“I’m not sure of anything.” Wolf paused to sniff the breeze that came in from the river. “Just that Gracey is known to come here a lot. Mato said there’s a rumor going around that Gracey is the real owner of the saloon—something a respectable plantation owner would never do. But, like I said, it’s just a rumor. Oh, and be careful how you speak to him. He doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
Lance nodded. “Yeah, that’s what his wife hinted, too.” He stood from their hiding place. “Well, I won’t find Peter out here, unfortunately. Where will you be?”
“If I don’t get spotted, I’ll be right here. If I am seen and someone comes after me, I’ll meet you back at the mansion.”
Amid the turmoil and worry in his mind, Lance got the sense of what Wolf just told him. It would be awful to be always on the alert, always afraid of being hunted. The very real danger of their presence in this time period already started to sink in. It made Lance even more determined to find his son and leave as quickly as possible.
“If you try to pull one more card out of your sleeve, sir, we will take this matter outside.” Edward Gracey’s eyes were cold as he calmly looked at the gambler seated across from him at the scarred, round table. He was inwardly pleased when the man paled and sweat broke out on his forehead.
“I assure you, Master Gracey, that I am not a cheat. Miss Lily has known me for a long time. She can vouch for my integrity.” He hoped there wasn’t a gun hidden under the tabletop and aimed at his stomach.
“Miss Lily, like everyone else here, will vouch for what I tell her to vouch. Is that clear, Mister James?” The threat was loud and clear.
Damian James slowly laid his cards face down on the table as he licked his dry lips. “I do believe I am going to fold, sir. And, I wish you a good day.” With his hands up in sight, he pushed away from the table and backed all the way out of the saloon’s swinging doors. Once in the street, he rushed to the town’s boardinghouse, packed his valise, and checked when the next coach would roll out of New Orleans.
Dressed in a dark blue, form-fitting velvet gown, Miss Lily stormed over to Gracey’s favorite table near the sweeping staircase, the pale blue feathers in her headdress bobbing up and down as she confronted him. “I cannot believe you just ran off my best card-man! I will not have this, Edward! Damian ran an honest game—as you very well knew.” She shook a red-polished fingernail at him and then grabbed the cards that had been deserted on the table, she looked at the hand. “Three kings!” She thrust them in his face. “Did you think he was going to win the hand? Is that why you accused him of cheating?” The cards were thrown onto the table as she jammed her hands on her hips. The low beaded neckline of her dress heaved up and down as she glared at him.
Unperturbed by her outburst, Gracey leaned forward to gather up the coins that had been abandoned in the center of the table. It was a nice win. “You forget yourself, Lily.” His words were deceptively calm. He didn’t even look up at her as he counted the gold coins. “You might have the title of Proprietress, but, as you know, my dear, things can change rather suddenly. People have a way of…disappearing, shall we say? It would be a shame to lose a companion as lovely as yourself.” He pushed one of the gold coins across the table toward her.
In one steady, practiced move, she snatched the coin and dropped it down the front of her dress. “Do not threaten me, Edward.” Miss Lily leaned toward him, her feathers lightly brushing the top of his head. “Just remember, my dear, I know where all the bodies are buried.” Daring him to object, she took another coin from his stack and added it to the one he had already given her. Deliberately turning her back on him and the murderous look that came over his face, she sauntered over to the entrance to greet a tall, handsome man who had just come in.
Watching her, Gracey’s face instantly cleared. He knew not to waste his time on anger. There were too many other alternatives. “There’s always room for one more, Lily.” A smirk turned up the corners of his mouth.
A lovely smile arranged on her face, she hoped this stranger could be convinced to buy her a drink. She needed one. Even though she didn’t show it, her legs were wobbly and her hands, if they hadn’t been holding tightly onto her feathered fan, would have started to shake.
