The Haunting of Blythe Theatre (The Braddock & Gray Case Files Book 11) Read online

  THE HAUNTING OF BLYTHE THEATRE

  THE BRADDOCK & GRAY CASE FILES

  H.P. BAYNE

  Copyright © 2022 by H.P. Bayne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by H.P. Bayne

  CHAPTER 1

  The first time Jason Paulson entered Blythe Theatre, it felt as if he’d come home.

  He’d been ten years old and on a field trip with his class, touring some of Kimotan Rapids’ historic sites. The city held few structures as historic as this theatre, a building erected at the turn of the twentieth century.

  A little more than two decades had passed since the day Jason had first clapped eyes on it. It hadn’t changed at all, save for a couple new machines in the concessions area and improved security features on the doors and surrounding the ticket booth.

  Jason had changed plenty. In high school and university, he’d taken part in multiple productions with the city’s largest drama group. He’d earned his business degree, working his way up in the theatre from usher to concessions manager and finally, earlier this year, to theatre manager. Now, it was his job to take care of the place.

  As far as he was concerned, it was the best job in the world.

  The grand building, located in the old downtown core, had lost neither its original charm nor its popularity. A few evenings each week and several times on weekends, people flocked here to take in everything from locally produced plays and musicals to full-scale operas to big-name Broadway productions. While tickets for sporting events at the stadium were priced out of many people’s reach, Jason prided himself on ensuring tickets for productions at the theatre were available at various price points. As such, he’d been able to pack the place for many performances while ensuring the theatre remained accessible to nearly everyone.

  He’d gotten to know the building intimately, convinced he could walk the theatre aisles, the warren of backstage hallways and the offices in the administration area in the dark.

  Just as well because, as a violent thunderstorm cracked overhead late one night, he discovered he’d have to.

  Two hours before, he’d taken his usual place at the theatre’s main entrance, thanking people for attending the night’s showing—the Kimotan Rapids Dramatic Society’s production of Our Town.

  Now, with the building emptied, he was completing his usual walkthrough of the theatre, ensuring all was secure before leaving the place to his night security officer, Brady. While he trusted Brady with the job, Jason had accepted some time ago he himself was something of a control freak about the old place. If it was true he knew it as well as a family member, it followed he was protective of it in much the same way.

  In the months since he’d started in this new position, it had become a necessity. Items had gone missing, and the concern was someone on staff was stealing. Though he’d been keeping his eyes peeled, he had yet to figure out who it could be. He knew everyone who worked here, and he trusted them. Even so, it paid to be careful. And he was.

  He’d completed his checks of the public areas, testing the doors, verifying the ticket booth was secure, making sure the drinks machines were turned off in the concession area. In the washrooms, he confirmed the cleaners had adequately performed their tasks and that no one had concealed themselves there as had happened in the past.

  As he made his way through the tall, narrow corridors of the backstage area, a crack of thunder shook the building. Almost immediately, the dim bulbs flickered inside their old, wall-mounted sconces.

  A moment later, the power cut out.

  Jason stood for a moment in the pitch black of the dressing room hallway he’d been patrolling, waiting to see if the power would return.

  It didn’t.

  While the building had a generator, its power was limited to the public areas and security booth. Jason had put in a request to the theatre’s board, if this year’s budget allowed, to add a second generator for the backstage area. For now, though, the windowless corridors plunged into darkness whenever this happened, meaning each dressing room came equipped with several flashlights.

  Thankfully, most performers and staff members had their own these days, few people content to go far without their cellphones. Jason had his own, and he dug it from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pressing the button to power-on his flashlight app.

  As he scanned the hallway, his phone rang, Brady’s number showing on the call display.

  “You all right?” came Brady’s voice as Jason put the phone on speaker.

  “Absolutely,” Jason replied, continuing his flashlight-guided check as he talked. “How about you?”

  “In the security booth. Everything looks secure on the monitors.”

