The Midday sun beat down on her as she walked through the abandoned city. She asked some people in the next town over what happened, but all they suggested was that she stay away, the place was full of squatters and other such unsavories.  

But why would she listen? She loved exploring ugly and abandoned things, and abandoned theaters weren’t something you saw every day. She had heard whispers of a fire here years ago, but barely anybody lived here anyway, and those who did died in said fire, so efforts to rebuild were slim.  

It was clear too; scorch marks covered the sidewalks as she walked down them, and the people in the next town over were definitely right about the squatters, some of the half-destroyed buildings, that might have been restaurants or apartments at one point, were filled with tents and tattered sleeping bags.   

As she approached the theater, she got an odd feeling, as if she was being watched, studied. The warmth of the sun she felt only moments ago disappeared instantly as she entered the theater’s shadow, as if the warmth was simply sucked from her body.  

Ignoring the chills racing down her spine, which she chalked up to excitement, she jiggled the door until the weak lock popped free. The first thing she noticed was the dust. It clung to the air and to every surface, to the point she was almost choking on it.  

She flicked on her flashlight, ready to explore. The waiting room was clearly opulent at some point, the carvings on the walls chipped but still beautiful, the furniture was once elegant, but now decrepit and nearly gray. She brought out her camera and slowly panned it around the room.  

The only thing that could be seen were the things she illuminated with her flashlight. The only sounds were sounds of rats skittering in the distance.  Nothing terribly interesting. She sighed and put her camera away, disappointed that nothing more exciting had happened yet. She started to the doors for the theater’s audience. 

The handles were plated in gold and the doors were rich mahogany, and like everything else, they were covered in dust. She opened the doors, expecting to find much of the same. However, as she opened the doors, a beautiful overture played throughout the space, a fanfare practically dragging her to a seat.  

The seats were plush red velvet that looked as though they had been cleaned only yesterday, and each had ornate arm rests painted in a deep gold. The chandelier hanging from the roof was crystalline and at least twice as tall as she was.  

The stage was as black and clear as the night sky, save for a ghost light in the middle of it that was switched off. She knew that in theaters, people were very superstitious, and just about every theater that was worth anything had a ghost light to ward off ghosts from being in the dark space.  

But this one was off.   

In the corner of her eye, she would swear she saw people in fancy dress and suits of every color sitting and chatting, holding papers that might be programs. But every time she turned; they were no longer there. 

She decided to sit down. The music was enticing, and the seats looked comfortable. As soon as she sat, the lights went dark, and the music quieted. Slowly, the ghost light flickered to life. On its own. 

She really started getting the feeling she should leave. She’s learned to know when she has overstayed her welcome. As she tried to stand, she fell right back into her seat, as if she was pulled.  

“Don’t leave until intermission.” A chorus of stern voices hissed at her. She felt cold on her arms and shoulders as she was dragged. Suddenly, her legs went entirely numb. She could not feel her feet or legs at all. They could not move. 

The performance began. A tall, thin man with dark hair in a dark suit had a violin in hand stood center stage. Surrounding him were nine young women in red dresses.  

The ghost light had disappeared. The violinist stood where it was. 

He began to play violently and suddenly, his music bursting out of nowhere. The dancers, in similar fashion, jumped away from him in every direction in a chaotic manner. As they danced and the music played, it got faster and faster, and she felt the need to record it. The dancers were fluid, the music was beautiful, and an original piece.  

She snuck her camera out of her bag and pressed record. Not more than a second had passed when the camera was violently ripped from her hands by some unseen force. 

“No recording.” Hissed the same chorus of voices from before, angrier this time. Her hands, by no will of her own, floated down to her lap and would no longer move.  

None of her body was moving. She couldn’t move her body except her head.  

But she could yell.  

Praying for someone outside of the theater to hear her, she started screaming her head off. She didn’t realize the music had stopped. She didn’t realize the angry hisses around her,  

She didn’t realize the violinist was striding towards her. As he got closer and closer, she could see his face. The spot on his cheek that he rested on his violin was rotted and decayed, his teeth visible through his cheek.  

He stood sternly by her chair as she stared at him in fear. He played a sharp note on his violin for only a moment. And she felt her throat rip. She could not make a noise through the fiery pain she felt, the only thing coming from her mouth were spurts of blood. While she choked on her own blood, she could feel her body moving, but she wasn’t moving it. The vessel she used to control slowly made its way to the stage. 

– 

An investigator arrived at the theater’s audience. A tall, thin man with dark hair in a dark suit had a violin in hand stood center stage. Surrounding him were ten young women in red dresses.