by Matthew Ward
Amidst another burst of applause, the master of ceremonies exited the stage as the curtain unveiled a dimly lit orchestra of nine musicians. Seated on a stool at the rear of the stage, the band’s leader was lit by a spotlight, revealing a certain peculiar detail about him: the lower half of his body was completely missing.
Climbing down the stool, Johnny Stump sauntered to the front of the stage, his abbreviated torso swinging to and fro while his arms did the work of his nonexistent legs. As he hoisted himself onto the round pedestal beside the microphone, he flashed a charming smile to the audience, causing two young ladies in the front row to spontaneously swoon. When he started singing in his smooth, alluring voice, the crowd was completely enraptured:
All of me—why not take all of me?
Oh, can’t you see?—I’m no good without you
Take my lips—I want to lose them
Take my arms—I’ll never use them…
The back of the stage lit up as shafts of blue light illuminated the band. It was now clear the musicians themselves were just as extraordinary as their leader. They too were lacking appendages—their arms, to be exact. Indeed, they were all playing their instruments with their feet—and playing them so well, that no one ever would have known it simply by listening.
When Johnny Stump had sustained the song’s final note for nearly half a minute, the audience cheered with hoots and whistles. He held it for another twenty-nine seconds (thus breaking the record for Longest Sustained Vocal Note), before a crash of cymbals from the armless percussionist signaled the end of the song. On the last beat, Johnny Stump bowed his head, and the stage went black. The crowd went wild.
A spotlight punched a hole in the darkness as Nonstop Norman walked back to the microphone. “Let’s hear it for the Highest-Selling Limbless Orchestra of All Time! And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce your host—the First Man to Climb Mount Kilimanjaro Entirely on Stilts—Mr. Charles Whipple!”
Amidst deafening applause, the curtain cracked open and Arthur’s father walked onto the stage and up to the microphone.
“Thank you, thank you!” he cried. “Thank you all so much for coming. Welcome to Neverfall Hall and this year’s Whipple Family Birthday Extravaganza, which has just now been certified the Largest Garden Party Ever Hosted at a Single-Family Residence—our one-thousandth record in two years!” He broke for another burst of applause, then added, “I am thrilled to report this latest record has officially made us eligible for this year’s championships—so, with any luck, we’ll be bringing home another cup before the year is through!”
At the thunderous applause that followed, Arthur couldn’t help but imagine how it might have felt to have heard his own record credited with securing his family’s championships hopes.
“Indeed,” Mr. Whipple continued, “with this first step of eligibility out of the way, we are now free to focus all our energy on the upcoming Unsafe Sports Showdown, which has always been our most important event of the season…. But enough about us,” he declared. “We are deeply honored to have such a fine group of guests joining us this evening. Please forgive me for pointing out just a few of you. Let’s see…Over here to my right, we are honored by the presence of the grand duke of Luxembourg—the World’s Youngest Monarch!”
A spotlight zigzagged through the crowd and then halted on a six-year-old boy in the front row who had been hoisted onto the shoulders of his royal advisor.
“Please welcome His Royal Highness Grand Duke Frederik Henri Albért Gabriel Félix Marie Guillaume, the Second!”
At this, His Royal Highness the Grand Duke—et cetera, et cetera—waved briefly at the cheering crowd, then tapped his advisor on the head with a jeweled scepter to signal he was ready to be put back down.
“Also with us tonight,” continued Mr. Whipple, “the Detective with the Most Solved Cases in History—the illustrious Inspector Hadrian Smudge!”
The spotlight landed on a tall man with a square jaw and beak-like nose. At the mention of his name, he saluted the crowd.
“And,” Mr. Whipple added, “I believe I saw Bianca Bainbridge earlier this evening. Are you here, Bianca? Where are you?”
The spotlight darted over the crowd again before finding a fur-clad woman clutching a slender cigarette holder between two fingers.
“Ah, there you are, my dear! Please welcome the star of Cleopatra’s Cats!—the Shortest Running Broadway Show in History—whose enormous salary bankrupted the production and forced it to shut down halfway through Act I on opening night—Bianca Bainbridge, everyone—the World’s Highest Paid Actress!”
