A/N: You may have noticed that this story was given a T rating. There are a few parts that are a little violent and gory. Minimum language is used, but there are some "adult situations".

As far as other disclaimers go, I created the characters Destiny Chalmers, Craig Jordan, Koji Wendell, Dustin T. Dust, Asher T. Ashes, Bea Witch, and Rolly. (The names "Dustin T. Dust", "Asher T. Ashes", and "Bea Witch" can be found on mausoleums by the exit of the ride, though. I cannot take credit for those wonderful names.) Unless otherwise noted later, everyone else comes from the Disney ride.

Destiny at the Haunted Mansion

Prologue

1943…

Demons and ghouls shrieked and popped out from behind every shadow, reaching for him.

"Come 'ere, George! There's always room for one more!" a specter shrieked as it jumped out from behind Madam Leota's red, velvet high-backed chair. Leota's cruel, dark laughter echoed through the dark séance room.

"Goblins and creeps," the mystic chanted, "wherever you're sitting, come out now, and do my bidding!" Her voice was raspy, tinged with venom and hate.

"Leave me alone!" George Gracey screamed. Madam Leota just cackled with malicious delight and sat back in her chair and gazed into the crystal ball sitting on the table before her.

The ghouls guffawed and sniggered as he stumbled and tripped, trying desperately to find his way out of the séance room. Finally, he found the door, yanked it open, and practically flew down the stairs. Lily! She had killed Lily! And Emily… Oh God what have I done! George thought as he raced down the dark hallway. The screams and moans of Madam Leota's wraiths chased him, clawing at his heels. The eyes in the family portraits seemed to follow him, piercing into his terrified soul.

George ran into the foyer. As he frantically looked about for any kind of means of escape, his eyes happened to catch sight of the handsome portrait of himself that hung above the fireplace. It was at least twenty years old; he had been about twenty-three when it was painted. His own bright blue eyes seemed to glare down at him, and that smug, aristocratic smile he had worn looked as if it had curled into a cruel smirk. Before his very eyes, the portrait aged and withered until it was a picture of a long-dead corpse. It was like watching a train wreck. At the same time George was horrified looking at it, he was unable to take his gaze off. Forcing his will to be stronger than his fear, he managed to tear his eyes away from the Dorian Gray-esque image and rushed to the front door. With a ferocity he did not know he had, he turned and yanked the door handle so hard it should have broken off.

"You can't escape your fate, Master Gracey," George heard Madam Leota say calmly. He turned around, but he could not see her anywhere. Her dark, sadistic chuckle reverberated in the room, sending chills racing up his spine. Suddenly, tarot cards flew into the foyer and whirled around him like a fortune telling tornado. One card separated from the others and hovered in front of George's face.

As it dawned on him what was on it, the color drained from George's cheeks and his eyes grew wide in fear. Pictured on the tarot card was a skeleton swinging from a hangman's noose. With a grimace, he slapped the cards away and watched as they fluttered to the floor.

George frantically looked around, seeking any escape route. There had to be some way out of the mansion. He spied a small sliver of light coming through a wooden panel of the wall. Of course, hethought, the gallery!

He ran to the hidden sliding panel that served as a door and pulled it open. Inside was a small, round room. The gallery was lit by ten gargoyle candleholders that were perched along the walls. They were high enough up that George had to stand on his tiptoes to reach a candle. Higher up along the walls were portraits: his mother, Mary; his first wife, Lily; his uncle, Edward Gracey; and another relative. The paintings, George had always thought, never looked complete. It always seemed like something had been covered up. He regretted not taking a closer look at the portraits before they had been hung up on the gallery walls, but Leota had been so insistent at having them put up that she did not even wait for him to finish building the gallery.

Holding the candle close to the walls, George searched for the second door. When he was building the room, it had seemed like such an imaginative idea at the time to have two sliding "hidden" doors. Had he even completed the second door? He searched his memory, but he could not find any clues. He had not even built windows yet! He silently cursed.

