----------------------------------------
5:30pm
Ariel's eyelids fluttered open, and her gaze fixated on the ceiling as she delved into the recesses of her mind, trying to grasp the slippery fragments of her dream. A soft exhale escaped her lips—nothing surfaced. It wasn't one of those vivid dreams that clung to you; in some strange way, she was fine with that—once was probably enough for the day. But was it accurate to call it a dream at all?
Her vision had been hazy; scant details related to the case emerged, and Jasper—he was conspicuously absent from it all. Could it be one of her psychic visions, or merely a figment of her imagination?
Abruptly, the sharp bang of a door echoed along the corridor, pulling Ariel out of her reverie with a jolt. She clutched at her heart and shot a scowl at her bedroom door as if willing her vexation through it at whomever disrupted the peace. Shaking off sleep, she propped herself up and threw an incredulous glance at the clock—had the day slipped by to five o'clock already?
Dragging her fingers through tangled locks, she surveyed her surroundings, wondering how hours had seemingly evaporated. The last thing she remembered clearly was showering after parting ways with Noah four hours ago. Could exhaustion have claimed her for so long? She knitted her brows together—Jasper would be waiting soon, if he wasn't already.
With lingering annoyance, Ariel swung her legs from under the covers and sprang to action despite feeling sluggish. She attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in her slept-in attire but eventually conceded defeat and headed off to tame her tousled hair. Slightly more presentable, she exited the room.
Halting abruptly at the hallway's end, Noah's image flickered in her thoughts—she wasn't ready for another encounter today.
Stealthily peeking around the corner: empty. She tiptoed down the hallway with bated breath and then darted past the bustling dining area straight into the lobby — leaving Mr. Williams gazing after her with utter bewilderment.
"Odd... utterly odd," he muttered.
Once clear of the Inn's confines, Ariel decelerated into a walk. The waning daylight revealed that festivities on the grounds were dying down after a diligent day's setup.
She observed how much had been accomplished: stalls erected, a near-complete stage, and a colorful cascade of Magnolias suspended overhead which reminded her of the fib she told Noah, propelling her pace forward.
Arriving at the theater steps, Ariel bounded up them two at a time but came to an abrupt halt at its entrance—the dusk light gave way to darkness beyond those doors. After a brief moment with eyes shut tight for courage, she reassured herself with squared shoulders and burst through.
Her entry strategy was semi-successful; unable to slow momentum, Ariel crashed right into Mr. Warner who happened to stand there.
"Ow!" His voice rang out as they tumbled in disarray onto the floorboards — Ariel cushioned mostly by him beneath her. Flustered and cheeks aflame, she scrambled up,
"I'm—so sorry..." Ariel stuttered out apologetically while helping him up. Mr. Warner rose gracefully despite being disheveled—a kind smile softening his expression as he dusted himself off.
"He assured her with a congenial 'No harm done.' Ariel couldn’t exactly call him handsome, but his smile carried a certain charm. She responded with a hesitant grin, uttering, 'Well, if you're sure...' Her gaze drifted down the corridor to her left as she murmured about heading to base. Mr. Warner's smile broadened at this.
'I'm actually on my way there too. Mind if I tag along?' he proposed.
With a nod, Ariel consented, and they proceeded in a tranquil quietude, though she cast covert glances at the playwright beside her. He was an enigma; even her sharp instincts couldn't decipher him.
Upon reaching their destination, Mr. Warner gestured with old-world politeness, 'Ladies first,' as he held the door open for her. She thanked him with a fleeting smile that dissipated the moment she crossed the threshold. The room was shrouded in an eerie silence; it felt as if she and Mr. Warner were the subjects of hushed conversations just moments ago.
Mr. Warner seemed oblivious to the tension as his gaze landed on Mandy, who sat with an austere posture on a couch opposite Jasper. Her demeanor had shifted; where once there was feigned humility, now her eyes met Mr. Warner’s with a vacant starkness that took Ariel aback.
