Chapter 14 – Elise
Chapter Fourteen
Elise
The alley felt different today.
The usual sparkle—the way the afternoon light slanted just so, the way the ivy rustled on the brick—had dulled. Elise walked its length with purpose, not wonder. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
She entered the theatre, the familiar hum of fluorescents overhead, and scanned the lobby. No Jen.
She headed straight to the wig corner out of habit, but didn’t stop there. She wound through the halls and onto the stage, the boards creaking under her feet as she crossed to the stage left wing.
Jen stood near the curtain, arms crossed, eyes darting between a clipboard and the stage. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
“There you are,” Elise said, her voice hushed.
Jen looked up. Her smile was thin. “Hey.” There was a beat before she added, “I took the phone to the police this morning.”
Elise’s stomach clenched. “And?”
“There’s a missing person report now,” Jen said. “Officially. They asked a lot of questions I didn’t have answers for. I had to explain how a phone that belonged to a missing girl turned up in a theatre hundreds of miles away from where she disappeared.”
Elise swallowed. “That’s… hard to explain.”
“Yeah.” Jen rubbed the back of her neck. “Which is why I’m asking: do you think this is… something else? Something supernatural?” She dropped her voice, eyes scanning the empty wing. “Is Ellen in danger? Do you know what’s going on?”
Elise’s throat tightened. “I don’t know. I feel like something’s wrong. But that’s all it is. A feeling.”
Jen studied her face, then nodded slowly.
“I believe you. I just…” Her voice cracked a little.
“I’m really worried. If she doesn’t turn up soon, we’re going to have to replace her.
We can’t keep the understudy role open forever.
I hate even saying that.” Every show where there wasn’t an understudy in the wings was a potential show-ruining disaster waiting to happen.
Elise nodded. “I understand.”
She did. But understanding didn’t make the pit in her stomach feel any smaller.
Pre-show rituals unfolded as they always did: stretching, laughter that was a little too sharp, warm-ups echoing from the green room. But under it all, something buzzed. A frequency too low to hear but impossible not to feel.
Elise moved through it all like someone trying to wade through static. The air felt heavier tonight. Not just because of the phone or the whispers, or even the knowledge of what she and Cici planned to attempt later. It was something more. Something unseen. But not unfelt.
She was adjusting pins on a wig block when she heard it—shouting, scattered movement, the ripple of something not going according to plan.
Romy.
“I heard her,” Romy insisted to a gathering crowd in the green room, her voice trembling just enough to quiet the noise around her. “I was walking past the hallway, that weird one, and she said my name. Ellen said my name.”
The silence that followed was immediate.
Elise stepped closer, heart thudding. Romy looked stricken but certain.
“I know her voice,” she said to the hushed room, and her voice cracked slightly. “I know it was her.”
Just to the left, Lark froze. She wasn’t front and center, wasn’t drawing attention—but Elise clocked the change anyway. A flicker of alarm beneath a carefully composed face. Her eyes darted toward the hallway and back, and for the briefest moment, her grip tightened on the edge of a chair.
Elise’s stomach knotted. She ducked back into the wig station, nerves buzzing. She checked the corners. Alone.
“Kevin?” she muttered.
“I heard it,” Kevin said, sounding more alert than usual. “But I don’t know what it is. That’s… not how ghosts usually work.”
“Could it be her? Ellen’s spirit?”
Kevin hesitated. “If it is, something’s off. It’s not like she could be a ghost tethered to this place. If anything, it sounds like someone reaching through.”
Elise felt the chill run up her arms. She didn’t have time to investigate—not yet. The show was starting, and the wigs weren’t going to pin themselves.
But she made a mental note to tell Cici everything. They had a plan for tonight. A FaceTime spell—unorthodox, but it was the best they could do from different cities.
It’s going to be a busy night, she thought, and tucked the thought away.
It was nearly time for places.
Nick was in the chair, halfway through getting his wig secured. Ed stood off to the side, flipping through his script even though he’d long since memorized his lines. Graham strolled in right on cue for his usual hair check, like clockwork.
Elise gave him a look as he approached, her fingers still pinning the last section of Nick’s hair. “You know your hair never needs anything.”
“Still good to be thorough,” Graham replied, grinning. “What if one of these days I show up with a rogue cowlick?”
She arched a brow. “You? I’m not convinced your hair can be mussed.”
“Only one way to find out,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, with a smirk timed like a curtain drop.
Elise paused—for just a second too long—watching him go. She snapped herself back to the moment, only to realize Nick was watching her. Intently.