  The monitors showed a few key areas: public entrance in the front, stage entrance and loading bays at back, ticket booth, concession area and the front lobby. They didn’t cover everything, of course, but they provided enough of a view to ensure anyone attempting to break in or sneak around wouldn’t go unnoticed. So far, they hadn’t picked up evidence of stealing, but then, most of the thefts seemed to occur in the backstage area where no cameras were mounted. Oh well, Jason thought. At this time of night, it was more important to make sure no one got in who didn’t belong.

  “Good to hear,” Jason said. “You might as well stay where you are for now. Just going to wrap up my checks back here before leaving. I’ll give you a shout when I’m done.”

  “Awesome,” Brady said. “This place creeps me out when the lights go out.”

  Jason paused, hand on the door to one of the dressing rooms. He loved the place, and he loved its history, but he didn’t much love one aspect of it.

  Like many theatres, the Blythe came with ghost stories.

  While Jason tried to maintain a rational approach, he’d never been able to dispel the anxiety stemming from the things which reputedly went bump in the night around here. With the conversation having turned in this direction, Jason found he didn’t want to disconnect. Having a human voice—a living and breathing one—in his ear had suddenly become necessary as he prepared to enter a dark room with only a cellphone light to guide him.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Jason said.

  “Place can be freaky, man.” Brady, seated within the safety of the security booth, seemed unbothered by discussing the eerier aspects of the building, and Jason immediately regretted keeping him on the line. “Couple’a times, I’ve had to check when I saw a door open and shut on its own or an alarm went off when no one was there. Once, I was checking the box seats, and the chair in the manager’s box—Theo’s chair—went down right in front of me. Just flipped down, like he was sitting in it. Another time—”

  “Hey, Brady? Can you—”

  Brady talked over him. “I saw something out of the corner of my eye on the stage, near the light. Had to be Lilian. I had the feeling she was performing, the way everyone says.”

  Jason held back a sigh, hand unmoving, hand held flat on the dressing room door, the rest of him still frozen in place. In the space of one minute, Brady had touched on the two ghost stories for which the theatre was known.

  Theodore James-Eckland—former owner and manager, whose supposed ghost had been fondly dubbed Theo—had vanished in the 1960s, immediately after completing the building’s sale for a large amount of money. No one had ever learned what happened to him, with theories ranging from murder to his simply taking the money and running off to start a new life under a new identity. The mystery was one of several reasons the theatre remained a popular attraction. Many people loved a mystery, others a ghost story. With the two together, you had a surefire way to draw people in, even without intending to.

  Lilian was the name given to the spirit of a young woman who was reportedly seen dancing around the stage area. They claimed her to be Lilian McKenzie, a promising young actress and dancer who had tragically died in 1922.

  By all accounts, there was nothing mean-spirited or otherwise malevolent about Theo or Lilian, but the very thought they might exist here—floating invisibly beside Jason as he walked these blackened pathways—sent a shiver down his spine.

  The light Brady had mentioned was as much a part of the theatre’s fabric as the floors, walls and corridors. A ghost light, they called it. For Jason’s part, he avoided using the term whenever possible.

  The fixture held a practical purp
ose in theatre tradition. Placed out and turned on whenever the building was otherwise empty and dark, such lights—theirs was suspended from a cord above the stage—was meant to prevent theatre employees from tripping over anything in the dark.

  But another story existed, one with its origins firmly in paranormal territory. It was said every theatre had a ghost, and the light was intended to appease the restless soul. Some said it gave deceased entertainers a spotlight in which to perform. Others said the light repelled dark spirits.

  Jason infinitely preferred the more practical explanation.

  “Did you know the light on the stage is called a ghost light?” Brady asked.

  Jason removed his now-sweaty palm from the door to rub his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

  “It’s called that because—”

  Jason didn’t want to hear it. Not now, anyway. Maybe once he was out of this dark hallway and back in the lit front areas. “Hold that thought, all right, Brady? I need to finish checking backstage.”

  Luckily, Brady—easygoing to a fault—wasn’t one to take offence. “No worries. Hey, you give any more thought to my request for day shift? Kate’s been wanting to make some plans, and it’s hard to do with conflicting schedules.”

  Jason had heard it before, and he was sympathetic. Only, now didn’t seem to be the time. “On my radar, I promise you.”

