Tracked by Terror Read Online Free Page A
Author: Brad Strickland
should have been jammed! The audience members hadnât had time to go anywhere.
They had vanished the same way Betsy had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. They seemed to have faded away, likeâwell, like ghosts.
Jarvey somehow didnât want to follow them out into the darkness. He turned back and reentered the auditorium. In the helpful light of the chandeliers, he found a long aisle and walked down it, toward the stage. The auditorium was so huge that, looking up, he couldnât even see the ceiling at its highest point. The chandeliers seemed to be dangling down from infinity.
As he passed row after row of seats, Jarvey noticed something else. The carpeted floor and aisles lay clean, cleaner than any theater he had ever seen. No scrap of litter lay anywhere, and the seats all had been neatly folded up. After walking for what felt like a mile, he reached the front of the theater and only then did he realize how large the stage actually was. It was a lot bigger than his front yard back home, and the set on it looked gigantic. It represented a street in some city, vaguely reminding Jarvey of pictures he had seen of ancient Rome. Substantial three-storied marble-fronted houses, their fronts decorated with stone columns, formed the backdrop. A fountain in the center of the stage featured mermaids and soldiers in armor, and from a central column it jetted real water in a gurgling spray.
Separating the stage from the auditorium was a deep U-shaped pit with chairs arranged in orderly rows. It might have been the orchestra pit, Jarvey supposed, though he hadnât heard any music accompanying the play. No steps led down into the pit from the auditorium, but the drop wasnât all that great. He clambered over the low brass railing, let himself down until he dangled a few feet off the ground, and then released his grip, falling the last little distance.
His landing made a sharp thump, but no one seemed to be around to hear it. He found a metal ladder fixed to the back wall of the pit, and it allowed him to climb up onto the stage.
Jarvey stood blinking for a moment. Bright light streamed in from somewhere, though he couldnât spot its source. The radiance bathed everything on stage, though. He walked to the center of the platform and to his surprise saw that the realistic fountain was simply a flat cardboard cutout. Pale blue streamers blew in a jet of air. He had thought it was real water, but from up close he could see that it was not only fake, but sort of shabby-looking too. How had something like that fooled him?
And now he could see that the three-dimensional street of Romanesque houses was simply a flat painting as well. It didnât look convincing at all from here, although from far away he would have sworn that it was real.
Jarvey cautiously explored the left side of the stage, stepping into the wings. A wilderness of taut ropes and stacked weights cluttered the wall there, and a curtained-off doorway led to what seemed to be a row of a dozen dressing rooms, all of them empty. Long tables stood against walls lined with mirrors. Empty chairs had been thrust back away from the tables. A faint scent a little like the waxy aroma of crayons hung in the air.
The last dressing room, and the grandest, was a little different, though. A table in the center of this one held a silver bowl, and the bowl held some withered fruit, pears and apples. They werenât fresh and they certainly werenât crisp, but Jarvey devoured every bite of them.
He drank too, from an old-fashioned sink in that room. He noticed a long rack hung with a couple of dozen costumes, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale sweat hanging over the outfits. On the long tables before the mirrors, wig stands without faces gazed at him balefully. When he moved up and down the length of the makeup table, he had the sense that the wig stands silently turned to keep him in sight.
Rummaging around on the cluttered tabletop, he found
They had vanished the same way Betsy had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. They seemed to have faded away, likeâwell, like ghosts.
Jarvey somehow didnât want to follow them out into the darkness. He turned back and reentered the auditorium. In the helpful light of the chandeliers, he found a long aisle and walked down it, toward the stage. The auditorium was so huge that, looking up, he couldnât even see the ceiling at its highest point. The chandeliers seemed to be dangling down from infinity.
As he passed row after row of seats, Jarvey noticed something else. The carpeted floor and aisles lay clean, cleaner than any theater he had ever seen. No scrap of litter lay anywhere, and the seats all had been neatly folded up. After walking for what felt like a mile, he reached the front of the theater and only then did he realize how large the stage actually was. It was a lot bigger than his front yard back home, and the set on it looked gigantic. It represented a street in some city, vaguely reminding Jarvey of pictures he had seen of ancient Rome. Substantial three-storied marble-fronted houses, their fronts decorated with stone columns, formed the backdrop. A fountain in the center of the stage featured mermaids and soldiers in armor, and from a central column it jetted real water in a gurgling spray.
Separating the stage from the auditorium was a deep U-shaped pit with chairs arranged in orderly rows. It might have been the orchestra pit, Jarvey supposed, though he hadnât heard any music accompanying the play. No steps led down into the pit from the auditorium, but the drop wasnât all that great. He clambered over the low brass railing, let himself down until he dangled a few feet off the ground, and then released his grip, falling the last little distance.
His landing made a sharp thump, but no one seemed to be around to hear it. He found a metal ladder fixed to the back wall of the pit, and it allowed him to climb up onto the stage.
Jarvey stood blinking for a moment. Bright light streamed in from somewhere, though he couldnât spot its source. The radiance bathed everything on stage, though. He walked to the center of the platform and to his surprise saw that the realistic fountain was simply a flat cardboard cutout. Pale blue streamers blew in a jet of air. He had thought it was real water, but from up close he could see that it was not only fake, but sort of shabby-looking too. How had something like that fooled him?
And now he could see that the three-dimensional street of Romanesque houses was simply a flat painting as well. It didnât look convincing at all from here, although from far away he would have sworn that it was real.
Jarvey cautiously explored the left side of the stage, stepping into the wings. A wilderness of taut ropes and stacked weights cluttered the wall there, and a curtained-off doorway led to what seemed to be a row of a dozen dressing rooms, all of them empty. Long tables stood against walls lined with mirrors. Empty chairs had been thrust back away from the tables. A faint scent a little like the waxy aroma of crayons hung in the air.
The last dressing room, and the grandest, was a little different, though. A table in the center of this one held a silver bowl, and the bowl held some withered fruit, pears and apples. They werenât fresh and they certainly werenât crisp, but Jarvey devoured every bite of them.
He drank too, from an old-fashioned sink in that room. He noticed a long rack hung with a couple of dozen costumes, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale sweat hanging over the outfits. On the long tables before the mirrors, wig stands without faces gazed at him balefully. When he moved up and down the length of the makeup table, he had the sense that the wig stands silently turned to keep him in sight.
Rummaging around on the cluttered tabletop, he found
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