Short story week! These little vignettes are what I used to do as a high schooler. I'd jot this down between classes, or when there was quiet free time in class. I like them and I'm glad to share them.
This week we decided on a theatre short since all of us our theatre people. We're performers and so involved in that world that putting together a story set around theatre seemed like an easy and natural thing...except I took it in an unnatural direction.
Because, aren't all theaters haunted?
Whispers in the Wings
They came barreling into the darkness with their flashlights and giggles and shouts. The silence of my revere was broken by this rambunctious group who were dressed in black and carrying all sorts of ridiculous supplies: candles, a Ouija board, incense. These young intruders filled up the space with their warmth and their heartbeat and their life. I wanted to resent them.
Their little group, about six in all, settled into the center of the stage. The thick black curtains hung around them, framing them like a comforting blanket. My blanket. One of them, a boy, went about their circle and set candles while another followed behind with a little hand-held lighter that was pink; the kind I saw the stage hands use during performances but not the kind I had ever seen when I was alive.
This week we decided on a theatre short since all of us our theatre people. We're performers and so involved in that world that putting together a story set around theatre seemed like an easy and natural thing...except I took it in an unnatural direction.
Because, aren't all theaters haunted?
Whispers in the Wings
They came barreling into the darkness with their flashlights and giggles and shouts. The silence of my revere was broken by this rambunctious group who were dressed in black and carrying all sorts of ridiculous supplies: candles, a Ouija board, incense. These young intruders filled up the space with their warmth and their heartbeat and their life. I wanted to resent them.
Their little group, about six in all, settled into the center of the stage. The thick black curtains hung around them, framing them like a comforting blanket. My blanket. One of them, a boy, went about their circle and set candles while another followed behind with a little hand-held lighter that was pink; the kind I saw the stage hands use during performances but not the kind I had ever seen when I was alive.
The candles caste a flickering, orange glow around the whole space, even
trickling into the rows upon rows of red velvet backed chairs in the
audience. I could easily imagine the
light dancing off the cheekbones and glittering headbands of the audiences I
had once performed for and a longing overcame me. I wanted to walk on that stage with beads
dancing on the hem of my dress around my calves and make them cheer. But there was no one in the audience. All I had were these six, squeaky children
cluttering up my stage.
I circled them as they unfolded the board and took out the triangle. There was some argument about whether it was a good idea or not (I was on the ‘not’ side) but as always, their voices and words were muffled through the veil that kept our sides separate. It was why they had always heard my voice as a distant echo or a whisper in the wings. It was frustrating.
The giggling died down as they settled in to ask their questions, fingers pressed on the sides of the triangle and eyes closed. No other fingers joined them, but the thing moved around the board. There was some debate about whether someone was doing it and I wanted to chime in with my own agreement, but I said nothing.
So they tried again.
“Should we have some fun, little Edith?”
The voice, deep and dark and like an echo in the mountains, came close to my ear. If I had existed in a place where wind could touch me, it would have moved my carefully constructed finger-waves. I shuttered. “Let’s not.”
“Wouldn’t it be grand? Give them a real scare?” The voice was further away, somewhere in the wings that framed all of us.
“No. It wouldn’t.”
I wasn’t heeded. Instead, thick and calloused fingers joined the six living, youthful sets. His patchy and torn suit should have brushed up against them and those he did touched shifted just slightly but they didn’t see him. They didn’t open their eyes. They just asked their questions and those horrible, cut up and bleeding fingers from a time even before me, guided them to the answers they thought they craved.
As the Ouija moved, hands flew back to their owners and eyes shot open. I could see the whites around their colors and hear their heartbeats flutter. I wished mine would flutter. One girl backed away from the circle entirely, almost smacking to me. I stepped away to the side, afraid of what might happen if we smooshed into one.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” she was saying. “This is stupid.”
“Then why are you running away?”
“C’mon. It’s fun. Just sit back down Meredith.”
“No.”
“Just one more question.”
