The Mulrooney's - Part Four
“Do you hear that?” said Jay.
“Hear what?” said Sarah.
“The only thing squeaking up here,” said Sarah, “is you and the mice. Now let’s get out of here. Attics give me the creeps.”
“But we haven’t finished exploring,” said Jay. ”We might find something we can use.”
“The only thing we’ll find up here is dust bunnies and spiders,” said Sarah. “We’ve got enough of those under our bed. You can explore it on your own, Jay. I’d rather explore the garden. I think we can plant some lovely tomatoes this year. When you’re done, that’s where I’ll be.”
“Fine,” said Jay. “Leave me alone with the squeaky shoes. See if I care."
When Sarah left, Rebecca the maid stepped out of the darkness and into the light, it caused Jay such a fright that he stepped back and stumbled down the attic stairs.
“Sarah!” said Jay. “Wait for me!”
I was hoping it was that dear Mr. Mulrooney, thought Rebecca. When is that man ever going to show his face to me again? I need to get him when he’s off on his own. But he never leaves that woman’s side. And I darn’t show my face to her. Not after what I’ve done.
Rebecca’s original plan had three steps: kill Mrs. Mulrooney with a lethal dose of poison; give the rest of the family enough poison to make them ill; nurse them back to health.
Mr. Mulrooney would then see the dedicated servant in a new light: savior. He would get down on bended knee and ask, no, beg, her hand in marriage.
But, on that awful night, as Rebecca entered the dining room and saw them all dead in their soup bowls, she felt she had no other choice but to join them. So she reached into her apron pocket and drank the poison straight from the bottle.
All I ever wanted was a little attention, thought Rebecca.
“She looked right at me!” said Jay.
“Who did?” said Sarah.
“Did she say anything?”
“No,” said Jay. “She just looked disappointed.”
“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Sarah. “I wasn’t all that impressed when I first met you, either.”
“Very funny,” said Jay. “But this is serious. We can’t have ghosts running around the house. I don’t get this whole ghost business anyway. Why would any self-respecting ghost want to hang around their house for ever and ever? I mean, it’s all over. Move on. Me? I’d be traveling. Paris, France, London, Madrid, Rio. No passports. No luggage. no planes. Just me flying over the ocean blue soaking up the sea-breeze and enjoying my ghostly advantages. Not like the mopes they seem to have in this house.”
”What if you croaked first?” said Sarah. ”What would you do then? Throw on your best sheet and leave me?”
”Of course not,” said Jay. “I‘d wait.”
”What if I lived to be a hundred and you had to wait another seventy years for me to join you? Would you?”
”Wait a minute,” said Jay. ”According to your math, if I had to wait another seventy years for you to die at a hundred, I’d be dead at thirty, which is later this year. Is that what you‘re saying?”
”It depends on how you answer the question.”
“Who is he calling a mope?” said Mr. Mulrooney.
“Pay him no mind, dear,” said Regina. “Perhaps he said mops.”
“No, Mother,” said Dickie. “It was definitely mopes.”
“I wouldn’t mind moping around him for a bit, Mother,” said Megan. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he did die first?”