Theatre of Wraiths

You tell me.

The theatre was saturated with a layer of dust decades old. The once vibrant red seats were clouded with age. The curtains parted wide, lending insight to the abandoned stage where hundreds of shows played before captivated audiences. Now, the only audience was the termites in the wood and the occasional mouse. Props and set pieces darkened the far edges of the stage, filling the darkness with ominous shapes. The once rich carpets that divided the rows of seats spoke of the splendor that the building held in its' prime. Now, they only spoke with gruff voices of dust with each step.

I stood on the edge of the stage, peering into the darkness of the wings on either side. Clutter and refuse littered the floor before they became too dark to see. I could almost see the bustle of activity of the backstage technicians during a performance. Moving quickly but silently, conferring in hushed tones, handing props to actors preparing to stride on stage. The performers standing, sitting, fighting, dancing. Every play, every dance, every monologue, every pantomime and everything in between. The dancers bounding gracefully to and fro, hair whipping in their choreographed lurches.

These phantasms surrounded me, crowded me. Silence reigned.

Wicked villains plotted. Heroic figures stood brave and strong. Good and evil met in brilliant clashes of steel and razor sharp banter. Monsters fell beneath the courage of the knight.

Dancers wove in unison and alone as haunting melodies rose and fell with their limbs. Delicate leaps and exquisite twirls flowed like sweet wine through my vision. The colours!

Dark blues mesmerized me, vibrant oranges brought a smile to my face, dark purples hurled me into doubt, romantic reds brought a blush to my cheek, sombre black- a tear, humble white- hope.

I swayed, overwhelmed. Then: blue- melancholy, flat orange- sickly, dark purples brought fear, violent reds summoned anger, cold black terrorized me, bleak white and I saw the absence of joy.

I crumpled to the floor on all fours, breathing heavily. When I closed my eyes, I felt nausea sweep over me. My hands sullied by the dust, I didn't move other than the occasional shudder in the cold. Shadows seemed to twist and undulate and break away from their source to slither around me and whisper. Taunting. Hissing. Growling. I looked up, the figures changed.

Damsels were raped by evil counts. Heroes were struck down by monsters and the very people they were protecting. Dancers bounded jerkily as the chains around their ankles threatened to fell them. Weeping, shrieking, howling, assaulted my ears. The whispers intensified, voices spoke hideous words to me from the hollow seats. Mocking laughter rose and fell with discordant music.

I felt an icy touch on my shoulder and jerked violently, looking over my shoulder. My vision was blurred, but I could make out a dark silhouette hovering behind me with only black where a face should be. As I stared, transfixed in my horror, a mouth appeared and leered down at me. It grew impossibly wide, then a tongue lolled out. Blood red in stark contrast to the bone white teeth. As the mouth opened, the stench of the grave assaulted my nostrils. I tried to move, to blink away the haze. When I opened my eyes, the silhouette was gone.

The laughter began again. Now it sounded pained and garbled. The sound of something wet hit the ground from the darkness in the wings. Heavy footsteps thudded hollowly in the shapes on the stage. The sound of a hundred pained groans and moans came from the dusty seats. I stood and looked around desperately. I stumbled to the edge of the stage as if blind. Grasping for a handhold in the dim light, I pitched off the edge and into an endless black abyss. Horrible images assailed me from every angle, as my body was rent asunder by dark, greedy digits reaching, grasping. I opened my mouth to speak my agony, but my tongue was plucked away by the demons of the abyss.

Suddenly, every part of my body was returned in a rush. My vision returned, and I had a split second to take in the dusty chairs of the dim theatre as I fell through the air and struck my head.

**

A lone figure with yellow eyes watched him fall. Listened to the sickening crack of his neck. The figure shook its' head and walked down to the body. When he drew up to it, the corpse was already beginning to gain a dull gray colour as it turned to dust and swirled slightly, adding yet another layer to this, the Theatre of Wraiths.

Reviews

[unspokenguilt]

Love how this piece is very descriptive . Also it flows beautifully. On another note, Im not on here a lot so i still need to catch up on your zombie book but be sure to let me know if ever you get it published because that's something id buy your just that good. :)

[wagonburner]

Erm...thanks, I guess. Glad you enjoy it. I am the same way with this site, I rarely find myself here as well. Although, I try to put up the zombies one periodically. I once again encourage criticisms.

[Wordsmith_Artemis]

I love each and every word of this piece. The sensory detail is wonderful, and every feeling, sensation, visual, and the like was great. You've also got a great flow and sense of poetry to it. And your imagery never disappoints :)

[C. Rose]

I like "voices of dust" and "choreographed lurches".
For the sake of the rule of three I recommend "every play, every dance, etc" is limited to a list of three, not four.
Nice build in the tension. The fear comes across clearly. Well penned :)

[Mike Wolfe]

That was a very interesting story. I loved the use of imagery and imagination. Like a Phantom of the Opera with less opera and more phantom. You had me intrigued, but I would recommend a little more story to this. More drama, suspense. I want a narrator who isn't just there to have his neck snapped, why has he wandered into this Theatre? Who is this evil villain besides a ghost in the night? As a reader, I want to be surprised. Read Poe's "Masquerade of the Red Death" to get an idea what I'm talking about. You have a masquerade ball, an wonderful setting, just as you had. A plague attacking the outside and nobility sheltered in a castle, waiting for the infected to die. And a mystery man enters. Plot thickens, just as you had with the ghosts going through the theatre. The man is dressed as a victim of this plague, and the Prince demands to know his identity. Instead, the mystery man passes through the house of the Prince, and the Prince pursues. But then the mystery man turns around, and the Prince falls dead. The nobility then remove the mystery man's mask by force...only to find out there is nothing underneath. The nobility all succumb to the plague and die. The difference between your story and Poe's is simple. Poe made us care. He gave a context. The nobility believed they could lock death out, but he showed up anyway. All I know in the Theatre of Wraiths is there are ghosts and they haunt a guy. Why? Why him, why kill him, why in that manner? These diabolical details make the story. Some things you do not need to provide answers to, but you always need to provide questions. You are a great writer, your detail was excellent. But I do not read a story to get details. I want a story. Conflict and intrigue. This is the life of the story, you have given it a body, your setting was phenomenal and creative. Now breathe life into it.

[wagonburner]

I would be lying if I said those both did not influence this piece. The only thing is, I wanted this to be stand alone. I understand what you mean by making the reader care and provide more context. Unfortunately, I am rather stubborn and enjoy writing these things that make little sense. The idea was to make the reader feel as the character does. Confusion and terror at the end. Furthermore, I was writing this primarily for my own sake. To experiment and see where things went. I can see more being added. The thing is, this had the effect on me that I wanted. The great thing is, your advise is awesome. I guarantee you that I will apply it to further works- eagerly at that. This one will remain the same, but I am looking forward to doing something else with more detail and story. I really appreciate that you read it and gave me good advice. Thank you, sir and cheers!