The Backstagers and the Ghost Light

by Andy Mientus

  She managed a weak smile at him and could finally make eye contact with the circle. She confessed the whole sad business—how she broke the Genesius ghost light herself, how she made contact with something she thought was her sister, how she dropped the light to startle Bailey Brentwood so that she could get the role of Crystalline, how she stole Aziz’s keys to the backstage so that she could find the Arch Theater, and finally, she told them about the evil ghost she had awakened by shattering the Arch Theater’s ghost light.

  As she spoke, Timothy, Jamie, and Hunter listened carefully and without judgment. That is, until Jamie’s phone was buzzing so consistently that he excused himself to see what the matter was.

  “And so that’s how we got here,” Chloe concluded. “It was all my fault, and I am so, so sorry. I just . . . wanted her to be real so bad.” Now she was crying heavy tears of guilt and embarrassment.

  Timothy rose and poured her a paper cup of water from a cooler in the corner. “Thanks for coming clean,” he said. “I know that wasn’t easy. The good news is, we are all okay out here and that . . . thing . . . is stuck back there.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Jamie, who had returned to the Club Room, phone in hand and stricken expression on his face. “My phone is blowing up right now from Backstagers all over the country—heck, maybe all over the world. There’s a new notification every minute—lights flickering in a theater in Dallas, soundboards crashing in Des Moines, props missing, sets failing, costumes tearing. All those little theater mishaps you write off as bad luck, but happening in every theater with a performance tonight, and at an alarming rate. Stage managers are asking if there is some colossal prank tonight they don’t know about.”

  “I think I get it,” Beckett said. “If the Arch Theater is the archetypal theater that powers all theater magic, then its ghost light must be the archetypal ghost light that powers all others.”

  “And its ghost is the archetypal ghost,” Jory added. “That’s why it was so huge and so powerful.”

  There was a collective shudder in the room as everyone considered the implications of that.

  “It said the gate was open,” Aziz whispered, understanding the gravity of what was going on. “When it materialized. Right before it grew a thousand arms and tried to snatch us all.”

  “If it can grow a thousand arms, maybe it could be that one ghost manifesting in all those theaters,” Jamie suggested darkly.

  “Why theaters?” Sasha asked.

  “Theaters are liminal spaces,” Chloe replied. It was all coming together in her mind.

  “English, please?” said Aziz.

  “Meaning they are boundaries—spaces between worlds. I read about this in my research. Think about it—in a theater, the audience leaves the real world behind and enters a world of imagination that the writers and director and actors and Backstagers create for them. A world where magic is real—literally, it seems. That’s why I chose a theater to try to contact my sister, and my guess is, that’s why this . . . Arch Ghost . . . is materializing in theaters first. It’s flexing its muscles with those little tricks, gaining power.”

  “Power for what?” Beckett asked.

  “It said it was hungry,” Aziz said, rubbing the freshly bandaged claw marks on his ankle.

  “So we get back there and fix the ghost light,” Hunter suggested.

  “It’s not so easy,” Beckett said. “The first time we found the Arch Theater, we wandered into it totally by accident. Now we know a direct path, but it was across the Patchwork Catwalk, WHICH HAS NOW COLLAPSED. I have no idea how else to get back to the Arch Theater, and I don’t think it is a very good idea to go wandering around the backstage looking for it when there are a thousand hungry ghost hands trying to snatch us up like we’re finger food.”

  “What if we can get a good ghost to help us?” Sasha asked.

  “Come on, Sash, this is serious,” said Aziz.

  “No, I mean it! Chloe summoned a bad ghost, but only because she tried to summon a good ghost. If bad ghosts really exist, then good ghosts must really exist, too, like bad witches and good witches.”

  “But how do you suggest we find this good ghost?” Aziz asked.

  “With a good witch . . .” Jory said, his wheels spinning.

  “Jory, are you sure you didn’t hit your head back there during the attack?” Hunter asked.

  Jory jumped up, pulling out his phone. “I know someone who can help us!”

