A Haunting at Vanity Theater
Part 1: The Ghostlight
Part 1 ↓ | Part 2
The Ghostlight
Rain bursts and bits of debris skid across the shingles of the old theater. Tree branches scratch the roof, keeping time. A sunrise symphony slips through the rafters—the opening verse of another day breaking in the Pacific Northwest.
On the stage, a bare bulb, mounted on a post, stands tall. Its naked light exposes dangers lurking in the darkest corners behind the curtain: ladders, lighting equipment, paint cans, and props.
The Ghostlight flickers, joining nature's orchestra in its crescendo. It grows brighter, hotter—until pushed past its wattage, it explodes, leaving the theater a stygian pit.
***
Outside, the rain continued relentlessly with brief intermissions as Abby, Vanity Theater's stage manager, held the lobby door open with her back end and shook off her bright yellow umbrella, closing it as she brought it inside. Abby had always dreamed of working at the 5th Ave. in Seatown. She loved it ever since her grandmother took her to see Wicked in the beautifully ornate 1920s theater. This job was a first step in the right direction.
Even though it was small, Vanity Theater was a challenge in all the right ways. The actors needed wrangling the way actors do, and there was always something on set that required a quick thinker. It was good to get hands-on training. Dave was hard to figure out, though. One minute, he was excited about showing her the ropes. Then the guy turned and tried to make her feel guilty for not doing enough.
He also got weirdly jealous. She can hear her mama's voice now, even though she tries to get it out of her head.
"Don't be foolish, Abby."
She surveys the room with her hands on her hips—Wonder Woman, ready to take on the patriarchy. A remarkably realistic plastic skull mocks her from its perch by the theater doors.
"Creep."
She turns it slightly to avert its gaze. The movement seems to set off a series of events.
CRASH!
THUD!
WHOOSH!
A moan sounds as if it’s from Abby's own throat. The theater doors slowly open and lock into position. Abby stops short—eyes wide.
Nothing.
Silence.
***
Threatening storm clouds hang thick in the sky. A mist covers the ground, giving the landscape an otherworldly effect. It seems much later now, but Abby doesn't notice as she works up the nerve to enter through the backstage doors.
The stage lights are on. Dave must be working on the Ghostlight.
How did he get here so fast?
Her heart races even more now than before. The last time she saw Dave, he was such a jerk. She can’t face him.
***
Vanity Theater’s technical director, Dave, isn't in the mood to deal with the Ghostlight. It's just like the producers to ignore that they need an automatic system. Instead, they make him waste his time dealing with this archaic "Peace of sh…"
The power surge fried the connections—again. Frustrated, Dave rips the wires from the hollow post. Without bothering to put on gloves, he grabs his utility belt and shoves his hand inside. His fingers wrap around a ball of wire in the cavernous compartment, hangnail snags on the belt's frayed edge.
"FUU…"
A heavy thud backstage. The wind wails as if in answer.
"Hey, Hello? I'm on stage."
Dave calls out, half expecting it to be the janitor who's been threatening to come and clean up after him. No response. He examines the jagged hangnail that now has a little puddle of blood pooling up around the cuticle. He wipes it on the leg of his jeans, grimacing in pain as the raw skin drags across the denim.
Paint cans and metal things falling, crashing, ring out from backstage, breaking the silence, causing him to spring up like a worn-out jack-in-the-box.
The backstage door opens with a screech and closes.
BANG.
The sound echoes through the empty theater like a prison cell door slamming. As silence settles back in, Dave grabs his flashlight, which thankfully isn't in the utility belt. He searches the darkness, finding a ladder has fallen over. It's knocked several cans of blood-red paint onto the floor.
Dave sees the phosphorescent prop skull from the current production of Hamlet. It's dangerously close to the paint. He had to work hard to get them to spend the extra money so the troupe could have that particular skull. Abby had insisted. Dave picks it up and holds it high, Shakespearean-style, staring deep into its eyes.
The skull’s greenish glow turns him into a specter. A chill breeze sweeps through the air. The sensation causes Dave to turn in time to witness what looks like a face covered in blood rising from the theater floor.
The all-but-forgotten puddle of paint pulses as if attempting to take a breath.
Dave, mouth hanging slack-jawed, unable to move, helplessly watches as the face writhes in shock and pain, then recedes into the spill. Exhaustion overtakes him. His work boots are concrete blocks. Each step toward the Ghostlight convinces him he is too tired.
It'll be a couple of days before the troupe returns for dressed rehearsal. I'll do it later, he thinks. After this production wraps, I am out of here for good.
"You hear that?" His voice slips free, a desperate squeak from a rat trying to escape the rattrap.
Dave gives one last quick look around. Broken down, he leaves the theater through the front door, making sure to turn on all the lights on his way out. His is the only vehicle left in the lot at this time of night. Most of the time, he's the first to get here and the last to leave. The only one he can think of who could ever beat him in or leave later was ...
***
Abby straightens the prop table, then goes out front to mark positions on the stage floor. She hears the actors backstage and sees Dave in the tech booth above, setting light cues. Curiously, no one has come out to check in with her. They're usually all over her to where she has to puff up a little to get them to focus.
Dave calls out on the overhead."Okay, folks, let's get into position."
Two actors walk to center stage and stand in the spotlight.
"Thanks for the help, Dave, but they don't have their marks yet."
Of course, Dave is trying to undermine her authority. Look at him shouting out orders to the actors instead of worrying about his own work.
"Wonder what I did this time." She hisses under her breath.
Abby attempts to position Sadie on her mark. But the actress playing Ophelia ignores her stage manager’s instructions.
"Okay, not sure what your problem is, Sadie, but you need to acknowledge me, at least."
Nothing. The woman doesn't even flinch. Abby turns to Sadie's scene partner, Josh, and directs him to his spot. He doesn't respond either.
The spotlight strobes momentarily. "What is wrong with you people?" They both ignore her. An ear-splitting metallic screech sends the actors running to the green room.
Part 2: Art Imitates Life