As the coyly smiling stage star lowered her head and bowed, the face of the guest behind her was briefly revealed in the spotlight’s gleam. It belonged to a man with chiseled cheekbones and impeccably straight teeth that sparkled as he grinned.
When Miss Bainbridge raised her head again, Mr. Whipple’s demeanor had entirely changed.
“Oh dear. How has…Hmm…” he stammered.
His face had become white and cheerless—as if he had just seen a ghost. Arthur wondered if perhaps he himself wasn’t the only one being tormented by spirits that evening.
“Well…so…” the shaken host continued, “anyhow…um…Please excuse me. Do enjoy the party.”
And with that, he swiftly left the stage.
As Nonstop Norman did his best to recover from the host’s bizarre exit by bringing Johnny Stump and the Missing Limbs out for an encore, Mr. Whipple headed straight toward his valet, Wilhelm, who was standing at the bottom of the steps on the side of the stage, next to Mrs. Whipple and the Whipple children.
“I wonder what’s come over your father,” Uncle Mervyn whispered to Arthur. “Let’s go see if we can’t find out, shall we?”
As they made their way toward the rest of his family, Arthur strained to hear his father’s conversation.
“Vhat seems to be the matter, sir?” Wilhelm inquired in his thick German accent.
“There is a ghost in the audience who needs to be dealt with,” Arthur heard his father say.
The boy’s heart beat faster. Finally, he had something in common with his father. He, too, was seeing ghosts.
Unable to contain his excitement, Arthur ran to Mr. Whipple and blurted, “I’ve seen them too, Father!”
Mr. Whipple turned to his son and arched his brow. “What the blazes are you on about, Arthur?” he snapped. “Seen whom?”
“The ghosts! They’ve come to devour our souls, haven’t they?”
“Have you gone mad, boy? There are no ghosts here!”
“Oh. But I thought…” Arthur trailed off, confused and deflated by his father’s rebuke.
Mr. Whipple turned back to Wilhelm. “As I was saying, there is a guest in the audience who needs to be dealt with. He is standing toward the back, near Bianca…”
But before Mr. Whipple could finish his instructions, he was addressed by a charming voice.
“Charles Whipple—is it really you?” called the voice.
Arthur and his family turned to see a certain chisel-cheeked, sparkle-toothed man striding toward them.
“Great Wall of China—it’s good to see you again!” cried the stranger as he reached out both his arms, clutched Mr. Whipple’s hand, and shook it thoroughly. “How have you been, Charlie? It’s been ages, hasn’t it?”
Mr. Whipple looked disoriented and more than a bit uncomfortable. His mouth opened slightly, but before he could speak, the stranger noticed Arthur’s mother standing just behind her husband.
“Ah…and you must be the lovely Mrs. Whipple,” smiled the stranger. Releasing his grasp on her husband, he offered his hand to Arthur’s mother. “I’ve seen your photo countless times, of course, but I must say—you are even more radiant in person!”
With that, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.
“Rex Goldwin,” he introduced himself. “You may recognize me from the latest issue of The Amazing Ardmore Almanac of the Ridiculous
ly Remarkable. First time I’ve graced its pages in nearly twenty years—but I’m happy to say I’ve just signed a new, record-breaking sponsorship contract. It’s no Grazelby Guide, of course—but we can’t all be Whipples, now can we?” he winked with a chuckle.
Arthur was well aware of the Ardmore Almanac. It was the one book Mr. Whipple had prohibited his children from ever reading.
“Why, of course, Mr. Goldwin,” Arthur’s mother nodded. “I believe your picture was on the front page of The Record some weeks ago—though I’m afraid my husband forgot to mention he knew you. Not overly chatty about the past, this one. Honestly, I sometimes forget he ever had a life before I met him….”
Mr. Whipple stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mr. Goldwin,” he said, “but are you sure you received an invitation?”
“Charles!” scolded his wife. “That’s hardly hospitable behavior.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Whipple,” Rex Goldwin assured. “Your husband has every right to be selective about his guests.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved a folded piece of parchment with silver lettering. “Really, it’s my fault for not stopping in as soon as we received it. It has been a very long time since Charlie and I last spoke—and I can hardly blame him for being a bit surprised to see me. In fact, I wasn’t quite sure the invitation was meant for us when it was delivered to the new house—but then there it was, ‘Dear Neighbor…’”
Just then, a voice called out from behind him.
