The silk scarf hung heavy over her eyes. Alice drummed her fingers against the stage, fighting the urge to rip the damn thing off and just give up. She’d been waiting for, what, ten minutes now? It felt longer, but how would she know? Even the glow from her Fitbit failed to shine through the scarf’s layers.
Hell, she wasn’t sure if the sun had even set yet. Thornwood Playhouse was creepy enough during the day, when sunlight filtered through the cracks and gaping holes in the collapsed ceiling just enough to illuminate the lobby and main theater. Once night fell, it became a literal deathtrap. She’d be lucky to escape the playhouse ruins without crashing or falling into something. Then there was the forest to navigate…
“Any day now,” she called out, hoping for some sort of distraction. Silence permeated the space around her. She struggled to hear so much as a mouse scurrying around in the seats beyond. Even the rafters were uncharacteristically silent—there was no shuffling or shifting from the catwalk, nothing that would otherwise alert her to his presence. Was he even here yet? Would he come at all, or had she just agreed to make a fool out of herself, all for his twisted enjoyment?
Or maybe— Alice shook the thought from her head as quickly as it came. No, she refused to think the worst, not this time. He knew better than to try and trick her. This place was hers, after all—she knew almost every twisted corridor and secret passage better than she knew her own home. Besides, she’d been coming here to see him for nearly three months now. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done so, given the ample opportunities he’d had.
Escape’s always an option, too, she reasoned. The scarf made her blind, not paralyzed. Should things get too out of hand, she could pull it off with only a bit of difficulty and run like hell. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
The sound of footsteps echoed overheard, the faint cling of shoes against metal. Alice let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. About time.
“You did as I asked.” It wasn’t a question. His voice cut through the silence in a way that sent chills down her spine. She knew he could see her from his spot on the catwalk. He knew how vulnerable she was, how much power she’d given him, even if just for a few minutes. She bit her lip. Every instinct she had screamed at her to run, while her last ounce of sense urged her to reconsider the foolish choice she’d made. But it was too late. She’d agreed to this, wantedthis. There was no turning back now.
“Yup.” She swallowed and dug her nails into the palms of her hands, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “So, what now?”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as he chuckled, a soft, low sound that raised goosebumps on her arms and made her wish for all of a second that she’d never agreed to make this deal.
“Now,” he murmured, “the fun begins.”
***
Once upon a time Thornwood Playhouse was the gem of her tiny town, a hub where high society flocked on vacation to catch the hottest productions or bear witness to the work of up-and-coming playwrights. Tucked away on the outskirts of Pinehurst Village, away from the hustle and bustle of tourism, it stood, proud but content, in a small clearing in the woods, accessible only via a narrow dirt road that had been reclaimed by nature long before Alice was ever born.
Nowadays it hardly resembled the once-majestic theater everyone claimed it had been. Parts of the stone façade had crumbled away, taking chunks of wall with it, while the roof seemed held together by a cluster of winding vines and the sheer grace of God. Untouched and uninhabited for decades since its closing, Thornwood quickly proved too expensive to be torn down, so the town chose to let it rot, dying a slow and quiet death in the forest, far enough away that it would gradually fade from memory.
Only it never did. Gossip had as much a place in Pinehurst as in any small town, and it set its sights on Thornwood the second it closed its doors for good. Rumors always plagued the playhouse. Its first and only owner had been an eccentric and reclusive millionaire who emigrated from Europe—some said he was British, others German or Dutch, though it hardly mattered. All anyone knew of him was his love for theatrics and secrecy; few could say they’d actually met the man in person during his lifetime, though they’d all heard talk of the secret rooms, passageways, and underground tunnels he’d allegedly commissioned when he had the theater built—a tribute to Leroux, back before anyone had ever even heard of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra.
When the theater closed sometime during the Depression, and the owner mysteriously disappeared, the gossip grew ghastlier: people claimed the man had killed himself within the walls of his playhouse, unable to handle his financial collapse, allowing his spirit to forever wander the ruins of his beloved playhouse.
