Collection Notice lived in a spartan set of chambers within a dreary old townhouse that he and his partner had once used as a rental property for various offices. It had gotten only colder and bleaker since he left his office that evening and the looming buildings and sparse street lamps made it particularly dark. Not that he cared one whit about the dark. As he reached his home, he levitated out his key ring and trod slowly up the drive that had icy patches that he wanted to avoid for the sake of his old bones, the path only just visible in the darkened courtyard. He reached the front door which I should note had a peculiarly large knocker on it from the days when there had been people coming and going from the offices within, it was set in the shape of a manticore head with the knocker bar held within its fang-toothed maw.
I only note its appearance, for as Collection Notice put the key in the lock, the knocker resembled not a manticore but his dead partner looking pensively at Collection as he was wont to do back when he was alive. Blinking his eyes, it was the same knocker as he had seen day and night for as far back as he could remember. Snorting at what had probably been the result of his dinner (which had tasted a little off) or perhaps he was just tired after a long day of work he went inside and shut the door with a resounding thud. Lighting a candle, he, on a whim turned back to the front door wondering why he wouldn't have been surprised to see Moneybags' ponytail that he always wore, but instead he saw the same old screws holding the same old door knocker in place. Scoffing, he ambled up the wide front stairs, so wide in fact that you could have ridden a buckboard sideways up it with room to spare, and perhaps that is why for the briefest of seconds Notice thought he saw in the looming shadows a black hearse led by four jet-black ponies.
He was not a stallion to be frightened by shadows, but the door knocker AND a phantasmal hearse were a little much for his nerves. So, before settling in for a nightcap in front of his very small fire, he checked out each room in his chambers which to his relief (although he would never admit to as such) were quite empty. He changed into his nightgown, cap, and robe (in response to the chill of winter that permeated every nook of the old building) and sat down to warm his old bones by the guttering flames and enjoy a little bit of warm broth.
As he sat, his eyes happened upon the mantle clock which read just shy of 11:30, and from there, his eyes slid over to the bell-board which was only good for collecting dust for as often as he used it, how it happened then I cannot say, but one of the bells began to swing, and with a feeling of dread that was all that more keen from the earlier circumstances, he watched and listened as one and then two and then four and within seconds every bell in the house seemed to be clanging with unwarranted abandon as like a foal let loose in the scullery with a wooden mallet. And then, one and all they ceased to ring, only to be replaced by a sound that seemed to be coming from deep below in one of the wine merchant's cellars, the sound like that of a huge chain being dragged slowly across the stone. Louder and louder with each passing second, the chains seemed to draw ever nearer, fearing an imminent attack, Notice levitated the fireplace poker like a sword from one of the adventure books he used to read as a colt. With the sound of one final tug, the sound of chains ceased. With his heart all but beating in his throat, he called out with only the slightest quaver in his voice (a fact that he could take pride in later on) "Who's there?"
As if, in answer, a figure stepped into the room...straight through the heavy door. The figure was that of a middle-aged stallion who stood or perhaps floated would be more precise as it seemed to float on a bed of mist that rose around its hooves. Collection Notice swallowed and forced himself to ask the figure whose pale eyes never once focused on him "who or what the devil are you?"
The figure continued to stare in silence before saying in a voice that carried a strange rasping echoing quality to it as if he wasn't in the same room but at the end of a long tunnel "Do you not recognize me?" Collection Notice took a closer look at the figure, he was dressed in a long black tailcoat, a starched white shirt, and an emerald green cravat all of which were clearly the finest quality. His eyes were the color of Ice, a pale cold greenish-blue, terribly bloodshot as if he was suffering some ailment. His mane was tied back in a style that hadn't been fashionable for some years. His entire being was wrapped in a long chain that was studded with a multitude of heavy boxes and safes and Purses all having the appearance of being forged of cold iron.
Collection Notice shook his head and said defiantly "No, no I don't"
The Spirit returned "In life, I was your Partner, Money Bags"
Collection Notice's eyes widened at that and said hesitantly, not out of fear mind you, but the very idea of spirits walking abroad was entirely new to him "Can you sit down?" nodding to a plush chair across from his own
Money Bags gave a silent nod of assent and proceeded to move towards the offered seat and passed straight through it and settled quite comfortably on the