The stately Whitton Manor was a ghost of its former self.

The cold, stone building stood bleak and imposing; its whitewash stripped away by time and the weather. Here and there broken windowpanes decorated the three-story home revealing inside shutters the color of dried blood. The bent and rusty hinges upon which they hung screamed out a shrill protest each time a strong wind disturbed their rest. Majestic oak doors were ornamented with veins of splits and grooves, carved by the constant attention of the sun. Multitudes of vines had slithered up the great marble columns of the porch, hiding their splendor completely.

Inside, a thick layer of dust blanketed everything. Antique furniture that, had it been in good condition, could have brought thousands of dollars, lay in ruins throughout the house. Veils of cobwebs filled the manor.

A vengeful Mother Nature had reclaimed the once-pristine grounds. The white gravel carriage path which led to the main road, as well as paths to other buildings on the grounds, had vanished beneath the grass and weeds clawing their way upwards like the undead seeking to escape their graves. Briars, thistles, and thorns were all that grew in a garden that had been both the envy and the delight of neighbors for miles around.

Yes, the stately Whitton Manor was a ghost of its former self...and the ghost sat waiting.

"...They are considered armed and dangero..."

The black Chevy Malibu rolled to a stop along the side of the road, all of its power gone. The five men inside breathed a sigh of relief when they saw there were no lights on the road behind them.

"Hey, Cole," the man in the front passenger seat said.

"Yeah, Jess?" the driver asked.

"Next time you steal a getaway car, check with the owner and see if we can get a warrantee."

All five men laughed.

"Well, Frankie," Jess said as he looked at the man sitting behind Cole, "what do you think?"

The man thought for a few seconds. "I think we ought to push this hunk of junk into the ditch and hoof it."

Jess nodded. "Sounds good. If we throw some brush on the car, it shouldn't be discovered until sometime tomorrow at the earliest. That should give us a good head start."

Everyone agreed and the men began to gather their loot from the bank robbery. Within minutes, the car was in the ditch and well covered with brush, and the thieves were starting off down the road. After nearly 45 minutes of walking, they turned off the road and began to cross a field.

Without warning, the clouds opened up and a cold, hard rain began to pour. Lightning like a white-hot pitchfork hurled from the heavens struck the ground several yards behind the men, causing them to pick up their pace considerably.

At the field's distant edge, Jim, the youngest of the gang, spotted what appeared to be a row of tree. He brought them to the attention of the others.

Jess brought them to a halt. "I know you're not supposed to stand under a tree during a lightning storm, but considering how close that last strike was, I'm willing to take my chances."

Bob, the fifth member of the gang, spoke up. "At least we'll be dry."

Everyone agreed.

The gang started off again, this time at a steady run. It wasn't long before they reached the cover of the trees.

To their delight, they discovered themselves on what was once a road of some sort. A row of tall oaks lined the other side as well. Overhead, their branches came together, forming a canopy that block all but a few drops of the steady rain. Unsure of which direction to go, they took the time to get their breath and decide on their next move.

The landscape was lit up suddenly with another flash of lightning.

"Did you see that?" Frankie asked.

"See what?" Cole wanted to know.

"Up ahead," Frankie pointed. "It looked like a house."

The men waited for the next flash of lightning. Their wait wasn't a long one, and when the landscape was once again illuminated, they saw what had caught Frankie's attention.

"Judging by the way this road has gone to pot," Jess reasoned, "my guess is that that place is deserted."

"Not for long," Bob said as he began walking up the road. The others quickly joined him.

When they finally reached the house, they could tell that it was, at one time, a grand old place. Jim wasted no time in trying to find a way in. He was surprised to find the front door unlocked.

"The last caretaker must have forgotten to lock up when he left," Cole said as he pushed past his brother and entered the manor.

As the men began to look around, Frankie began to gather up some of the ruined chairs and placing the wood in a large fireplace he found in a sitting room just off the foyer. "Hey, my matches are wet," he said. "Do any of you guys have a lighter?"

Bob walked in to where Frankie was and handed him the lighter he carried. It didn't take long for the dry wood to blaze to life. The fire soon drew the others into the room.

Once they were sufficiently dry, Jess suggested they explore the house. "Who knows," he said, "we might still find something of value here."

"Bob and I will check out the third floor," Cole said as he started back out into the foyer.