“Of course, that’s all just a silly story,” Uncle Jonathon would say whenever he recounted Thornwood’s tragic history, a sly smile on his lips. Though he never admitted it, Alice knew he was among the few who still considered Thornwood to be haunted.
Most people, her father included, had chalked the rumors up to old ghost stories and moved on. There was never any evidence to suggest the place even had a secret broom closet, much less an underground tunnel system, and no bodies were ever uncovered. After a while, everyone became content with assuming the owner simply skipped town, leaving Thornwood to fall into the decrepit, depressing husk it was now.
But not Uncle Jonathon. He was brought up with the rumors and never quite outgrew them. Alice herself had been raised on stories of his and her father’s escapades when they were young—how they’d explore the ruins with their friends at night in search of its hidden secrets, only to come up empty-handed when the sun rose.
“Still, I’d go back,” he told her once. Her father had been preparing dinner, so for once he wasn’t around to scold his brother for filling her head with fantasies. Alice grinned and closed her laptop, ignoring the college application page glaring at her from the screen. “You never know what sorts of things a pair of fresh eyes may find.”
He winked at her, but before she could speak her father had called them both for dinner. Uncle Jonathon tousled her hair as he passed and said a mere three words more. “Think about it.”
She spent months planning. It had to be perfect, and she had the time to spare—having postponed going to college meant she’d be in Pinehurst for another year, give or a take a few weeks. All that mattered was that her father didn’t catch on. As indifferent as he was to the rumors, he knew as well as his brother just how rundown Thornwood was. He’d sooner believe a spirit haunting a playhouse before he allowed his only child to step foot inside a condemned building.
Thankfully, she had an ace up her sleeve.
“You sure you’ll be all right by yourself, buttercup?” Jonathon’s eyes betrayed him. He knew was well as she did what her plans were, even if she hadn’t told him. It had been her idea for him to take her father to the Sox game—a convenient two hour plus drive one way, not counting traffic. Her uncle had an apartment in Boston, and there was a good enough chance they’d crash there and come home in the morning. That left her more than enough time to do what she needed.
Neither of them needed much convincing, so by four o’clock they were out the door and on their way, Uncle Jonathon with an added “Be good” and a wink before he closed the door behind him.
It didn’t take long to find Thornwood—in addition to keeping the building, Pinehurst also hadn’t bothered to remove the rusted and rotting street signs that led to its location. The road itself was now little more than a path, the land overgrown with shrubs and tree roots, but that was only a slight inconvenience. Alice followed the map she’d printed off Google, her pulse quickening the closer she got. Her uncle had built this place up for years with his stories, so much so it seemed as though Thornwood was destined to be her own personal playground—if she considered a deserted, dilapidated theater house to be a playground.
Which, she thought with a smile, gripping her flashlight tighter, I do.
Something about hidden rooms always grabbed her attention—she’d read about them in books, seen them in movies and on Pinterest boards—hell, even her friends agreed it would be cool to find a real-life place with even a single trapdoor and secret corridor. If she could find even a trace of evidence at Thornwood that the rumors were true, after all this time…
When at last she came across the clearing, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The playhouse was in far worse states that she’d imagined: parts of the roof and walls had indeed caved in, with ivy dipping and snaking its way over cavernous gaps in the structure. A once proud set of oak doors, now down to just one, hung haphazardly off its hinges, the other nowhere in sight. All around, trees had grown and knitted together over the top, blocking out a considerable amount of light and making it almost impossible to navigate the pathway to the entrance.
A challenge. Alice grinned—she could work with that.
***
A knot grew in Alice’s stomach as she heard him abandon his perch, his footsteps becoming fainter as he disappeared into another part of the theater. She wanted to remind him of the deal they’d made—that she would keep the blindfold on so long as he promised no harm would come to her.
In the moment Alice cursed herself for being so naïve. She’d never truly seen him—the vague glimpses of his silhouette on the catwalk didn’t count—had never laid eyes on this man, or ghost, or whatever he was.
