control my thoughts a little better.
Zeke fumbled with his hand against the wall and clicked on a row of lights over the section of seats to our left. The stage came into view. Empty and silent. Someone had left a ladder leaning against one wall. Several paint cans were lined up beside the ladder.
“How about turning on all the lights?” Brian suggested. He sounded really frightened.
“No way,” Zeke replied, his eyes on the stage. “We want to take the Phantom by surprise, don’twe? We don’t want to warn him that we’re coming.”
Huddled close together, we made our way slowly down the center aisle toward the stage. In the dim light, long shadows fell over the seats.
Ghostly shadows,
I thought.
Did a shadow move near the stage?
No.
Stop it, Brooke, I scolded myself. Don’t let your imagination go wild. Not tonight.
I kept moving my eyes back and forth, checking out the stage and the rows of seats as we slowly made our way to the front.
Where is he?
I wondered.
Where is the Phantom?
Does he live in that dark chamber so far below the stage?
We were just a few feet from the stage when we heard the sound.
A footstep? A floorboard creaking?
All three of us stopped. All three of us heard it.
I grabbed Zeke’s arm. I saw Brian’s green eyes go wide with fright.
And then we heard another sound. A cough.
“We’re … n-not alone!” I stammered.
15
“Wh-who’s there?” I called. But my voice caught in my throat.
“Is anybody up there?” Zeke called to the stage. No reply. Another footstep.
Brian took a step back. He grabbed the back of a seat and held on.
“He’s back there,” Zeke said, leaning close to me, his eyes excited. “I know he’s back there.”
“Where?” I demanded, choking out the word. It was hard to talk with my heart in my throat. I stared up at the stage. I couldn’t see anyone. I jumped when I heard another cough. And then a clanking sound rose up over the stage and echoed through the auditorium.
At first I thought the trapdoor was about to move.
Was someone riding up on it? Was the Phantom about to rise in front of our eyes?
No.
I cried out when I saw the backdrop begin to unfurl.
The clanking sound grew louder. The backdrop was slowly being lowered at the back of the stage.
“Who is doing it?” I whispered. “Who on earth is sending it down?”
Zeke and Brian stared straight ahead and didn’t reply.
Zeke’s mouth was wide open. His eyes didn’t blink.
Brian gripped the back of the chair with both hands.
The painted backdrop clanked down, unrolling as it lowered.
All three of us gasped as we saw what had been done to it.
It had been a gray brick theater wall. Brian and several other kids had worked for days on it, sketching it out, then painting it brick by brick.
“Who — who
did
that to my painting?” Brian cried out.
Zeke and I remained staring at it in silent horror.
The gray wall had been covered with red paint splotches and thick red smears.
It looked as if someone had dipped a wide brush in red paint, then smeared and stabbed it all over the backdrop.
“It’s ruined!” Brian declared shrilly.
Zeke was the first to move. He raised his hands to the stage floor and pulled himself up onto the stage. Brian and I followed after him.
“Who’s here?” Zeke called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Who’s in here?”
Silence.
Someone
is here, I knew.
Someone
had to lower that backdrop so that we could see what had been done to it.
“Who’s here? Where are you?” Zeke repeated.
Again, no reply.
We moved closer, making our way slowly, keeping close together.
And as we stepped up to it, words came into view. They were scrawled across the bottom, thick letters in heavy red paint.
I stopped and squinted to read the message in the dim light:
STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME
“Whoa,” I murmured. I felt a chill roll down my back.
Then I heard a side door being pulled open.
All three of us turned away from the
Zeke fumbled with his hand against the wall and clicked on a row of lights over the section of seats to our left. The stage came into view. Empty and silent. Someone had left a ladder leaning against one wall. Several paint cans were lined up beside the ladder.
“How about turning on all the lights?” Brian suggested. He sounded really frightened.
“No way,” Zeke replied, his eyes on the stage. “We want to take the Phantom by surprise, don’twe? We don’t want to warn him that we’re coming.”
Huddled close together, we made our way slowly down the center aisle toward the stage. In the dim light, long shadows fell over the seats.
Ghostly shadows,
I thought.
Did a shadow move near the stage?
No.
Stop it, Brooke, I scolded myself. Don’t let your imagination go wild. Not tonight.
I kept moving my eyes back and forth, checking out the stage and the rows of seats as we slowly made our way to the front.
Where is he?
I wondered.
Where is the Phantom?
Does he live in that dark chamber so far below the stage?
We were just a few feet from the stage when we heard the sound.
A footstep? A floorboard creaking?
All three of us stopped. All three of us heard it.
I grabbed Zeke’s arm. I saw Brian’s green eyes go wide with fright.
And then we heard another sound. A cough.
“We’re … n-not alone!” I stammered.
15
“Wh-who’s there?” I called. But my voice caught in my throat.
“Is anybody up there?” Zeke called to the stage. No reply. Another footstep.
Brian took a step back. He grabbed the back of a seat and held on.
“He’s back there,” Zeke said, leaning close to me, his eyes excited. “I know he’s back there.”
“Where?” I demanded, choking out the word. It was hard to talk with my heart in my throat. I stared up at the stage. I couldn’t see anyone. I jumped when I heard another cough. And then a clanking sound rose up over the stage and echoed through the auditorium.
At first I thought the trapdoor was about to move.
Was someone riding up on it? Was the Phantom about to rise in front of our eyes?
No.
I cried out when I saw the backdrop begin to unfurl.
The clanking sound grew louder. The backdrop was slowly being lowered at the back of the stage.
“Who is doing it?” I whispered. “Who on earth is sending it down?”
Zeke and Brian stared straight ahead and didn’t reply.
Zeke’s mouth was wide open. His eyes didn’t blink.
Brian gripped the back of the chair with both hands.
The painted backdrop clanked down, unrolling as it lowered.
All three of us gasped as we saw what had been done to it.
It had been a gray brick theater wall. Brian and several other kids had worked for days on it, sketching it out, then painting it brick by brick.
“Who — who
did
that to my painting?” Brian cried out.
Zeke and I remained staring at it in silent horror.
The gray wall had been covered with red paint splotches and thick red smears.
It looked as if someone had dipped a wide brush in red paint, then smeared and stabbed it all over the backdrop.
“It’s ruined!” Brian declared shrilly.
Zeke was the first to move. He raised his hands to the stage floor and pulled himself up onto the stage. Brian and I followed after him.
“Who’s here?” Zeke called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Who’s in here?”
Silence.
Someone
is here, I knew.
Someone
had to lower that backdrop so that we could see what had been done to it.
“Who’s here? Where are you?” Zeke repeated.
Again, no reply.
We moved closer, making our way slowly, keeping close together.
And as we stepped up to it, words came into view. They were scrawled across the bottom, thick letters in heavy red paint.
I stopped and squinted to read the message in the dim light:
STAY AWAY FROM MY
HOME SWEET HOME
“Whoa,” I murmured. I felt a chill roll down my back.
Then I heard a side door being pulled open.
All three of us turned away from the
Similar Books
