CHAPTER SIX
the fool of button house

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

THE SUN RISES another day over Button House, the dawn illuminating the dew drops on the lawn outside. In her room, Effie awakens at the usual crack of dawn — even almost a century later, it still amuses her that this is the time of day she wakes up. She was certainly never so efficient when she was alive. In fact, in her last few months, she can recount times where she woke up just in time for lunch; she might have slept longer, had someone not shaken her awake.

     Recently things have been different though. There is something missing... or someone.

Ever since Alison had come to Button House, Kitty sucked onto her every word and motion like a leech. Indeed, the Cooper girl was her new beam of shining light, which meant freedom for Effie. Oh, what joy! How wonderful it felt to awaken at her own pace in the mornings, to not have a Kitty-shaped alarm clock screaming in her face (right after Fanny's routine jumping-out-of-the-window to kick off the day, of course). This morning in particular, Effie relishes in every second of solitude. She had put up with this for over ninety years, so she thought it was high time she caught a break, passing the baton to a reluctant Alison.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Effie gets up and stretches out her arms, as if it would make a difference to her ghostly form. The sun shines on the dew-adorned lawn outside Button House, ready for a new day. The flapper girl just starts to pivot around, when —

"Good morrow to you!"

     Effie yelps, then clutches her heart with an indignant sigh. "Hello, Thomas..."

     Without her asking him to, the poet trails behind her down the hallway, his mind clearly burdened as always. "I was wondering if you would serve as a critic for my verse? You know, for Alison? Last time, much to my horror, I stole the exquisite words of Kylie Min-ohg without the slightest awareness beforehand!"

     "Oh, I don't know about that," she grins mischievously, "I thought you were quite the hit."

Indeed, it had been of the most amusing things Effie had gotten ear of in Button House — Thomas had ventured into Alison's bedroom late in the evening, the two of them alone, and he masterfully recited his poetic verse ("I'm dreaming you fell in love with me, like I'm in love with you, but dreaming's all I do, if only they'd come true...") to which, in his utter amazement, Alison had echoed back to him ("I should be so lucky in love..."). Of course, that was when she had broken the news to him, through stifled laughter, that his poetry was a carbon copy of a song by the eighties pop star Kylie Minogue, which he overheard on the radio only hours prior.

Little did Thomas know that Effie was eavesdropping in the next room, and it was still a miracle she didn't break her cover as her laughter had peeled her to bits.

"Look, Thomas, I think you just need to face the facts. It's never going to happen between you two. You're not even—"

Effie stops herself, guilt strangling her words as she catches sight of the look in Thomas's eyes. Damn it, why did he have to look like that? So hopeful and smitten. Crushing his dreams of Alison, however naive and pointless they might be, almost feels a tad too cruel. It's not like he can do much harm to her, anyway... not for now.

"... You're just coming on far too strong," she settles for. "Tone it down a bit, alright?"

"Tone it down, got it," Thomas affirms with a thumbs up.

Right on cue, Alison walks into the room with a pair of wellington boots and thick socks in hand, immediately clocking the two phantoms.

"Alison! My dove!" the poet instantly cries. "Oh, you do look most radiant this morning."

So much for toning it down...

The brunette responds with a curt nod and a thinned smile, sitting down beneath the peeling ceiling to put on her shoes. Also in the room are Robin (engrossed in a one-man chess game) and Pat with his hands fastened behind his back and belly jutted out. "Off and out, Alison?" Pat asks sincerely, inspecting her with curiosity.

     "Yeah, I was just gonna go out and check out the garden shed," she replies. "We've been procrastinating it for ages 'cause of that... giant wall of brambles in front of it."

     "You're not the only ones avoiding the shed..." Effie mumbles under her breath, remembering

     "Why don't you give the tour to Alison in there, eh Effie?" Pat asks pointedly.

     "Hey, that's not fair! I went last time!"

     "I'm sorry... what's this about?" Alison interjects, confused.

     With reluctance, Effie goes on to explain, "There are other ghosts in the garden shed you haven't met... American ones."