Similar coldness pervaded the room – Taylor and Leroy barely acknowledged their arrival, Max remained fixated on his computer screen, and Jasper's glance held a frostiness that sent shivers through Ariel. Only John appeared welcoming as he approached with two steaming cups of coffee in hand.
'Thank you,' Ariel announced, accepting her cup from John with a deliberateness that sent pointed looks around the room – a silent challenge for an explanation of their frigid reception.
Ariel settled between Taylor and Leroy (nudging Leroy by accident) while John arranged a seat for Mr. Warner, who seated himself with apparent reluctance.
Breaking through the heavy stillness of the room, Mr. Warner inquired cheerfully, 'Incredible number of cameras! I heard you requested Shiloh's powder room – is this parlor to your liking? Everything arranged satisfactorily?'
The mention of Shiloh seemed to add to the group's sour mood.
'I'd like to ask you some questions,' Jasper interjected abruptly, choosing to overlook Mr. Warner’s initial comments.
The playwright leaned back comfortably.
'I'm all ears.'
Ariel shot a glance at Max, who was ready to document every word."
This morning, as I was interviewing Miss Rebecca Marlowe, she vehemently suggested that the supposed haunting is merely a dramatic ploy to save this theater," Jasper stated, his eyes narrowing with intent as they locked onto Mr. Warner.
Mr. Warner let out a derisive laugh, retorting, "Of course she would spin it that way. I wouldn't put it past her to spin more tales, too. But let me set the record straight: no, this isn't some feeble strategy to keep these doors open."
A tense silence fell; Jasper's gaze didn't waver—Ariel sensed his skepticism, even if his doubts remained unvoiced.
"Miss Marlowe is under the impression that you've stirred up rumors of Mr. Marlowe's spirit haunting the theater and leveraged this to coerce a deal from her," Jasper ventured further.
The thud of Mr. Warner's coffee cup hitting the table sliced through the tension.
"Preposterous!" he burst out. "The notion of Mr. Marlowe's lingering essence has always been part of this place—I've done nothing to instigate such beliefs!"
He paused, taking a steadying breath and a calming sip of coffee. Despite the echo of his previous outburst, he resumed in a softer tone.
"Evens, believe me when I say that I am perhaps the least inclined individual in the world to claim Mr. Marlowe's spirit haunts anything—especially not this theater he treasured..."
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Jasper cut across him sharply,
"Yet Miss Marlowe mentioned how well you knew her father—that he chose you personally as this theater's playwright. One might suspect you'd do anything to safeguard his legacy..."
Mr. Warner shook his head in denial,
"No, that's not the case at all. True, I had a close bond with Mr. Marlowe; true, he entrusted me with playwriting here. However, that only reinforces my respect for him—I wouldn't tarnish his reputation by suggesting he terrorizes his own actors—that's an affront!"
"She alleges you've struck a deal—a sort of wager—that if you fail to prove Mr. Marlowe's ghost truly dwells here by festival's end, she can shut down this theater without contest," Jasper persisted.
“Exactly my point! This is precisely the reason for calling upon you!”
"But if you never claimed Mr. Marlowe haunted anything," Jasper pressed on with a dangerously quiet intensity that made Ariel recoil slightly in her chair, "how could his ghost be present now? What's your stand, Mr. Warner—are we dealing with a haunting or not?"
Under Jasper’s cool interrogation, Mr. Warner’s facade began to crack; color flushed his face as he struggled with the contradiction,
"You misconstrue my words—I never wished to declare Mr. Marlowe’s haunting myself. But for years since his passing, it has been a communal belief that his spirit enriches this very theater with its serene presence. His other theaters may have faltered after he died, but not us—we thrived even more so! We owe our prosperity to what we saw as his benevolence up until six months ago when Miss Marlowe hatched plans to close all down."
