The Show Must Go On! (4 page)

LAURA: Yeah, if your home's been condemned!

CARRIE: Ha-ha-ha! Come on, you guys. We should—

(SUDDENLY LIGHTNING FLASHES AND THUNDER RUMBLES.)

LAURA: Eiii!

CARRIE: Laura?

LAURA: Sorry, I'm just a little afraid of thunder. I—

(THE THUNDER SOUNDS AGAIN . . . LOUDER THIS TIME. LAURA SCOOTS OVER CLOSER TO CARRIE. SUDDENLY THE CHANDELIER OVERHEAD FLICKERS ON AND OFF, AGAIN AND AGAIN.)

RACHEL: Okay, now I'm officially creeped out. I—

CARRIE: Look!

(CARRIE POINTS TO THE CHANDELIER. A FLASH OF LIGHTNING REVEALS THAT THE CHANDELIER IS SHAKING UNCONTROLLABLY. EVERYONE SCREAMS.)

“Okay, let's take a break, everyone,” Ms. Hollows called out. “Very good start.”

As the girls in the cast sat down on the edge of the stage to get their notes from Ms. Hollows, the lights in the auditorium began to flicker again. But this time it was not just the stage lights that flashed on and off. Every light in the room twinkled.

“Please leave the lights on!” Ms. Hollows shouted impatiently to the technical crew backstage.

“It's not us, Ms. Hollows!” Tyler Lahari, the boy running the lights, replied, sticking his head out from backstage. “We didn't touch the lights that time!”

Then the entire auditorium went completely dark.

“Flashlights!” Ms. Hollows shouted out.

Several members of the backstage crew came running out with their flashlights blazing.

“I'm going to see if I can find out what's going on with the lights. Perhaps the whole school has lost power,” Ms. Hollows said, and left the auditorium.

“Great, now what do we do?” asked Bree.

“I have an idea,” Melissa said. “Why don't we sit in a circle and pretend this is a real sleepover?”

“We could even tell ghost stories to get us in the mood,” Tiffany added. “Unless, of course, you can't handle it, Wallflower.”

“I'm fine,” Bree said. “I guess it can only help us get more deeply into our characters.”

As the backstage crew settled into the front row of the auditorium, the girls onstage flipped on their flashlights and sat on their pillows.

“I'll go first,” Melissa said. “Here's one I heard at summer camp.

“A girl went to a school dance. She was kinda shy and was sitting in a corner when a nice-looking boy came over and asked her if she wanted to dance. No one else had even come near her, so she jumped at the chance.

“The girl was surprised that she had never seen the boy at school before. He told her that he used to go to the school a few years earlier but had moved away and that he always tried to come back for the school dances, since he liked them so much and they always brought back so many good memories for him.

“The two danced every dance, and soon it was time to leave. The boy offered to walk the girl home, saying that her house was on the way to his house anyway. During the walk, the girl got cold, and the boy offered her his school jacket, which had his name stitched onto the front. He draped it over her shoulders, and she felt warmer right away.

“When they reached the girl's house, the boy kissed
her good night and went on his way. Once inside the door, the girl realized that the boy's school jacket was still on her shoulders.

“She turned to yell out to him, but he was nowhere to be seen. It had been only a minute since he'd left, but the street was now dark and empty.

“Then the girl remembered that while they were walking, the boy had mentioned where he lived. She hurried to his house, which was only about ten minutes away. When she arrived, the girl stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

“A woman answered the door. The girl asked if the boy was home, figuring he had to be. Where else would he have gone? The woman's eyes filled with tears as she explained that the boy was her son and that he had died three years earlier.

“‘But that's impossible!' the girl exclaimed. ‘I just saw him at the school dance. In fact, he lent me his jacket. Here it is!'

“The woman took the coat and hugged it tightly as tears flowed from her eyes. ‘Thank you for returning this,' she said. ‘My son died due to an accident at a school dance three years ago. I've wanted his school
jacket as a memento, but the people at the school said they never found it. Thank you for bringing it home!'”

The girls onstage breathed out a collective sigh. Each girl, without even realizing it, had slid off her pillow and was clutching it tightly.

“That was great,” Bree said to Melissa.

“Pretty creepy,” Dara added. “I heard one once that my cousin told when my family went up to my aunt and uncle's cabin by the lake. We were sitting around a campfire, and my cousin told us the story of a school tour group on a trip to Colonial Williamsburg.

“A small group of kids got separated from the main group and found themselves in front of an old house that looked like it hadn't been touched since actual colonial times.

“‘This is not on the tour,' one of the friends said. ‘I don't think we should go in.'

“‘Come on,' said another. ‘The tour is boring. Maybe we'll find something cool in there.'

“The group slowly pushed open the creaky old front door and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind them loudly, startling everyone in the group. Then a man dressed in full colonial costume stepped into the entryway.

“‘Good day to you,' the man said. ‘Welcome to my home. My name is Jeremiah Hobson.'

“‘I thought you said that this house wasn't on the tour,' one friend whispered to another.

‘It's not supposed to be. I guess they added it or something.'

“As Jeremiah Hobson led the group on a tour of the house, he described the day-to-day activities of his daily life in colonial times. The friends were all impressed by his detailed descriptions.

