Chapter 4: Maid Gone Wild—And Other Scandals

When I first started here, I owed the little maid a favor. So I pleaded for her job. I stood my ground, knowing it was a long shot. The governor glared, but I didn’t back down.

“Sir, she must be possessed. What she did wasn’t her own will.” I put on my most serious face, hoping he’d buy it. Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is to make it sound mysterious.

“Possessed?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but willing to listen.

“Yes, sir. She couldn’t even look you in the eye before, but now she’s doing all these wild things because another soul entered her body. If you fire her without thinking, it could cause even more trouble.” I laid it on thick, spinning the story just enough to make him hesitate.

“I have a way to bring her back, but it’ll take some time.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine, but this is your mess to clean up.”

Honestly, there was no good way to deal with these body-swappers back then. If it was an accident, you could only wait for another accident. If she had some kind of system, you could only wait for her to succeed or fail and move on.

I spent nights poring over old books, searching for answers. Sometimes, the only cure was patience—and a little luck.

Seeing how cocky she was, I figured she had a system. So I told the butler that filth could drive out evil spirits and punished her to scrub bathrooms in the old guest house. The butler balked at first, but I insisted. The old guest house had the worst plumbing in the county—if anything could humble a spirit, it was that place.

Sure enough, cleaning toilets made the body-swapper much more humble. At first, she protested, “You’re abusing me!” But when she faced that mountain of toilets with a scrub brush, her attitude finally broke.

By the end of the first week, she was begging for mercy. The staff watched with a mix of horror and amusement.

“What kind of suffering is this…” Her voice echoed down the hallway, and even the gardeners chuckled.

Finally, after three months in the guest house, she ran to the front door, yelling, “I never want to stay in this haunted place again! Let me go back, I’d rather go to my 8am class!” The whole mansion heard her. For a moment, we all wondered if she’d finally cracked.

When she woke up again, the little maid was back to her shy self. She blinked, confused, and asked for her embroidery kit. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

It was mostly luck, but this treatment made my reputation soar in the mansion. Folks started calling me a miracle healer. The butler spread the word, and soon enough, everyone was coming to me with their oddest ailments.

Miss Delaney remembers all this too. She gives me a look that says, ‘You’d better fix this, or else.’

But she takes a deep breath, gritting her teeth. “She’s even worse than the one in Mrs. Whitaker’s suite!” Her hands are clenched so tightly her knuckles are white. I brace myself for the worst.

“Oh?” I’m intrigued. “What did she do?” I lean in, curiosity piqued. With this house, anything’s possible.

Miss Delaney starts complaining. “I asked her to make apple pie, but she brought something black and called it bubble tea, insisting I drink it with a fat straw! As if I’ve never had it before.” Her voice rises, outrage coloring every word. The memory clearly still stings.

Well, this body-swapper is definitely a bubble tea lover. But she really hit a nerve. A few years ago, during the bubble tea disaster, not only did the governor get sick, Miss Delaney did too. The staff still joke about it in the kitchen. Bubble tea is officially banned from the pantry.

“And then?” I prompt her gently, sensing there’s more to the story.

Miss Delaney thinks for a moment and continues, “She even peeked at me while I was bathing! Not just peeking—she made weird noises, saying my skin was so white, my waist so slender…” Her cheeks burn, and she looks away, clearly mortified.

Me: “…” I blink, at a loss for words. This is definitely a new one.

Good grief, could this body-swapper be into girls? I bite my lip to keep from laughing. The mansion never fails to surprise me.

“And the most outrageous thing!” Miss Delaney is shaking with anger. “Yesterday, when she was doing my hair, she actually touched my face! She said… she said…” She trails off, her voice trembling with indignation and something else I can’t quite place.

“Said what?” I prompt her, trying to keep my tone gentle.

Miss Delaney suddenly hesitates. She fiddles with the edge of her sleeve, cheeks blazing.

“She said my eyelashes are so long, she wants to kiss them.” The words come out in a rush, as if she’s afraid they’ll burn her tongue.

I look at the blush on Miss Delaney’s face and ask curiously, “So did she kiss them?” I can’t help myself. The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Of course not!” Miss Delaney immediately denies. “I slapped her!” She sits up straighter, indignation returning. But there’s a hint of something softer in her eyes.

Looking at her, I suddenly remember something my mom once wrote: When a woman slaps you, first comes the perfume, then the sting. When the scent fills your nose, the smack almost feels sweet. My mother always had a way with words—she’d say a slap is sometimes just another kind of dance. I wonder if Miss Delaney’s heart is beating a little faster now.

Miss Delaney looks very fragrant; I just hope Holly 2.0 doesn’t end up enjoying the slap too much.

With a sigh, I make a mental note to check in on Holly soon. In a house like this, you never know what kind of love stories are brewing behind closed doors.