(June 2024’s short story of the month)

“Ralph!” Teresa yelled from her seat in the almost empty theater.

“It’s Rolph.” Rolph muttered to himself.

“What?” yelled Teresa.

“I said I’m on my way!” yelled Rolph.

“I don’t have all day!” Teresa was getting really tired of his attitude. Unfortunately, directing at the Poppy Theater meant dealing with Rolph.

Rolph was the theater’s caretaker. He even lived in an apartment on the second floor behind the offices. If you asked Rolph though, he didn’t feel like a caretaker. Most days he felt like he was at best a janitor or maybe a babysitter considering how much “care and attention” some of the actors needed. People filled the theater to see drama, but the real drama wasn’t on the stage. It was everything else that went on inside the building. And directors, in Rolph’s opinion, were some of the most dramatic divas in any theater.

But Rolph couldn’t leave the Poppy Theater, so he rolled his eyes and hung the costumes he was carrying with care and proceeded, though not quickly, to see what Teresa wanted this time.

“I have some thoughts about that last scene they rehearsed,” said Norman as Rolph walked past him.

“Not now, Norman,” Rolph snapped.

“Who are you talking to?” asked Teresa.

“Sorry. No one,” said Rolph.

“What can I help you with?” asked Rolph with a scowl on his face. He had a lot do on any given day, and today was no exception. The director seemed incapable of asking any of the other staff for help though.  

Teresa studied him. He was close to her own age, mid-thirties, but he clearly needed to get out in the sun more. He had dark hair and dark hooded eyes, and he rarely made eye contact with people. Instead, he stared at their feet, like he was doing right now. He wore black clothes all the time that somehow defied time. His clothes were neither dated nor trendy. Teresa couldn’t figure out his “deal.”

She just kept staring at him.

“Did you need my help or not?” asked Rolph.

Teresa was pulled out of her reflection by the tone of his voice.

“Yes. Those lights are out again. Kind of important.” She pointed at several stage lights that were currently dark.

Rolph sighed. “On it as soon as I finish helping Sophie with costumes.” Rolph pulled out a green covered notepad and flipped to the page with a dog-eared corner. He added stage lights and a box on the bottom of his list. There were about forty things on the list above what he’d just written, but he didn’t tell Teresa that. He flipped the pad shut and went back to assisting Sophie.

---

The theater finally grew quiet. Rolph double checked that the front doors were locked and then began his routine of walking room to room and turning out lights and closing doors.

“I still want to discuss that scene,” said Norman. Norman floated about two inches off the ground as he followed Rolph.

“Norman. We’ve been over this.” Rolph paused and turned to address Norman directly. “I don’t have any say over what the director does. I’m just a caretaker.”

“Yes, but you could make suggestions.” Norman patted Rolph on the shoulder. Norman was an older gentleman who had attended every play in the theater since its opening day nearly eighty years ago. Of course, for forty of those years he’d attended as a ghost, but Norman still felt like his opinion should matter. Even in the afterlife, he was a theater buff.

Rolph shook his head. “Honestly, Norman. They don’t take anything I say seriously. And I have enough to deal with and no time for meddling.”

Norman crossed his arms and huffed away.

Rolph watched as Norman pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Must be an old habit,” murmured Rolph.

“Kind of like mumbling and talking to yourself,” said another voice right behind him. Daisy floated through the door that Rolph had just shut.

“Evening, Daisy,” said Rolph, not looking at her.

Daisy, and all the other ghosts in the theater, were wearing the clothes they’d died in. In Daisy’s case, she was stark naked.

“Daisy, do you need something this evening?” Rolph asked. Teresa didn’t know it because no one living but him saw the ghosts, but Daisy was the exact reason Rolph avoided eye contact with everyone.

“Nope. Just love to see your sparkling face,” she cackled as she floated away. Daisy knew exactly why Rolph was uncomfortable around her, and it was the most amusing part of her afterlife. She’d had the same affect on Rolph’s parents, who’d been the previous caretakers.

Rolph sighed. It was going to be one of those nights. He could tell. The ghosts were restless. After the day he’d had, all he wanted was a break, but there was no rest for the …

The expression actually didn’t make sense, not in Rolph’s case. He wasn’t wicked. He was cursed. So, there was no rest for the cursed.

And Rolph’s whole family was cursed! Rolph doubly so because he was the only one left. He carried the burden of being the caretaker and the last of his family tree.

But at night, he lay awake, not because of the ghosts, but because he didn’t know what would happen when he died. He was the last of his family. The absolute last. No cousins. No extended family. No one.

He was the last caretaker. And what did that mean? He kept the doors between this world and the next closed. The ghosts of the theater were stuck in our world because this was the place. The place where this world and the next overlapped. Most people who died crossed over, but those who died in the theater got to stay. The underworld recognized it as part of it’s front door, and so they lingered there, making Rolph crazy.

Why had someone built a theater there? What were they thinking? Was it happenstance? Fate? Cruel irony?

The last seemed likely to Rolph.

If he could go back in time, he would hunt down whichever ancestor had pissed off the god of the underworld and slap him or her.

All he could hope for is that the theater would call to someone else after he was gone and keep the doors closed.

---

Rolph closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. One of his ear plugs fell out. They were necessary for sleeping because Daisy had a habit of performing every number she’d ever sang throughout her career as loudly as she could in the middle of the night.

“Hey, Rolph,” Norman said.

Rolph replaced the ear plug. “You’re not supposed to be in my room, Norman.”

Rolph felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Go away, Norman.” Rolph didn’t open his eyes or respond. He pulled the covers higher and tighter around him, hoping Norman would go away.

Norman didn’t go away. Instead, he sat on the end of Rolph’s bed and waited.

The room shook slightly, and Norman watched to see if Rolph would respond. Rolph ignored the first shakes.

The second was harder to ignore.

The whole theater rattled. Rolph sat up in his bed.

“Someone’s at the door,” Norman said, still seated at the end of the bed.

“Not today,” said Rolph. He jumped out of the bed and threw the blanket onto the floor. “Did you all know about this and not tell me?” asked Rolph, rushing past Norman.

Norman shook his head. “No one tells me anything.”

As Rolph burst into the hall connecting his small quarters to the theater offices, the booming continued and the shaking increased.

“Coming,” yelled Rolph.

The theater shook so hard the glass in the windows rattled. Rolph heard at least two bulbs crash down.

“Not more lights,” he yelled. He ran as fast as he could without tripping. He passed all the ghosts. They got out of his way and pointed at the basement. Even they didn’t like to go near the door.

Rolph was shuffling the keys while running. He dropped the keys on the stairs. They fell to the bottom.

He grabbed the keys and faster than he’d ever moved in his life, he pulled the basement key and inserted it into the door.

He pushed the door as the booming started again. He jumped down the stairs, holding the railing to give himself some stability. He landed and hurt his ankle but ran anyway.

The basement was empty except for a door on the far wall. There was a red glow around the door, and it was practically being bent in half from the force of whatever was currently banging against it.

Rolph didn’t need a key for this door. Only his family could open it, but it required a drop of blood.

Rolph used his pocketknife and pricked his thumb. He pulled the door slowly.

Standing there was not who he would have expected.