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Many quiet summer nights had passed by with no disturbances, no signs of the dead. The Canterville Chase no longer lived up to the ominous expectations of visitors, unwanted tourists that made their way past the rusty gates and were promptly kicked out. For a long while, the younger brother of the pair that had moved in with only themselves and a copious amount of wealth, would clean the estate spotless in rejection of the “haunted” atmosphere they had supposedly signed up for. But now, when the mansion’s antiques started to collect dust, he waited. Sat on the opulent rug next to the fireplace, eyes flickering from the fire to the shadows it casted on everything. The photographs and the dust.
He had become quite bored now, that they lost their ghost.
Certainly he could not have passed into the afterlife. The last time he saw him, he was acting clearly upset. Muttering something in an unknown language as he dropped the elaborate sword that was clearly only decorative. Fading into the next wall over, pitiful wisps of white about him.
“Mokuba, are you quite finished with your complex game of ‘wall stare?’”
The eldest brother, Seto, was standing tall with his arms crossed. Teal silk pajamas and navy slippers. “I’m not ready to wake up to a burning mansion because you fell asleep by the fireplace without tending to it.”
Mokuba yawned, sat down more comfortably. “You put out the fire. I don’t know how.” A smirk.
“And I don’t know how to tie my shoes,” quipped Seto. “Get up and put the fire out.”
A loud groan and a few babyish kicks of his feet, but Mokuba eventually rose and used the fire iron to separate the ashes. Bits of grey and smoke floating about. “I miss the Pharaoh.”
“Hah! Hardly a Pharaoh at all. You miss that travesty?”
Mokuba turned to grab water, glanced at his older. “Yes, and you certainly do too. I’ve seen the way you check cracked doors, how you shine light in dark crevices.”
“I do not,” Seto started, hand on his chest and mouth turned in comical disgust.
“You do.” Mokuba eventually returned with the spray bottle, and had his fun aiming at the defenseless flames. “You sent him off, too.”
Seto frowned, watched the flames die. “You played your part.”
The only response from Mokuba was a slight shrug.
“Now get ready for bed.” Seto flipped the lights, and they left the room. Both feeling quite, and terribly guilty.
Weeks had passed since the ghost was discussed, and Mokuba had exhausted all of his options. Nearly all his options. He had tried standing in the grand hallway, laughing loudly and wildly but only the echoes off the arched ceilings played along. He had tried crying wildly, even gone so far as to pretend he was gravely injured. Then, he came to a terribly dangerous conclusion. Something that might work. The only thing the ghost seemed to care for now, was the dingy estate.
So, while Seto was at work, Mokuba got an awful idea.
Seto was going to be so, so angry.
And it started with the oldest looking plate in the China cabinet. He rose it above his head, closed his eyes and threw it onto the floor. A terrible sound, and priceless history was flying about in pieces. Mokuba knew he was in big trouble. Big, big trouble. But he followed through, listened.
Frowned. Nothing.
So he grabbed the next item. A beautifully decorated crystal wine glass. Threw it where the remains of the plate were. Another sharp sound of broken riches.
Mokuba panicked. It wasn’t working! The ghost wasn’t protecting his house, and Seto would surely make his life hell once he figured out what he had done. All for nothing!
He looked about, desperate for one last item to try his game with. On the top shelf of the cabinet was his target. A beautifully sculpted figurine of a phoenix. Amazing craftsmanship and colors, a lantern gripped tightly by the claws of the mythical bird. Jewels in its eyes.
“Always creeped me out anyway,” Mokuba muttered as he grabbed a chair to stand on top of. Once it was in position, Mokuba stood on his toes, fingers reaching for that absurdly tall top shelf.
“C’mon,” Mokuba’s fingers barely touched the base of the figurine, and it scooted closer. One more time, he pushed it a bit closer. Now it was within grasping range. Got it!
“No, please! Dear, dear disrespectful little one, do not destroy that phoenix!”
A wavering, haunting voice traveled throughout the walls that would send chills down the bones of a grown man. But not Mokuba-- he was smiling wide.
“Pharaoh!” He jumped down from the chair and turned. There he was, the Canterville Ghost himself-- now drifting up to the China cabinet to position the figurine back to the way it was. “I’ve been trying terribly hard to get your attention.”
“So I’ve seen.” He floated to a halt in front of Mokuba, arms crossed. “What a mean boy you are! Breaking my possessions that are older than every living human presently on Earth. Just so you could, I suppose, return to your endless joys of humiliating me further?”
The ghost floated, hair twirling in pretty curls. Spectral glowing skin that wavered in form every one and a while. And he was very, very clearly upset.
Mokuba scratched at his cheek, laughed sheepishly. “I… apologize for my brother and I’s behavior. We were doing nothing short of bullying you.”
“Yes, prolonging my torturous existence in this damned mansion and preventing me from any sort of peace.”
“Yeah. I’m… deeply sorry.” Mokuba jumped a bit on his toes. “But we miss you! It’s nice to have you around for company. And I’m sure you have some…. Intriguing stories to tell.”
The ghost maintained his disapproving posture for a bit longer, contemplating. Then, his pout turned to a wide grin, the kind he only displayed when he was up to tricks and mischief.
It made Mokuba very, very happy.
“Haha! Yes. I have stories that would make you quake with fear, your very bones rattle as you shake in terror!”
“Perfect!” Mokuba got a dustpan from the nearby closet, some gloves, and got to work picking up the broken pieces from the dishes. “Tell them to me while I clean this mess.”
Mokuba just missed seeing the slight red on the ghost’s cheeks, an idea of a blush since he had no blood in his body.
Raising his arms for effect, the ghost began drifting about the room, reenacting stories of murder and mystery.
And even though Mokuba had done a vast amount of research on the Canterville Chase and found that the Pharaoh had been kind in life and his spooky stories turned out to be mostly fictional, he entertained the ghost’s fun.
They laughed together for a long while. The only moment of true fear that would draw the color from anyone’s face happened when Seto dropped his briefcase onto the floor-- when he caught the ghost and Mokuba dumping the expensive remains of antique dishes into the garbage can.