Ghost Light

Stepping onto the darken stage, I feel the wood boards under my feet. The seeping glow of the single bulb ghost light provides very little light, but somehow I see everything clearly. 

There’s the full audience enthralled with every note and spoken word. Over there are the actors dancing on the stage in perfect rhythm in front of the glorious scenes. The stage is set. I finally made it to Broadway. But still, somehow I feel unworthy. 

“Can I make it here?” I hear the echo of my words ring out in the empty chasm. 

“Yes,” a faint whisper flew through the air. 

I look around, but couldn’t see anyone there and chalk it up to my vivid imagination.

“I guess the ghost light may be doing more than keeping me from falling off the stage.” I chuckle. 

With make up case in hand, I march to my assigned dressing room. It’s amazing. There are notices and playbills from productions that came before, signed by the many who just played in the background.

Staring at each poster, I could feel the excitement and nervous energy they left behind in the room. 

I place my case down on the counter and sit in front of the big mirror framed in bright bulbed lights. 

“This is it. It starts tonight.” I tell my reflection. 

Suddenly I hear a giggle wisp behind me. But when I turn around, there’s nothing there.

Shaking it off, I unpack my makeup, put up my hair and begin to create the face of an old women in the mirror, transforming myself before my own eyes.

Adding the last final touch, the gray wig, the deed is done.

Admiring my handiwork, a shadow in the corner of the mirror startles me. But I blink and then it’s gone. 

So when the door creaks open, I jump high out my seat. 

“Don’t be alarmed, ma’am, it’s just me, Barb, your dressing roommate,” a tall slender woman with dark hair utters. 

Embarrassed, I chuckle to release the tension. 

“I’m not a ma’am. This is just a wig and make up. My name is Sarah. I’ll be playing the old woman.” I extend my hand to shake hers. 

Barb laughs and places her make up case down and sits in the chair next to me. 

“This is my first Broadway show,” I confess. 

Barb barely looks at me while busily making up her own face.

“I stopped counting how many this is for me. But I never have any lines. I’m always in the background, like wallpaper. At least I’m on Broadway,” she shrugs. 

Studying her for a moment, I try to decide if I can confide in her. Then I quickly sum her up to be a good egg. I have no evidence to prove that. It’s just a feeling.

“Can I tell you something weird?” I ask. 

“Why not. I got a few minutes,” she says while continuing to apply her make up. 

Not sure if I should say anything, I hesitate. But then summon my courage and blurt it out.

“Is this theater haunted? I know it’s silly, but I keep feeling like something’s following me.”

Barbara lets out a laugh, almost mocking me. 

“Don’t worry about it. That’s Grace. She’s a good one, like our mascot,” She says and points to the poster on the wall.

Confused I go over to the wall and read the posters, but can’t figure out what she’s talking about. 

Obviously picking up on my confusion, Barb laughs again. 

“Don’t you know all theatres are haunted?The ghost light shines their way back to us. Grace was a young dancer in a musical 100 years or something ago, who turned her ankle and fell off the stage, breaking her neck. Ever since then, she hangs out in the theatre looking after us like a guardian angel.”

Somewhat relieved that I wasn’t going crazy or letting my nerves get to me, I gaze at the poster of a showgirl kickline, wondering which one she was.

“Thanks. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need a little grace. Please stick around.” I whisper into the void.

Then I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and smile. 

Now I know everything’s going to be OK. I have someone who’ll watch over me. 

(c) Suzanne Rudd Hamilton 2024

If you want to know the history of ghost lights in the theater, click here https://www.onstageblog.com/editorials/2020/3/25/the-history-of-the-ghost-light