All she knew of him was his voice—soft, gentle even, yet still strong enough to both command her attention and charm her senses. She found herself drawn to him whenever he spoke, craving both his presence and the sound of his voice in a way she didn’t quite understand. Even hearing his critiques when she sang—something he’d taken to more frequently as of late—filled her more with a timid joy than embarrassment. Her cheeks would heat up and she would turn away, knowing full well he probably couldn’t see in the theater’s inadequate lighting. There was just something about him that she couldn’t explain, something ethereal and yet startling, terrifyingly real—
“Ahem.” Her breath caught in her throat. There was no way—she’d just heard him in the catwalk not two minutes ago, how the hell did he—
The stage groaned with each step he took, the floorboards creaking under the added weight. Her hands trembled in her lap as she tried to ignore the growing glimmer of uncertainty gnawing at her mind. The closer he got, the harder she fought the urge to turn and run or tear off the scarf and see him for who or what he really was.
Alice tried to force the latter from her mind. He’d been adamant about that part. She was not to see him, not even a peek, or else.
What he meant by that, she didn’t know, and she hadn’t asked.
She doubted he would turn violent with her—she’d spent enough time with him to decide that he generally wasn’t the type to get viciously angry. No, chances were he’d renege on their deal or worse, abandon her entirely, never to return to her side in Thornwood ever again.
Alice chewed at the inside of her cheek at the thought. In her heart she knew she’d grown too used to his company to let him go now. No matter how ominous he seemed, she wanted to believe he was good, that he wouldn’t hurt her. That was why she’d come back, day after day, week after week, just to be with him. She trusted him—perhaps foolishly, perhaps not. Either way, it was too late now. Alice swallowed the fear rising in her chest that threatened to suffocate her and tried to ignore her fight-or-flight instincts screaming at her to run from a stranger she knew so little about. She’d come too far to turn back. Now, she would stand her ground.
He stopped less than a foot away from her. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she fidgeted in her seat, curiosity running wild as she imagined what he could possibly be doing. Then, she felt a hand—his hand brush her shoulder.
Time seemed to slow. His fingers felt warm through the fabric of her t-shirt, light and ethereal yet still pulsing with life. A soothing melody emanated from somewhere backstage. Alice swore she’d heard it before, but before she could place the sound, he took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, her body swaying with the sudden movement. Rather than letting her stumble, his hold on her tightened. She could feel his body, firm and broad and ridiculously warm, as a familiar heat spread across her cheeks. She prayed that in the dark, coupled with the scarf, he could not see it.
He pulled her closer, humming along with the music. Already the sound was taking hold of her—the world seemed to slip away ever so slightly, as if she were dancing in a dream. When he moved, so did she, as if someone else was in command— a hidden puppeteer tugging at her strings, guiding her along with him in a dance to which she knew each and every step. After a moment’s hesitation, Alice gave in, relinquishing herself to the music…and to him.
***
Five hours. Five whole, dimly lit hours, and still she had come up empty-handed. She’d searched everywhere: the once grandiose foyer, its marbled floors and pillars cracked; its sweeping staircases missing a step or two; the paneled walls that lined the hallways and bore murals of angels encased in a heavenly light; even the former dressing rooms, the gilded wallpaper peeling, the mahogany wardrobes and vanities mere termite-ridden messes with shattered mirrors.
Only the main theater itself remained, and all Alice could find of interest were the intact catwalks suspended above the stage, offering a bird’s eye view of the worn wood and the motheaten red velvet seats beyond.
Her heart sank as she plopped herself at the edge of the stage. Thornwood was magnificent, far more than she could ever have imagined, yet the fact that she’d unearthed no secrets, no tunnels or passages or so much as a trick floorboard…
She leaned back against the stage, wondering how she’d break it to Uncle Jonathon that Thornwood, for all its legends, was just another old theater after all.
No ghosts, either, Alice thought with a sigh, her gaze tracing the catwalk. She tried to imagine the old owner pacing across the platforms, watching over his productions like the Lerouxian villain he’d allegedly adored.
