Page 57 of Specters & Spotlights

“I swear this hem was fine earlier.”

“…Seriously? My slip vanished.”

She didn’t need to look up to know something was off. It prickled behind her ears, a quiet tangle in the air like thread pulled too tight.

She could feel her.

The Seamstress wasn’t visible, not yet. Some ghosts rarely were. But the air held that particular prickling tension she’d come to associate with her. A whisper of thread through old fabric. The scent of starch and something faintly singed.

Kevin, hovering by the curling wands, perked up. “Ah, my favorite spool of unresolved resentment. I suppose we can’t salt the costume rack. Have you tried flattery?”

Elise added it to her internal list: talk to the Seamstress. Tomorrow, once Cici’s package had arrived. Otherwise, the next seven days of shows would be a tangle of unraveling edges and escalating chaos.

She pressed down the lace line on Ed’s wig and shot Kevin a warning look.

Kevin wasn’t deterred.

“Or maybe you could leave her an offering,” he continued. “Vintage thimble? Blood of your enemies? Fabric softener?”

Elise fought a smile, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her whisper to the air.

“Later,” she mouthed, eyes flicking to the shadowy corners of the room. “When it’s quiet.”

Elise caught the flicker of movement in the corner of her eye and looked up—Graham.

He was already in costume, his waistcoat crisp, curls tamed to perfection, and posture just a little too nonchalant. She hadn’t seen him arrive, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d been avoiding her. The thought left a soft ache—just a pinch—but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Kevin drifted downward from his post on a high shelf, his spectral form curling like steam from a teacup.

“Wait a minute,” he whispered gleefully. “This is a new development. Are we finally adding a romantic subplot?”

“Be cool,” Elise muttered under her breath, brushing down a lacefront with a bit more vigor than necessary.

Graham cleared his throat and stepped in, his tone casual but his eyes watchful. “Do I pass muster, or should I be banished to the wig bin?”

Elise gave him a once-over. “Your hair is alarmingly cooperative. Suspiciously so.”

“I do what I’m told,” he said, then added more quietly, “most of the time.”

That made her look up. Their eyes met—steady, muted, a little vulnerable.

Then, just loud enough for her to hear, he asked, “Did I… do something wrong?”

The air between them tightened.

“No,” Elise said quickly. Then, after a pause: “Not you. I’ll explain. Just… later.”

Graham nodded. He didn’t smile, but his gaze lingered a moment longer before he stepped away.

Kevin made a contented hum from the shadows. “I take back what I said about this company being boring. You’re blushing.”

Elise gave no response, but her smile lingered longer than she meant it to. The flush in her cheeks told its own story.

Backstage had gone still. The hum of pre-show chaos faded, replaced with a muted tension that settled like dust. Everyone was meant to be in places by now. The curtains were poised to rise, music queued, hearts steadied. But Ellen was missing.

Jen did one last sweep through the hallway, her headset crackling. “Anyone seen her? Ellen? This is final call.”

No answer. Not from the wings, not from the dressing rooms, not from the quiet corners where cast members sometimes snuck off for a breath of calm. She had simply… not arrived.