The group passed out equipment while our guide talked, and I took another flashing box. That seemed like the least scary of the options. No way did I want to actually communicate with a ghost like the people using the rotating sticks.
“The theater received its current Art déco design during a rebuild after a fire in the early 1900s. It’s been restored to that glory as you see it today and still runs continuous performances. If you’ll all follow me upstairs, we’ll start the ghost portion of tonight’s investigation.”
A chill ran through the crowd as the guide moved us up a set of stairs draped in red carpet to the left of the lobby. We walked about halfway up and filed into a small cutout area to our right.
Reed and I took a spot along the side wall and stayed standing while others found spaces on the couch and chairs.
“This theater is the most haunted place in America,” our guide said as they pulled out a wooden box. They twisted something on the bottom, a latch popped, and the bottom of the box dropped out. Their hand caught the item inside and immediately a ding sounded.
My eyes widened, and I glanced at Reed, who watched the man in charge with skepticism.
“You’ve all been given investigative tools to use tonight, but this is the one the ghosts love the most. Isn’t that right?” he asked, and the bell gave another wild ding without anyone touching it. The guide laughed. “All the ghosts love the bell.”
It seemed like it.
“Are you ready to have some fun with our guests tonight?” the guide asked, but it was clear he wasn’t talking to us.
The bell went off three times right in a row.
“What does three dings mean?” a person on our tour with us asked. I guess we were all assuming one ding meant yes and two for no. Or at least I had been.
The guide shook his head. “That the ghost really likes the bell.”
Another three dings of the bell from an invisible hand sent shivers up my arms. That was… freaky. I didn’t like freaky things. I spared another glance at Reed. He had his eyes narrowed as he watched the bell sitting on a small table. The bottom was open, letting us see right through, so it’s not like they were hiding another bell under it. Even Reed seemed impressed… or worried by the developments.
Was the theater really haunted?
They didn’t have a bell at the haunted bar.
“Do you plan to behave tonight?” the guide asked.
Two dings rang out, and we nervously chuckled as a group. Wonderful, we had feisty ghosts.
A ding without a question.
Then two more dings.
The guide scowled at the bell. “Okay, we get it.”
A series of six or seven dings came one right after another. The bell echoed down the narrow hallway. The guide—I’d already forgotten his name—grabbed the bell from the counter and placed it back in the wooden box. A cascade of chimes rang nonstop until it was safely tucked away. I guess that explained the need for a wooden box.
“That’s enough for now. We’ll get the bell out again later,” he said, latching the box. “Now let’s do a theater walk-through, and I’ll show you the rest of the areas you’ll be able to investigate tonight.”
About thirty minutes later, the group finished the tour and most of us ended up in the stage area of the theater. Reed and I took seats on the balcony beside a stage door where they’d recorded the ghost activity of a small child rushing through the seats. I figured if we were going to be here all night, we at least needed to seem like actual ghost hunters.
“You okay?” Reed asked after we’d settled in and sat quietly without any ghost activity.
I did a quick mental check. Physically, I was fine. Realizing that ghosts might be real and we were hanging out with them… wasn’t doing my mental health the greatest. “This place is freaky. Way more ghost-ish than the bar.”
On the stage at the other end of the theater, a dog ball lit up red and blue as it rolled over the wooden planks on its own. The ghosts didn’t only like the bell. Apparently, they also loved messing with the ball. The lights flickered off and then a second later, the ball inched forward, and the lights turned on again. Somewhere in the hidden part of the building where actors hung out during performances, the bell gave a heavy ding, which radiated through the space.
“It’s more intense for sure,” he said, his gaze on the moving ball as it shot across the stage like someone kicked it. Except no one was standing anywhere near it.
We sat quietly for a moment. “Do you think ghosts can kill?”
I’d said it as a joke before, but after the events of the evening I had a few more questions that needed to be answered before I sent Delaney my write-up.
“Eh. I don’t believe in the theory that a bar ghost killed Lisa physically, but I suppose they could scare someone to death.” Reed leaned back in his chair, giving his comments more thought.