“‘This guy's the best actor yet,' one friend whispered.

“‘Yeah, but you'd think they would clean the house up before they took people on a tour,' said another. ‘This place is a filthy wreck.'

“Just as the tour ended, the kids heard the front door burst open.

“‘Hey! Who's in here?' someone shouted.

“The kids ran toward the voice and found themselves face-to-face with a police officer. ‘What are you kids doing in here?' he asked them as he stepped inside.

“‘We were taking the tour,' one of the students explained.

“‘The tour?' the officer replied. ‘What tour? This
house has been closed up and condemned for years.'

“‘But what about Mr. Hobson, the tour guide?'

“‘Hobson? Jeremiah Hobson?' the officer asked.

“‘Yeah, that's him.'

“‘Jeremiah Hobson lived in this house two hundred years ago! You say you saw him?'

“‘Yeah, he's right over—'

“The kids all turned to the spot where a moment before, Jeremiah Hobson had been standing. He had vanished. Turning back to the police officer, their eyes opened wide in shock as they watched the front door slam closed . . . with no one having touched it.

“‘Good-bye, Jeremiah,' the officer said, which was when the kids realized that they had been given a tour of the house by its original occupant—or at least by his ghost.”

“Cool!” Melissa cried. “I like it. But I wish the lights would come back on so we could keep rehearsing.”

“I have one,” Tiffany said with a sly grin.

“My story is about the very play we're performing,” Tiffany began. “I did a little research and discovered that it was first performed thirty years ago. In fact, it was put on in this school, in this auditorium, on this stage where we are now sitting.

“A creepy drama teacher named Wormhouse wrote the play. She insisted that the school put it on, but she met a lot of resistance from parents and teachers who said it was too strange and too scary and that it didn't have a happy ending. They all wanted Wormhouse to do a safe, nice musical, something everyone knew and was comfortable with. But she would have no part of that. She insisted that her play be performed, and in the end she got her way.

“Right from the start, though, the rehearsals were plagued with strange incidents. Props would break, scenery would collapse for no reason right in the middle of a scene, and lights would go on and off by themselves—kind of like what happened to us tonight.

“Finally opening night came. But as soon as the girl playing Carrie stepped out onto the stage to begin the show, something fell from above. It struck her and killed her instantly.”

All the girls onstage gasped.

Tiffany had them in the palm of her hand, and she knew it.

“Back then there were rumors that the play itself is cursed . . . and that whoever plays the lead is destined to die!”

As Tiffany said the word “die,” the lights in the auditorium blazed back to life.

Bree looked around and realized that everyone on the stage was wide eyed—and they were all staring right at her!

“Thank you, Tiffany, for that very entertaining piece of folklore,” Ms. Hollows said as she came back into the auditorium. “As you can see, the problem with the lights has been resolved. Now if we can all get back to reality, I'd like to run through one more scene.”

Bree did her best to focus as the rehearsal continued, but Tiffany's story had really shaken her.
Cursed!
she thought.
Could the play really be cursed?
Was that what she had been feeling all along? Was such a thing even possible?

Bree was by nature a pretty rational, straightforward person. She liked ghost stories but never truly believed in the supernatural. But a strange feeling of dread began to work its way into her subconscious. She was sure she
wanted to be here doing this play. But there was something else . . . something she just couldn't put her finger on that was making her question that decision.

When rehearsal ended, she headed from the auditorium feeling unsatisfied. She thought that the first part of the rehearsal had gone very well. Then the lights had gone out and Tiffany had told her story. Bree was much less pleased with the quality of the scenes she had run through after that.

“You okay?” Melissa asked, catching up to Bree at the front door of the school. “You seemed kinda out of it during that last scene.”

“I don't know, Lis, that story Tiffany told about the play really freaked me out,” Bree explained.

“Oh, she's just trying to get under your skin,” Melissa said. “She's still all bent out of shape about not getting the lead. She's probably trying to rattle you so Ms. Hollows reconsiders. Don't let her mess with your mind. You're doing a great job. You were born to be Carrie!”

“Thanks, Lis. I think,” Bree said hesitantly. She knew that Melissa's comment was intended as a compliment, but it reminded her of what Ms. Hollows had said on the day of the auditions:
The play has been waiting for you.
Both
statements carried a strange sense of destiny that made Bree very uncomfortable.

Bree and Melissa stepped out of the building and into a raging thunderstorm.

“Okay, well, that explains why the lights went out,” Bree said, looking out at the wind-whipped trees and sheets of torrential rain. She felt relieved to find a logical explanation for the creepy incident that had so closely mimicked the events in the play.

“For sure,” Melissa agreed. “I just hope I have power at home. I have tons of chatting to do online! See ya tomorrow, Bree.” Melissa trotted over to where her older brother waited in his car to give her a ride home.

“Hi,
Gabrielle
,” said someone from behind her. Bree spun around and saw Tiffany standing on the steps of the school.

“Tiffany!” Bree cried, startled to hear a classmate calling her by her full name.

“I have something to tell you,” Tiffany said.

Bree thought she had said quite enough for one day already. Or was she actually going to apologize for always being so snotty?