And then there were two.
Henry Blackstone, Jr. arrived at the site an a September morning in 1936 to discover that one of the "ghosts" had died the previous night -- like many of his comrades, of mysterious causes -- and that there were now just two remaining: Billy Betzendorf and Arnold Furschlugginer.
Pathetic, filthy, pale, shadowy wretches they were, with long, scraggly hair, they scrambled about amidst the ruins like ghouls. Somehow, they had survived twenty-six years in the rubble through the lure of John Bone's tontine fortune.
Mr. Blackstone had long since tired of the matter. The income from the trust no longer covered his fee, but he felt obliged to continue pro bono; he wished he could offer the two surviving heirs a settlement if they agreed to split the fortune, but the trust did not permit such an arrangement.
In reality, of course, there was little chance that Billy and Arnold were actual offspring of John Bone; as a lover, Bone was a legend in his own mind. It suited him to be accused of impregnating barmaids, but most of these allegations were fabricated, as a ruse to cash in on the Beaune fortune. A pillow worn under a maternity dress, and a pathetic story of broken promises was usually sufficient to get Auguste to open his wallet, but the more creative girls had a few rounds with cousin Caleb, followed by a quick trip to the abortion mill in Stapleton post-settlement.
Having survived so many years, the two ghouls of Ticklish Rock seemed determined to carry through to the bitter end. Vultures gathered, waited and watched, until they grew bored and discovered that they, too ran the risk of being caught and eaten by Messrs. Betzendorf and Furschlugginer.
December 7, 1941: a day that shall live in infamy. At Ticklish Rock, one more day of watchful waiting.
The children of Beauneville had long ceased throwing rocks at the ghouls, and now earned spare change by taking strangers to see the horrors of Ticklish Rock. Thrill-seekers were rarely disappointed -- upon seeing visitors, the ghouls would prance around in the piles of rubble in return for spare chicken legs, cupcakes, or whatever the people wished to spare. Guests were warned, though, not to throw vegetables, as they were generally thrown back.
Some of the more astute youth started a dead pool so that visitors could place bets on which ghoul would survive.
Finally, on a bitterly cold day in 1948, almost thirty-eight years to the day after John Bone's passing, Arnold Furschlugginer choked to death on a chicken bone. Billy Betzendorf was the sole remaining claimant and, by the terms of Bone's will, the sole legatee of the Bone fortune.
