1 A Spirited Manor by Kate Danley

followed the
ghost towards the library where she first came upon arriving in the house.
    The ghost walked through the
closed door.  Clara tried to open it, but it seemed stuck, as if something
heavy was pressed against it.  She pushed and pushed with all her might.  When
she finally opened the door enough to enter, she stepped in and onto something
soft.  She looked down in the dim light of the ghost's illumination and
realized she was standing upon a housecoat sleeve.
    The housecoat was being worn by
one Norman Scettico.  He was the heavy object blocking the door.  His body was
completely still and he did not move one bit as Clara opened her mouth and
screamed.

Chapter Fifteen
    I n an instant, the house was
awake and alive.  Pounding feet came marching down the stairs.  Clara backed
out of the library and pointed.
    Wesley ran forward and gathered
her up into his arms.  She felt herself unable to stop trembling as she buried
her face into his strong chest, his thin nightshirt soft against her cheek, the
lapels of his velvet night robe giving her something to clutch to as she tried
to will away the memory of the dead man.
    Horace raced into the library as
he put on his glasses.  She heard him exclaim, "Great scot!"
    The others passed by and peered
into the room.
    "Well, I'll be
damned," said Marguerite.  "I guess that was one way to get him to
shut up."
    Clifford came over to Clara,
patting her back.  "There, there," he said, as if trying to coax her
away from Wesley's comfort and into his own arms.  "What a terrible fright
you have had."
    Horace came out and glowered
angrily at Clara.  "Tell me what happened.  Tell me every detail down to
the last."
    "I came downstairs,"
Clara gulped.
    "Why?  Why did you come
downstairs?" demanded Horace.  "We agreed everyone would stay locked
in their room."
    Clara looked up at Wesley,
knowing that he was the only one who might understand what really happened. 
Instead, she just said, "I heard a noise.  I thought I heard someone
walking down the hallway and so I got up to investigate.  I thought I heard
them going into the library, so I followed.  Only, there was something heavy
against the door.  I pressed and pressed.  I'm afraid that it was Norman."
    Wesley smoothed her hair,
resting his cheek upon her forehead.  "We'll get it all sorted.  Don't you
worry."
    She realized that at this point,
Norman would have been the one to accuse her of murder, but he was not there to
shout such accusations.  So instead, the entire room looked around at one
another, unsure of what to do next.
    Clifford shifted uncomfortably. 
"I'm sure you didn't kill him..." he finally said.  "But the
constable will want to know that we asked... You didn't kill him by any chance,
did you?  While you were sleep walking or anything?"
    "Oh for gods sake,"
said Marguerite.  "Any idiot could tell that she did not kill him, then
push him against the door, then pull the door open, and then turn into a
blubbering mess.  Obviously Gilbert escaped his room and is on the hunt.  We
need to find him before he finds us."
    "I locked Gilbert’s door
with my own hands," Horace said, offended.  "You and Norman saw me do
it."
    "We certainly did, but one
of your witnesses is dead, leading me to believe that maybe things were not
locked as tightly as you believed."
    "Well, I never," said
Horace.  "Let's go look in on Gilbert and we shall have our answer."
    "Well, let's!" said
Marguerite, challengingly.
    Violet tried to take Clifford's
arm, but he pulled away, more interested in keeping pace with Marguerite.  So
Violet trailed behind, forgotten and alone.
    Wesley pulled a handkerchief
from his pocket and dried Clara's cheeks as the party moved down the hallway
towards the servant quarters.
    "I must look a
fright," Clara apologized.
    "My dear, you look lovely
as always," Wesley smiled.  "Do you think you can stand much more of
this?" he asked.  "I could take you to your room to lie down."
    She shook her