“Welcome to the Golden Horseshoe. Won’t you come on in?” She welcomed Lance with her pleasant, sing-song voice. “Hey there girls, get my friend a good table.” She beckoned to one of the can-can dancers who also worked as a server between shows. The brunette, dressed in a tight black lace dress with yellow flounces at the bust and hem, took one look at Lance and didn’t have to be asked twice.
Unaware of the interest he had sparked, Lance was staring at the so-familiar interior of the saloon. He could see the elaborate dark wood bar with a row of bottles lined up in front of etched mirrors, but his eyes were drawn back to the stage. The piano player—oblivious to anything going on around him—happily pounded out Oh! Susanna. Onstage, a traveling salesman tried to show his wares and be heard over the racket. There was the floor-to-ceiling bright red curtain that hung behind the stage and the matching red flocking of the wallpaper around the brightly-lit room. While looking up at the flickering candles in the elaborate chandelier, Lance suddenly found himself arm-in-arm with a brunette while a beautiful blonde led the way to a table near the bar. Before he could even draw a breath to speak or protest, the brunette pushed him into a chair and plopped herself in his lap.
Miss Lily was telling him, “We’re open each and every day.”
“Including Sunday.” The brown-haired beauty chimed in as she was about to run a hand through his hair.
Suddenly finding his voice, Lance protested and sprang to his feet. The girl—Fifi, as she had introduced herself—almost ended up on the floor. Her fake French accent seemed to vanish in her anger. “Oy, watch yer manners, bucko. I’ll have ya thrown out!”
Miss Lily came to the rescue before the girl started to swing at the newcomer. “Now, Fifi, I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding. I’m sure this gentleman….” She broke off and dubiously eyed his odd clothing, not sure if the word applied to him. ”I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm. Perhaps he’s just shy, or perhaps favors blondes?” she added hopefully as she gave a coquettish grin at the confused look on his face.
Fortunately, Lance’s natural charm came to his assistance. He didn’t want to alienate anyone before he could find out about Peter. A glance toward the bar told him Raven eyed him suspiciously and held a bat of some kind in his hand. “I can assure you, ma’am, that I meant no harm. You must be the famous Miss Lily I have heard so much about.” He smiled and was apparently oblivious to her outstretched hand that waited for a kiss. “My dear wife—Kimberly is her name—is indeed a blonde and has sole possession of my heart.”
The mention of a wife did not have the desired effect on Miss Lily. Even though her hand withdrew unkissed, her smile never faltered. She dismissed Fifi with an impatient gesture. “What are you drinking, Master…?”
“Brentwood. Master Brentwood is mah name.” Lance gave a brief bow and, for some reason, started to use a Southern accent. “Mah friends call me Lance.”
“And what brings you to my little establishment, Lance?”
“Ah was hoping to speak to Master Gracey about mah son. Is he here?”
Now having heard of a wife, a son, and Master Gracey, Miss Lily’s polite façade began to crack. “Is whom here? Your son? Or Master Gracey?”
When he sensed the change in her demeanor, Lance gave her a bright smile in hope of keeping her on his side. “Well, it would be wonderful if my son was here, but I don’t see him. Would you be so kind as to point out Master Gracey to me? Perhaps even introduce us?”
“He’s over by the staircase. The gentleman in the gray jacket.” She pointed with a flip of her chin. The stress she put on the word ‘gentleman’ showed she didn’t believe it to be true in his case either. At this point Miss Lily realized she would get nothing out of this stranger, so sh
e gave an airy sniff and flounced over to another table and customer.
“Was it something ah said?” Lance silently chuckled as she went off without a backwards glance. Now that Miss Lily was obviously through with him, Fifi eyed him again with a coy, simpering look on her pretty face. “Gosh, what is it about the words wife and son that these women don’t get?”
Constance’s warning that Gracey didn’t appreciate familiarity from strangers was fresh in his mind so Lance slowly approached the table. When he saw the man’s cold stare, he wondered if he should hold his arms out to the side like a gunfighter showing he was unarmed. Instead, he gave a friendly bob of his head. “Are you Master Gracey?”
