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It had begun with a warning from Madame Leota—that, just as Captain Gore appeared to be making plans to confront the Happy Haunts for ownership of the mansion, she had felt Henry Ravenswood attempt to retake control of her once again, signaling that he might make a move soon, as well.
The Ghost Host wasn’t taking either threat lightly; he had taken to pacing the grounds of the mansion, both the graveyard in the back and the walkways and lawn in the front. From the attic balcony, the Hatbox Ghost and his beating-heart bride Emily watched him as he made his rounds.
“If ‘tweren’t for the fact his body is in the cupola, I’d have said he’d be making himself sick outta worry,” Hattie noted, as he made another round. “Fortunately for him, I don’t think he’s got any guts left to turn over.”
“This isn’t the time for jokes!” Emily chided. “We’re up against two evil spirits, one of whom we don’t know what we’re dealing with, and the other we know has the power to control other spirits—and poor Sol knows that firsthand. He has every right to be worried—not just for us, but because Ravenswood will have it out for him again, I’m sure.”
“Ravenswood isn’t going to spare any of us, but he’ll certainly come after the ones who stood up to him last time—Gracey, Leota, and the three of us,” a third voice intoned from within the attic. “And I have no desire to tangle with him again.”
Hattie and Emily glanced back to see the ghost of their murderess, Constance Hatchaway, milling about the attic and tossing a few things into one of her trunks. They’d had an unsurprisingly tenuous relationship in their afterlives—rough at first, with Constance having taken over the attic from Emily while Hattie had been away, but their relations had, surprisingly, improved since Ravenwood’s first intrusion, as they’d been forced to work together out of necessity to hold him off.
This time, however, it appeared that Constance would not be joining them again to face him.
“…Are you actually cuttin’ and runnin’?” the Hatbox Ghost queried, the surprise evident in his voice.
“Well, let’s face it—that’s what I do best,” Constance smirked. “And what is that look for, Emmy? I’m giving you your precious attic back—for now, anyway. Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting? Don’t get too comfortable, though; I’m leaving most of my things here so you know I’ll be back someday!”
She ran a hand over her many wedding decorations still stored in the attic, the smirk still on her face.
“I thought you’d changed—that we were finally learning to work together!” Emily exclaimed. “But you’re still just a self-serving ingrate, aren’t you!?”
“That’s right—if I don’t look after myself, who will?” Constance replied, unfeelingly, redoing the bun in her hair. “And that is why I ended up with all of this…” She gestured to her pearl necklaces and the rest of her wedding treasures. “And you ended up with that.” She indicated the Hatbox Ghost with her hatchet.
“At least Hattie and I love each other,” Emily retorted, as Hattie scowled.
“And what did that ‘love’ get you? Premature deaths and stuck to haunting this drafty place.”
“…You killed us!” Hattie pointed out.
“I would’ve spared you if you hadn't stood in my way of the Hightower fortune,” Constance said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I couldn’t have Emmy here running off with half of it after marrying you, could I? If it hadn't been for that, I think we could’ve been good friends!”
“…You still would’ve killed my brother!” Emily fumed, indicating the wedding decorations from Constance’s wedding to George Hightower.
“You would’ve let that stand in the way?” Constance tutted. “Anyway, this isn’t even about that; this is about the foolish notions you have in defending this place. You really think we could handle both Captain Gore and Henry Ravenswood? Don’t be such an idiot. And you’ve gone and complicated things by allowing that mortal girl to have the run of the place; she’s going to be a walking target for those two—especially since Gore tried to use her spirit-sight gift to try to get to his treasure.”
Hattie arched an eyebrow as Emily looked on in fury.
“So that’s it, then!?” she asked. “You’re going to leave us all at the mercy of those two!?”
Before Constance could answer, a fourth voice interrupted them.
“You know this conversation is audible from the grounds—despite all the singing out there?”
The Ghost Host had phased through the attic wall, folding his arms as he glanced at the scene inside.
“Don’t look at me; I’ve been the calm one,” Constance said. “Your ward over there is the one shrieking like a banshee.”
“Sol, she’s ditching us to deal with Gore and Ravenswood alone!” Emily fumed.
“Yes, I’ve surmised as much,” the Ghost Host intoned as he glanced at Constance’s packed trunk. “Well, don’t let us keep you, Constance.”
She looked back at them and smirked, heading across the attic with her trunk.
“How far d’you expect to get?” the Hatbox Ghost asked. “You don’t have the ability to travel via portals like myself.”
Constance paused at the window.
“I’ll be hiding out in the bayou,” she said, not turning back.
“You know, that’s interesting,” the Ghost Host mused. “Madame Leota saw the ghost ship, the Wicked Wench, off in the bayou…”
“…Captain Gore’s ship!?” Emily asked, looking at him in surprise. She turned back to her sister-in-law. “Constance—”
“Look, maybe it’s better this way,” Constance interrupted. “You and your hatter groom get your precious attic back to yourselves—you can be as sickeningly sweet with each other and I don’t have to hear it. And I get to rekindle an old flame of my own.” She paused. “Speaking of which… Here’s a little present for you, Emmy—stolen right from the Wicked Wench when that meddling Priscilla got between the captain and myself.” She reached into her trunk and pulled out a bronze candelabra. “I think you’ll find it better than that paltry little candle you’ve been holding on to.”
She turned back and handed it to Emily, who looked extremely sheepish.
“Constance… I’m sorry for what I said…”
“Do me a favor—keep spreading the idea that I ditched you all,” Constance smirked. “That’ll work to my advantage when I turn on the charm on the old captain.” Her smirk faded after a moment. “…I’ll stall him for as long as I can—you take care of Ravenswood in the meantime.” She glanced at the Ghost Host next. “Gracey, I’m expecting that you’ll keep this place standing while I’m away.”
“That was my intent.”
“I’m sure. And as for you…” Constance sighed as she glanced at the Hatbox Ghost. “…Don’t let Ravenswood get the better of you this time; I’d hate to have to bail you out of trouble.”
“If you’re gonna leave, leave!” Hattie quipped back, teleporting his head to his hatbox. But, within it, he gave her a nod before reorienting his head back on his shoulders.
Satisfied, Constance phased through the attic wall without another word, her trunk behind her.
“I still don’t like her,” the Hatbox Ghost huffed.
“I think the feeling is mutual,” the Ghost Host intoned.
Emily was silent as she took Constance’s place in the alcove of the attic, holding the bronze candelabra as she stood there with a wan expression on her face.
Constance was hardly a friend, and Emily was thrilled to have her favorite room to herself—and Hattie—again. And yet… there probably would be a part of her that would be missing her—but only slightly.
And as the Ghost Host left to continue his rounds, Emily and the Hatbox Ghost took their posts in tandem, watchful as ever.