"It wasn't me!" Gerold's mustache quivered as all eyes in the room traveled from the corpse to his blood-stained hands. Gerold was kneeling over Jessica with white shock on his face.

"Get away from her you monster!" Gerold wasn't sure where the fist came from, but he found himself handily beaten and gagged, a steel spurred boot catching his ribs for good measure.

"We can finally end this madness," Jeremy said, gesturing to the pile of corpses in the dining hall. "Arnold, Petricia, Maria, Tom, and now Jessica,” Jeremy spit.

---

"All of this was quite entertaining for me." I hovered over them, taking in the fine furnishings that once defined my existence.

"A simple invitation letter, a little murder, then watch the rich bastards squirm. You can't imagine how dull things get after one hundred years of floating and wailing in the night. Stuck in my silver nighty from the day of my death. Ghosts can't change, did you know that? What I would do to slip into my velvet silks once more - take a sip of stiff tea in the garden."

Five sullen, transparent faces looked up at the young man in his silver nighty. One, the woman Jessica, began to wail.

"No, no. None of that. I have much to teach you."