     "Yanks!" the Captain calls from the next room, somehow overhearing. He soon makes himself visible, lunging in front of the open doorway with a loud pop of his knees.

     "Americans? They're a long way from home..." Alison ponders thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Still, I suppose I'll have to meet them eventually. Might as well bite the bullet. I guess you can lead the way, Effie."

     "Yes, yes..." she trails off and gestures to the front door, but not before spinning around and drawing a finger across her throat towards the scout leader — very rarely does Pat drive her up the wall, however this might be the only exception.

Out of the blue, Alison's brows furrow together as she perks up, looking around wildly. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"A noise? Like... little bells?"

Cluelessly, the other ghosts exchange a look and shrug at each other.

"Sounds like she's finally gone barmy to me," Effie mutters.

"Of course," the living woman mumbles to herself, "because it's not talking to ghosts that makes me crazy, but strange noises... alright then, Effie. Lead the way."

     Reluctantly obliging, Effie walks round to the back garden with Alison, passing through the brambles with ghostly effortlessness while the mortal has to edge her way around. That would be one positive of her predicament — she doesn't have to feel the prickle of those sharp thorns on her skin. Faced with the rotting shed door, Effie already grimaces at the muffled noises of Linda and Lloyd bickering from inside.

     Well, here goes nothing.

     Alison unlocks the door with keys and strides in, Effie trailing behind. They catch the pair mid-quarrel as they whip their heads around to face them.

"Hey! You're the new girl!" Linda exclaims excitedly, then falters. "Or are you? Wait... let me check..." The frazzled woman tentatively pokes a finger at Alison's shoulder, shuddering at the nausea that comes with ghost-to-human contact. "Nope, definitely human. Eurgh..."

"This is Alison, she just moved in with her husband, Mike," Effie introduces her.

"Well, uh, nice to meet you guys?" Alison replies awkwardly.

Lloyd gasps dramatically at the fact they can be seen, eyes popping open wide. "Hold on now... you– you can see us?"

"Yes, come on now, we've been through— oh..." Effie stops, realising the other ghosts had, once again, forgotten to keep Linda and Lloyd in the loop. An honest mistake, most convenient, on her part.

     Lloyd extends his hand out, then forgets he can't handshake with humans, and retracts it awkwardly. "Lloyd Peters and Linda Sullivan, the two that make up the one musical duo of The Dandies. Pleasure to meet you... and talk to you... and be seen by you."

     Alison nods curtly, before letting out a choked breath. "Oh God, what is that smell?" she muffled through her gloved hand clamped over her nose and mouth. Although Effie can't smell it herself, she has no doubt that this rotting scrap of wood planks nailed together needs a makeover.

     "Ah yes, the state of the shed is... problematic," says Linda slowly. "But it's a fixer-upper, right?"

     "Yeah. Another thing for Mike and I to add to our never-ending list of renovations..."

     At this, Effie takes in the garden shed and its contents, something she usually avoids doing due to its inhabitants. Everything in here is coated in cobwebs and thick layers of dust, from the dead planters and pots lining the shelves to the shovels, rakes and other tools propped against the wall. It looks as though it has been neglected for years — perhaps when Lady Heather got old, she gave up on having green thumbs.

     Shaking it off, Alison nods down to the instrument in Lloyd's hands. "Hey, is that a guitar?"

     "It is indeed," Lloyd smiles, cradling it like it's his baby. "I take it everywhere... literally, because I died with it and it just re-appears if I leave it... not that I go anywhere, either."

"Not too far off how it was when we were alive, then," Linda sighs with a hint of annoyance. "You were never anywhere without that damn guitar. Never even took a break!"

"Oh, come on now, this again?"

     "Look, we've been dead for fifty years now, we can't just keep avoiding this!"

     "The more you bring it up, the more of an issue it becomes..."

     As their squabbling voices blend together in an incoherent mess, Alison and Effie exchanged a perplexed glance, both equally as uncomfortable as the other. "Should we just... leave them to it?" asks the living girl.

     "That's what I've been doing for the past fifty years," Effie shrugs, "so yes."