  About an hour later, Reo was sitting with the group in the Club Room. Jory had attempted to quickly catch him up on the dire situation at hand, which also required he be caught up on the nature of the backstage, the Arch Theater, the tunnels, all of it. This turned into a sort of group reenactment as each Backstager chimed in with details he had missed or their own theories about how the backstage worked and what it all meant. Reo sat with his customarily stoic expression, a pale island in the dark sea of his robelike sweater and wide-brimmed hat.

  “So THEN I got the idea to find a GOOD ghost, and Jory was like, ‘I know a freaking WITCH!’” Sasha said, buttoning up the long tale with his arms outstretched to Reo. All of the Backstagers beamed at him expectantly.

  Reo stood up and shouldered his bag.

  “Hilarious,” he said coldly. “You really played the long game with that one, Jory. For a minute there, I actually thought you wanted to be my friend. Now, if you’ve had your fun, I don’t think I’m needed further.” He started off toward the exit.

  “Reo, wait!” Jory shouted. “It’s all true, I promise!”

  Reo spun around. “You know, I shared something really personal with you, Jory. It’s not easy to open up to people. You’ve got to be a pretty terrible person to take that trust and make a joke out of it.”

  “Reo, I promise you! We don’t have much time!”

  As Jory pleaded with Reo to stay and the others looked around, unsure of what to do next, Sasha went over to the Unsafe door, turned the key still left in the lock, and slid the door open just a crack. He peeked in, checking for ghost claws, and when he saw none, he poked his whole head inside. Then his shoulders. Then he slipped completely into the backstage.

  “And, Jory,” Reo continued, his voice rising to a dramatic climax, “not that I would ever hex someone, I am not that kind of witch, but you should be SERIOUSLY careful about who you choose to—OHMYGOSHWHATISTHAT?!”

  Reo’s exit line was interrupted by a tiny, furry, four-legged purple monster galloping toward them, wagging its long turquoise tongue, its orange eyes glowing wildly. It leaped at Reo and tackled him to the floor as he screamed as if being devoured.

  “That’s FRIENDO! He LIKES YOU!” Sasha stood over Reo and the monster, beaming.

  When Reo realized the monster wasn’t actually devouring him but was licking him the way a puppy licks a friendly face, he jolted up, shaking Friendo off of him. The monster squealed and rushed under Sasha’s legs, hiding.

  “Oh look, now you’ve scared him!” Sasha said. He reached into his pocket, producing a tiny little bowler hat. He placed it on the monster’s head and it became calm, its long turquoise tongue dangling from the side of its mouth. Jory tiptoed up behind Reo, who was as stiff as a board, staring at the impossible furry creature staring back at him.

  “It’s called a tool mouse,” Jory explained in a calming whisper. “One of the creatures who live back there. Totally harmless. Unless you’re wearing red, in which case they can get a little overexcited.”

  “He’s my BABY,” Sasha said proudly as he scooped Friendo up and presented him to Reo once again. Friendo made something like a smile, quite pleased with his tiny hat.

  Reo’s face went from startled back to stoic. He drew a deep inhale, released it, and walked back to the circle of Backstagers. He took his seat and pulled his bag to his lap. He looked toward Jory, who shrugged as if to say, “And you thought your life was weird.” Reo smiled at last.

  “Let’s begin,” he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  Theater
is full of rituals and superstitions. Even before the McQueens ruled the St. Genesius Drama Club, the actors had a ritual of gathering in a circle onstage before every performance, holding hands, breathing together, and then jumping up and down ten times before breaking hands and screaming as loud as they could. No one knows who started it or why that was the prescribed good-luck ritual, but no one dared to begin a performance without doing it.

  Now the Backstagers were making a circle of their own for a decidedly more old-school ritual. After calling all of their parents with a made-up sleepover scheme to buy them the night, Reo sent the group on a school-wide search for the items he required.

  Jory borrowed some white chalk from a nearby classroom and drew out a circle on the stage floor big enough to seat all of them comfortably inside.

