both appear in the window. I jump up, arms raised; they each grab an arm (a little roughly I might add), and I’m jerked through the window, my knees scraping and bumping the wall.
Inside, I see the glow of seven other flashlights as the others have already gotten to the business of looking for this legendary spirit.
It’s like I’ve stepped back in time. Old velvet curtains drape from the ceiling over the stage area. Accents of brass line the stage and the trim above it. There are seating boxes suspended off the far walls, a few on either side of the stage, and I imagine that’s where the wealthy or the town dignitaries would have watched the performances. Old lights hang from the top of the stage, many of them rusty and broken. “So. . . how do we find this ghost?”
Vincent comes to stand by me. “What are you talking about? What ghost?”
I look at Vincent.
Vincent looks at Angel.
“I told Katie about how everyone comes to see the ghost who haunts this place. You know, it’s like a tradition. And we didn’t want Katie to miss out on it. I knew it would make her feel like she’s really part of In Between.”
Vincent and Angel continue to talk, their voices becoming inaudible as I walk toward center stage and discover the orchestra pit. A real orchestra pit. Like in Phantom of the Opera .
“You can go down there, you know.” Angel’s voice startles me as I peer down into the pit.
“You scared me.”
“There’s a door off to the left of the stage. It will take you to some stairs that go underneath the stage to the pit. It’s pretty cool.”
“Want to go with me?”
“Nah, I’ve seen it hundreds of times. You should go check it out.”
“Yeah, maybe later.”
“Scared?” Angel’s taunts are getting a little old.
“No, I’m not scared. I’ll go down there. It’s no big deal. You go find your ghost.” I stomp off toward the stage and find the door that must lead to the orchestra pit.
The sign on it that said Orchestra Pit was a big help.
The door creaks open, and I shine my light down a set of stairs. I ease onto the first one and let go of the door, and the spring slams it shut. I check my pocket for the cell phone just in case Vincent’s gang decides to get cute and lock me in here, then carefully make my way down the wooden steps. Turning a corner, I find the opening to the pit and go in.
There’s not much down here. A few old chairs, some yellowed sheet music, dated 1946, and a couple of beat-up music stands.
I move in closer to see if I can find anything else when I hear it. A sound that doesn’t belong. And it’s definitely not a ghostly sound.
A hammer.
I yell out the pit opening. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Nothing. Just more hammering. Then laughing.
Maybe they did find the ghost, and they’re doing some arts and crafts projects with him.
At the sound of breaking glass, I go into full panic mode. This is definitely not good. Now I hear a symphony above of shattering glass, curtains being ripped, the unmistakable hiss of spray paint, and the crash of unidentifiable things being thrown.
My heart pounding, I race up the steps and pull on the door. It won’t budge.
Propping my foot on the door, I put my whole body weight into pushing on it. I bang and shove, yelling for someone, anyone to let me out. A thought skitters through my brain: What would Frances Vega do? And then I remember the cell phone in my pocket. I’ll call the Scotts.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay— oomph!
The door. It’s open! I fly through the doorway and out into the theatre in time to see blue lights flashing outside and four police officers inside.
Staring right at me.
Chapter 19
F ind me a bridge. I will gladly dive off.
I sit in the back of the police car, handcuffed (handcuffed!) and shaking like a bobble-head. The police radio barks commands and dispatches as we pass through the darkened town. I don’t know when I’ll get to make a phone call to the Scotts. I don’t
Inside, I see the glow of seven other flashlights as the others have already gotten to the business of looking for this legendary spirit.
It’s like I’ve stepped back in time. Old velvet curtains drape from the ceiling over the stage area. Accents of brass line the stage and the trim above it. There are seating boxes suspended off the far walls, a few on either side of the stage, and I imagine that’s where the wealthy or the town dignitaries would have watched the performances. Old lights hang from the top of the stage, many of them rusty and broken. “So. . . how do we find this ghost?”
Vincent comes to stand by me. “What are you talking about? What ghost?”
I look at Vincent.
Vincent looks at Angel.
“I told Katie about how everyone comes to see the ghost who haunts this place. You know, it’s like a tradition. And we didn’t want Katie to miss out on it. I knew it would make her feel like she’s really part of In Between.”
Vincent and Angel continue to talk, their voices becoming inaudible as I walk toward center stage and discover the orchestra pit. A real orchestra pit. Like in Phantom of the Opera .
“You can go down there, you know.” Angel’s voice startles me as I peer down into the pit.
“You scared me.”
“There’s a door off to the left of the stage. It will take you to some stairs that go underneath the stage to the pit. It’s pretty cool.”
“Want to go with me?”
“Nah, I’ve seen it hundreds of times. You should go check it out.”
“Yeah, maybe later.”
“Scared?” Angel’s taunts are getting a little old.
“No, I’m not scared. I’ll go down there. It’s no big deal. You go find your ghost.” I stomp off toward the stage and find the door that must lead to the orchestra pit.
The sign on it that said Orchestra Pit was a big help.
The door creaks open, and I shine my light down a set of stairs. I ease onto the first one and let go of the door, and the spring slams it shut. I check my pocket for the cell phone just in case Vincent’s gang decides to get cute and lock me in here, then carefully make my way down the wooden steps. Turning a corner, I find the opening to the pit and go in.
There’s not much down here. A few old chairs, some yellowed sheet music, dated 1946, and a couple of beat-up music stands.
I move in closer to see if I can find anything else when I hear it. A sound that doesn’t belong. And it’s definitely not a ghostly sound.
A hammer.
I yell out the pit opening. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Nothing. Just more hammering. Then laughing.
Maybe they did find the ghost, and they’re doing some arts and crafts projects with him.
At the sound of breaking glass, I go into full panic mode. This is definitely not good. Now I hear a symphony above of shattering glass, curtains being ripped, the unmistakable hiss of spray paint, and the crash of unidentifiable things being thrown.
My heart pounding, I race up the steps and pull on the door. It won’t budge.
Propping my foot on the door, I put my whole body weight into pushing on it. I bang and shove, yelling for someone, anyone to let me out. A thought skitters through my brain: What would Frances Vega do? And then I remember the cell phone in my pocket. I’ll call the Scotts.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay— oomph!
The door. It’s open! I fly through the doorway and out into the theatre in time to see blue lights flashing outside and four police officers inside.
Staring right at me.
Chapter 19
F ind me a bridge. I will gladly dive off.
I sit in the back of the police car, handcuffed (handcuffed!) and shaking like a bobble-head. The police radio barks commands and dispatches as we pass through the darkened town. I don’t know when I’ll get to make a phone call to the Scotts. I don’t
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