Olive flinched. “I…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay!” the boy said cheerfully. “It was frustrating at first because no one could see me except Maude. But she said if I wanted to stay, eventually everyone would see me again. And it’s working!” His face fell. “I wish Juliana wasn’t so sad about it, though. Felix keeps trying to get her to leave and join that carnival.”
“Do you know why?” Olive asked. “Why he hates Maudeville so much?”
Finley shook his head sadly. “He did from the beginning. But he’s just really protective, since he’s the oldest. Felix was always trying to protect us from our dad. Running away was his idea, and Juliana and I followed him because…” Finley paused, making a vague gesture. “I don’t know. We trusted him because he always took care of us. But we were hungry and sleeping on benches in the park, and…” His eyes brightened. “And then I found Maudeville. Maude said I could bring Felix and Juliana here and that we could stay and…and be safe.” He sighed. “And Juliana loved it here as much as I did, but Felix…he just hated it, right from the start. He thought we were nuts for wanting to live here.”
A shiver passed through Olive, and she rubbed her goose-pimply arms. “Yeah, he kept trying to tell me not to come here either.”
“When Maude cast me in the show, Felix left,” Finley said bitterly. “Maude told me and Juliana he was welcome back anytime. She was real nice about it. But Felix wouldn’t even come inside the lobby.” He paused, staring out into the auditorium. “He didn’t even come see me when I died.”
Olive swallowed. “Well, he wouldn’t have been able to see you then,” she pointed out, hoping to comfort him. “I can tell him you’re visible now, if you want. I’m sure he’d come if he knew he could talk to you.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Finley gestured to the open trapdoor. “He didn’t come to the service.”
“Service?”
Nodding, Finley floated down through the trapdoor. “Come see.”
Olive cast a nervous glance around the auditorium, then followed. She gripped the ladder tightly, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the inky black beneath the stage.
“I guess I can’t blame Felix for thinking Juliana’s in danger, since I died and all,” Finley said as Olive’s bare feet touched the gritty ground. “But that was just an accident. She’s a lot safer here than she was back at home,” he added darkly. “Anyway, you’d think Felix would’ve at least come to say goodbye to me. Juliana’s still mad he didn’t.”
It was so dark here, and Finley so barely visible, that it took Olive a moment to realize he was pointing to a lump of hard-packed dirt that glittered darkly like charcoal. A mound that was, in fact, roughly the size of a young boy. The truth ripped the breath from Olive’s lungs.
This was where Finley’s body was buried.
The sight of the small, simple grave filled Olive with a rush of nausea. Her knees hit the ground, and through the sudden pealing of bells in her ears, she heard Finley’s concerned voice fade to nothing. The incessant ringing stopped abruptly, and the world went mute. Her eyes darted around frantically, but the ghost was gone. It was just Olive, all alone under the stage with a body buried in the dirt.
Seized with panic, she flung herself at the ladder and began to climb, limbs quaking out of control. She pulled herself out of the trap room and blinked—the lamp was off, the blackness now absolute. Except…Olive’s gaze fell on a sliver of dim light. The doors to the lobby.
Eyes glued to the exit, Olive climbed down off the stage. She moved as quickly as she dared down the aisle, bumping into armrests and scratching her legs. The silence was too complete, as if the theater were trying to convince her she was alone. It was the same feeling Olive had had back at the penthouse in the dead of night—invisible eyes peering through a crack in her bedroom door. She reached the exit at last, tore across the lobby, and burst out of the theater. Olive sprinted down the street, desperate to put as much distance between herself and Maudeville as possible. And then she stopped.
She stood there in the middle of the road, her back to the theater, taking deep, gulping breaths. Warm night air filled her lungs, the everything smell of the city comforting her, stars twinkling kindly overhead. Her terror at what had just happened had already begun to fade. She wasn’t sure why she’d stopped running, exactly. But now she had the overwhelming sense that if she left Maudeville, she would never find it again. And despite everything she’d just learned, she wasn’t quite ready to leave. After all, Olive reasoned to herself, she’d known from the start that the place was haunted.
Most of the city’s theaters had their ghosts. And the ghosts Olive had met at Maudeville were perfectly nice.
Yet Olive couldn’t turn around and walk back inside. Nor could she bring herself to walk away. She stood like a statue in the street, hit with a sudden urge to curl up on the gravel and sleep. A warm hand touched her elbow, and she shrieked.
“Sorry!” Felix took a step back, eyes wide. He started to say something else, but it turned to a cry of surprise when Olive threw her arms around him. After a few seconds, he hugged her back, although gingerly. Olive pulled away, too relieved by the presence of a living, breathing human being to feel embarrassed. And without waiting for him to ask, she told him everything.
Felix listened intently. When Olive reached the part about Finley singing onstage, his expression faltered. He squeezed his eyes closed as she explained that Finley couldn’t remember exactly how he’d died but that Maude had encouraged him to stay. When she haltingly told Felix about the grave in the trap room, he made a small, fragile noise. He wiped furiously at his face, and Olive looked down, pretending not to notice his tears.
