Mike was not so lucky. He dusted off his jeans as best he could, but decided that he would simply have to wait until he could wash them for them to be completely cleaned. He limped slightly as he re-entered the house. "I didn't see anything," he reported to the unsurprised Micky and Davy.
"At least we're still safe," Micky replied. He noticed the limp. "You okay?"
Mike shrugged. "Nothin' major," he replied. "Just twisted my ankle a bit."
Micky nodded, laying his jacket on the ironing board. Davy was silent, sitting at the kitchen table and observing Micky's ironing attempt.
"I just wish I knew what was going on 'ere," the Englishman spoke up, suddenly.
"So do I," Micky agreed, running the iron over the sleeve of his tuxedo.
"I knew there was something weird about this place from the moment I saw it," Davy continued, barely noticing Micky's comment. "It just sort of called to me from the road."
"Called to you?" Mike repeated, pulling off his shoe.
Davy shrugged slightly, raising his shoulders. "Yeah," he replied. "Like I just had to get in."
Mike leaned back in his chair and propped his sore ankle on an empty chair. "Who owned this house before?" he asked.
Davy shrugged again. "Some old man," he replied. "When we went to look at it, there was only an agent."
Micky agreed. "That's right," he stated. "A suit and tie man. Seemed more interested in making money than in anything about the house."
"Yeah!" Davy agreed. "Jenny asked him about when the house had been built and who had lived in it before, and he just said that it had been built sometime around ninety years ago?"
"Yeah, and that some old guy who had owned it died suddenly," Micky recalled. "The guy who was selling it lived far away."
"Old guy owned it and lived far away," Mike repeated. "I think someone wants this house. But who?"
"'Ooevah was running away jus' now," Davy stated. "But who knows who that was."
Micky ran the iron over his suit a final time and held up the jacket. "How's it look?" he asked.
Mike gave him the thumbs up sign, and Davy nodded. "Bettah keep it in the closet for the next two days," he warned.
Micky agreed, picking up a hanger and placing the tuxedo on it.
Stop him!
Davy sat up suddenly, looking around. "Did you guys 'ear that?" he asked.
Micky hung the hanger on a cabinet door. "Hear what?"
That fiend must be stopped.
"That!" Davy half-shouted. He stood up sharply.
Marcus must not succeed.
"Marcus?" Davy repeated. "Who's Marcus?"
"I don't know," Mike answered. "Davy? What do you hear?"
Marcus must not get the house.
"Marcus who?" Davy repeated.
"Who's Marcus?" Micky asked.
Marcus must not have my house!
"Who is Marcus?" Davy repeated, louder. "I can't stop him if I don't know who 'e is!"
"Davy!" Mike half shouted, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him. "What do you hear?"
Davy's eyes appeared to be slightly glazed over. "A voice," he replied, and his words made him sound as though he was asleep. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he stared at an empty space in front of him. "He's here!" he gasped.
"Who?" Mike asked. "Who's here?"
"The-the old man!" Davy realized. "Who is Marcus?"
'Marcus is a fiend who must be stopped. He wants this house, and will do anything to have it. He must not succeed.'
"Marcus wants the house," Davy repeated. He nodded. "It all makes sense now."
"To you, maybe," Micky half shouted. "Fill the rest of us in!"
Davy barely noticed the drummer's shouts, and Mike motioned for him to be quiet.
The old man was barely visible, assuring Davy that, no matter what else he might think, the man was a ghost. He was dressed in an dusty-looking suit, and he had a long gray beard. He looked tired and old.
"How come I can see you?" he asked.
The man shrugged his translucent shoulders. 'I don't know,'he replied. 'But you must help me. Please'
"What can I do?"
'Marcus was my son-in-law,' the ghost began. 'My daughter was married at a young age. At first, I thought he was a good person. We were all happy. But then, my daughter died at only thirty five years of age. I was grieved. Marcus was as well. They had two children. Both very young when my daughter died.'
' Marcus grieved so badly he was unable to truly recover from his wife's death. He began to somehow think that I had been the cause of it. He forbade the children to see me. They believed me, of course, when I said that it was only their father's grief talking. But his actions caused a permanent rift. I was so insulted by this that I told Marcus I would not let him have the house when I died. Marcus had wanted this house for a long time. He became angry. Extremely angry. I made arrangements with my lawyer to have my will changed.'
The ghost man sighed. 'Sadly, before we could change it, my life was cut short. Thankfully, the courts upheld my lawyer's claim that I had planned to cut Marcus from the will. The house was sold, and that is how your friend bought it.'
Davy nodded. "And because of that, he's in danger, right?"
"Danger? Who? Me?" Micky asked. He was thoroughly confused.
"Micky, be quiet," Mike half-hissed, trying to calm his friend. "Davy will explain everything when he's done talking to the voices in his head."
Reluctantly, Micky obliged.
The ghost went on speaking, ignoring Micky and Mike. 'Yes,' he replied, answering Davy's question. 'Great danger. I have tried to help, but sadly, there is not much I can do from beyond the grave.' He sighed, shaking his head. His wrinkled face was solemn. 'There is something here that Marcus wants. Something more, I think, then money. But most importantly, he wants your friends out.'
Davy nodded in understanding. "We'll figure it out," he assured the ghost. "Thanks a lot for your help, mister -." His words trailed off. The man had faded before he'd even begun to speak.
"Davy?" Mike asked.
Davy turned, as if seeing his friends for the first time. "He wants the house," he explained.
