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“I can’t hang on much longer,” Georgie cries as she rattles the chandelier and crystals rain down over the floor.
The figure rises off the ground, floating up toward Georgie as if gravity didn’t apply to him, which I guess it doesn’t because, well, he’s dead. The spooky specter reaches the chandelier and starts untangling Georgie’s cape from the crystals with his strong, capable, glowing blue hands.
Oh, heck, he really is that handsome—dead or alive.
One woman screams, then another, then it’s a full chain reaction of panic about hot Victorian ghosts who apparently provide customer service in haunted castles.
“Georgie! Let go!” Mom shouts from below. “This is your second chandelier incident! We are not doing this again!”
“I’m not letting go! He’s helping me!”
The ghost finishes untangling the cape and lifts Georgie gently, floating her down toward the ground with the care you’d use with something precious. Once her feet touch the floor, he leans in and kisses her.
On the mouth.
A full-on ghostly smooch.
Georgie’s eyes go wide, and suddenly she’s grinning like a loon.
“Oh wowie-zowie,” she breathes when he pulls away. “I’ve just kissed the dead and I liked it!”
The ghost tips an invisible hat, winks at her, and disappears in a shower of tiny blue stars.
A round of applause breaks out and soon the entire room is whistling, screaming, and begging for more. With the exception of my mother and me. We are certainly not begging for more.
This is it, Fish yowls as she hops between Georgie and me. We’re dying in a haunted castle!
I always knew it would end like this. Duchess agrees with all the drama she can afford. Honestly, she comes by it naturally. British Shorthair kitties are practically predestined to lay it on thick.
Sherlock gives a few frantic barks. Georgie kissed a ghost! She kissed a ghost! Does that make Georgie a ghost? Did I just give up the ghost? I don’t know what’s happening anymore!
We all saw it, Fish says as I scoop both her and Duchess up in one fell swoop. That was NOT a projection. That was an actual dead person.
An entire cluster of Victorian-costumed staff members are frozen in place, staring at where the ghost disappeared with genuine shock—because whatever just took place wasn’t part of the tour.
Morticia Moonstone appears in the doorway looking absolutely furious.
“Get them out!” Morticia bellows. “I want them all out!”
“He kissed me.” Georgie is still touching her lips, completely dazed. “The ghost kissed me.” She sighs loud enough to incite another round of screams. “This is amazing! Did you see him? He was gorgeous! And he had hands! Cold hands! But very strong! And his lips!”
“We’re leaving,” Mom says, grabbing Georgie’s arm.
“I’m never leaving. I’m staying here forever. I’m going to marry him.”
“He’s dead, Georgie.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
They finally start dragging Georgie toward the exit, and she’s laughing hysterically, her wig askew and bats circling her head like a haunted merry-go-round.
“That was amazing! Did you see him kiss me?”
“We all saw him,” Mom says, mortified. “We’re never coming back here.”
“We’re definitely coming back here. I need to find out his name. And his history. And if he has any living relatives who look like him.”
Morticia marches over to me, and her face is the color of a tomato. “I need you and your family—out—now.”