“Rex, dear?”
The group turned to see a woman striding toward them in a glittering gold dress with blonde hair that had been pulled up into a glamorously gigantic beehive. Following behind her was a sizable cluster of smiling and well-groomed children.
“Where have you—” she began, but stopped short when she realized with whom Rex was conversing. “Oh, my,” she gasped. “What an honor.”
“Hello, darling,” Rex greeted the woman. “Sorry for running off like that, but I just couldn’t pass up the chance to finally say hello to our distinguished hosts. Charles, Eliza—allow me to introduce my wife, Rita. Rita—Charles and Eliza Whipple.”
“It is such a privilege to finally meet you,” gushed Rita Goldwin as she shook hands with a reluctant Mr. Whipple and his far more sociable wife. “We’re all big fans,” she confessed. Then, turning to the group of children behind her, she said gleefully, “Children, say hello to the Whipple family.”
“Hello, Whipple family,” beamed the children.
“We’ve been telling them stories about you ever since they were born,” Rita explained, “and now, I must say, they’ve become quite the little record breakers themselves.”
“Isn’t that sweet, Charles?” cooed Mrs. Whipple.
Arthur’s father offered no response.
Rita Goldwin turned again to her children. “Children, would you like to introduce yourselves?”
The children nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m Roland,” declared the athletic-looking boy on the far end of the cluster. He appeared to be the oldest of the bunch. “Pleased to meet you,” he said with a bow.
Next to introduce themselves were Rosalind and Roxy Goldwin, the eldest of the girls, whose lush, flowing hair was blonde and brunette, respectively. As they stepped out from behind their siblings and curtsied, Arthur noticed Henry and Simon’s eyes bulge slightly.
It wasn’t long before Roland, Rosalind, Rupert, Roxy, Rodney, Randolf, Radley, and Rowena—their ages ranging from around seventeen all the way down to four—had all stepped forward and given their introductions.
As button-nosed Rowena completed her curtsy, Mrs. Whipple clapped her hands and said, “What a delightful group of children!”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Whipple,” replied Rita Goldwin. “Hopefully you’ll be able to meet the rest of them some day. It’s a pity they all couldn’t be here tonight. Our two eldest—the twins—are off studying abroad, traveling the world through the Clapford Fellowship. They’ll be green with envy when they hear we got to meet you. And then there’s little Rowan, who just had his first birthday and is with the nanny tonight. And then…Now, wait a minute—where on earth is Ruby? She ought to be here with us.”
There was some shuffling amongst the Goldwin children, and then—as Arthur looked on in disbelief—from out of the cluster stepped the green-eyed ghost girl.
Arthur’s heart began thumping against his ribcage—but it wasn’t much more than a reflex. At this point, he was far too confused to be completely terrified.
The ghost girl held up the corners of her black V-neck dress between her black fingernails and curtsied, then stepped back into the crowd of children. When she glanced toward Arthur, the boy flinched in fright—but then, to his continued bewilderment, her mouth curled into an amiable smile. The smile lasted only a moment before she looked away again, leaving Arthur more confused than ever.
“Ahem,” said Mrs. Goldwin. “Would you like to introduce yourself, young lady?”
The ghost girl stepped forward once more. “Oh, right. Sorry,” she said. Executing a halfhearted second curtsy, she added, “Ruby,” then returned to her previous position. Next to the others, she might well have been the illegitimate daughter of Dracula, sent to be raised by a family of fashion models.
“You’ll have to forgive Ruby,” explained Mrs. Goldwin. “As record-breaking children go, she’s a bit…unpolished. And for some reason, she insists on dressing herself like a corpse these days. Powder and lipstick are meant to enhance your features, dear—not deaden them.”
Ruby gave a strange, joyless smile, then shifted her eyes to the sky, as if halfheartedly searching for some distant heavenly body.