"I'll keep the fire going, Jess," Frankie volunteered, "if you want to take Jim and see what's upstairs."

Jess nodded, and he and Jim left the room.

In the quiet, Frankie could hear his brother and their friends opening the doors and searching the rooms above. As he waited patiently, he suddenly felt a cold chill. "I'd better scrounge up some more wood."

By the time the others returned, he had a pile of broken furniture stacked near the fireplace that would keep the fire going most of the night. He smiled as the others entered.

"It doesn't look like we are going to have to sleep on the floor," Jess said. "Jim and me found a few of the beds upstairs to be in pretty good shape."

"Too bad we couldn't find anything to eat, though," Jim said. "I'm starting to get a bit hungry."

"Ah, starting tomorrow we won't have to worry about going hungry for a long while," Bob grinned, "thanks to the generous people of Keystone City."

"We might as well try to get us some sleep," Frankie said. "In a place as fancy as this used to be, I'm betting the bedrooms have fireplaces in them too."

"Sure do," Jess told him.

"Then let's gather up some of this wood and hit the hay."

Each man gathered up an armload of wood and started upstairs.

"What about the loot?" Jim asked.

"Just make sure the doors are locked and we'll leave it down here," Jess told him. "We'll put it under this old sofa until morning."

Once they were certain everything was secure, the five men began to climb the stairs. As each man chose a room, Bob stayed long enough in each to help get the fires started. Frankie help him with his own fire before returning to his room. It wasn't long before each man was sound sleep.

"So, what do you think?"

"The one mentioned loot."

"It's been a while since we have had any dealings with the living."

"True, and we were quite the crime fighters."

"Well, since we haven't passed on, I would say that our jobs on the mortal plane aren't finished."

"Then let's teach these bums that crime doesn't pay."

Cole was in the middle of a dream about scantily clad native girls feeding him tropical fruit when he heard something. He wasn't certain if it was part of the dream, or if one of his buddies had come in. Wearily, he opened one eye.

"'Zat you, Bob?" he asked.

There was no answer. Opening his other eye, he saw the outline of a man standing in the shadows.

"Who's there?"

In response, the figure simply faded away.

Cole rubbed his eyes. "Hmm. Must still be dreaming."

As he turned over, he found himself staring into a pair of floating eyes. Before he could react, he felt a clammy hand clamp around his mouth. He struggled, but he couldn't break free. Cole could feel the pressure on his mouth growing stronger and stronger, and then, without warning, the hand was gone.

The man sat up, trying to make himself calm down and breathe. As he collected his wits, he saw a hand, presumably the one that had held him helpless appear in front of him. He could only watch as it balled into a fist, and then he saw nothing else as he felt the punch and fell back on his pillow, unconscious.

"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed?"

Jim turned over and pulled the covers up around his neck, not realizing the voice he heard was real.

"Are you Goldilocks?" the voice asked.

The sleeping man pulled the covers even tighter and turned back over.

All of a sudden, felt the side of his bed being lifted and found himself falling into the floor. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around.

"Come on, Bob," he said. "This isn't funny."

When Bob didn't answer, Jim slowly stood up. He was alone in the room.

"Maybe I was dreaming," he muttered, "and just fell out of bed."

Taking another look around, he started to climb back into bed. As he reached for the covers still lying on the floor, his eyes widened as they began to rise on their own.

Hanging in the air before him, Jim could see the outline of someone beneath them. "Real funny, Bob," he said as he reached out and grasped the covers. Expecting to find his brother, Jim gave the covers a tug.

There was no one there.

"Who...who..."

"You sound like that owl that Dr. Midnight kept as a pet," the disembodied voice said.

Jim suddenly lost his voice altogether.

"On second thought, "Goldilocks"," the voice said, "you can keep the bed."

All Jim could do was faint.

Bob was a sound sleeper. His brothers used to kid him that he could sleep through an elephant stampede and his only response was to laugh and agree.

Bob wasn't laughing now.

He had been jolted awake when he felt the weight of something very large drop onto is chest. When his eyes popped open, he had found a very large man with blond hair sitting on his chest. The man was dressed in what appeared to be an old bomber pilot's uniform. The only identifying marks he could see was a black skull in a circle of red.

Bob started to struggle, but found that he had been bound to the bed with rope; his pillowcase was tied around his mouth as a gag. He could do nothing but watch in horror as the man picked up his pillow and put it over his face. It wasn't very long before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

The man floated off of Bob's chest. Just before he faded from view, he patted him on the chest. "Don't worry, you're not dead. But before this night is over, you and your buddies might just wish you were."

