Olive and the Backstage Ghost

by Michelle Schusterman

  She liked all the cast members very much, though, and she couldn’t wait to see their acts. Tuesday, Maude had promised, they would all begin rehearsing together. Olive knew that thought would be the only thing that would get her through the next three days without Maudeville.

  She sang softly to herself as she crossed the lobby on Friday afternoon. But when she heard a muffled sob, Olive froze. She crept quietly across the marble floor, drawing nearer to the sound of the crying girl. The eyes of the portrait-Maudes watched her closely.

  “…he thinks I should leave, but I can’t, because of you…”

  Olive peeked around the column closest to the door and gasped.

  “Oh!” Juliana spun around, wide-eyed, her face streaked with tears. Next to her, the air shimmered, and before Olive could decide whether she’d really seen the thing she thought she’d seen, it had vanished.

  For a moment, the two girls simply gaped at each other. “Are you okay?” Olive asked at last. Her eyes strayed to the spot where the air had briefly seemed like more than air. Juliana stepped in front of it in a protective sort of way.

  “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

  “Was that…” Olive hesitated. Her every nerve ending tingled, static covering her like a second layer of skin. “Was that a ghost?”

  Juliana wiped her cheeks on her sleeve. “Yeah. There’re lots of them around here.” She caught the frightened look on Olive’s face and gave her a feeble smile. “Don’t worry. He’s a very nice ghost.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Um…” Juliana swallowed visibly. “Knuckles. He’s in the orchestra.” Her red eyes darted nervously around the lobby before focusing on Olive again. “You’ll meet him soon, right? Maude said we’ll all be rehearsing together next week, onstage. Everyone’s so excited to hear you sing.”

  Olive tried not to look too pleased or too nervous. “I can’t wait to see the rest of the show,” she said. “Especially you and Valentine—I love magic acts. Does she really saw you in half? Oh, I mean, he! Or…” Olive trailed off, face suddenly aflame. But Juliana didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment.

  “Yup, I get sawed right down the middle,” she replied. “And Val’s not a he or a she.”

  Olive blinked. “Oh. So…what should I say?”

  “They.”

  “They?” Olive repeated. “How do you know?”

  “I asked them.” Juliana toyed with her ponytail. “Anyway, I should get back to rehearsal. It was nice to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you too,” Olive echoed. She watched as Juliana hurried to the double doors, giving Olive a quick wave before slipping inside the auditorium. Confused and deflated, Olive left the theater. Juliana had clearly been unwilling to tell Olive the truth, but what was she hiding? The way she’d stepped in front of the spot where the ghost had been, then hastily reassured Olive that all the theater’s ghosts were friendly…maybe she’d lied so as not to scare Olive off.

  Olive was so preoccupied she didn’t hear the boy from the alley approaching. When he touched her shoulder, she screamed.

  “Jeez, sorry!” He backed away, palms flat.

  Olive scowled at him. “What do you want?”

  The boy glanced over his shoulder at the theater. “Are you leaving?”

  “Obviously.”

  “For good?”

  Upon closer inspection, Olive noticed that the boy’s eyes were pinkish, and his voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d been yelling or crying. His clothes—the same ones from earlier this week—were even dirtier now, and his fingernails were caked with grime. She remembered when she’d first seen him, rummaging around in the dumpster, and she realized with a pang that he might not have a home to return to.

  “No, I’ll be back Tuesday,” she said, shifting to a kinder tone. “Um…what’s your name?”

  “Felix Morella.”

  “Oh.” Olive attempted a smile. “I’m Olive Preiss.”

  “I know.”

  Olive opened her mouth to ask how, then decided he was probably lying. “Well,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Wait!” Felix moved forward when she turned to leave. “Just wait a sec.”

  Olive eyed him warily. “What?”

  “Look.” Felix stood at her side and gestured at Maudeville. “Really look at it. What does it look like?”