I watched, my eyes glued as the horrible man pushed, his greasy face scrunching up, and moved the triangle to the word: no. No fingers were on it and Meredith screamed. She waved her hands and backed out of the light of the candle circle. Very slowly, I watched as he spelled out his message: G-E-T-O-U-T-B-E-F-O-R-E-I-T-S-T-O-L-A-T-E.
The other five backed out. One boy grabbed another’s sleeve and tugged him toward the stage door exit. The girls clutched at each other and didn’t even bother to make sure their friends were following, they were leaving. Screaming.
Meredith was the last. She looked like she was trying to decide if she should blow out the candles and then my horrible companion went off and blew one out himself. She was decided: she ran and after the loud bang of the side door, we were alone.
“It’s for the best, Edith. Don’t want them trapped here with us.” Then he was gone. A slippery whisper of smoke.
Alone in my silence, I walked over to the board and candles, the clicking of my beads in my ears. I blew out each candle with a little puff, then, when the darkness wrapped around me once more, I went into the circle and knelt in Meredith’s seat. It was warm.
Very slowly, I put my fingers on the triangle. With my whisper, I asked: “Are you lonely.” Then, pulling and pushing with every bit of whatever spirit I had in me left over from life, I pushed the triangle up and over.
Yes.
I circled them as they unfolded the board and took out the triangle. There was some argument about whether it was a good idea or not (I was on the ‘not’ side) but as always, their voices and words were muffled through the veil that kept our sides separate. It was why they had always heard my voice as a distant echo or a whisper in the wings. It was frustrating.
The giggling died down as they settled in to ask their questions, fingers pressed on the sides of the triangle and eyes closed. No other fingers joined them, but the thing moved around the board. There was some debate about whether someone was doing it and I wanted to chime in with my own agreement, but I said nothing.
So they tried again.
“Should we have some fun, little Edith?”
The voice, deep and dark and like an echo in the mountains, came close to my ear. If I had existed in a place where wind could touch me, it would have moved my carefully constructed finger-waves. I shuttered. “Let’s not.”
“Wouldn’t it be grand? Give them a real scare?” The voice was further away, somewhere in the wings that framed all of us.
“No. It wouldn’t.”
I wasn’t heeded. Instead, thick and calloused fingers joined the six living, youthful sets. His patchy and torn suit should have brushed up against them and those he did touched shifted just slightly but they didn’t see him. They didn’t open their eyes. They just asked their questions and those horrible, cut up and bleeding fingers from a time even before me, guided them to the answers they thought they craved.
As the Ouija moved, hands flew back to their owners and eyes shot open. I could see the whites around their colors and hear their heartbeats flutter. I wished mine would flutter. One girl backed away from the circle entirely, almost smacking to me. I stepped away to the side, afraid of what might happen if we smooshed into one.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” she was saying. “This is stupid.”
“Then why are you running away?”
“C’mon. It’s fun. Just sit back down Meredith.”
“No.”
“Just one more question.”
I watched, my eyes glued as the horrible man pushed, his greasy face scrunching up, and moved the triangle to the word: no. No fingers were on it and Meredith screamed. She waved her hands and backed out of the light of the candle circle. Very slowly, I watched as he spelled out his message: G-E-T-O-U-T-B-E-F-O-R-E-I-T-S-T-O-L-A-T-E.
The other five backed out. One boy grabbed another’s sleeve and tugged him toward the stage door exit. The girls clutched at each other and didn’t even bother to make sure their friends were following, they were leaving. Screaming.
Meredith was the last. She looked like she was trying to decide if she should blow out the candles and then my horrible companion went off and blew one out himself. She was decided: she ran and after the loud bang of the side door, we were alone.
“It’s for the best, Edith. Don’t want them trapped here with us.” Then he was gone. A slippery whisper of smoke.
Alone in my silence, I walked over to the board and candles, the clicking of my beads in my ears. I blew out each candle with a little puff, then, when the darkness wrapped around me once more, I went into the circle and knelt in Meredith’s seat. It was warm.
Very slowly, I put my fingers on the triangle. With my whisper, I asked: “Are you lonely.” Then, pulling and pushing with every bit of whatever spirit I had in me left over from life, I pushed the triangle up and over.
Yes.
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