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

     ONCE they get back inside the house, however, Alison is once again seized with paranoia. Back in the main living room — where the majority of the ghosts have now congregated for their routine session of show-and-tell activities — she starts frantically looking around again with wide eyes, like she is onto something. Effie thinks she might have just about lost the plot.

     "Are you seriously not hearing that noise?" she asks incredulously. "It's been annoying me since this morning!"

"What noise?" Mike asks, poking his head into the room.

"Oh, it's a ghost thing, don't worry," his wife replies bluntly, to which he can only shrug and back off.

     Alison's mouth turns into an O as she holds out a finger. "See? Listen..."

     As she prompts them to, all of the other ghosts stop what they are doing and try to be quiet. After a few distilled moments of silence, a faint tinkling noise ripples through the room — it might as well be mistaken for the sound of sleigh bells. But Effie and the other ghosts recognise it immediately, knowing the jovial noise can only come from one person in Button House... or more specifically, one ghost.

     "You mean the bells?" asks Julian.

     "Yes! Oh, thank God I'm not going mad," Alison laughs with relief.

     "Oh, that's probably just Norman," Pat replies casually.

     "I'm sorry, who?"

     "NORMAN! COME ON OUT!"

     Upon the request of Pat's high-pitched holler, the bells jingle nearer until the most unusual of silhouettes appears in the door and, as always, Effie has to restrain herself from giggling just at his appearance. Norman was, put simply, a fool — a court jester to be more specific. Hailing from the Tudor era, Norman had the misfortune to die in tights, pointy shoes and an outfit of hunter green and maroon red (including a pointed hat with ridiculous sprigs). Of course, the defining feature of his ensemble was being adorned with tiny bells, so that even his smallest movements would make them tinkle joyfully — and how was Effie ever supposed to take him seriously looking like that?

     As for the small, raven-eyed man within the suit, he certainly didn't give the impression of someone quick-witted enough to entertain as a court jester. But then again, perhaps everyone had surprises up their sleeves...

     "I found this," says Norman in a monotone, tugging on the robes of Humphrey's body like a dog leash.

     "Ooh, don't mind if I do!" Humphrey's head replies, placed on the sofa. The fool leads the body back to its rightful owner, and once fastened, a normal-looking Humphrey lets out a sigh of relief. "Ah... that's better. Thanks, mate."

     "Any time."

     "I'm sorry, who is this now?" retorts Alison.

     "This is Norman," says Pat incredulously.

     "I'm Norman," the fool echoes with a half-hearted jingle.

"And?"

"What, you haven't met Norman?!" the Captain says incredulously. "Have you been living under a rock?"

"Well, no one cared to introduce me to him, just like no one pointed out the 1960s lovebirds cooped up in the shed," Alison fires back. "You don't have any other secret ghosts in any dark corners of this house, do you? Anyone else I should know about?"

"No, definitely not!" Effie scoffs emphatically, then falters. Not that they're aware of anyway...

"Right then. In that case, it's nice to meet you, erm... Norman?"

     "You too..." Norman blinks, slightly confused. "When did you get here? I don't remember anyone dying recently."

     "Oh, I'm not dead. I'm alive. I can see you."

     A violent rustle of bells ensues, as Norman whirls his head to-and-fro from the ghosts to Alison.

     "Hang on... you– you can– how is that—"

     "Long story," Alison chuckles. "Also another sign that clearly no one tells each other anything around here!"

     "Hey, we didn't not tell him, he's just a bit up-in-the-clouds," Effie says defensively. "Usually we just let him... jingle around."

     Indeed, some ghosts she meets much less often, for they give each other space or simply get lost in the vastness of the Button House grounds. Norman is one of the cases where they all think it's best to let him jingle on his own path, and let him rejoin whenever he wishes. It was similar for another ghost long ago, a Roman general named Decimus — Robin had been trying to dissuade him for centuries to stop marching around the courtyards, reminding him that the Roman Empire had crumbled long ago and his efforts at expansion were futile. But Decimus was insistent and repeated it almost in a therapeutic manner. It was one of Effie's earliest memories as a ghost, and she would sometimes watch him march infinitely... until one day he had vanished. Moved on, they all assumed. Just went to prove how random the exit from this limbo was — a lottery with the afterlife.

