"Dies?"

I poured the Irish cream into my coffee and turned to face those in the kitchen with me.

I love my new kitchen. It is so huge and for some weird reason, it is fully stocked, right down to the salt and pepper. How that is even possible, considering I haven't even been to town to pick up supplies?

Its like someone knows me even better than I do.

Or can read my mind.

I laughed to myself.

Yea like people can read minds.

I looked at the company I had with me.

A talking crow and the ghosts of two young men from the 50s. And, of course, let's not forget Baron van Hummingbird.

So, mind readers looked like a distinct possibility.

But who was it?

Was it Harold?

Was it Calvin?

Was it Russell?

Was it Baron von what's his name?

Where did the suspenseful movie music come from?

I leaned against the counter and sipped my coffee.

Perfect.

"So," I finally inquired.

"The Baron roams the house all night and then every morning at around 7, he comes into the bedroom, moaning and calling out his wife's name. And then he lays on the bed and dies."

Calvin and Harold nodded.

"That's pretty much it."

So, if the insane crows didn't wake me, then the Baron would.

Suddenly, sleeping in, seemed like a thing of the past.

'Maybe there is another bedroom I can use.'

"There is another bedroom you can use."

I glared at Harold and pointed my finger.

"Ah ha. It's you."

"It's me, what?"

"You can read minds," I barked.

Russell started laughing and shit.

Apparently laughing expires his bowels as well.

"Read minds? He is lucky if he can read. PERIOD."

"Hey you. You. You. CROW."

Russell looked at me.

"Some real Einsteins you have hooked up with here, Krall."

He laughed and ...

shit.

Luckily, I had found a multi levelled bird stand made from an old tree trunk. It had a catch trough at the bottom for Russell's crap.

Now if I could find something to filter his oral crap.

"So, Harold. It is not you who has been reading my mind?"

Harold nodded.

Calvin finished wiping his glasses and put them back on his face.

"Why do you think someone can read your mind, Krall?"

"Seriously?"

I refilled my coffee as I continued, complete with a double dose of Irish cream. I felt I would need it.

"How long has it been since someone has lived here?"

They both shrugged.

"Maybe 20 years or so and then it was only for a few days and before that, maybe another 10 years."

I nodded.

"So. No one has been here for 20 years. No one has cleaned this place for 20 years. No one has brought food in here for 20 years."

Calvin cleaned his glasses. Again.

"Will you please stop that," I pleaded.

"Sorry."

He put his glasses back on, as Harold punched him in the arm.

Well, tried to punch him.

"What was that for?" Calvin squeaked.

"Because you are a dummy."

I looked at Russell.

He shrugged.

"They are your friends, not mine."

I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Calvin? The house?"

Calvin nodded.

"I keep the house clean."

I stood there stunned.

A hundred questions were racing through my mind.

I knew i should not ask any of them and I did my best not to,

But .....

"Why do you keep the house clean."

Calvin looked very serious.

"I have a very serious dust allergy."

I should have knew better.

"Okay. I am done," Russell cawed.

He flew out the open kitchen window.

"Later, Krall," He snipped as he left.

"And good luck."

Now he was laughing.

Suddenly outside was filled with the sound of hundreds of crows cawing.

"Sorry, Krall," I heard Russell yell.

I listened as Russell led them away from the house. The cawing slowly faded.

I filled my cup again.

I stared at the coffee pot in my hand.

Why was it still full?

Whatever!!!!!

"So, Calvin. You are allergic to dust?"

Calvin nodded.

"Yea. It came up suddenly about 30 or so years ago."

"Okay," I muttered, as I turned to the cupboards behind me.

There had to be something stronger here.

The cupboard was filled with liquor. I grabbed a bottle of scotch and opened it, drinking deeply.

"Shit, that is good."

I looked at Calvin.

He was about to take his glasses off again but I glared at him.

He changed his mind.

"How long have you been dead, Calvin?"

I could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I was murdered in 1955."

"You were not murdered," Harold suddenly snapped.

I smiled.

This should be interesting

"What do you call it, greaser?"

"It is called an accident."

Calvin laughed, sarcastically.

"Accident. AcciDENT. ACCIDENT."

Calvin's face started to grow red.

I shit you not, RED.

"You ran me over, you retard."

I quickly sat at the table.

I quickly got back up and grabbed the scotch and the full coffee pot.

I sat again.

They both went silent as they stared at me.

"Continue," I encouraged.

"Like I was saying," Calvin continued.

"This grease ball, retard, ran me over."

"It was a damn accident."

Calvin jumped up and pointed a finger at him.

The red face was so cool.

"You ran me over because I was dating your sister."

"It had nothing to do with Ethel Sueann."

I laughed.

They both glared at me.

"Sorry. Please DO continue."

Calvin cleaned his glasses and stared at Harold.

"Do you want to hear how this moron murdered me?"

'Shit, yea,' I thought.

"Shit, yea," I said excitedly.

This was going to be good.