The Backstagers and the Ghost Light

by Andy Mientus

  Aziz smiled. Could she be right? Could he actually be onstage, winning laughs like this nightly? Could he even be good enough to compete with the McQueens?

  He loved being a Backstager, and he felt passionate about his work behind the scenes, but this feeling of being in the spotlight was pretty great, too. His glow diminished a bit, though, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jory, Sasha, and a winded-looking Beckett discussing something frantically. Beckett looked over at Aziz and they locked eyes. It was something serious.

  “Excuse me, guys,” Aziz said, rising to meet the group of Backstagers huddled in the wing.

  “Beckett, that doesn’t make any sense,” Jory said.

  “I know it doesn’t, but here we are,” Beckett replied, still gasping. He had sprinted all the way back from Bailey’s house. His brain had not fully caught up to him.

  “What’s going on, guys?” Aziz asked.

  “Oh, only that Chloe Murphy lied to get cast in the show,” Beckett said. “She’s not a current student at Penitent Angels.”

  “What? That’s crazy. Why would she lie about that?” Aziz was totally baffled.

  “Not only that,” Beckett continued, “she was a Backstager at Penitent before she left.”

  “A Backstager?” Sasha was turning something over in his mind. “Well, that explains it!”

  “Explains what, Sasha?” asked Jory.

  “Why she was trying to get into the backstage. I found her tugging on the padlock.”

  “WHAT?” Beckett was a live wire again, even without the fuel of his Diet Coke. “Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

  “I was BUSY trying to talk to the GHOST,” Sasha said. “And it’s fine, because Aziz keeps the key safe.”

  “Right,” Aziz said, confused, as he reached back for his key ring. Only it wasn’t there. He looked up to the other Backstagers, the light draining from his eyes. He didn’t even need to say it. They all knew.

  “Come on,” Beckett commanded, charging into the wings toward the stage door. Jory, Sasha, and a bewildered Aziz followed.

  As they expected, when they reached the door, it stood ajar, the padlock hanging on its hinge. They ran down the stairs into the Club Room. To their terror, they found the Unsafe door standing open as well.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Beckett said. “But I have a BAD feeling.”

  Aziz grabbed a flashlight from a tool rack.

  “Has anyone seen Hunter or the stage managers?” His mood was turning dark as the reality of Chloe’s deception set in.

  The rest of the Backstagers all shook their heads.

  “Then we go in alone, because there isn’t time to spare,” Aziz said. “Everybody ready?”

  One by one, the Backstagers slipped through the Unsafe door into the backstage.

  The stars hanging above the tunnels were shining as beautifully as ever, but the boys were intent on finding the rogue Chloe. They opened each and every door they found, discovering mountains of props, pillars of speakers, an aviary of fluttering winged stage lights, a wardrobe packed with ball gowns enjoying their own ball, and a towering library of thousands of rows of scripts and scores—but no Chloe.

  “It’s too big,” Jory said after shutting the door on the first-aid room, which was a fully functioning hospital of the highest order. “We’re more likely to get lost in here forever than find her.”

  “We have to keep going,” Aziz said, voice heated. “She tricked us deliberately to get back here. There must be a reason, and I seriously doubt it’s to lend a hand with the Phantasm set.”

  “Okay, so what do we know about her?” Beckett said, trying to keep Aziz practical and not emotional.

  “We know all the weird stuff started happening right before she showed up,” Sasha said. “Do you think she knows the ghost?”

  “Oh my gosh.” Beckett turned a ghostly shade himself. “Bailey said Chloe dropped out of Penitent because there was a death in her family. Her little sister.”

  “You don’t think . . .” Jory shuddered before he could even finish the sentence.

  “I don’t know,” Beckett replied. “But doesn’t it seem funny? The ghost light goes out, a light nearly kills Bailey, and suddenly this girl shows up and breaks into the backstage?”

