Page 22 of Specters & Spotlights

“Bye, you two.”

And with that, he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him like a final line.

Elise stared at the spot where he’d been. She wasn’t sure if she’d just witnessed a conversation… or something else.

Lark, unfazed, went back to her pin curls. She worked methodically, her fingers removing bobby pins with a kind of casual elegance that Elise couldn’t help but admire. Each one clinked softly onto the counter, forming a tidy little pile of silver beside the sink.

“I don’t know how they managed last night,” Lark said, not really waiting for a response. “It was chaos. Total chaos. Someone put Frankie’s wig on backward. Backward. I mean, really, what are we doing?”

Elise hummed in acknowledgment, the dryer still buzzing beside her. Heat clung to her skin. In the mirror, her cheeks were pink and slightly damp, her ponytail already betraying its frizz-prone nature. She looked… wilted.

Lark, of course, looked like a shampoo commercial. Her curls gleamed as she fluffed them out, glossy and obedient. Elise caught her own reflection again and gave a quiet sigh. Some had to work for it.

“The old wig mistress—what was her name? Sadie? Sandy?” Lark gave a theatrical shudder. “She always smelled like Estee Lauder and never understood my curl pattern.” A beat. “It’s nice to have someone new.”

Elise looked up just in time to see Lark watching her in the mirror. Not with judgment. Not exactly. It felt more like… assessment.

Then Lark smiled. “You’ll fit in here. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure of it.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just slid off the chair while smoothing a hand over her curls.

“It helps,” she added, almost offhandedly, “to have someone on your side.”

Elise nodded, unsure what she was agreeing to.

And then, just like that, Lark turned toward the door. She didn’t gather her bobby pins.

She left them, neatly stacked, right on the counter. Deliberate. Delicate. Intentional.

Elise stared after her. “I guess that’s a yes to pin curls tomorrow,” she murmured.

Then she sighed—half-amused, half-exasperated, entirely unsure what kind of story she’d wandered into.

Later in the evening, quiet had settled across the theatre like a blanket, muffling footsteps and softening echoes.

Jen poked her head into the wig closet, coat already on, keys jingling like wind chimes in one hand. “Hey, just wanted to check in. How was day one?”

Elise looked up from the wig she was drying, cheeks pink from the heat. “Honestly?” she said, sweeping a damp curl off her forehead. “Not even top five in terms of backstage chaos. You’re gonna have to try harder if you want to scare me off.”

Jen laughed, but Elise caught a flicker of something else behind her smile. “Glad to hear it. Just…” Jen trailed off, jingling her keys again. “You okay staying here alone? Some folks get weirded out being alone in a place like this after hours.”

Elise raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s haunted, you mean?”

Jen hesitated, then gave a little shrug. “I mean, yeah. Kind of. I don’t love it. I always leave before the building’s empty. Just feels… off.”

Elise grinned and spun a brush between her fingers. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this long enough to get used to the quiet. And anyway”—she lowered her voice dramatically, mock-spooky—“I’ve got the ghosts to keep me company.”

Jen chuckled, but Elise could see the unease still lingering in her expression.

“Just make sure you leave the ghost light on,” Jen said, backing toward the hallway.

Elise looked up.

“Seriously,” Jen said. “Don’t turn it off. Bad things happen when it’s off.”

Elise’s fingers paused on the switch to the blow dryer. “Why do you think that?”

Jen’s answer floated back, uncertain. “It’s one of those things everyone says, right? Superstition, I guess? Theatre lore? Just trust me, I’ve seen enough to know better.”