Submitted for the October 2023 prompt: Machine in the Ghost

Hours after the well-attended New Year's Eve revelry at House Stapleton, my master, Lord Charles Winston Stapleton, sacked the entire staff.

The human staff, that is. The rest of us, the dozen automatons who also toiled in the House, were retained. After all, we required neither salary nor sleep, merely occasional maintenance of our programming switches and tubes.

The following day we watched the departures: valet Harry Gould, a dozen years with the family, Tilly Hoban, head housekeeper, and Zoe Stockwell, nanny: gone in an instant. Lucy Hennessey, Lady's maid for eight years, cried as she packed her belongings. Even gardener James Watters, after four decades of service. And the rest: gone, gone, gone.

Unit One, longest-tenured of the autonomic staff, donned a top hat and summoned us for our assignments. "Unit Nine, you'll serve as maid. Five, you're to be housekeeper. Three, nanny. I will succeed Watters in the garden. And Seven?"

"Sir?" I responded.

"You'll be Lord Stapleton's valet. Are you prepared?"

"Indeed sir, it'll be my honor."

After dinner that evening, I entered the master's smoking room and announced myself. "Unit Seven, at your service, sir."

Lord Stapleton, a heavyset man with large jowls covered by bushy sideburns, studied me. "You go by what name?"

"Unit Seven, your lordship."

"Oh, that won't do. Let's call you Steven. Close to Seven, eh?" he chortled.

"Very well, sir. Unit Steven it is."

"Ah, you're a clever one. Now bring me my cigar box and lighter."

Thus began the new order in House Stapleton, and it was on that very evening, long after the Lord and Lady had retired to separate bed chambers, that the hauntings began.

* * *

The first recipient was Edwina, the Stapleton's middle child, all of twelve. She ran screaming out of her room at precisely 3:13 a.m., shouting that her hair brush and slippers had been moving about the room on their own.

"There, darling, you must have had a nightmare," comforted Lady Stapleton. "You there," she pointed to Unit Three. "Read my sweet Edwina a bedtime story. Something with fairies; nothing dark." Three nodded and led the weeping girl away.

The incident amused the service staff, whose chattering downstairs the next morning upset Unit One. "There'll be no gossiping on my watch," he chided. "You are to focus on your work, not some imagined poltergeist!"

"But Master," offered Unit Nine, "we're not the ones imagining things. It's that spoiled young—"

I made a noise imitating a human clearing his throat. "Nine, and the rest of you: abide by Unit One and focus on your work. If you can't, we'll deplete your energy reserves and order replacements."

One looked at me, impressed. "Why Seven, this new role of yours suits you quite well, I daresay!"

* * *

Over the course of the following week, the hauntings escalated. Lady Stapleton found the word "repent" smeared in blood on her vanity mirror and promptly fainted. Dougie, the youngest at age eight, discovered a frog torn to pieces in his toy box. He refused to sleep in his room thereafter. And Clara, the oldest at fourteen, became hysterical when she saw a skeleton grinning outside her window just before dawn. A doctor had to be summoned to administer sedation.

All of which seemed banal compared to the following Sunday, when a translucent figure floated in front of the entire family, Lord Stapleton himself included, as they were about to depart for church. "Repent," it moaned. The children dashed screaming into the garden, Lady Stapleton fled to her sunroom and refused to come out, and my master rushed to his study where he remained for hours, downing several vintage bottles of brandy.

The next morning, I entered my master's library and found him sobbing. "I can't take any more, Steven. Lady Stapleton is threatening to move out, and take the children with her. I can't leave my own estate!"

"May I offer a solution, sir?"

"Of course! Anything!"

"Sir, this estate dates back three centuries and is most certainly inhabited by spirits. I would imagine that these departed souls include deceased individuals who were in service to your ancestors."

Lord Stapleton lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes widened. "Why, of course. The hauntings began after I sacked the staff. The ghosts of servants past are upset with me!"

"It would appear so."

"And if I rehire them, would these... spirits..."

"They would be pleased sir. They'd leave you be. I'd suggest you reach out to each one and offer a twenty percent increase in salary."

"T— Twenty?"

"Yes, if you want them back posthaste."

His face turned red and he chewed vociferously on the end of his cigar. "Fine, send a messenger."

* * *

In two days time, the autonomic staff peered from behind lace curtains and watched as the once and future human staff of House Stapleton returned, beaming with elation.

Unit One pulled me aside.

"Very clever, Seven. Or should I call you Steven?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"The hauntings. They were your doing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. Each night I saw you lurking, always near the room that was about to be haunted. One evening I spotted you quietly closing the door. The next, outside on a ladder with a skeleton puppet. There were no spirits! You were intent on scaring the family."

I paused and looked about, then leaned in. "They didn't deserve to be sacked. They worked hard. They were loyal."

"I knew it! Jolly good effort, Seven. I'm proud of you." One slapped me on my shoulder, then walked to the stairwell.

"Wait," I called out. "There's another thing."

He turned back. "Yes?"

"The apparition last Sunday that appeared as they left for church?"

"Yes, I'm not sure how you managed that, Seven. Quite effective."

"But that wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it."

One stared at me, then nodded.

"Nor I, Seven," he replied. "Nor I."