  “We’ve reached the end of the line, guys,” Sasha said as the group reached the edge of a large chasm—a bottomless canyon cutting a dark edge into the backstage, like the end of the world. There, a bridge made piecewise from all manner of flats, props, signs, and other theatrical materials gripped the edge of the chasm and extended farther into the darkness. A sign scrawled above it read: PATCHWORK CATWALK.

  “Not the end of the line,” Aziz said ominously.

  “Aziz, we can’t,” Jory said. “Even the stage managers don’t cross the catwalk.”

  “I did once!” Sasha exclaimed. “I’ll lead the way!”

  “And do you remember what followed you back across?” Beckett asked sternly. Sasha’s face fell.

  “We may not have a choice, guys,” Aziz said. “If she crossed the catwalk, then we have to go after her. Sasha, what do you remember about the other side?”

  “It’s just more tunnels, more doors.”

  “Just like here?”

  “Well, the doors look . . . older. But yeah! It’s not that scary!”

  Aziz, Beckett, and Jory had a private conference, just with their eyes. Aziz nodded.

  “Okay, Sasha,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  Sasha nodded with an uncharacteristic maturity and started bravely across the catwalk. The others followed cautiously, pressing deeper into the dark.

  When they reached the other side of the catwalk, they were met, as promised, with a line of heavier, more ancient-looking dark wooden doors, extending as far as they could see in either direction.

  “What do we think?” Jory asked. “Left or right?”

  “Either way, this could take hours, and I am getting seriously concerned that hours might equal days this deep in,” Beckett said.

  “Do we split up?” Aziz asked.

  “Definitely not,” Jory said.

  “What if we just follow these tracks?” Sasha asked, pointing to the ground. The floor of this deeper and seemingly older part of the tunnels was covered in a layer of ashy soot, as if no feet had disturbed this ground in many, many years. Except one pair of feet had, as evidenced by a clear track of very fresh-looking sneaker prints veering off to the left, butting up against a few of the doors before trailing off into the dark.

  “Good eye, Sash!” Aziz said, mussing Sasha’s mop of blond hair. Sasha felt incredibly proud of himself. Sometimes, being so close to the ground had its advantages.

  “She obviously tried a few of these doors and then went off looking for something,” Jory said as the boys followed her trail.

  “I wonder how she knows where to look for it,” Beckett mused. “Bailey said she was only a Backstager for one semester—there’s no way they took her this deep in.”

  “We’re about to find out,” Aziz said as the trail of footprints and the row of doors ended together at a larger, more ornate set of double doors at the end of the tunnel. One of its heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar. The boys traded a look and stormed ahead. They went through the doors and into the darkness beyond.

  For the first fifty paces or so, there was only black. Aziz shone his light around, but it only illuminated enough of the path in front of them to follow the sneaker prints. The rest of the space seemed limitless and completely empty.

  As they pressed farther and farther into this blackness, each of them became a little less brave, so by the time they finally reached a towering black curtain dividing the empty darkness, no Backstager was prepared to actually walk through the curtain to see what was on the other side.

  However, the footprints very clearly continued on, and so the Backstagers had to as well. Aziz lit the way while Jory pulled the curtain to one side, revealing a sight that filled all of them with a very
particular dread.

  Just beyond the curtain was a theater. They were onstage, looking into an empty house. It was not an overly ornate or particularly shabby theater. It wasn’t monstrously huge or terribly intimate. It didn’t look obviously creepy or dangerous. It looked, if you squinted, like pretty much any other theater, or every other theater you have ever seen, and that’s why it was so frightening. The Backstagers recognized it immediately.

  They had found their way back to the Arch Theater.

  The Backstagers had been to the Arch Theater once before, and it had led to a world of trouble—their disappearance for two months; the disbanding of the Genesius Backstagers; the firing of their advisor, Mr. Rample; and very nearly their doom.

  It was called the Arch Theater because it was the archetypal theater—the thing you thought about when you thought about theater as a concept. It was a place of tremendous power and danger, for it was the center of the whole backstage and possibly the heart of all theater magic. Time and space were nonlinear here. Literally anything was possible.

