Page 117 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise barely noticed. Her entire body was humming with supernatural current.

It was in front of her.

She couldn’t see it. Not yet. But she knew. Felt it.

The energy pressed in close—too close. Like someone was standing nose to nose with her, invisible but solid. Every nerve in her body flared.

The presence was cold. Curious. Strong.

And then—she appeared. One blink, and there she was.

A short, lithe old woman flickered into existence inches from Elise’s face—Elise had to glance down slightly to meet her eyes. Sharp, narrow eyes, currently staring daggers with a level of suspicion that could wilt plants.

The woman didn’t speak. She stood there, hands on her hips, spine so straight it could slice glass, with the kind of presence that demanded full attention without saying a word.

Her expression said it all: Who are you, and why are you in my studio?

Elise didn’t move. She barely breathed.

The ghost’s appearance was striking. She wore a flowing skirt that swirled slightly at her ankles, and a fitted top that hugged her frame like a second skin. Her silver hair was pulled into the most flawless ballet bun Elise had ever seen—sleek, smooth, anchored with some kind of ancient, unbreakable force of will.

Everything about her screamed discipline.

A dance instructor. A formidable one.

Elise could picture it as it must have been: the bell on the wall, the booming music, the pounding of feet on the floor—and this woman, reigning over it all with precision and power. The bell had likely been her voice when her voice wasn’t loud enough.

The ghost narrowed her eyes even further, as if that were somehow possible, and spoke at last.

“And where,” she said, in a voice crisp with authority and arrogance, “did you come from?”

Elise blinked. “Hi. Um… sorry to trouble you. We just… heard the bell and thought someone might need help.”

The ghost tilted her head, considering this. Her gaze swept over Elise like she was trying to decide if she was dealing with a wayward student or an unscheduled critic.

Elise didn’t flinch. She held the ghost’s gaze. Steady. Respectful.

That seemed to give the woman pause.

“I see,” the ghost said after a beat. “You are… an unexpected visitor.”

The words were cool but not entirely unkind. She was taking Elise’s measure—eyes sharp, observant, judgmental.

Elise kept her tone even. “Were you expecting someone different?”

“I’m expecting trouble,” the woman said, her voice tightening. “Something has arrived in this theatre. Something… evil.”

Elise felt a chill pass down her arms.

The ghost’s eyes flicked to Graham, then back to her. “It is not you,” she said, her voice taking on a lyrical, flowing quality. “Nor your companion. I can tell. You are not the source.”

Elise’s brows drew together. “Okay,” she said slowly, more to herself than anyone. She turned her head slightly toward Graham, keeping her voice low but audible. “So, she’s not angry at us. She says something dark has arrived here, but it’s not us. And… she’s very sure about it.”

Graham, still holding her hand, nodded carefully. “Okay. That’s… not comforting. But good to know.”

Elise turned back to the woman, her voice calm, curious. “Can you tell us more? About this presence you felt? How can you sense it?”

The ghost gave her a look that hovered somewhere between disdain and disbelief.