     "Well, you can all jingle together for a little while, because Mike and I are heading out to the garden centre." Alison says, ignoring the strange look her husband shoots her as he goes to put his shoes on. "Get along, and behave."

     "Oh, is that the one about ten minutes from here?" Pat asks excitedly. "I swung by there once with Carol. Make sure you stop for lunch, they make some smashing jacket potatoes!"

     "Did you hear any of what I just said?"

     "Yes, I heard you," he sighs, as the other ghosts mumble in agreement.

"Goodbye Alison! Don't be long! I miss you already!" Kitty cries out as the door shuts, batting her eyelids.

Once the car rumbles out of the grounds, Pat clasps his hands together with a small pop. "Right then, who's up for today's activity: charades! You too, Norman, take a seat."

     The fool jingles over with a vacant expression, seating himself next to Mary on the sofa. Effie can't help but sigh inwardly as they approach the next activity. Charades is always a means to an end — just like impressions, it always turns out confusing and frustrating for them all, because no one understands the figures or events they are referencing from different eras. Still, as Effie has discovered in her long run as a ghost, when you're seemingly faced with eternity this way then there aren't many other options.

     Mary goes first, and for once the whole sofa can guess that she is, once again, miming a cow. Next up is Kitty, who spoils the whole thing by giggling and giving them far too obvious clues. As for the Captain, despite having a little too much of a stiff upper lip to engage himself fully, he could keep the gang guessing for a sustained period of time before Pat correctly guessed the song The White Cliffs of Dover.

     "And with that, I think it's your turn Effie," Pat asks cheerfully.

     The flapper girl gets up and walks to her spot, pondering what reference she should use. When she comes up with one, she starts miming away and watching gleefully as ghosts start shooting guesses (mostly Julian, who likes obnoxiously yelling what he thinks is the right answer over and over, as if repetition will make him right). Effie always loves adding an entertaining flourish to her turns in these sorts of activities — she always was a natural-born performer, charming the socks off people since she was a young girl.

When no one is able to guess it, they all finally cave in. Effie stops miming fangs and throws up her arms in disdain. "Come on, it's Nosferatu! Don't tell me none of you have seen Nosferatu... I went with my friend Olive to see it when we came out, and it still gives me nightmares."

     "Actually, now you say it, they might have shown that on the television when I was a lad..." the Captain murmurs, as if he is having unpleasant flashbacks, and clears his throat.

     "What be Nosferatu?" Mary warbles.

     "It's a horror film about a blood-sucking vampire."

     "Oh, it be the devil's work! Lord have mercy on us—"

     Before she can go on further, Pat quickly interjects: "Humphrey, you up for a go?"

     The head, now having fallen from his body once again, quirks his eyebrows with interest. "Well, I don't s'pose it would do much harm... Effie, give me a hand, will you? You're more theatrical than I am."

     "Sure thing," she says. Her role is to act as someone to mime for him, in the event that facial expressions just don't cut it, and he has to Effie places his head upright on a table in front of the gang, then crouches down as he whispers what he wants to say. Once she gets it, she mimes the most crucial part.

     "It's a person?"

     Effie nods, then lets Humphrey take the spotlight. His eyes dart down pointedly to the clean cut across his neck, where the rest of his body should be, and Kitty claps excitedly.

     "Oh! It's you!" she cries.

     "I'm afraid not, love," he sighs, "but look what happened to me, yeah? Big clue!"

     "Ah, yes, I see it... someone beheaded?" asks the Captain.

     "Getting warmer," says Humphrey, knowing all he can do is look down at his neck suggestively. Most often in charades, all he is able to clearly mime is someone from history who has been beheaded — it only takes a process of elimination from there.

     "Ooh, my History lessons are coming back to me, give me a minute..." Pat trails off, tapping his chin.

     "A headless chicken, perhaps?" Mary offers.

     "Nope."

     "No head bear?" Robin asks from his chess board.

     "Nah."

     "Charles I?" Pat asks.