  Aziz pulled every candle off of his prized candelabra set piece and arranged them neatly around the circle.

  Hunter made sure there was a fire extinguisher nearby, because even though he was a ghost-whisperer tonight, he was a Backstager always, and safety came first.

  Once the candles were all lit, Beckett lowered the stage lighting to black. For all of his love for electrics, he had to admit that the Genesius auditorium looked lovely in the candlelight.

  Timothy raided the stage management fridge for a bottle of spring water. Reo had emphasized how it must be real spring water from the ground, and luckily, they were stocked.

  Jamie searched and searched through their office pantry until he found what Reo had requested of him: sea salt—the real kind.

  Always a devoted props master, Sasha brought an impressive array of options when Reo asked him for a couple of bowls to hold the salt and the water and something fire-safe to burn some candles and incense on. There were brass goblets for a medieval magical feel, clay pots for a more earthy vibe, minimalist plain white dishes for simple functionality, or glossy black varieties “because, witch.” Reo told Sasha to choose whatever and Sasha agonized over this before deciding on a mix of all of them, just in case.

  Chloe was lucky to already have on hand her requested item—a photo of her sister, Phoebe. She always kept one in her bag, and as she laid it in the center of the circle, she whispered a private apology to Phoebe for making such a mess of all of this.

  Once everything was ready, the team sat cross-legged within the confines of the circle of chalk and candles. Reo mixed the salt into the water and walked clockwise around the circle, sprinkling the mixture along the perimeter.

  “Let this be a circle of protection,” he said. “Whatever evil spirit dwells in this space can do us no harm while we gather within it.” The Backstagers held hands and bowed their heads, feeling safety in being together.

  When he finished, Reo took his place at the top of the circle. Before him, he had arranged a little altar with Phoebe’s photo, some incense from his bag, a glass of the spring water, a dish of the salt, and a black candle.

  “You were right to try to talk to Phoebe here,” Reo said to Chloe. “You just made some rookie mistakes and got the wrong number. That’s the problem with those Spirit Boards. It’s kind of like opening the front door to your house and letting whoever is walking by come in and hang out. And usually the spirits just wandering around looking for a place to go are not the kind you want to chill with. We’re gonna make sure we get Phoebe on the line and once we do, we’re gonna ask for her help—that make sense to everyone?”

  He looked around the circle to each of the Backstagers and got an affirmative and brave nod from each.

  “There’s one last thing,” Reo said, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. “I always thought of this stuff as something spiritual—something to give me confidence or peace or whatever. Like yoga but with more candles. I’ve read a lot about all of this, but I’ve never done anything quite like this tonight, and to be honest . . . I don’t know if it will work. I don’t really know if magic is real.”

  “Do you need me to get Friendo out again?!” Sasha asked. “Magic is as real as he is! It’s as real as the ghost that’s trying to take over the world. We believe in you, Reo!”

  “I still have that moon power in me, and I definitely believe, Reo!” Jory agreed.

  “We’re so lucky you are here, Reo,” Hunter said. “You’re our best shot and so I believe.”

  “Me too,” Aziz said. “I got a score to settle with that ghost!”

  “Let’s rock,” Jamie said, proud of his team.

  “Seconded,” said Timothy, looking affectionately at Jamie. If nothing else, their relationship was full of adventure.

  “Let’s send this thing back to Dead Town,” Beckett said as the candlelight flickering in his glasses made him look even more electrified than usual.

  “And find the real Phoebe,” Chloe said, gazing warmly at the photo of her smiling little sister.

  For the first time in his entire life, Reo felt like part of a group. He felt powerful. It was actual magic.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said. “Let’s toast this ghost.”

  He muttered a few quiet words over the black candle, salt, water, and incense before turning his attention to the photo of Phoebe.

  “Tonight,” he announced to the air, “we wish to speak to Phoebe Murphy and only to Phoebe Murphy. Phoebe, your sister tells me you loved performing onstage and so we have prepared a stage just for you tonight to come visit us and lend us some help. Your sister is here and she would love to speak to you!”