"You no longer feel safe here?" Mr. Warner exhaled deeply, reclaiming his coffee cup with a weary hand. "It's complicated, to say the least. On the very evening Miss Marlowe declared her plans for the theater, we were struck by an electrical fire. During an uncommon night performance, one oft-neglected stage light sparked into flames. Luck was on our side; the blaze was extinguished swiftly. Nevertheless, it cast a shadow on the entire show. Would you believe that was our theater's inaugural mishap?"
Jasper furrowed his brow in concentration, "In all its history?"
With a solemn nod after draining his cup, Mr. Warner affirmed, "Indeed, and that was merely the beginning of our misfortunes. Initially, it was trivial—misplaced items or minor breakages. Then, more severe incidents: shattered props, mutilated scripts. Soon after, the havoc escalated; rooms were found in disarray, Shiloh's powder room among them. The most distressing of all—cast members began sustaining injuries; two broken legs, one broken arm due to compromised set pieces, and a spate of lost voices not to mention numerous play cancellations due to sudden cast illnesses right before opening nights."
Viewing Mr. Warner with a skeptical squint, Jasper challenged, "Could this all not be put down to misfortune?"
Mr. Warner placed his empty coffee cup aside and gazed out the sole window in contemplation. "I considered bad luck initially," he admitted. "But as calamity piled upon calamity beyond reason or explanation while Miss Marlowe proceeded unwaveringly to close us down post-festival... I couldn't help noticing a pattern emerging from our previously tranquil abode."
"So you're hinting at Mr. Marlowe's apparition?" Jasper prodded for clarity amidst evasive replies.
The playwright diverted his gaze from the window and responded wearily, "In essence, yes. The thought of benevolent Mr. Marlowe haunting us is unsettling..."
Leroy interrupted from beside Ariel, with conviction in his voice: "People change post-mortem though—goodness doesn’t guarantee immunity from becoming troubled spirits.”
At that moment Ariel felt an inner certainty surge through her: No—his essence remained untarnished; Mr. Marlowe’s goodness persisted.
This profound intuition nearly overwhelmed Ariel—to the extent that containing her insistence against Mr. Warner’s assertions became a silent struggle within her.
A ripple of unease wound its way through Ariel—why did Jasper's perceptiveness unsettle her so? His eyes, trained exclusively on Mr. Warner, shifted toward Ariel for a brief but piercing moment.
"What's amiss?" he inquired, his piercing gaze now fixed upon her.
Startled by his intuition, Ariel stumbled through a barely convincing denial. "No. Nothing's wrong."
Jasper scrutinized her with an intensity that lingered uncomfortably long before returning his attention to Mr. Warner.
"Are you implying that Mr. Marlowe's spirit is responsible for the disturbances and that Miss Marlowe is at fault?" Jasper probed.
A fleeting smile of relief danced across Mr. Warner’s face. "Exactly! With the festival on the horizon, I am certain Mr. Marlowe’s presence is causing these events. You must substantiate it."
"To prevent the theater from shuttering its doors?" Jasper sought clarity. "So if you prove the existence of this specter, Miss Marlowe will concede and leave? It seems to me that her wager suggests she doubts any ghostly activity—if she truly believed, such a gamble would be out of question."
Around the room, Ariel observed fluctuations in demeanor amongst their company. Mandy appeared visibly toned down—perhaps a pang of sympathy for Warner? John too seemed lost in thought, troubled by an enigma all his own. Beside Ariel, Taylor’s mien was contemplative; Leroy radiated a credulous air toward Warner’s assertions. Max remained insular as ever, engrossed in his computer, fingers poise to type.
Warner sighed heavily, a shadow of despair claiming his features.
"I grasp your cynicism," he started. "Just last week two actors abandoned me; another just tonight. Fear has taken hold—they refuse to set foot here any longer. Those remaining struggle to focus on their craft—and right before our most significant productions! I plead with you—lend me your open-mindedness. My entire career dangles by a thread—my very life! There is no falsehood here; the apparition is as real as you or I."