     "Who?" Humphrey asks, brows furrowing together.

     Realising he had stumbled into the pitfall of mixing up eras again, Pat dismisses it with a wave. Suddenly, next to him, the Captain snaps his fingers and guesses, "Anne Boleyn?"

     "Ding ding ding!"

     "WHAT?!" cries out a horrified voice. As the ghosts rejoice in getting an answer correctly for once, a mass of bells tremor stupendously on the sofa — Norman seems completely shocked to hear the information. When Humphrey puts two and two together, he clicks his tongue.

     "Ah yeah," he says slowly. "Hate to be the one to tell you this, mate, but Anne got the chop. You must have just missed it."

     "But... why?" asks Norman innocently.

     Humphrey tuts pityingly, as if the poor, oblivious jester couldn't know better. Effie herself finds the whole thing somewhat amusing, but bites back a smile. Oh sweet Norman, she thinks, just you wait until you find out about the other four wives too.

     "Oh well," the fool jingles contemplatively. "I do remember Anne very well. She was smaller than I thought, from the paintings."

     "Sorry, did you say... you met Anne Boleyn?" Effie does a double take.

     "Well, only on a couple of occasions, when she was with Henry— I mean, His Majesty."

     "Henry... as in the King Henry VIII?"

     Norman considers this, then nods with a tinkle of bells. "I think so, yes."

     "Good Lord, how fascinating..." the Captain whispers, perching on the end of the sofa. Effie must say she is intrigued too — she had no idea Norman had been affiliated with literal royalty, let alone one of the most infamous British monarchs in history.

     "So, how did you end up being a jester for the king?" Pat asks curiously.

     "Well... I'm not that sure, actually," Norman replies honestly. "I don't really know how it all started. All I know is the king's last fool had just been banished from court, and I was... plucked off the street for the job. It was all rather odd. There must have been someone from the palace who spotted me out and about."

     "Oh, did you entertain people in public?" Effie queries.

     "Nay. I was just going about my day. Then, before I know it, I'm being whisked off to a castle and the king is sitting right there. I still didn't know what I was there for. So... I just started talking... and, well, he must have liked me, because I was soon dressed like this and entertaining him in court. I made him laugh a lot... sometimes too much."

     "Well, go on then, tell us a joke," Julian jibes the fool.

     Norman swallows thickly, giving a small, bell-adorned shake of his head. "I... I don't know any..."

     "Come on! You've got to know some. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

     "I don't– I don't know... whose chicken is it? Should I know the chicken?"

     "Wha– no, it's– it's a joke, Norman."

     "Oh! Ha-ha-ha..." The fool lets out a half-hearted laugh, stops, and then blinks. "Hang on, I don't get it—"

"That's because there's no punchline yet, you muppet!" Julian groans. "Honestly, for a jester you think he'd be a bit funnier, or at least have a sense of humour at all."

     Norman's face contorts with self-deprecation as he shrugs noisily. "Yes, that's probably why a servant tried pushing me off the roof once..."

     While Thomas widens his eyes, wondering whether they should unpack that, Effie goes on to ask, "So how long were you with the king?"

     "Oh, about a month," he replies. "I died before I could be replaced."

     "Ouch..." Effie mumbles, raising her brows at him.

     "I don't know what else I could have done though," Norman says honestly. "I wasn't trying to be funny... I just opened my mouth, tripped over a few things by accident, and the king was laughing his head off. But it was a job, and I happily took it... although after a month of pretending you're funny when you aren't, it is probably a matter of time anyway."

     As his fingertips try to reach his neck, instead finding the fabric of his eternal jester costume, Norman sighs. Effie must say she can't help but feel bad for him — most of all because she never knew all of this. As oblivious as he might be to it, his life sounded fascinating, having crossed paths with such interesting figures. Stories from Norman could have been entertaining in all those years of boredom, boredom, boredom...