  Just then, a gentle draft blew across the stage, making the candles flicker. Jory raised his eyes to Reo. Something was happening.

  “Everyone look at the photo,” Reo told the group. “Focus with everything you’ve got on reaching Phoebe. We need to all hold that intention in our minds together.”

  Across the stage, in the stage right wing, a broom propped up by the stage management calling desk started to wobble. It rose up slightly into the air. Then it fell to the ground with a slam. Sasha looked up at the noise and noticed the broom slithering across the floor like a pale snake, straight for the circle.

  “Uh, guys . . .” he whispered.

  “Focus!” Reo ordered.

  The broom kicked up into the air, its handle pointed at Reo like a dart.

  “GUYS!” Sasha warned. They all looked up from the photo just in time to see the broom launch toward Reo at a terrifying velocity. Reo flinched, bracing for impact, but when the handle of the broom reached the edge of their circle of candles and chalk, it splintered into pieces and fell as if it had slammed into an invisible brick wall.

  “It’s working! The circle is working!” Reo cried, more surprised than anyone that his spell held actual power.

  “And that thing is getting angry,” Aziz cautioned.

  “We have to hurry,” Reo said. “Chloe, talk to your sister. Let her know it’s you calling. Talk about things only she would know.”

  Chloe nodded and focused on the photo of her sister. It was a photo she had taken on the day Phoebe had decided to buzz her hair. The medicine was going to make it fall out, but Phoebe didn’t want to wait. Losing her hair was part of the treatment process, and Phoebe had been a warrior all along. Still, some dragons can’t be slain by even the mightiest warriors, and Phoebe lost her battle. She looked quite different before she passed away, but Chloe would always remember her like this: her curls pulled up into her signature pom-poms, her eyes alight with bravery and determination.

  “Phoebe, it’s me, Chloe. I’m here today because we need your help. I ended up making a big mess of things because I lied and tricked a lot of people, but it was only because I was trying to get to you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  As Chloe petitioned her sister, the scraps of the broom rose and started to shoot toward the barrier of the magic circle again and again, like pouring rain against a window. Piles of lumber stacked here and there for building sets rose and joined the onslaught. Then a full table of props. Then a box of nails. Those in the circle could only watch, terrified, as the protective dome created by th
e magic circle was pummeled from every angle by seemingly every piece of debris in the theater.

  “It’s getting stronger!” Jory shouted.

  “Keep your focus, everyone!” Reo held his stare at Phoebe’s photo, but he looked truly scared as all manner of theater-making material crashed into the invisible wall just behind and above his head.

  “It’s all my fault, as usual,” Chloe continued, pitching her voice over the rain of objects darting against the barrier. “Just like that time I wanted to dress up like mermaids and I stuck the jewels all over us with actual glue. Do you remember that? Mom and Dad were so mad, but we looked amazing!” She laughed, in spite of the escalating crashing all around them. “Or the time I wanted to take us to meet that singer at that faraway mall and got us on the wrong bus. We were so lost and I just couldn’t stop crying, but you were so brave and resourceful. You stayed calm and asked directions and got us to the right mall in time to get that autograph and all the way home, safe and sound.”

  The enormous candelabra set piece began to shake and rise, defying gravity as it floated into the air and dangled above the protective dome of the magic circle. It spun there, threatening to drop at any moment. Reo began to quietly chant, “Phoebe. Phoebe. Phoebe.” The others joined him, a rhythmic call underneath Chloe’s plea.

  “That was you in every situation. Even when you were sick, you were the one comforting me, and now that you’re gone, I don’t have anyone to be brave for me. So I tried to be brave myself, and it turned out like this. So please, Phoebe, come back and bail me out one more time. I need you—but more than that, I just want to see you again because I miss you! I miss you so much! And I love you, Phoebe! I LOVE YOU!”

  Chloe’s last cry rang out and filled the theater as all of the candles blew out at once and the enormous candelabra came crashing down into the blackness.

  CHAPTER 16