  They had all vowed after the trouble earlier in the year that they would never return, but somehow it had found them. At the very least, they had also found Chloe, who was standing at the lip of the stage, staring at the Arch Theater’s ghost light with wild eyes. She turned to greet her new audience of Backstagers.

  “I guess I owe you an apology,” she said, “or at least an explanation. I didn’t mean to lure you guys down here—I was going to return the keys as soon as I was done, I promise.”

  “Why should we believe you?” Aziz asked, furious. “You tricked me. You lied to me!”

  “But I didn’t!” Chloe said. “I meant everything I said about you, Aziz.”

  “You were going to return the keys when you were done—done with what?” Jory asked.

  “My mission,” Chloe said. “The mission my sister gave to me.”

  “But isn’t your sister . . . gone?” Beckett asked.

  “For now, yes. But I found a way to speak with her.” Chloe pulled the Spirit Board out of her bag. “She led me here. The closer I got to this place, the more clearly she spoke. I can feel her here. She’s almost free. There’s just this left in our way.” She looked again at the ghost light hungrily, putting a hand on it.

  “WAIT!” Jory said. “I really don’t think you want to do that. Do you know what this place is?”

  “I know it’s where she’s trapped,” Chloe said. “And I know this is the way to get her back.”

  “Chloe,” Aziz said, trying to maintain his composure, “let’s take a second to talk about this. Things aren’t always what they seem here.”

  “MY INSTRUCTIONS WERE CLEAR!” Chloe shouted. “She told me herself. Now, I’m sorry I roped you all into this—that was not my intention. But now that you are here, you’re not going to get in my way. This is my mission. My sister. MINE!”

  She thrust the ghost light over, toppling it to the floor. The Backstagers all raced toward it, trying to break its fall, but they were too late. The bulb hit the stage and shattered with a great crash. All of the lights in the Arch Theater flickered out at once, plunging them into darkness. There was a terrible silence.

  Chloe flicked on a flashlight from her bag, illuminating her face. Aziz’s light flicked on, illuminating the Backstagers.

  “ . . . Phoebe?” Chloe called into the darkness. The voice that replied was deep, otherworldly, and definitely not that of a little girl.

  “NOT. PHOEBE.”

  Wisps of blue and purple light began to coalesce from all directions on top of the spot where the ghost light had shattered. They swirled around one another, like trails of smoke from a just-blown-out candle, until they solidified into a towering, human-like form, equal parts light, smoke, and darkness. Two bloodred streaks of light slashed open where its eyes should be. The monster stood about ten feet tall, dwarfing Chloe and the Backstagers, who could only stare up at it in disbelief.

  “YOU HAVE DONE WELL,” it intoned. “THE GATE HAS BEEN OPENED.”

  “What . . . are you?” Beckett asked the beast.

  A streak of red light appeared beneath its eyes, forming a devilish smirk.

  “HUNGRY,” it replied as it reached a smoky, spectral claw toward Chloe. Were it not for Aziz rushing to grab her arm and pull her toward the wings, she might have just let it take her, she was so frozen with fear, shock, and betrayal.

  But she kept pace with all of them as they sprinted back through the curtain, through the dark expanse beyond, back through the double doors, back down the hall of doors, toward the Patchwork Catwalk.

  Jory screamed for his life. Beckett managed to look back to see that the claw continued to reach for them, even after all their running, and had been joined by dozens more, groping after the fleeing kids with long, crooked fingers.

  “I left candy for you at Genesius!” Sasha shouted back as he ran. “If you can wait five minutes, I’ll bring it!”

  “I don’t think it wants candy, Sasha!” Aziz bounded toward the Patchwork Catwalk with all of his strength. “We’re almost there! Hurry, guys!”

  They raced across the rickety catwalk. It swayed and creaked under their combined weight. Aziz made the mistake of looking back and a claw caught up with him, catching his ankle and stopping him dead in his tracks as the others continued toward the other side of the canyon. He cried out as the other claws descended toward him. Sasha heard the call and doubled back to help his friend.