With a loud BAM! the open door slammed shut.

Madam Leota's laughter echoed throughout the gallery. "Don't you regret not finishing this room, George? You can't escape! This chamber has no windows and no doors!" She laughed again, her voice sending chills of pure terror down George's spine. He looked up at the unfinished ceiling, but there was no way he could get up there, into the attic, and get to the balcony that led down into the backyard. There had to be a second door somewhere!

"Hey! What the-?" George began to yell. He started to float up and felt as if strong, invisible hands were holding him around his waist. The force carried him upwards, towards the unfinished ceiling. For a fleeting, terrified moment, George thought Leota would bash his head into the ceiling's rafters. He closed his eyes, waiting for the painful impact.

But it did not come. He slowly opened his right eye, and then his left eye. He almost sighed in relief until he realized he was hovering near the gallery's ceiling, and the top of his head was mere centimeters away from the large, wood support beams. Is she teasing me or waiting for me to do something? Is she trying to decide what to do with me? The anticipation and suspense was almost as bad as the painful death he had envisioned. He was almost thankful when he heard her hair-raising chortle.

"You can't run from me, George, because I see all! I can control your soul through my crystal ball!" Leota chanted giddily, in a mocking, child-like tone. She giggled, clearly pleased with her little rhyme.

"No!" screamed George at the top of his lungs. He felt something slap the side of his face. He looked up and saw a rope dangling from the rafters of the unfinished ceiling. The rope brushed his cheek again and he was suddenly reminded of the tarot card. "What are you going to do to me, Leota?" George managed to ask as calmly as he could as he floated nearly thirty feet in the air. "Are you going to kill me? Just like you killed Lily! Just like you killed everyone I loved!"

"Oh, no, Master Gracey. Death is too good for you. I'm not going to kill you; I'm going to keep you imprisoned forever!" Leota started to chant. Her words were so melodic and haunting that they sank into George's brain and down into his soul. He felt compelled to close his eyes and listen. He could not tell what language it was. Latin? French? It did not matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore…

George felt as if his soul were being torn away, as if his spirit were no longer his own or under his control. He was being pulled into a sickly green light…

The swinging rope slapped his face again and his thoughts cleared for a brief moment. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He had to fight! He had to think of some way to get away from her!

"I'll never be your prisoner, Leota!" He reached up and wearily grabbed the rope, a plan formulating in his cloudy mind. He struggled to loop the end of the rope into a loose noose while tears burned in his eyes. Even when he could properly think straight, he could not even tie a decent knot, much less a noose! But George decided now was not the time to dwell on such frivolous facts as he managed to create something akin to a small lasso.

Leota continued her strange chant, too caught up in it to notice as George pulled the noose down over his head and under his chin. "I would rather be dead than be your hostage," George muttered through gritted teeth.

She was silent for only a couple of seconds as she took in this new change of plans. After giving it only another moment's thought, the psychic said coolly, "As you wish, Master Gracey."

At the snap of her fingers, the force holding George in the air suddenly let go of him and he dropped. He hoped his death would be quick, but he was not so fortunate. Rather than snapping his neck, the noose just tightened painfully. His body swung from left to right as he choked and hot tears poured down his cheeks. Memories flashed though his mind and he saw faces of friends and lost loves.

In her séance room, Madam Leota was still watching him. "But I'll have you know, Master Gracey, that death isn't an escape. You will be doomed to roam Gracey Mansion forever!" Leota smiled complacently, pulled her long, black hair across her shoulder, and relaxed in her chair. She looked into her crystal ball and watched with malevolent glee as George's body swung like a clock's pendulum. She leaned over the orb and immediately felt herself being pulled forward by an incredibly strong force. "No!" she shrieked. She struggled with all of her might, but she could not prevent her backfired magic from pulling her soul into the crystal ball.

George Gracey allowed a small, smug smile to flicker across his pale lips as he closed his eyes. His body slowly stopped swinging and he gladly accepted death.