Arthur remained thoroughly perplexed. Apparently, he was not the only one who could see the ghost girl. Indeed, it seemed she was simply an odd-looking member of the Goldwin family. But how could this be possible when he had witnessed a figure bearing her exact likeness not long ago on the Crosley estate?
“Well, it certainly was a pleasure meeting you and your lovely children,” Mrs. Whipple concluded. “We must arrange a joint outing sometime. Where was it you said you lived?”
“Just down the road, actually,” said Rex Goldwin. “Would you believe we’ve just purchased the old Crosley estate?”
As a wave of realization swept over Arthur, he did not notice his father’s face grow a shade paler, from something of an eggshell cream to more of a glacier white.
“Have you now?” said Mrs. Whipple. “My—that is close. I’m surprised we’ve never seen any movers.”
“Well,” Rex replied, “we’ve only just closed the deal this week, so we’re still at the Dwellinger Grand for the present moment. But we’ve been visiting the grounds for over a month now with various architects and landscape designers; you can imagine the work we’ve got ahead of us to make the place halfway inhabitable. Still, we just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to move to where the action is—what with the International World Record Federation honoring your back-to-back wins at the championships by holding them in your city this year, alongside the Unsafe Sports Showdown. Seems this is the place to be for record breaking these days, eh? Luckily, the heavy machinery arrives tomorrow, so it won’t be long before we’re all moved in and joining you for neighborhood gatherings!”
“I say, that is exciting news,” beamed Mrs. Whipple. “Do you intend on competing in any events now that you’re here?”
Rex smiled bashfully. “We’d certainly be honored—if they’d have us. But of course, up till now, record breaking has only ever been a private hobby of ours. We’ve never publicly competed as a family before, and I myself haven’t competed in years—so we’re really only just getting our feet wet. For a while there, it did seem we might make the deadline for championships eligibility tonight, but I’m afraid we’ve ended up just a couple of records short of the required thousand.”
“Well now,” said Arthur’s mother, “that’s nothing to be sneezed at, Mr. Goldwin. We scarcely made that number ourselves
! I’d say your record tally is absolutely spectacular for a family of beginners—even if you won’t be eligible this year. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all gaining eligibility for the next championships, if you keep at it. My,” she chuckled, “we’ll have to watch our backs, won’t we, Charles?”
“Indeed,” Mr. Whipple said gruffly. “Now, I do apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin, but we really must be getting back to the party….”
“Oh, of course, Charlie,” Rex replied. “And what a lovely party it is. Fine food, distinguished company…though I must say the band’s a bit of an odd choice.” Nodding at Johnny Stump, he chuckled, “Really, Charlie—I do hope you only paid half price!”
“Why, Mr. Goldwin!” laughed Arthur’s mother. “I’ll have to share that one with Mr. Stump—he gets quite a kick out of that sort of thing.”
“Oh, but Mrs. Whipple,” Rex grinned, “surely he doesn’t do any kicking at all!”
“Ahem,” Arthur’s father scowled, curtailing any further laughter. “As I was saying, I’m afraid we are neglecting our other guests, as well as a number of vital birthday duties, so—”
“Say no more, Charlie,” said Rex. “Again—terribly sorry about any mix-up with our invitation. I’d hate to cause any distress on your special day. Just say the word and we’ll head straight back to the hotel.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it—would we, Charles?” Mrs. Whipple asked without looking at her husband.
Mr. Whipple sighed.
“Do stay,” implored Mrs. Whipple.
“You are very gracious indeed,” said Rex Goldwin. “Now, please—get back to your party. I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other from now on—eh, neighbors?”
“Most certainly,” Mrs. Whipple smiled. “Let us know as soon as you’re settled. Now enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Mr. Whipple let out another tortured sigh. Mrs. Whipple shot him a stern glance.
Arthur’s parents gathered up their birthday-celebrating children and led them off to perform their next vital birthday duty, leaving Arthur to wait awkwardly beside his uncle. He now stood only a few feet from Ruby Goldwin, who clearly was not, nor ever had been, a ghost—but merely a girl with peculiar fashion tastes whose parents had purchased the house down the street. The terror Arthur had once felt in her presence now turned to embarrassment.