His voice was laden with earnestness as he continued, "All I ask is five days during the festival—if nothing comes to light, if your skepticism holds, then freely walk away and I'll trouble you no more."
"And if it results in closure? You would consent to that?" Jasper pressed on.
"I myself will aid in boarding it up," Warner pledged.
Jasper nodded assentingly.
"We shall conduct our investigation then,” he announced decisively.
Warner rose from his seat and swept the room with an expressive gesture—a mixture of gratitude and desperation.
"He expressed his thanks with a thankful grin that brought out his best features. The warmth of his smile was contagious, and Ariel found herself grinning too. There was something about Mr. Warner's joy that suited him so well.
"Time has flown by! Mandy, may I have the honor of walking you back?" the playwright inquired, holding the doorway ajar with a hint of formality.
Ariel cast a quick glance toward the psychic, whose expression could easily be mistaken for carved stone. John, who had been quietly observing from the side, shuffled his gaze between the pair in silent bewilderment. Clearly, he pondered the same question that had crossed Ariel's mind previously; had he just referred to her as Mandy? Her eyes drifted to Taylor, who was biting back laughter, and Leroy, whose smirk betrayed his inner amusement; after all, he shared the earlier moment with her.
"Come now, Mandy," Jasper prodded gently, "Mr. Warner awaits your response."
A cascade of emotions washed over Ariel's countenance as she nearly toppled off her seat―all traces of humor wiped away.
Mandy? That nickname once again?
Taylor's jaw dropped to one side in shock, Leroy's surprise mirrored in the breadth of his eyes. Across from her, John's expression deepened into greater disbelief. Even Max swiveled in his chair toward the commotion (though deciphering any emotion on his face remained an enigmatic task...). But it was Mandy's reaction that stood out—she blushed a fierce scarlet up to her hairline, attempting to shield it with her sleeve to no avail.
Now Ariel was seething too—her cheeks flushed with a rage that bubbled from within. Leroy placed a comforting hand on her shoulder; he shot her an apologetic glance which she intensely wished to erase from this awkward tableau.
Oblivious to the underlying tension, Mr. Warner extended his arm gallantly, "Shall we then?"
Mandy hesitated before rising—her legs weak but eyes alight with unspoken words aimed at Jasper. She paused at the threshold to deliver her parting words,
"Goodnight... Jasper."
Just like that she disappeared into the shadowy hallway which seemed akin to the growing darkness enveloping Ariel's spirit. In that moment, Ariel silently acknowledged Leroy's hand on her shoulder as both a restraint and a solace.
Taylor rose then too and proclaimed,
"What a remarkable evening it has been," she said with an exaggerated wink directed at Ariel who squirmed under Leroy's steady hand. "Time for me to head back to the Inn." With those words she too took her leave.
Max resumed typing shortly after resuming his seat; Jasper ventured over to gaze outside into the abyss of night.
"I'm grateful for your assistance today, John, Leroy," he acknowledged them earnestly. John responded with a nod and rose promptly while Leroy hesitated just long enough until Ariel nudged him teasingly into action.
Once free from Leroy’s touch Ariel rubbed at her shoulder dramatically - though there was no need - his indifferent demeanor not wavering under her accusing glare. A thick silence enveloped them and although John and Leroy appeared ready for departure, Ariel remained anchored to her seat, fixated on Jasper’s silhouette.
Wasn’t he going to acknowledge this strange night... offer any words at all?
Leroy shrugged nonchalantly and offered his hand which she hesitantly accepted feeling disheartened. As he led her towards freedom after John,
"Ariel-"
Jasper's words sliced through the silence, electric and sharp. Ariel came to an abrupt halt, and Leroy, unprepared, stumbled against her. In that suspended moment, Ariel's ears throbbed with the effort of listening, every muscle tensed for his next utterance,
"Have a restful night..."