Fire in a Haunted Theater

Madeleine’s boots scuffed noisily on the carpet of the dusty auditorium. Her hand brushed against a metal railing, and she felt a slight spark. Static electricity. Wasn’t that fun. Madeleine would’ve preferred to meet her source in a bright coffee shop, with lots of people milling about with their lattes, but her source was a ghost. He was, therefore, contractually obligated to meet her in creepy places like abandoned theaters or crumbling mansions. The place couldn’t even be brightly lit; apparently ghosts weren’t keen on shiny lights. So, the theater was so dark that she could barely make out the pale outline of her source floating eerily about the stage. “Whyyyyy…” it intoned, “have you disturbed my spirit from its eternal slumber?”

“Oh, stuff it,” Madeleine said. “It’s me, remember? I’m not a Halloween tourist. I know who you are. You’re a two-bit burglar from 1856 who tried to break in some ancient tomb, completely ignored the warnings that said “hey, don’t rob this thing,” and got cursed by a mummy to roam the Earth forever, blah blah blah. Should’ve paid attention. Reap what you sow, and all that. My heart bleeds.”

“Youuuuu….” howled the Baleful Burglar, “take all the fun out of things.”

“Story of my life. So .Here’s the deal. You know people on the other side. Anyone you know who’s been ripped out of the time space continuum lately?”

He considered. “There was a Miss Pamela…”

“Percy, yeah. She’s my client. She’s a ghost now too. Thing is, no one remembers her being alive. No one. You see my problem. You can’t have a ghost when the living person didn’t exist, and I hate when people suddenly go non-existent without reason. So. You’ve been around. You know anyone else who had the same thing happen?”

The Baleful Burglar sat down grumpily in a chair. “I do not see why I should divulge the eternal secrets of the great beyond.”

Madeline glared. She hated using her powers for such skeezy things as interrogation, but she didn’t see how she could get him to talk otherwise. You couldn’t threaten a ghost physically. You couldn’t offer to go easy on him later, put in a good word with the police. He was already dead. The worst had pretty well happened. But there were a few things you could do. “You want to keep haunting this theater, yeah? Nice place, perfectly creepy, just the thing? Suppose this theater caught fire.”

“You would not dare,” said the ghost, alarmed.

“Wanna bet? I’m Gaseous Girl. I have a biological hazard in my throat, and I’m not afraid to use it. One burp, and this place goes.” She swiveled towards a nearby curtain. “Ten seconds.”

“You would not dare.”

“Five seconds.” She grabbed a soda can from her belt, popped the tab, and took a quick drink as a primer. She felt the bubbles fizzing all the way down. “Better talk, or your haunt’s getting torched.”

“You would be committing an arson!” the Baleful Burglar protested. “That is a crime!”

“Public service. This place is condemned anyway. No one would care. Three.”

“I would haunt your dreams forever in retribution for this outrage!”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “From ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us. One. That’s it.” She prepared to blast fire at the curtain.

“Stop!” cried the Baleful Burglar. “I will tell you. I knew of one other person who suffered the same fate as Miss Percy. His name was Edward Brook-Wilkins, and he haunts the cemetery on Seventh Street.”

“Of course he does,” Madeline sighed. “Would it kill you people to haunt someplace non-creepy?” When the Baleful Burglar did not reply, she turned around. The ghost had gone.