  Frowning, Olive looked. The grand, curved steps were flanked by two large columns, the granite flecked with sparkling silver. The colorful mosaic surrounding the entrance practically glowed, and the lights around the marquee were just beginning to twinkle as the sun dipped behind the theater. Olive pictured Eidola! Starring Olive Preiss on that marquee in bold black letters. For a moment, she actually saw it and smiled to herself.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Felix made a frustrated noise, and Olive flushed a little. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “I have to go,” she said quickly. “It’s getting late.”

  “Don’t come back.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His voice was low and urgent. “Don’t come back here. It’s dangerous.”

  A weird, dry laugh escaped Olive. “Dangerous? How?”

  “Because you can’t see it!” Felix cried, riffling his hands through his hair in frustration. “Listen, it’s not too late, you can—”

  Olive stepped back, alarmed. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please stop.”

  Felix fell silent. Olive glanced from him to the dumpster. “I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “I really am. I’m sorry…I have to go.” His shoulders slumped, but he did not protest when she turned away and hurried down the empty street.

  It’s dangerous. Olive shook off these words. The boy was troubled, obviously. He ate food out of the dumpster; he didn’t even have a change of clothes. And he was afraid of the theater, which was ridiculous…or was it? Olive frowned. Juliana had said Knuckles was nice, but he’d left her in tears. And Felix was too scared to even go inside.

  Perhaps the ghosts of Maudeville weren’t as kind as everyone claimed.

  The weekend was too hot and too long. Mrs. Preiss had placed electric fans in front of the open windows, circulating the humid air from outside throughout the penthouse. Olive spent Saturday and Sunday in her room. She desperately wanted to practice, but she couldn’t let her mother hear. And with every hour that passed, the songs from Eidola slipped further from her mind.

  By Sunday night, Olive was genuinely alarmed. It had been only two days, but somehow her memories of Maudeville were as faint as if she’d last visited years ago. The lyrics were vanishing, the melodies wavering and off-key. Panicking, Olive closed herself in her stuffy closet and tried to sing her favorite song, a haunting ballad that came just before the magic act. “Bottomless floods and boundless vales, and…” Olive squeezed her eyes closed. “No, that’s not it. Bottomless vales and boundless floods, and caves…no, chasms…oh, come on!”

  Frustrated, she flung her music folder at the closet door and covered her face with her hands. In the dark behind her eyelids, she pictured herself onstage. Every seat was filled, all eyes on her as the spotlight hit….

  A different kind of warmth spread through her. Not the unpleasant, sticky late-summer mugginess. A comforting heat that started deep in her lungs and crept up her throat. Lowering her hands, Olive started the song again.

  She remembered every word.

  That night, Olive dreamed about Eidola. During breakfast, she saw the stage every time she blinked. Mrs. Preiss was irritated by her daughter’s distracted behavior and, before going out, assigned her several chores to do throughout the day. The only bright side was that Olive had the penthouse to herself. She sang while she scrubbed the floors and dusted the furniture. After dinner, she fell onto her bed, still reeking of detergent, and slept deeply.

  On Tuesday morning, Olive could barely eat her oatmeal. The oppressive heat and lingering smell of bleach made the penthouse unbearable. At last, Mrs. Preiss wrote a new list of chores an
d left for the day. Olive watched out the window until she saw her mother hurrying down the street to catch the bus. Once again, Olive briefly wondered where Mrs. Preiss was going. But the second her mother was out of sight, she was also out of mind.

  Olive raced to her father’s study, threw open the window, and climbed down the fire escape at top speed. She let go a rung too soon, and her feet smacked the pavement, sending a shock wave up through her knees.

  “Olive?”

  Spinning around, Olive stared at Mrs. Marino, who stood at the corner wiping off one of the coffee shop’s patio tables. Brushing a lock of limp, graying hair off her forehead, the woman squinted at Olive through tiny spectacles. “Are you okay, hon?” Her eyes flickered to the ladder hanging over Olive’s head.

  “Fine!” Olive said, a little too brightly. “Just, um…taking out the trash.” She gestured vaguely to one of the garbage cans, which she realized a second too late was empty. But if Mrs. Marino suspected anything, she didn’t show it.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while!” she said cheerfully, tucking the rag into her apron pocket. “How’ve you been?”

