from her car window, hands clasped serenely, centuries-old black dress enjoying the light breezes, and eyes, catching a modest amount of daylight, looking right at her.
“I know,” said Andy, his voice hushed. “It’s because she’s a—”
“Andy, shh,” said Abby. “She’s, um, probably not a, uh, you know, one of those things.”
Abby ignored the snickering from the backseat and offered the dreadfully serious woman dressed all in black a pleasant smile.
Chapter 5 – The Opportunity and Enviable Honor
“Miss Abigail, your presence is required inside this stately manor, though it is sadly degraded by the ravages of time and neglect. Please exit that vehicle, whether alone or encumbered by your surly crowd of non-Proctors and distant Proctors who are too young to be of any significance. Yes, I am classifying that atrocious, four-legged beast as a non-Proctor, and you would do well to avoid debating that assertion. Now, as was advised just moments ago and promptly ignored by all, stay close and you will improve your chances of remaining intact while—”
“Wow,” Lando said, laughing. “Never use just ten words unless you’re trying to prove that you can.”
“Wait a second, Priscilla,” Abby said before the sour woman could turn her sneer into a sharp response to Lando. “Come on. Just tell us what this is about first.”
“Very well! You, Abigail Proctor, as a rightful heir and somewhat favored niece, are being given the opportunity and enviable honor of contributing to the remodeling of this grand home to ready it for eventual sale. Rest assured that the contributions expected from you in return for this prestigious role are strictly non-monetary, though I have not forgotten, nor will I forget, that you do have sufficient capital, in the form of precious metal discs—coins, to be precise—to finance the rebirth of this gracious home should you so desire.”
“Huh?” said Andy.
“She likes to talk,” Annabeth whispered, followed by a hushed giggle.
“She doesn’t want money, AB Prime,” said Lando. “Just, uh, something else.”
“Yeah,” said Abby. “That’s what I’m hearing too. Priscilla, come on. A few details would be nice.”
“Rest assured, Miss Abigail, that there are a multitude of details pertaining to this operation that I can recall in an instant and spew in your direction in a continuous stream, like boiling, brackish water from a cliff cleaved into a mountainside. I shall not, though. No, the terms of this arrangement shall be discussed only inside those hallowed halls of—”
“Did she say haunted, Dad?”
“No, Andy. I mean, AB Prime. She said hallowed. It means, uh, something else.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“May I continue? Thank you! I can and will, with no further interruptions, share with you the reason for your being called to the Proctor estate. Recently, a meeting was held in another impressive abode, by a serious group of close relatives of the departed scholar. That conclave resulted in a nearly unanimous vote to not burn this lovely structure into a pungent pile of smoldering ash but rather to grant it such renovations as might be desirable to place it on the market for sale.”
“You want us to paint the walls?” Abby said, shaking her head and snorting a quick laugh.
“Certainly not. No true Proctor would ever be asked to engage in such labor-intensive activities.”
“You’re saying,” said Lando with an intentionally loud scoff, “that I’m the one to paint the walls? Oh, Barkley von Mayhem, too, because we’re non-Proctors?”
Before Priscilla could respond, Andy snickered and said, “Von Prime, Dad. And Prime ABB says he Prime barks now too.”
“I’m not Prime ABB, Andy. It doesn’t come first for people!”
“Okay, but still, you said—”
“Guys, let the nice ghost . . . uh, I mean, the nice lady—”
“I can assure all of you of something, and I encourage every last one of you to listen closely: should I prove to be an actual ghost, you can be sure that I, as a ghost, would not feel the slightest need to be nice.”
“You’re scaring the kids,” Abby said. “Look, Priscilla, help us out here. We—”
“I will indeed help you out but not here. I am trusted to fulfill my duties in regards to this mansion rebuilding with the utmost integrity, fidelity, and attention to every detail, no matter how insignificant they might appear to anyone without my extensive knowledge on the topic. Which means, as I have stated so many times already that even the crows grow weary of the repetition, I require you to vacate your vehicle, walk along the walk, and let the gloom and oppressive silence take you into a tight, smothering embrace. Only then will I relate the terms of your engagement in your contribution to the renewal process slated for this magnificent abode.”
She spun easily, like a figurine on a wind-up mechanism, and began a controlled but leisurely stroll back toward the house.
“Sheesh.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re all right about her,” Abby said, watching the woman nearing the porch. “She just might be a ghost.”
“Let’s go in,” said Andy. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“Me too. Barkley von Prime wants to go too.”
“Well,” said Lando, “me too. It’s nearly unanimous. Abby?”
She finally turned to look his way and said, “Fine. Let’s go. But there’s no gold. Let’s not even kid ourselves.”
“Okay by me,” said Lando, then he turned to look toward the back. “Kids?”
Andy snickered and said, “Maybe the armor is made of gold. Right, Prime ABB?”
“Stop it, Andy. Prime doesn’t come first.”