Alice sat up, a small lightbulb going off in her head. This was a theater, and she had plenty of time. She grinned as she reached for her phone and pulled up YouTube, her sought-after song already saved to her favorites. In a matter of seconds, an instrumental cover of The Phantom of the Opera was blaring through her phone’s speakers, and Alice had rolled herself up onto the stage, readying herself as the notes grew louder
“In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came.” Her voice was soft, a little raspy from disuse, but she didn’t care—who would hear her? “That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name. And do I dream again? –for now I find…”
She turned to face the empty auditorium, imagining the seats filled as they were decades ago. Her grin widened, curling her lips and lighting up her face as she reached for the song’s high notes. “The Phantom of the Opera is here…inside my mind…”
While the instrumental continued, she took a bow to imaginary applause, her face tinged a bit pink. God knew she didn’t have the courage to do that sort of thing in front of actual people—her voice was nice, sweet maybe, but definitely not worth subjecting herself to legitimate critique over. Alice stretched and took a breath. Maybe she’d found a use for Thornwood, after all—
“Sing once again with me, our strange duet…my power over you grows stronger yet…”
Alice stopped. Her blood ran cold as she heard another voice—a male voice—ring out above her head. She tried to look up, but it was as if her body was no longer her own—she could not move, she could not speak, she couldn’t even scream.
“And though you turn from me to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there…inside your mind.”
Her head ached; the room seemed to spin around her. The moment the singer fell silent Alice could move again, coughing out a choked breath that had caught in her throat. Diving for the phone she turned off the music, her head on a swivel as she searched the catwalk for the mysterious voice.
“Who the hell are you?” Her hands shook around her phone as she backed up against the edge of the stage. “Have you been watching me?”
She expected no answer—hell, she would have been fine with no answer, would have abandoned Thornwood and never returned, content with the knowledge that it was haunted, if not by ghosts than by pervy weirdos who liked to stalk young girls. Instead, the voice chuckled
“I have.” Alice took another step back, nearly plummeting off the stage. “Forgive me—I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Little late for that. She shifted her gaze from the catwalks to her phone and back again, wondering if she should call the cops. There was nothing to see up there, only pitch blackness—would they think she was crazy?
Very likely yes, if she was being honest. They’d probably have a good laugh at her expense before they arrested her for trespassing.
“You sing well,” the voice continued, and though she couldn’t see any movement Alice heard a faint cling as the speaker shifted positions. “Nothing exceptional, but perhaps with a little training—”
“Are you a ghost?” Alice blurted out, before facepalming at her own stupidity. What the hell? Ghosts weren’t real, and even if they were, could she actually expect him to answer that truthfully?
The speaker stopped for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “At least, I’m more human than you think. But no, I’m no ghost—though I’m sure I give off that impression.” Another chuckle.
Alice wrinkled her nose. She had no idea what he meant, and part of her was still screaming to get the hell out of dodge and leave this place behind.
But something else tugged at her mind—the feeling she’d had when he sang. She’d heard her fair share of Broadway heartthrobs and none, from Colm Wilkinson to Ryan McCartan to Ramin Karimloo himself, had ever made her feel that way. It was as if someone else were in control of her; she could not think, she could not move—it was if, for a few moments, she was in a dream, where nothing around her was quite real.
It bothered her—just reimagining it was enough to turn her stomach—and yet, for a split second, she enjoyed it. It was a sensation she couldn’t explain with words, almost otherworldly, and she knew in her heart no human could pull off something quite like that.
“I’m surprised you haven’t run yet,” he mused, drawing her from her reverie. “You look ready to fly at a moment’s notice.”
Alice’s face burned. She cast one last glance towards the exit, then took a seat at the edge of the stage, her focus once again on the catwalk. She stiffened when, this time, she could make out a vague silhouette in the darkness, hunched over as if crouching on the platform, its features indistinguishable. Still, she swallowed her momentary panic and tried to force herself to keep calm.
“I want to know how you did that,” she managed, and for a moment she wondered if he would even know what she meant. Her heart pounded as she watched the silhouette shift, this time to stand?—though she couldn’t tell for sure—and lean over the edge of the rail. How the rusted things could even support him, she did not know.