  “Great!” Olive chirped. “Really great.”

  “Good, good.” Mrs. Marino tilted her head in a sympathetic sort of way. “And your mother?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m about to take a batch of lemon bars out of the oven.” Pulling the door open, Mrs. Marino smiled at Olive. “How about one or two on the house?”

  “Thank you!” Olive said. “But I—I’ve got some errands to run for my mother. Maybe later?”

  “All right, dear!” Olive thought she heard Mrs. Marino call something else, but she was already hurrying down the street. She felt bad for being so rude, but after three days away from Maudeville, she could think of nothing but returning.

  By the time she passed the Alcazar, Olive was panting and damp with sweat. A rustling noise from the alley caught her attention. Turning, Olive saw that the dumpster lid was up. She could just make out Felix’s messy black hair as he rummaged around inside, tossing brown banana peels and tin cans over his shoulder. As if he felt her gaze, Felix looked up.

  “You came back.” He didn’t sound surprised.

  Olive shrugged. “Yeah.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Felix held out a moldy orange. “Hungry?”

  His lips twitched a little, and Olive found herself trying not to smile too. “You know, there’s a fruit stand on the corner.”

  “I know.”

  “I, um…” Olive fished a few coins from her pocket and held them out awkwardly. “Here.”

  “What’s that for?”

  “For food,” Olive said, flustered. “You shouldn’t have to eat out of the dumpster.”

  A strange expression crossed his face. “You think that’s gross, huh?”

  By now, Olive was blushing furiously. “Look, will you just take this?”

  “No, but thanks,” Felix said. “That’s really nice of you.”

  He spoke without a trace of sarcasm, and while he wasn’t smiling, he didn’t look offended either. Olive’s face still felt as though it were on fire.

  “You’re welcome,” she said uncomfortably. After a few seconds, she realized she was still holding out the coins and stuffed them hastily back in her pocket. “Well…see you later.”

  “See you.”

  Nodding, Olive turned and headed up the stairs. She’d half expected Felix to argue with her, tell her the theater was dangerous, once again try to stop her from going in. But he watched her go in silence. The double doors closed heavily behind her, the sound echoing in the empty lobby.

  Olive paused to collect herself just outside of the auditorium, smoothing her hair and wiping the sweat off her brow. She could hear the buzz of voices inside, and a fresh wave of excitement flooded through her, now tinged with anxiety. Olive’s eyes flickered from portrait to portrait. The Maudes all smiled, and her nerves quieted. She smiled back.

  Lifting her chin, Olive pulled open the auditorium doors and was greeted by a floating severed hand.

  The fingers wiggled as if to say hello. Frozen in shock, Olive barely had time to register the fact that the hand was transparent before it zoomed off toward the orchestra pit, where a jaunty polka seemed to be coming from the piano, despite the lack of a pianist. The hand disappeared behind the lid, and a moment later, a tinkling melody joined the chords.

  Olive gazed at the scene in front of her in awe. A massive thing hung from the rafters in the back—oval, white, and completely wrapped in what appeared to be glistening white thread, like an enormous cocoon. Perhaps it was just Olive’s imagination, but the thing glowed ever so slightly.

  The stage seemed to have expanded since Olive had stood on it last Monday. It was as if the theater was bigger on the inside than its exterior implied. In fact, the stage was now so large that it accommodated the entire cast, all of whom were in the middle of their own private dress rehearsals.

  Tanisha stood on the right, flinging dozens of snow globes in a dizzying pattern in the air. She caught them all effortlessly, occasionally letting them roll down her shoulders or balancing one on her knee while juggling the rest. The globes flew higher and higher, each filled with its own raging snowstorm, and to Olive’s eyes they seemed to hover overhead longer than the laws of physics would allow.

