Final Curtain

After hours in the theater,

when the cast and crew have gone,

long after the last of the audience has left,

a new world appears,

that of the spirit and the unseen.

Ever since I had taken a starring role as the vampire,

and had entered this theater,

I knew some unseen object was beckoning me,

it were somewhere in this theater,

I know I must find that object,

even though I don't know what it is I seek.

I also know I fear I will find that object.

This night, the calling is stronger

than it had ever been before,

this night was to be the night

I had looked forward to with fear,

knowing all the time, it had to come sooner or later,

and there was nothing I could do but heed that call.

This was to be the night,

this, the last night of our play,

this night, when all the others had gone.

I leaned against the frame of my dressing room door,

looking out across the long, darkened stage,

high in the catwalks, a board creeks.

Is it, just a board, or perhaps some unseen figure,

gliding there?

As small guide lamp dies,

it appears to have burned out

after many long nights of continuous use.

But has the bulb burned out?

Couldn't it have been that some unseen thing

has probed a hole through the frosted glass

to let in the infectious air?

A gust of wind pour through my open dressing room window,

is it the wind?

Perhaps another spirit entering for a night of pleasure,

in the lonely darkness that is this,

the theater after hours,

after the final curtain has come down.

A cat screams.

Why do I pay so much attention to the scream of a cat?

It is outside, I only want to know the sounds from within,

perhaps it has come from within, a canid screams,

like someone in mortal terror,

in horrible, unbearable pain,

the cries echo, and re-echo.

Are they echoing in my own mind, alone?

I clasp my hands over my ears to shut out the sound.

Suddenly, I realize I must have screamed,

for my throat feels raw from a sudden, violence.

What is this, this blackness I face here in the theater,

long after all others have gone?

This blackness that permits a new world to appear,

a new world of the spirit,

and the unseen, the unseen that hides in high lofts,

and dark corners during daylight hours.

The unseen that comes from hiding,

to parade and frolic in the massive expanse

of the auditorium when it is dark, and they are alone.

I had heard that after the witching hour had struck,

these unseen spirits would return to die and re-die,

live and relive their experiences

that they had witnessed during the

time of their mortal existence.

I wanted to experience these happenings,

to undertake the spine tingling sensations

that were sure to be there.

Midnight, the witching hour.

I leave the comforting lights of my dressing room,

and move to stand on the dark, empty stage,

I look out, over the darkened auditorium.

The seats out front are,

as I have seen them night after night,

while doing my lines on this side of the foot lights.

Now, empty,

they appear like squatty little fat men,

standing row on row,

like soldiers in formation.

There is a movement in the balcony,

perhaps, a seat has fallen on its hinges,

then, a creak in the galleries,

another guide lamp goes out,

as had it's counterpart before.

A chill passes through my body.

Something races past my foot,

a rat?

A rattling in the pipes,

somewhere overhead, what is it?

Faint, startling,

almost impossible,

surely it must have been some water

that had become lodged in the pipes,

caught by something that had finally dislodged itself.

I strain my eyes to pierce even deeper into the darkness,

but I can see nothing,

nothing but the blackness,

and the outlines of the seats,

the high ridges of the balcony,

hanging like a dark thunder cloud,

over an even darker sky.

I cannot tell where space ends

and the auditorium walls begin,

but, do I really want to know?

Something deep from within my very being

draws me from this stage,

I want, I must, explore further into the deep blackness.

I must go up that spiral staircase,

I must see the floors above,

to enter into the costume rooms,

the scenery rooms, the makeup rooms,

all those rooms where one might change his appearance,

to any character nameable,

and unnameable.

I hesitate but a moment, to look back once more,

across the stage and into the darkness of the auditorium,

then,

cautiously, I make my way through the darkness,

to the spiral staircase.

From somewhere high above,

the faint light of the moon drifts through a window.

The rays give a bluish tint to the guide rail,

I take the metal of the guide rail in my hand,

it is cold, like the cold of the dead,

the moisture from my hand causes it to feel clammy,

and unearthly, it is moving my hand,