The figure laughed, a sound both warm and frigid, rich and soft yet enough to raise goosebumps across her body. “So you noticed. There is much I can tell you, my dear—much I can teach you. The question is: are you willing?”
Alice dug her nails into her palms. The silence in the theater was near deafening. She could still leave; no one would have to know about this encounter pulled straight from a gothic storybook. And yet—
She took a deep breath. “I am.”
“Excellent.”
***
In a matter of months, Alice had adopted Thornwood as a second home. The journey there and back was long, and a little tedious to keep hidden from her father, but her mystery maestro made it worth it.
Unlike their first encounter, he kept relatively quiet whenever she arrived. The most she’d ever heard from him happened some weeks later, when upon her arrival she’d heard the soft keening of a piano resonating through the halls, low and out of tune yet still hauntingly beautiful.
He allowed her to move about the theater to her heart’s content; only when she approached the stage did he return to the wings, though how he could pick up on her intent, she didn’t know. She would set up her music, sometimes with a speaker or two, and pretend Thornwood was still a sparkling, bustling gem of a place, beloved by the masses all clamoring to hear her.
When she finished, he would pipe up from the shadows, or the catwalk, and offer his critique, usually firm but fair. Her talent, he said, had potential, and she’d be remiss to let it go to waste. Truth be told, Alice had never considered singing seriously before—she’d assumed she simply didn’t have the voice for it. Hearing his praise was enough to make her reconsider—not for all the world to see, but for him, to make him proud and to one day, perhaps, sing with him.
Of course, that was a mere pipe dream. Between songs she would venture off into the building, his ability to appear anywhere in the theater enough to reconvince her of some hidden passages located within and around the walls. Each time she secretly hoped to run into him, to see just what he was. Some days she imagined an angel—no other creature could have a voice as lovely and bewitching as his save for perhaps a demon, to which she’d much prefer having met just another ghost. Part of her even wondered if she’d met the playhouse owner, but without any sort of confirmation, her imagination was left to wander.
Near the start of their third month together, Alice decided to test the waters. Her maestro never answered her questions in a way that she understood, and by now her desperation to understand his true self had grown too terrible to bear. As she made her way over to the stage, Alice glanced up. She could see his silhouette perched as if on cue on the platform, ready and awaiting her performance. Her fingers twitched at her side.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice faltered and cracked, but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Up on the catwalk, he shifted as if cocking his head in her direction.
“Go ahead.” His tone was level, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling he knew what she would say. Get a grip, Alice, she scolded herself. It wasn’t as if he could read her mind.
“I—” She took another breath, averting her eyes. Even then, she could feel his eyes on her. “I want to you know who you really are. What you are.”
No response. Alice continued, “I don’t need to see your face if you don’t want me to, but—I mean, we’ve spent so much time together. I just, I want to understand you, and what you are, and your voice and, and—”
She trailed off. The tension in the room was tangible. A moment passed, then two. Then—
“Very well.” His voice was low enough that she almost missed him entirely. Alice paused, her blood pounding in her ears. Had he really—
“I can’t reveal myself to you just yet. There’s too much you don’t know, too much you don’t understand. But I can share my world with you.”
Alice knitted her brows together, trying to make sense of what he’d just told her, when he suddenly rose and disappeared off to one side of the catwalk.
“Leave for now,” he called to her, his voice fainter than before. “When you return, I want you to bring a blindfold. You’ll tie it around your eyes, and seat yourself at the center of the stage. No matter what happens, you will not remove the blindfold, or else. Do I make myself clear?”
She shivered at his tone. From soft and gentle to curt bordering on dangerous in the same breath. What had she gotten herself into?
“One more thing.”
She heard him stop before he vanished from sight entirely. Her chest tightened with what she was about to ask.
“I…want you to promise—promise that you won’t hurt me.” It sounded awkward and strange as she said it, and the moment the words left her lips she wondered if she’d overstepped, if she’d somehow insulted him.
Instead, she heard him laugh.
“You have my word.” With that, he was gone.
