Page 87 of Specters & Spotlights

The backstage lights in the wings snapped on to full brightness—too bright, too sudden, searing the shadows away. Elise flinched, instinctively shielding her eyes.

What the hell?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The wings had to stay dark during the show—any stray light would spill onto the stage. Ruin the illusion. It wasn’t meant to exist right now.

She looked toward Lark, but Lark was staring past her. Frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Staring—not at Elise—but over her shoulder.

Elise spun.

And there, caught in the flood of the light, was a shadow.

Tall. Vaguely human. Too close. Faint, familiar, and wrong.

It lingered just a second too long, like it hadn’t expected to be seen. One arm stretched forward, like it had been about to⁠—

And then it vanished. Dissolving like smoke under a spotlight.

Elise’s fingers were shaking, but she managed to jam one pin into the rain wig. Just one.

It would have to be enough.

From the stage came the telltale hiss of the fog machines kicking in—low and steady, casting a creeping mist across the floorboards. Crew members started rolling the bridge set into place with practiced precision, as the lights began their slow, moody rise.

Graham, as Darcy, would be entering now from stage left—waiting, watching.

Then the rain cue began: first a hush, then a silvery patter. That meant it was time. Elizabeth’s entrance. Lark’s entrance.

Lark stood frozen for a heartbeat, just past the curtain—her face pale, her breath shallow. Then, like something snapped loose, she turned and rushed onstage. A beat too late.

Elise winced at the delay. There was hesitation in Lark’s voice as she delivered her first line, the faint catch in her breath. But the audience wouldn't know. Not unless they’d seen it as many times as Elise had.

The lights backstage remained stubbornly on. Crew members scrambled, muttering to each other, flipping switches that weren’t responding. Someone tripped over a coil of cable in the confusion. Elise clenched her jaw—there was no way the audience hadn’t noticed by now.

Then, mercifully, the lights snapped off again.

The fog thickened. Onstage, the duo moved upward together, footfalls soft on the wooden bridge, until they reached the center mark—exactly where the lights met and haloed them in soft gold.

From there, the first notes of the final song began: “You must know… I love you.”

A quiet duet. No choreography, no dramatics. Just voices meeting in the space between them, finally aligned.

Elise barely breathed as she listened. It was all muscle memory at this point—lines, lighting, music. But tonight, something in it felt fragile.

She stayed tucked in the wings, heart still pounding. Kevin appeared beside her like a whisper of smoke.

“What was that? Something happened—I missed it!”

Elise didn’t turn her head. Her voice was barely audible. “There was a shadow. The lights came on. It was reaching for us.”

Kevin didn’t respond. Just stood at her side, watching with her. Graham and Lark hit their final notes onstage, voices echoing with emotion. Darcy gathered Elizabeth into his arms for the final line.

“I love you, Elizabeth.”

The stage kiss landed just as the curtain fell, perfectly timed, perfectly rehearsed. The lights dimmed to black.

Elise stayed in the wings, heartbeat echoing like the last swell of music. The moment was beautiful. The moment was brittle. And something in it had cracked.

The show had ended, bows taken, applause faded. One by one, the cast and crew filtered out into the night, voices trailing off down the alley as they left behind the warm hum of the theatre. As usual, Elise stayed behind to reset the rain wig. Kevin lingered too, making himself scarce but present.