Page 26 of Specters & Spotlights

Kevin crossed his arms. “You’ve got fans already.”

“You didn’t do that?”

He scoffed. “Please. My handwriting’s much more dignified.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He floated closer, inspecting the word like a wine label. “Chorus girl. Bit dramatic. But she’s harmless. She really likes a good ballad.”

Elise shook her head, a laugh catching in her throat. “You could warn me next time.”

“That was the warning. The creak? Classic ghost hello.”

She exhaled, brushing her fingertips lightly over the edge of the mirror. The word stayed.

Elise glanced at him, still wary. “And that’s her… review?”

Kevin nodded toward the mirror. “Five stars. Standing ovation.”

The tension in her shoulders unwound, thread by thread. She gave a small, crooked smile, and wiped the word gently away with the sleeve of her cardigan—softly, like a thank you.

She zipped her case. Snapped the latches shut. Turned off the light.

A final sweep of the room with her eyes.

The mirror caught her reflection one last time before she turned.

…And in that same reflection, just behind her left shoulder, something shifted.

A flutter of motion. A shimmer at the edge of the wig dryer’s silhouette. Like a dancer in the wings, waiting for her cue.

Elise’s gaze paused. Her breath did, too. She felt the familiar tingle of energy on her exposed skin.

But she didn’t turn around.

She had given enough of herself to this night—to its chaos, its magic, its ghosts.

“Nope,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “Not tonight.”

She grabbed the handle of her roller bag in one hand and swung the crossbody carry-on over her shoulder in one smooth, practiced motion. The door clicked shut behind her, and she slid the key into the lock until it caught. One turn. Secured.

She took a moment to gather herself. And then she began her slow climb up the backstage ramp toward stage right.

The ghost light waited, just ahead. A single flame in a sea of shadows.

Elise crossed the stage, retracing her path in reverse, from newcomer to something else. Not quite belonging but no longer just visiting.

The ghost light stood where it always did—centerstage, alone. Its old-fashioned bulb gave off the faintest hum, like it was humming a lullaby just for the theatre. Elise had always preferred the antique ones. LED bulbs were too clean, too sterile.

They said it kept the ghosts away, but Elise wasn’t so sure. She thought maybe it just kept them company.

Her shadow stretched across the stage, then spilled into the house seats like smoke. She saw him again—the old man ghost. Same seat, same stillness. As though he hadn’t moved in a hundred years. She gave him a little wave on instinct.

He didn’t wave back. But she felt it—the way his presence shifted, ever so slightly. Like applause without sound. At the edge of the stage, the EXIT sign glowed red. Elise checked her phone. A few minutes past midnight.

She paused.

“Night, Kevin,” she said, without turning. The alley door opened on a gust of air that smelled like rain and old popcorn. She stepped into the night, tugging her suitcase behind her, a strap crossed over her chest like armor.