  “I was NICE to you,” he shouted at the claws, “and you are being a real JERK!” He wiggled around the trapped Aziz and stomped down hard on the ghost claw. It let out a hiss and retreated.

  Sasha and Aziz narrowly ducked out of the way as the other fast-approaching claws just missed them, crashing into the catwalk, breaking gaping holes in its fabric. They looked at each other. Uh-oh.

  Pieces of the catwalk began to come undone and fall all around them into the bottomless chasm below.

  “GO!” Aziz shouted, and the two leaped across the quickly disintegrating pathway toward the others, who were waiting for them on the other side of the canyon.

  With just a few yards to spare, Sasha and Aziz felt the full floor of the catwalk give way beneath their feet—they leaped for the edge and were airborne.

  Something grabbed hold of Aziz and he screamed, sure that the ghost had managed to catch him again. He opened his eyes and found that it was not more spectral claws, but Jory and Beckett, who were struggling to pull him the rest of the way up onto the ledge. Chloe and Sasha lent their strength, pulling at Jory’s and Beckett’s waists, and together they dragged Aziz to safety, landing in a big pile.

  The last pieces of the Patchwork Catwalk fell impossibly far down into the blackness below. It was completely destroyed.

  “Wow” was all Jory could say.

  “Yeah,” Beckett added.

  “Um, guys,” Sasha whimpered, pointing across the chasm.

  Hundreds and hundreds of claws were suspended in the air. They shot upward across the chasm in an arc, raining down toward the kids like a volley of arrows in a medieval battle.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Beckett shouted as they surged back into the more familiar tunnels of the backstage, searching for the Unsafe door and the safety of the Club Room.

  “This way!” Aziz shouted, noticing a familiar door and getting his bearings. He led the group around a tight corner as fifty shadowy claws shot forward down the hall they had just turned from, missing them by inches.

  “There!” Beckett could see the Unsafe door up ahead. They raced through it, back into the Club Room, slamming the door shut behind them and throwing their backs against it, panting.

  Chloe still couldn’t speak. Aziz noticed for the first time that his ankle was bleeding. Jory slapped a hand on Beckett’s shoulder, wordlessly acknowledging their teamwork in saving Aziz’s life.

  “Are we . . . okay?” Sasha asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aziz said.

  Their momentar
y peace was swiftly interrupted by a bang from the other side of the door. Chloe let out a scream, the first sound she had been able to produce since seeing the ghost. Another bang. The Backstagers put their full weight against the door.

  Then they heard many fists pounding frantically. Jory looked to Beckett, terrified. Was this the end? Beckett shook his head, and then the door flung open, sending the Backstagers into a heap on the Club Room floor.

  Hunter, Timothy, and Jamie crashed through the Unsafe door and landed on the pile.

  “HUNTER,” Jory gasped, pulling him into a hug.

  Timothy leaped up and slammed the door shut, swiftly clicking its padlock closed.

  “We were training in the backstage and everything went dark,” he said, panting. “Then we saw some seriously spooky stuff. Is everyone all right? What were you guys doing back there unsupervised?!”

  He took visual stock of his guys. Aziz, Sasha, Jory, Beckett, Hunter, and Jamie were all accounted for, if winded, scratched up, and seriously spooked. Then there was Chloe, crumpled on the floor, looking very close to tears.

  “Chloe? What are you doing here?”

  She looked up, guilt spreading across her face like a shadow.

  “I have some explaining to do,” she said as her first tears finally escaped, running down her cheeks, as silvery as her hair.

  CHAPTER 14

  Everyone was majorly shaken as they gathered themselves in the Club Room for a Backstager emergency meeting. Jory and Hunter instinctively held hands as they sat down on the torn couch next to Aziz and Sasha. Beckett placed chairs for himself and Timothy and Jamie. For all the trauma they had just endured, they all felt slightly better just being together again. All except for their new guest, Chloe, who stood before the group, looking at the floor. She tried to speak and stammered, not sure where to begin.

  “It’s okay,” Sasha said. “I was the one who messed everything up the last time and everyone was pretty cool about it. We know you didn’t mean to.”