"Why aren't you wearing your mask, (y/n)?"
A simple summer vacation with your friend turns twisted when you happen to be rooming near a city full of cases of abductions, homicide, and underground cultists.
"I'm such an idiot." You nudge the beige floor boards with the rubber welts covering your black socks, hands completely submerged in dust from the stage. Gentle hands trace patterns of clouds on your hunched spine. A hand removes itself from your back and lightly squeezes your dirtied hand. "I'm sure she'll give you something good! You have so much talent and you know it," Your friend, Charlie, reassures. Her smile moves her hazel freckles closer to her eyes. You stay silent, knowing that if you deny her statement she'll surely knuckle you out of compassion.
As if on cue, the director waltzes in with an abundance of scripts and tech policy sign-off sheets. Enrapture and delight suffocates the theater as the director hands each person in the large circle their paper. Centuries pass until large charcoal wedges halt centimeters from your calf goosebumps.
Before you could process your surroundings, thin paper with rules and regulations were already laying between your thumbs. In big bold ink at the top for your position was 'Properties Manager'. Charlie doesn't get to glance at your paper cause you carry her weight towards the ceiling and spun in glee. "Finally!"
Charlie pokes her finger into your rib cage, dropping her on the floor to get a peek at your position. With great Invigoration, she cheers for your accomplishment. Your friend crinkles her paper and shoves it into her pocket as if the paper contained a page of a 7th grade diary.
The director silenced the chatter about the theater, "I would like for you all to look over and sign each section at the bottom, please let me know if you have any questions. You are dismissed," they chime.
Your feet guide you towards the exit as you long for the sweet sensation of slumber. A forceful hand distilled you from that dream to another dark area in the theater.
Charlie's eyes light up, "I don't want to go home just yet. Can we please stay for a bit?"
"..."
"I'll get you a little something on the way back." You submit to her demands.
Her acrylic nails curl to the area above the sound booth. "We should go check out the prop loft," she leans in closer and cups her hands, "I heard that the mattresses by the rack are covered in junk from down under," Charlie flashes a smile and a wink in response. Before you felt the urge to turn back, she drags you up the spiral staircase.
Cautiously, you follow Charlie close behind. Your vision obscured by darkness, left with the faint glowing duct tape as your only guidance. The dust gathers on your palm from the thin railing. "Are we suppose to be up here?" You call from behind. "Well...They didn't say we couldn't be up here," Charlie reassures.
"I honestly don't know how you always talk me into these things..."
Her footsteps halt as your face is smashed into her back. "This reminds me that time we were in the shed," you push her off her balance as a joke. "Shut up. That is not something I want to remember now..." your cheeks fade a tomato red.
"We were stuck in there for hours! Liam had to have his ears blown off to not hear us trying to open the dang door."
A loose chain dangles in front of you. With a gentle pull, the lights flicker on to reveal the mess the last production left behind: skirts and shoes lying around everywhere, potted plants blocking the back area, and several packaged hangers waiting to be opened for use.
Charlie snickers while covering her mouth with the outside of her hand, the other hand between her black hair strands. "This wasn't-wasn't worth it at all!" The woman breaks out into tears of joy in our circumstance.
You laugh beside her. The atmosphere changes as you turn your head behind Charlie. A mere image of a man standing on the other side of the clothing rack, perfectly framing around his figure. The details of the man were blurry and deformed. As if you made him up.
"Hey!" You shout as if he was real. Charlie gives you a concerned expression. You look back into her narrow eyes. The man dissipates from view. It was just a figment. Of course it was. Why would it be real? You wouldn't let this go....for now, anyway.
You and Charlie make your way out the rusted theater, until you're stopped by an unfamiliar woman. Her towering stand made her look much older than you, despite being in the same age range. She had a rather peculiar appearance of gradient-blue dyed hair twisted into double French braids, black nail polish, red-flushed cheeks, and sharp eyes.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Are you two new here? I don't think I've put you down on the list. I'm Jeanette, by the way, your new stage manager."
Charlie's the first to speak before you can think, "Good to meet you, Jeany. I'm Charlie and that's (y/n)." You give her a shy wave and pointed your converse behind Charlie. Charlie's shoulders relax once Jeanette waves you two home. Her chest still puffed and heels hovering above the sidewalk. You shrunk behind her in attempt to escape the confrontation.
Thankfully, Jeanette notices your discomfort and wishes you two a good night. Charlie pulls you along into the parking lot with a wide grin.
You felt a chill up your spine. The same sensation you felt wen the figure watched you through the clothing pile.