  Mickey’s fire-breathing act dominated the entire rear half of the stage. He paced back and forth, twirling his torch as the flames grew bigger and brighter. Stopping on the left side, he leaned back and, in one swift move, dipped the entire fiery torch into his mouth. Then he let out a magnificent billow of flames in a silent roar. The fire swirled around and around the giant white cocoon, and Olive, remembering Maude’s story, had a brief, horrifying mental image of the entire theater burning to the ground. But Mickey stepped forward with his torch held out, looking every bit like a sorcerer with his staff. And somehow, incredibly, the flames reversed, twisting around back into the torch. Olive stared in disbelief at the cocoon, which appeared completely undamaged.

  A body suddenly dropped from the rafters, and Olive screamed. Eli twisted in front of the cocoon, clinging to a long elastic rope that stretched across the stage, parallel to the surface. It bent beneath his weight to form a V, slowing Eli’s fall until he hovered inches from the floor before the rope catapulted him upward and out of sight. Olive waited, clawing her face with her nails, but he did not reappear.

  On the far left of the stage, Valentine slowly circled an innocuous-looking cabinet and then stepped inside, closing the doors firmly. Olive barely had time to blink before a voice whispered in her ear:

  “Impressive, right?”

  Gasping, Olive turned to find Valentine at her side, wearing a rather mischievous grin. “How…” Olive sputtered, staring from the magician to the wardrobe and back again.

  Val’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.” They pointed to center stage just as the piano polka ended with a flourish. “You haven’t even seen our ventriloquist yet. Our newest act—well, besides you. You’re going to love this.”

  Between Tanisha’s flying snow globes, the seemingly out-of-control fire now raging once more from Mickey’s mouth, and Eli’s heart attack–inducing stunt, Olive had barely noticed the small girl seated in the middle of the stage. Her cropped hair was dyed a shocking shade of blue that would have made Mrs. Preiss purse her lips in disapproval. She wore a ruffled black skirt, bright pink shirt, and scuffed Mary Janes, along with tons of brightly colored, chunky necklaces and bracelets. A dummy sat on her knee, about the same size as the girl. He was blond, with cartoonish freckles on both cheeks and glassy brown eyes, and his suspenders and bow tie were the same shade of blue as the girl’s hair.

  Olive sank into a chair, vaguely aware of Val taking the seat next to her. “How old is she?”

  “Nadia?” Val sounded amused. “Seven, I guess. Like Aidan.”

  “Aidan? Is that the dummy’s name?” Oliv
e asked, and Val smiled.

  “Just watch.”

  So Olive watched. Nadia’s voice was high and clear as she chatted with Aidan and set up jokes for him to deliver the punch lines. The dummy’s voice was only slightly lower than hers, but Olive had to admit that Nadia’s ventriloquism skills were astounding. Her mouth didn’t open at all when Aidan spoke—she even took a sip of water and gargled while he sang “Goosey Goosey Gander,” each word perfectly audible. But as impressive as Nadia was, especially considering her age, Olive couldn’t help thinking her act wasn’t quite as magical as the others.

  That is, until Aidan leaped off her lap and took a bow while Nadia slumped over in her chair.

  Olive cried out in shock. The little boy saw her gaping and waved cheerfully before gathering the girl up in his arms and heading offstage, staggering a little under her weight. Olive turned to Val, her mouth still opening and closing soundlessly.

  The magician laughed. “Not bad, right?”

  “I don’t…” Olive shook her head. “I don’t understand what just happened.”

  “You just saw the greatest ventriloquist act in the world—that’s what happened,” Val replied. “Aidan’s amazing. He had you going, right?”

  “Aidan…is the ventriloquist?”

  “Yep.”

  “So Nadia is the dummy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But she looked so real!” Olive cried. “And Aidan looked so…” She flailed her arms, mimicking his jerky movements. “He was a puppet!”

  Val was still snickering. But before either of them could say another word, a throaty voice came from behind them.

  “What do you think, darling?”

  At the sight of Maude’s warm, wide smile, Olive thought her heart would explode with happiness. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “All of it, everyone is just…” She trailed off, unable to express herself any more clearly. Maude looked pleased.

  “So glad you approve,” she said, skirts rustling as she continued down the aisle. “But I bet you’ll appreciate it even more from up here!”