Page 1 of Specters & Spotlights

Chapter One

Elise

Elise had been standing there for twenty minutes, watching the reflected light of the theatre marquee ripple in the puddles just beyond the alley’s mouth, pretending she couldn’t see the ghost by the dumpster.

The nearby spirit didn’t seem to sense her presence, but she wasn’t going to draw attention to herself by looking directly at the shimmer of a once-person by the dumpster. Not because she was afraid, but because making intense eye contact with empty air was a quick way to get someone to ask if you needed help. Elise did not.

She might not have even noticed it, if it hadn’t been for the slight prickling sensation on the back of her hands—her own built-in warning system. This particular spirit was more like a stain left behind: an echo of panic, a thin wash of regret. Residual. Tame, on the spectrum of things Elise might expect to find in a dim alley behind a theatre. No face she could make out, no clear clothing, merely a faint, stubborn shimmer—like heat over asphalt, but colder. Probably over a century old, judging by how frayed it felt at the edges.

Still, Elise couldn’t help herself.

She racked her memory. Had this been one of those cities with a mob presence back in the 50s? Might have been a back-alley hit, or maybe just a simple stickup. The way the shimmer clung close to the dumpster felt less like a haunting and more like a mistake the world refused to fully forget.

The rain had stopped, but the damp still clung to everything. She adjusted the carry-on strap across her chest and leaned her weight against the handle of her hard-sided roller bag. Her coat stuck to her arms in the humid air. A curl had worked itself free from her twist and now clung stubbornly to her cheek. She blew it away.

She should’ve gone around to the box office like a normal person. But after all these years, walking in through the front doors would’ve felt… wrong. The stage door was where she belonged, and always had been. Besides, she knew her salvation was coming. A stage manager would never think to look for her by the front, anyway.

Footsteps broke the silence, quick and even, splashing through the puddles on the street.

Her body reacted before her brain caught up—breath quickening, spine bracing. Just someone walking. Old habits. She shook them off.

A woman who must have been Jen rounded the corner a second later, head down, dressed head to toe in black—practical, unassuming, stagehand chic. Her black beanie bobbed slightly with each step, perched neatly over her pixie cut.

Elise exhaled, feeling a little foolish. She glanced down at her own outfit: black jeans, black boots, black coat, even her luggage was black. Not planned, but not surprising either.

Of course they matched. This was their uniform. People like them were always dressed to disappear.

Jen looked up only as she reached the door, surprise flickering across her face when she saw Elise. “Oh, there you are,” she said, already fishing in her jacket pocket. “Sorry you had to wait. I didn’t even think about you coming straight from the airport.”

She extracted a key card on a retractable cord with the ease of someone who’d unlocked too many doors in her life. She swiped it against the panel to the left of the stage door, and with a soft mechanical click, the lock disengaged.

“All good. I was just people-watching,” Elise replied lightly.

Jen pushed the door open and nodded for her to follow. “Welcome to the family,” she added with a wink.

Elise stepped inside and was immediately swallowed by the dark. The door thunked shut behind her as she wrestled her roller bag over the threshold. It scraped along the unfinished wood floors with a groan that echoed louder than expected. Jen was already a few steps ahead, flipping switches as she walked, each one casting a weak, yellow pool of light like breadcrumbs leading deeper into the wings.

“The wig closet’s on the other side,” Jen said, her voice echoing faintly off the exposed cinderblock walls. “Follow me.”

Elise did. The sounds of their footsteps, squeaky wheels, and the occasional hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence as they wove through the wings and backstage halls.

“I’m glad you were able to get here so fast. Last night was a total shit show. Marcie, our makeup girl, had to cover wigs. She did her best, but—” She paused to flip another switch. “She called a friend in town to back her up with makeup. They pulled it off, mostly. But it was a mess.”

Elise half-listened, half-studied the space around her: the scuffed black walls, the buzzing EXIT signs, the hush of a theatre between breaths. Every backstage had its own rhythm, its own scent of sawdust and sweat and something else. Something older. This one was still unfamiliar.

Just last night, she’d stood in a different theatre, handing over the keys—both literal and metaphorical—to Alex, her assistant-turned-successor. Her quiet, precise, fiercely capable protege. He’d tried to play it cool, but the pride in his eyes gave him away. He’d smoothed his hands down the front of his black utility vest and said, with a half-grin, “I think I’ll go by Wig Meister, if that’s alright.”

It was. It was more than alright. He’d earned it.

But still, it’d stung.

That First National touring company had been hers for nearly two years. They’d become something steady. Not quite family, but… known. Comfortable. Predictable. Safe. She’d memorized the way each cast member liked their pin curls, which wigs bore stubborn curls, which crew member always had a granola bar to spare.

And then, out of nowhere—a call, a reassignment, and a one-way flight to join the Second National touring company. Same show, different cast and crew, touring on the opposite side of the country.

It was the right decision. She knew that. But the ache of departure was still fresh in her bones. And the silence of this unfamiliar backstage didn’t help. It made her feel like a guest in her own life.

Elise forced a smile as she blinked herself back to the present.