Page 51 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise turned, arching a brow. “And?”

He ticked them off softly, his gaze scanning the space like he could see something she couldn’t. Maybe he could.

“The pianist’s still here. The ghostly page turner in the orchestra pit.”

Elise smiled faintly. “I heard them as I came in.”

“A new presence in the sound booth,” Kevin added. “He’s got the distinct vibe of someone who never got the recognition they deserved in life and are now making up for it with obsessive light cue adjustments.”

“Sounds... promising?”

“So far, he just seems annoyed that the new board is digital.”

Kevin glanced toward the costume hallway and his tone darkened. “And the Seamstress is back. You remember her.”

“Absolutely,” Elise muttered. “She ruined three zippers and nearly sent a swing into a panic spiral last time. But I think we made peace. Mostly.”

“And then—ah, yes—our old friend, the Whispering Wall,” Kevin said with a dramatic shiver. “Still as emotionally charged as ever.”

Elise frowned. “That’s not a ghost, though.”

“No, no, not quite. Just a place soaked in angst and whispered regrets. It’s like the architectural equivalent of a teenage diary.” He lowered his voice. “It feeds off emotional residue. Hushed confessions, secrets, angry whispers backstage. It hears everything and remembers just enough to make trouble.”

Elise nodded. “Didn’t it mimic someone’s voice last time and almost cause a breakup?”

“Oh yes. It repeated a private breakup speech word-for-word to the wrong person. Pure chaos. Honestly impressive.”

Soft piano chords drifted in again, gentle and just slightly melancholy.

Elise tilted her head, then called quietly, “Hello again, you.”

Kevin looked toward the open door that led to the backstage area, then back to Elise with a small smile. “I think they remember you. Not many people say hello.”

He drifted back toward the utility sink right as a new presence crossed the threshold—not spectral, but jarring all the same.

Lark.

“Elise,” she said, smiling like a lead making their entrance. “There you are.”

Her eyes sparkled with something Elise couldn’t quite name—pleasure, certainly, but also anticipation. As though she expected Elise to beam, to flush, to drop everything and fawn.

Instead, Elise gave her a small, puzzled smile, one hand still braced on the edge of the wig trunk. “Hey, Lark. Wasn’t expecting you today.”

Lark’s smile faltered—only for a breath—but she recovered quickly. “I had a fitting nearby. Thought I’d drop in.” Her eyes searched Elise’s face. “I figured you might… be glad to see me.”

“I’m always happy to see familiar faces,” she said, diplomatic. “Just wasn’t planning on company today.”

Lark stepped in closer, voice quieter now. “It’s just… after the other night, I thought we had a moment.”

Elise flinched inwardly. There it was.

“You’re kind,” she said carefully. “And talented. But I don’t feel that way. Not… in the way I think you mean, at least.”

There was a long pause. Lark didn’t look hurt though, not immediately. She looked… confused.

“Are you sure?” she asked, almost under her breath. “You don’t feel anything?”

The hairs on Elise’s arms prickled. “I’m sure,” she said, gently but firmly.