Big Bill and Little Bill laughed uproariously for a solid eighteen minutes. When their guts were not releasing a hearty guffaw, a few words were interspersed; “inheritance, overnight, haunted mansion, crazy Uncle Frederic III, half a million dollars, and hepatitis B.” These interjections only propagated the infectious chortling, and the stuttered attempts to reiterate just made it funnier. A good spit take of a mouthful of warm bottled water to Little Bill’s face added another six minutes of exaggerated chuckling.
That evening, Big Bill and Little Bill were still giddy as they walked up to the haunted mansion. They looked up and took in the run down monstrosity before them. The half moon added an eerie glow to the broken down house. They gulped in unison, the sound was slightly harmonious, it was fairly comical. They sniggered before taking a swig of whiskey.
The next morning, the lawyers slowly entered the decrepit mansion. They were greeted by the eerie sounds of creaking door and floorboard, and the overwhelming stench of mildew. One lawyer placed a handkerchief up to his nose and mouth, mumbling, “Unbearable.” The other lawyer who was much taller, abnormally so, whimpered, “Big Bill? Little Bill?” There was no response, just the crackling of peeling paint.
And there they were, sitting on the couch, head turned to each other, mouths and eyes wide open, their hair standing on end. Five minutes later, proven by inertia and silence, the Bills were pronounced dead. It was confirmed by the coroner later.