“He’s happy here, though,” she added hastily. “He said so, and he seemed like he meant it.”
Felix rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he is. He loved this place from the beginning, just like you.”
Olive fidgeted. “Well…what’s wrong with that? Knuckles and the seamstresses are happy here too.”
“So that means they should stay here forever?” Felix asked sharply. “Stuck in some old theater?”
Olive didn’t respond. In truth, she could think of far worse places to spend eternity. Felix let out a humorless laugh.
“You get the same look on your face as Finley did whenever you think about Maudeville,” he told her. “I remember when he first told me and Juliana about this place—the way he described it, it might as well have been heaven. Then he brought us here and I thought he’d lost his mind. But Juliana seemed to love it too, and I don’t understand—” His voice broke, and his jaw clenched. “Look at it, Olive. Please, just turn around and look.”
Dread crept up Olive’s spine. “Why? I know what it looks like. You’ve already—”
“You ran out here like the devil was chasing you,” Felix interrupted. “You were terrified. And not of Finley’s ghost. You were afraid of the theater. Look at it, before you forget.”
At that moment, there was nothing Olive wanted to do less. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. She’d seen Maudeville dozens of times. So why should it be so hard, in this moment, to face it? Lifting her chin, Olive forced herself to turn around. Her heart stammered in protest.
The beautiful, elegant Maudeville was gone. In its place stood an abandoned theater, a condemned, hellish place. The steps were crumbling, stiff brown weeds poking through the cracks like corpses. Grayish mold clung to the thick columns, and some sort of green-black grime coated the once-glittering mosaic, forming sinister snake-eye patterns across the facade. The doors stood slightly ajar, and the darkness within seemed to move, as if it were a living thing that could spill out, creep down the stairs and into the street, and swallow everything in its path.
“It’s evil,” she whispered. “It’s…wrong.” She couldn’t tear her eyes from the horrific sight as she turned her head slightly toward Felix. “Why did it change? How did it change?”
“It didn’t,” Felix repli
ed. “That’s what it’s always looked like. At least to me. The inside was even worse.”
“But…” Olive couldn’t accept what she was seeing. “When was the last time you went inside?”
His mouth was set in a thin line. “The night my brother died.”
There was nothing to say to that, no adequate response. Comforting words, however well-meaning, disappeared into the void that opened up inside a person when a loved one was plucked from existence. Olive knew this as well as anyone, and so she said nothing and simply waited for Felix to continue.
“I kept looking for other options,” Felix said quietly. “But it’s hard, because I knew most places would just contact our father once they found out we were runaways. I’d spend all day trying to scrape up money, and Juliana and Finley would stay here. They kept going on and on about how perfect it was. And after a few weeks, I started thinking…” He sighed, casting a dark look at the theater. “I thought maybe I should just go see this show they were so excited about. Give it a chance, you know?”
Olive nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. She felt as though the theater was glaring at her.
“I snuck in through the door in the alley,” Felix continued. “When I walked into the hall, Finley was onstage, singing. He saw me, and…” He squeezed his eyes closed. “He just froze. I don’t know why, but he looked like he was afraid of me, or afraid of—of something. After a few seconds, something grabbed me.”
“What was it?”
Felix shook his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see anything. But it was strong. It grabbed me here”—he gestured to the back of his shirt, at his neck—“and dragged me backward through the lobby. But I heard Finley scream before it threw me out the doors. Finley screamed, and there was a crash, and then he…he stopped screaming.”
Here his voice broke, and Olive felt his grief acutely. Or maybe it was her own anguish, a keen sorrow she’d done her best to keep locked up tight, that was breaking free at last.
“It was an accident,” Olive heard herself say.
Felix snorted. “That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
Privately, Olive disagreed. She tilted her head back and gazed at the night sky, trying to ignore the faint throbbing in her chest, the same old scar that never did quite heal right.
“Your mother is looking for you.”
Olive snapped back to attention. “What?”
“I’ve seen interviews in the newspapers,” Felix told her quietly. “She used to be famous, and now her daughter’s missing. Reporters are all over her. She’s got all kinds of people looking for you, flyers everywhere. She’s offering a reward.”
“So?” Olive said, her voice flat. “You don’t think your father’s looking for you?”
Felix’s expression darkened. “He probably is. But not for the same reason as your mother.”
“Which is what?” Olive couldn’t help but ask, and Felix blinked.
“She loves you.”
Olive laughed humorlessly. “That’s just an act.”
“I don’t think so,” Felix said. “She seems frantic. She said—”
“Don’t,” Olive whispered, staring at the pavement and willing the ground to stop shifting beneath her feet. It was a moment before she realized that the darkness from the theater was pooling around her feet.
She stumbled away, and Felix grabbed her arm. They stared at the long, long shadow, following it down the street and up the stairs and to the double doors, where Maude stood tall and smiling.
Light blazed from inside the lobby, casting a warm glow around the elegant woman. Squinting, Olive realized that the theater was beautiful once more, and she took an involuntary step forward. Felix tightened his grip.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “It’s not real.”