***
“I want you to sing with me.” His works struck ice in her heart. Had she not already melted into his embrace, given up all control of herself to quiet hum of his voice, she would have frozen where she stood. She hadn’t expected him to ask something like this of her. She wasn’t ready, and even if she recognized the song she didn’t know it that well, could not hope to sing it much less come close to matching him.
She lowered her head, and he repeated his request, more forcefully this time. “You can do it. Let it out. Sing for me.”
The music picked up. His humming became singing, soft yet striking lyrics whispered into her ear with all the passion in the world.
“It’s a sin with no name, like a tiger to tame, and my senses proclaim—” He leaned in closer; she could feel the curl of his smile against her skin. “It’s a dangerous game.”
Alice tried to resist, but it was futile; as he pulled her along with him, her body mimicking his movements, she realized she could no longer hear the music—she could feel it. It invaded her body, flooded her veins like a toxin, took over control and bade her to follow his every whim. Whatever cloud had overtaken her had disappeared, or perhaps it had thickened, engulfing her senses and enveloping her in a sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. The song seemed to set her heart aflame—or was it his voice? She could not tell.
“A darker dream,” he continued, dipping her back slightly, his lips just above her ear, “that has no ending—something unreal that you want to be true…”
She could not resist. Her actions were no longer her own. He demanded she sing with him, for him, and she became overwhelmed with the sudden desire to obey him. She let the lyrics slip out from near-closed lips, trembling as she tried to follow this new dance he’d begun.
“A strange romance, out of a mystery tale…”
“The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do!” His grip on her tightened, and without speaking he told her what he wanted. More—sing more.
He refused to accept her meekness, her humility—he wanted passion, intensity, the fervor he had seen in her before as he watched her from the catwalk. She had no choice; she gave in. Her body, her voice was no longer her own. She was his to control.
“At the touch of your hand, at the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine! I am out of my mind, I am out of control, full of feelings I can’t define!” With his voice he sought hers out, drew it from the depths where she struggled to keep it hidden. Their voices blended together, each fighting for dominance, to express the aching desire like literal fire in their blood.
“It’s a sin with no name, like a tiger to tame—“
“And though no one’s to blame—”
“It’s a crime and a shame!”
“And the angels proclaim: it’s a dangerous game, it’s a dangerous game, such a dangerous game…”
His lips hovered inches away from hers, and then all at once the song ended. The melody dwindled into nothingness. Everything seemed unsteady, as if the world were spinning around her, trying to pull her back down to earth after she’d spent a lifetime in the clouds. He slowed their movements and eased her back down onto the stage, holding onto her as she attempted to regain power over herself. Alice tried to think, to make sense of what happened, but it wouldn’t come. She felt drained, lightheaded. Letting her head loll to the side, she looked up at him, trying to form the words she needed.
“You…you’re…” Her mind struggled to comprehend what she had just experienced. She couldn’t put it into words, but it was—whatever it was, it was so much more than the first time, irresistible and captivating and yet so unnatural.
He chuckled, a rich, dark sound that struck her to her very core. Relinquishing his hold on her, he pulled away, putting a bit of distance between them. She reached out for him again, and almost toppled over had he not held her steady.
“We’ll meet again, Alice,” he murmured. Pressing a kiss to her forehead through the scarf, he rose, leaving her to scramble about on the ground in a vain attempt to pull him back. Again she heard no footsteps, yet when he spoke again, his voice sounded much farther away, quite possibly at the other end of the stage. “I hope in any case that this encounter has been some of what you wanted…and perhaps something more.”
That was it. She couldn’t take it anymore. Alice ripped off the blindfold, not caring that it messed up her ponytail or pulled a few blonde hairs out with it. After all he had just put her through, she was determined to see him, to understand just what unearthly being he—was?
She whipped herself around, but there was no one to be found. Once again, she was alone on the stage.
A note from the author: This was a piece I wrote a few years ago, when I was still in college. I have an ongoing story idea (working title “Serenade of Sin and Silence”) that I was struggling with at the time, so I decided to come at it from a different angle. This is the result. Hope you enjoyed 😊
Inkwells and Ivy 
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