And then the man was gone.

"Three down," said the man who had just left Bob's room.

His two companions appeared as if out of nowhere. They wore the same kind of outfit as the first man, even sporting the same insignia. Unlike the first man, however, these two had brown hair, not blond. The first was tall and slender and clean-shaven. The second one, too, was tall, although he was a little huskier than the first, but not quite so as the blond. Unlike his friend, he wore a pencil-thin mustache.

When the second one spoke, it was with a slight Hispanic accent. "Two to go."

"These last two seem to be in charge," the slender man said.

"Then which one do we want to take care of first?" the blond man asked.

"Frankie," all three said in unison.

Frankie had just got up and put more wood in the fireplace. He was still sitting on the edge of his bed when his door began to open. "Who's there?" he asked.

"Shh," Jess whispered as he gently pulled the door to behind him. Frankie could see that he was carrying his pistol.

"Jess, what's wrong?" Frankie asked lowering his voice.

"We've got problems. I heard something in the hall, and when I peeked out, I saw these three guys that looked like they just stepped out of an old World War II movie."

Frankie looked at his brother. "Did they see you?"

"No."

"What were they doing?"

"They were talking about the others. Frankie, I think they took out the others."

"Are you sure?"

Jess told his brother that he was. "They talked like you were next."

Although Frankie usually deferred to his younger brother, he was the one who did most of the thinking. "Tell you what, you hide behind that dressing screen and when they come in here, we'll take them by surprise."

Jess did what he was told as Frankie lay back down and pretended to be asleep.

As he watched from his hiding place, the three men he had seen in the hall suddenly rose up through the floor to stand at the foot of Frankie's bed. The slender one started to take a step when Frankie suddenly threw back the covers and fired a shot from the revolver he had hid under his pillow.

"Should have listened to the news, boys," he said as the bullet hit the slender man in the shoulder and spun him around. "We're armed and dangerous." He fired a second shot but the other two men dove out of the way.

Jess knocked the screen aside and aimed his own weapon. He pulled the trigger only to see the bullet pass through the blond-haired man and strike the wall behind him.

"Frankie, they're ghosts. We're fighting ghosts."

"They can't be," Frankie shouted. "I just shot one."

Jess looked at the floor where the first man fell and watched in surprise as the man became insubstantial and vanished.

"Geez, Frank," he said, bordering on hysteria, "did you see that?"

The blond and the mustached man also faded from view.

The two men reappeared in the room below. The slender man was already there.

"Are you okay?" the blond asked.

"We're ghosts, so why the hell does it still hurt when we get shot," was his reply.

"Friends, if they are going to use guns, then I think it's time we showed them just what the undead are made of."

"What are we going to do, Frankie?"

Frankie looked at his brother; he had never seen him this close to going losing control. Before he could answer, however, his bed leapt from the floor and slammed into the ceiling. Jess watched in horror as the bed came crashing back down, his brother a bloody mess.

The man struggled to rise, but only succeeded in tripping over what was left of the bed. He hit the floor hard and lay unmoving. The three men appeared standing over him.

Jess fired his pistol until it was empty, but his bullets passed through his targets. The ghosts turned and began to walk towards him.

They watched as the light of sanity faded from Jess' eyes and his mind turned in on itself.

"This is how we found 'em, Commissioner."

The Keystone City commissioner looked at the scene before him: a seriously injured man lying in the midst of the remains of a bed, and another sitting in the corner totally withdrawn from the world.

"We've found the other three in the other bedrooms," the officer said. "They were in no condition to resist arrest."

"And where did you find the money?" the commissioner asked.

"It was sitting right in front of the door when we opened it."

"Well, let's get them out of here and get someone in here to start the clean up."

Officers handcuffed the younger of the two men and led him away without incident. As the commissioner turned to go, he glanced down at where the man had been sitting; it looked as if the man had drawn something. Kneeling down, he examined the drawing.

It was a charcoal drawing of a black skull surrounded by a circle of the injured man's blood.

The End

The Ghost Patrol first appeared in Flash #29. Their names were Fred, Slim, and Pedro, but since I wasn't sure who was who, I chose not to guess. I hope this didn't take too much away from the story.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot...Happy Halloween.