Liberty Theater

There were many stories about the Liberty Theater in the center of town. Closed for decades, it remained standing, its ornate frontispiece a state landmark. The lights remained on, a nod to an old superstition about always keeping a light on in the theater so ghosts can conduct their own plays. Actors were one of the most superstitious groups.

John, the security guard, made his daily rounds in and around the building. These types of places were perfect on Halloween for teens to vandalize or friends to scare one another. He unlocked the front doors, and then locked them behind him. Maglite in hand, he checked the lobby and the restrooms, walked behind the concession counter. Same as always, he thought, not a sign of life in here.

He walked up the faded carpet stairs into the hallway that led to the balcony. From there he could see the seats, the stage, the exits, but no intruders. Then he noticed a strange light on the stage, one that moved back and forth, not just the single battery-operated candle that meekly lit the stage.

He went downstairs which brought him to the backstage of the theater. His flashlight didn’t uncover anything unusual. He quietly walked across the back of the stage behind the cyclorama curtains to the other side, where the lights and ropes were used during a play. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Not being superstitious, John walked to the center of the stage, just behind where he saw the mysterious light. He could see the ghostly outline of a woman, dressed in an old nightgown, nervously walking back and forth. She held a light in her hand and kept mumbling to herself. She didn’t seem to notice that he was there.

John was about to radio in for help, but she stopped and faced him. She looked at her hands as if they were covered in blood. Staring in fear, she said to him, “Give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone.” Mesmerized, he took her hand and disappeared with her into the wisp of light.