“And what does that matter to you?”
Usually Lance would pull out a chair, sit back, put his feet up on the table and begin an animated chat. However, in this case he decided it would best to remain standing. “I was told you might have seen my son, Peter. He went missing yesterday and I am eager to find him.”
To show he was unconcerned about the man’s plight, Gracey began to fiddle with the cards that had been left on the table. He kept Lance waiting for five slow shuffles. “And why would I have seen your son? If the brat ran away, it is no business of mine. Perhaps you should look inwardly at yourself as the father.”
When a keen desire to punch the man in the face asserted itself, Lance silently counted to ten instead. “He was lost in the river and I was told he came out near your house.”
“Whoever told you that was a liar.” He carefully laid out a game of Solitaire.
Lance wasn’t sure how his next statement would go over. “The person who told me was your wife.”
“Ah, then, there you have it.” Gracey kept his eyes on the cards and placed a red three on a black four.
Lance was confused and not sure how to continue. “Are you saying my son did not spend time in your house?”
The cards in his hand were slowly lowered. “I am saying, sir, that you had best leave this place and not come back.” Icy blue eyes rose to meet Lance’s. “If you do not, then you will more than likely join your son at the bottom of the river. Shall you see yourself out, or shall I have you thrown out? I can assure you, sir, I would much prefer the latter.”
Lance had to unclench his fists. “I will see myself out. But, this is not over.”
Soon after Lance had left the building, Gracey signaled to the bar. Raven and one other thug nodded their understanding and, armed with clubs, followed Lance.
Frustrated by the turn of events, Lance tried to walk it off. As he stood in the dusty street and looked toward the town of New Orleans, there was a movement out of the corner of his eye. When he glanced back at the saloon, he was at first uninterested when two men came out of the doors. However, when he realized it was Raven who pointed at him and raised his club, Lance took off at a run. He headed to where Wolf had been hiding and hoped his friend would still be there.
With a shout, the two thugs began to chase the intruder. Lance, still tired from his long jog to town, was not as fast as he normally would have been. A look over his shoulder told him they were gaining on him. But, because of that look back, he failed to see a protruding root in the falling darkness and tumbled painfully to the ground.
He had thrown his arms over his head to protect it from any imminent blows when he heard an angry snarl and felt something run past him. Looking through his arms, he saw the black wolf, teeth bared as he rushed toward the attackers. In a fury of snapping jaws and slashing claws, the men, who couldn’t even land one blow on man or beast, instantly gave up the fight. Screaming “Wolf!” they ran back to the Golden Horseshoe, blood dripping from multiple wounds.
Head lowered, his hair standing on end, and front feet planted wide, the wolf still held his ground. Not even breathing hard, the animal finally relaxed his taut frame once he saw the men disappear into the building. But when he heard a movement behind him, his head instantly swung around with a growl, fangs bared again and ready to pounce.
“It’s me. It’s me.” Lance held his hands out in front of him. “Wolf, calm down. They’re gone.”
The wolf stared at the standing man for a long moment. The blue eyes slowly came back into focus and he shook his head as if to clear it. Ears flat, he looked back toward the saloon and knew the men would soon return—this time armed with guns. Glancing at Lance, he subtly pointed his nose at the forest and took off at a ground-eating run.
Lance took his time before he followed as he rubbed his sore knees that had taken the brunt of the fall. Brushing off his dirty, ruined clothes, he finally turned and headed for the cover of the trees. He too had to assume the two men would be back at any moment with reinforcements.
Now that night had fallen, Lance worked his way through the forest as best he could. After he walked quite a distance in the direction of the mansion, Lance heard a soft rustle in the fallen leaves behind him. “Wolf?” His voice was just a whisper so it wouldn’t carry in the breeze.
The wolf fell silently into step beside him.
“You okay?” Lance’s voice was still a little shaky after the fight he had just seen.
“Yeah, I’m all right. You?”