Something suddenly strikes Effie then — a sort of shame and guilt, out of nowhere, that she perhaps doesn't pay enough attention. Maybe Alison was right. Should it really have taken her over ninety years to ask Norman about his life, or finally stop and listen to Linda and Lloyd? There was a part of her that was still rejecting this life– no, death. Part of her that was convinced that she would wake up one day and it would all be a long, whimsical dream after a tirade of drinking. And that part of her hadn't paid attention to any of them, not deep down, because she was still believing it was all temporary...

A part of her that isn't ready to die yet.

A joyous jingling brings her abruptly out of her slump, as Norman has started laughing hysterically — out of nowhere — at something Robin did. The caveman in the corner, still hunched over his chessboard, seems perplexed. "I dunno what I did," he grumbles. "I just put dooka-dooka man on square, and pointy man start laughing."

"It's the way... he looked at the board..." Norman squeals with laughter, well and truly off his kilter. But God, is it contagious. The sheer ridiculousness of it all soon has Effie cracking a smile, Mary and Kitty giggling along, followed by Pat chortling away and Juliann dropping his obnoxious facade. Soon enough, all of the ghosts except Fanny and the Captain are laughing, with no clear reason as to why. And it feels good.

It seems Norman was right — he is only funny when he isn't trying, except he doesn't realise that it is his exact strength.

"Oh, goodness..." Pat chuckles, exhaling and wiping tears of laughter from under his spectacles. "Who wants to tackle the charades next, eh?"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 23rd september, 2022 )

hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! it was a bit more work than usual for me, since this was not based on any ghosts episodes and i just had to make up my own material. however we met a new ghost which is norman, aka our favourite court jester! this might be the most fun chapter to write for me in that i cracked up so much with norman's scenes 😂 he truly is something else. norman won't appear all the time, similar to linda and lloyd, but it will certainly be fun to drop him into a few situations. also his character may or may not have entirely been inspired in the first place by this image:

there were quite a few historical tidbits included in this chapter, so allow me to break them down for you as best as i can! i tried my best to do my research with these, and i also didn't want to go too deep into the historical stuff because otherwise my writing would get bogged down, but hopefully it added some fun authenticity and showed the clashing of eras between the ghosts:

━ court jester: also known as a jester, fool or joker, they were employed by monarchs or noblemen to entertain guests during the medieval and renaissance times. one of the most famous examples is will somers, jester to henry viii, and apparently through his job he could often get away with delivering bad news through entertainment. the fool which norman mentions being banished from court is a reference to an actual fool, eustace chapuys, who was banished from court for overstepping in what he said to henry basically. there is too much to say here, but much of my research came from a really helpful article which i'm going to include the link for in an in-line comment here if you're curious!

━ the white cliffs of dover: a 1942 song by vera lynn, a british singer who had many songs and performances during wwii that were very popular. her most famous song is arguably we'll meet again. thought it was fitting for the captain to reference her due to his wartime-oriented mind!

━ nosferatu: a silent horror/fantasy film from 1922, an unofficial adaptation of bram stoker's dracula with the following description: "hutter is sent by his master to finalise a deal with count orlok. however, he soon learns that orlok is a vampire who has his eyes set on hutter's wife, ellen."

━ king charles i: king of england from 1625 until his death in 1649 where he was executed. (he was slightly after humphrey's time, hence him being confused when pat mentions him in charades)

━ anne boleyn: queen of england from 1533-1536, as king henry viii's second wife. she was executed for treason among other charges. she is a very divisive figure in history and i'm not a tudor expert myself, so i suggest looking her up if you are more curious!

━ king henry viii: king of england from 1509 until his death in 1547. is mostly known for his six wives (divorced, beheaded and died! divorced, beheaded, survived!)

also as i'm writing this chapter, season 4 of ghosts is due to premiere today! i'm super excited, and that should hopefully fuel my inspiration for this book, so assuming i've got the time to write then more updates could be on the way sooner rather than later...

▕▔▔▔▔▔▔▿▔▔▔▔▔▔▏
horrible histories
icon of today:
▕▁▁▁▁▁▁▵▁▁▁▁▁▁▏

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

( of course, with the arrival of
norman, we have to celebrate the
iconic will somers / henry viii skit! )

have a good day/evening,
— IMOGEN  ♡