He gave an exaggerated double take between Elise and the door Graham had disappeared through.
“Elise,” he whispered like a scandalized old lady, “were those sparks I saw? Is something brewing? You have to spill. I need the tea.”
“There’s nothing to know,” Elise replied, far too quickly. But her smirk betrayed her.
Nick gasped dramatically, then grinned. “Honestly, I’m just glad to see proof that Graham is a real human being capable of actually flirting. I was starting to think he was a cursed portrait that came to life.”
Elise laughed. “That bad?”
“I’ve never seen him show even a hint of interest in anyone. Man, woman, stagehand, barista, nothing. Just brooding handsomeness and polite distance.”
She tilted her head, thoughtful. “He’s… private. That’s all.”
Nick rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
She didn’t say the rest aloud—but she thought it.
Maybe some people save their real selves for the few who’ll see them fully. Maybe, just maybe, she was getting a glimpse.
And maybe she liked what she saw.
With the show underway and the flurry of pre-curtain chaos behind her, Elise finally slipped into a moment of quiet. She ducked into the hallways that ran behind the backstage area, phone in hand. One new message blinked from Cici.
Cici
We’re still aiming for 11 PM tonight, right?
Elise replied quickly.
Yes, that should be right.
Also—something weird. Someone heard Ellen’s voice earlier… through the whispering wall.
Ever heard of anything like that?
The typing bubbles popped up instantly, and Cici’s responses came in like machine-gun fire.
Cici
What?!
No, that’s not good.
Have you heard Ellen’s voice there?
Have you been near it again??
Elise hesitated, thumbs hovering, before replying.
Only once. Early this week. It wasn’t Ellen.
It was… my name. Repeated. Male voice.
Familiar.
She didn’t type the name she was thinking. She didn’t need to. Some names don’t need air to take up space. Cici would know the kind of familiar Elise meant.
There was a pause on Cici’s end, longer this time. Then:
Got it. I’ll dig. I’ll be ready tonight. Love you.
Elise felt the thrum of the show picking up around her—the muffled swell of music, the rustle of velvet, the echo of footsteps. But her focus stayed locked on that last line.
Love you.
Sometimes, the simplest spells were the strongest.
The green room always felt smaller at intermission—shoulders brushing, costume skirts fanning, water bottles thudding onto every available surface.
But tonight, the space seemed tighter still.
Not because of bodies, but because of absence.
Ellen’s name wasn’t spoken, not outright.
But it sat in the corners of the room like a folded note no one wanted to open.
To break the silence, Nick dropped into the seat beside Elise and whispered, “This theatre haunted, too, or are we finally getting a ghost-free venue?”
Heads turned.
“Oh, it’s haunted,” Elise said, brushing a stray lash off Romy’s cheekbone. “But friendly. Mostly.”
Casper, halfway through wrestling a shirt over his head, froze. “Mostly?”
Avery, lounging with enviable ease on the arm of the couch, perked up. “Wait, we’re doing ghost stories? Excellent.”
Jasper raised his eyebrows and glanced around the room. “Well, places isn’t for five minutes. Might as well commune with the beyond.”
Elise chuckled softly. “Okay. Fine. This theatre has a pianist.”
“You mean, like—”
“No,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “A ghost pianist. Kevin calls them the Page Turner.”
Kevin, who was currently lounging on top of the costume rack and humming a few bars of “Clair de Lune,” gave a regal nod.
“They hang out in the orchestra pit,” Elise went on. “And when the place is empty—or when they think no one’s listening—they’ll just… play.”
Romy leaned forward, pin clutching her lips. “Like… what kind of music?”
“Depends on their mood. Usually something beautiful. Gentle. But the last time I was here”—Elise paused, smiling at the memory—“I was walking through the wings after a rough matinee. Everyone was tense, cranky, barely speaking. And suddenly, from the pit, someone starts playing ‘Send in the Clowns.’”
The room broke into laughter.
“No!” gasped Talia, wiping her eyes.
“I swear,” Elise said, grinning. “Perfect timing. I nearly dropped an entire rack of hats.”
“That ghost has taste,” said Sienna, fully approving.
“They were dramatic,” Elise agreed. “But in the best way. And they loved music. That’s all I really know. I don’t think Kevin ever figured out their name, but he says their energy is like sheet music. Structured, but sometimes chaotic.”
Marcie, sitting cross-legged near the door, spoke up. “That explains the little runs I’ve heard after rehearsals. I thought someone was just messing around.”
“They’re not dangerous,” Elise said. “They just… want the theatre to stay alive, I think. To keep singing.”