Lance nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Wolf looked up at his partner’s face that was obviously pale even in the darkness. “That’s what wolves do, Lance. We protect our pack.”
The explanation elicited a small smile out of Lance. “So, am I the alpha wolf or are you?”
Knowing his friend, Wolf knew how best to answer. “We both are. But Kimberly is the undisputed leader.”
“I won’t tell her you said that. Might go to her head.”
Wolf gave an amused snort and decided to say no more about the attack. “What did you find out? It didn’t look like it went well.”
Now it was Lance’s turn to chuckle. “You can say that again. Gracey wouldn’t admit to seeing Peter at all and basically called his wife a liar. Nice chap.”
“Did you have a chance to talk to Miss Lily?”
Lance cleared his throat. “Let’s add that to the list of things we don’t tell Kimberly.”
Wolf’s mouth fell open in a wolf’s version of a smile. “Understood. I think the answer to Peter’s whereabouts has to be somewhere in or near the mansion. I was hoping Gracey would be willing to help us, but now I see the rumors about him are true. You ready for another meeting with Constance?”
Lance looked away and frowned. “She wasn’t too keen on me coming back. I think she’s afraid of what Gracey might do if he found me there. Now that I seem to have irritated him slightly, she is probably more correct than she knows. But, I am going to find Peter. I don’t care about any rumors or warnings.”
“Wish I could go in with you. I might be able to tell where he went.”
Giving a big grin, Lance put his hand on the black head. “I think you should. I’d probably get a lot further with you standing next to me at the door!”
“If you start rubbing my ears, I will bite you. I won’t warn you again.”
Lance’s hand shot off the thick fur. “Sorry. Habit.”
When they arrived at the mansion, all the windows were glowing from what appeared to be hundreds of candles. Carriages were lined up off to the side of the sweeping drive. The sound of organ music floated out of an open window along with the animated chatter of the guests within.
“Sounds like a swinging wake.” His task of searching for Peter had now become quite a bit more difficult with a lot of strangers—especially if they were anything like their relative Edward. “Stay close, Wolf. I’ll probably need you at some point.”
The horses caught the scent of the wolf and were starting to shift nervously in their harnesses. Wolf knew within minutes they would panic and either rear or bolt. “I have to get upwind from the horses. I don’t want to call attention to myself. Look for me around the crypt.” With that, he blended into the darkness and was gone. Almost instantly the h
orses settled their nervous movements, but their eyes were still wide and white with fear.
As he looked up at the house’s upper floors, Lance tried to decide what would be his best approach. Either he could knock on the door and try to get past the butler again, or he could go in unannounced and try to find some trace of Peter before his presence was detected.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, hands on his hips, “if I might quote the master storyteller himself, Walt said, ‘Quit talking and begin doing,’ so I’d better get doing!”
Flashback to Disneyland – 1999
“Welcome to the 30th Anniversary of Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion!”
After the dignitaries and the special guests invited to enjoy this momentous occasion had eaten their gala dinner, they were treated to a unique presentation. The night included original artwork of the Mansion—some of which had never been seen by the public—plus speeches by some of the Imagineers who had worked on the attraction, glimpses of what goes on behind the scenes, and a lively question-and-answer period. When that part of the evening was over, everyone in attendance was told to meet at the entrance of the Haunted Mansion for a special ride-through. Another surprise was hinted but never explained.
The Park had been closed for the night and all the guests waited anxiously on the porch. The ornate double entrance doors were closed so they didn’t know exactly what to expect. A costumed, sedate Ghost Host finally came out of the doors and greeted them with the solemn gravity the cast members use on the ride.
After filing into the foyer, they were instructed to enter the Stretching Room and to “drag their mortal bodies to the dead center of the room.” Happily crowding in together, the guests looked anxiously around for anything different, anything unique or special. As the ghostly voice welcomed them as he always did, the portraits on the wall began to move, and the final piercing scream turned off the interior lights as it always did.
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