ACT THREE
Shaking his head, he stepped back. He turned, looked around, and turned again.
He was standing at the top of the steps. He hurried down, away from the stage, hearing himself moan with fear and confusion. He had to get out. Now. He had to escape this nightmare.
He reached the door. But there was no door, only the painted appearance of one on dirty brickwork. He slammed his palms against it, no longer willing to trust only his sight, and groped his way along the wall towards the back of the auditorium, searching for the way he had come in. There was no opening.
Reaching the top of the incline, he whirled around and spotted the illuminated green and white of a fire escape in the opposite corner. He ran to it and grabbed hold of the bar – and pain blazed from his fingernails as they scraped against more rough brick. Another painted illusion, more stage scenery!
Then he remembered his mobile. His damaged fingers shook as he scrabbled it free from his pockets. He stabbed it back on, whimpering as his final lifeline to the outside world powered up far too slowly.
At last the familiar electronic chime announced the phone was ready to use. Except …
There was no signal.
He held the phone higher, swayed it from side to side. Nothing.
He tried every corner of the theatre, every wall, every aisle, every seat, everywhere on and around the stage. Nowhere gave him a signal, and nowhere offered a way out.
He had been cut adrift. He slumped against a wall and at last he stopped holding in the tears.
* * * *
Time passed, dragging away with it the final remnants of hope.
Aiden sat hunched in his old seat in the front row, watching his phone die. He closed his eyes.
Wakefulness ebbed and flowed in irregular cycles. He no longer knew how many days had passed since he had come to this place.
Thirst and hunger grew to be the sole remaining dimensions of this diminished universe.
At one point, Aiden discovered that he had returned to the stage, and was standing where he remembered witnessing that glowing arch. Or had that been part of a dream? Either way, there was nothing to see now but dirty black-painted brickwork.
His weakening body stood as motionless as the silent walls surrounding him. Light-headed, he thought he felt the faintest of breezes brush his face.
Focusing what remained of his mind, he tasted the gentle trace of an alien scent on the wind.
He no longer had the capacity to wonder what any of it meant.
Aiden smoothed down his hair and re-knotted the tie he had loosened so long ago.
He took a final breath and, even though he wasn’t sure the unseen door was real, he stepped out through it and was gone.
Strangers at the Door: Twelve unsettling tales of horror Page 14