“Olive, sweetheart,” said Maude, and her deep, soothing voice wrapped around Olive like a blanket. “I’m sorry Finley gave you such a fright. That was precisely why I told Juliana not to tell you about his ghost—I just didn’t want you to be afraid, darling, especially since the rest of my cast is already so traumatized. It was my mistake, and I apologize. Please come back inside and I’ll explain everything.”
“Leave her alone,” Felix said boldly, though Olive could feel his fingers trembling. “She doesn’t want to be in your show anymore.”
“You poor boy.” Maude’s wide, dark eyes locked onto Felix. “I am so sorry for your loss…although I would think you’d care enough about your sister to at least come and visit once in a while.”
Felix made a disbelieving noise. “I can’t! You know I can’t—those doors won’t open for me anymore. I’ve tried!”
Maude’s lips quirked up. “My doors are always open, darling.” She turned her attention back to Olive. “Everyone is free to come and go as they please. They are all here of their own free will—both the living and the dead. My theater is a sanctuary for those who cannot find happiness in the world outside these walls.”
Olive pulled away from Felix, staring hard at the building that had looked so decrepit just minutes earlier. But she’d had a fright, and her mind had projected her fears onto the theater, tricking her into seeing wicked things lurking in the shadows. Now there was light, and light always showed the truth, didn’t it?
The theater was radiant.
“Come with me,” she told Felix. “Come inside and you’ll see it’s okay.”
He groaned. “No, it’s not. She’s lying, Olive. You can’t—”
But Olive had already tugged her arm from his grasp. She understood now why Felix couldn’t open the theater doors. It wasn’t Maude keeping him out, and it wasn’t a fear of ghosts…although in a way it was. Felix’s brother was dead, and he wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. Like Juliana and the rest of the cast, Felix was grieving. He just had a different way of dealing with it.
“It’s going to be okay,” she told him quietly. “I’ll come back out tomorrow, and the day after that. I’ll come back out every day until you’re ready to come inside with me.”
“You don’t understand,” Felix protested, and Olive smiled sadly.
“I really do.”
With that, she turned and walked toward the theater, up the grand staircase where Maude stood waiting patiently. They entered the brightly lit lobby together, the doors closing with a purposeful click behind them.
Maude’s words flittered around Olive’s dreams like moths. Maude had explained the whole story to her last night—that Felix had burst in during a show and startled the cast, disrupting their focus and causing chaos. The horrifying result was that the great white cocoon had fallen, crushing Finley. His death was Felix’s fault, and though it was an accident, it had marred Felix’s view of the theater forever.
Olive had crept into bed long after the rest of the cast fell asleep. When she woke, the other beds were empty. Olive pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen.
Laughter and louder-than-usual chatter greeted her when she stepped through the entrance. She sought out Juliana first, seated in her usual spot at the end of the bench, near Knuckles. While the other cast members buzzed with excitement over opening night, Juliana was subdued. She hadn’t been quite the same since that night on the stage with Finley. Olive squeezed in between Juliana and Astaire.
“Just in time!” Eli said, beaming at Olive and handing her a plate piled with piping-hot, fresh croissants.
Despite the delicious smell, Olive’s stomach churned unpleasantly. She accepted one, hoping her nerves about opening night weren’t returning. Closing her eyes, Olive tried to savor the buttery taste of the flaky roll. But that same odd tang was present, the one that lingered in the background of everything she ate. Maybe this wasn’t nerves; maybe she was coming down with whatever Juliana had had a few weeks ago. Swallowing, Olive turned to ask her about it and froze.
Juliana was staring at her in horror, her croissant untouched on her napkin. And when Olive looked down at her own croissant in her hand, she dropped it
with a small cry of disgust.
The girls stared at it in silence as the rest of the table chattered on, happily oblivious. It might have been a croissant once. But now it was a shriveled, wrinkled hunk all covered in greenish-bluish mold. Bile rose in the back of Olive’s throat, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
“Everything all right?”
Olive looked up to find Eli watching her closely. Across the table, Aidan cheerfully broke his croissant into smaller pieces to share with Nadia.
“It’s good, right?” he said happily. “They’re from the bakery just down the street. I got them this morning.”
Olive nodded, unable to respond. Because now her croissant looked perfectly normal once more. Her eyes met Juliana’s, which mirrored her fear and confusion. Olive could still feel the mold coating her teeth and tongue like slime, and she was gripped with the sudden knowledge that she was going to vomit once again.
In a flash, Juliana swatted her glass of juice, which splashed onto Olive’s lap. “Oh, sorry!” she cried, pulling Olive to her feet. “Here, I’ll help you clean this up.” She pushed Olive out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bathroom just in time.
Nearly a minute later, Olive slumped against the wall next to the sink. The acidic, sour taste still lingered in her mouth. Juliana silently filled a cup of water from the faucet and handed it to Olive, who slurped it gratefully.
“You’re hallucinating too,” Juliana said, sitting cross-legged across from Olive. “I got sick like that last week. It’s been getting worse for me, ever since…um…”
Olive and the Backstage Ghost Page 11