  “Okey doke, thanks. I’ll let her know it’s still a possibility. Call if you need anything.”

  Jason said he would and disconnected.

  Just as he’d regretted keeping Brady on the line to begin with, now he regretted letting him go. Left here in the dark without Brady’s chatter left Jason feeling very, very alone.

  Or worse, not very alone at all. His imagination had run wild, and it was currently stretching into the most shadowy and quiet corners of the building, seeking out things he had no desire to uncover.

  He centred himself, forcing his mind back to regular topics—namely checking the place over.

  The dressing room next to him was the last room in this hall to check, and he wished the power outage could have occurred even two minutes later.

  With a deep breath, he prepared himself. This particular dressing room, one of two intended for non-leads, was large as a result, consisting of a sizeable dressing area, makeup stations, a wardrobe area and a washroom. As a rule, he liked to do a full check, but tonight, he might settle for something a little less thorough.

  Resolved to getting this over with, he nudged the door open, just enough to poke his head through to start. The creak it gave, though familiar, was nerve-wracking.

  He immediately pushed his arm into the opening, flashing his beam around the space he could see.

  Nothing. Everything was still. Silent.

  Silent as the grave.

  Jason gritted his teeth at the betrayal of his own fretful brain. “Shut up, dummy,” he whispered to himself as he took a few steps into the room.

  He checked the dressing and makeup areas before moving to the bathroom. Finding nothing in the two-stall washroom nor in the attached shower room, he re-entered the dressing room and stopped.

  He’d heard something.

  A swish of material. He was sure of it.

  A curse word formed in his brain, but he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to—wouldn’t dare—break the silence, which had again fallen over the room.

  What had he heard?

  A long moment passed, Jason straining to hear anything above the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

  Nothing. Surely, if something was in here with him …

  And yet, he had the feeling—a sensation crawling over his flesh like insects—of being watched.

  His breath hitched in his throat and held there. His pulse thudded louder, drowning out all else.

  His thoughts looped—a persistent and frustrating voice in his brain: Behind the clothing racks. You need to check behind the clothing racks.

  A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead, stalling in his eyebrow. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. He considered calling Brady to come as backup, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain it if the sound proved to be nothing more than a mouse—or, worse yet, nothing at all.

  The bead broke free of his brow, forcing him to brush it away with the back of his free hand. He stopped mid-movement.

  A breath. Someone had just taken a breath.

  Goddammit.

  Jason stood dumbly this side of the bathroom, mentally calculating the distance to the hallway door. Two words formed in his churning mind. Too far.

  Again, he considered calling Brady, but the thought of speaking made his heart pound harder. Stupid as it seemed, he didn’t want to give away his location.

  As if the theatre’s dead wouldn’t be able to find him. As if they couldn’t see him right now.

  Shut up shut up shut up!

  As before, he forced his imagination to a halt. He needed to investigate, if for no other reason than to avoid leaving Brady alone in the building with a potential prowler. Jason took comfort in the fact he was a big guy, just over six feet and large-boned with a solid frame of muscle. He’d twice been in the position of having to help security force intoxicated, violent patrons onto the sidewalk, and he’d had no problem either time. If a person was hiding behind the clothing racks, he’d handle it.

  If no one was there—or no one there he could see—he’d deal with it.

  Settled on a course of action, he strode forward, snatched at the nearest rack with his free hand and yanked it to the side.

  A scream pierced the air.

  He echoed it with his own shriek. Panic snatched at him, sending him into fight or flight mode. Thankfully, his instincts ran more to fight, so he managed to bring the light from his cellphone around to shine downward to where a woman sat on the floor behind the rack. Another breath snagged in his throat—until the woman’s face turned slightly toward him.

  Jason’s breath released in a whoosh. “Destiny?”

  The young woman tugged long blonde hair away from her face as she squinted up at him. “Jason? Please, tell me it’s you.”

  He realized he was blinding her and lowered the light a little. “It’s me. What are you doing here?”

  She stood shakily. “I was going to leave, but I realized my engagement ring was gone. I took it off before the show, and now it’s just gone. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. Then the power went out.”

  She’d rattled off the words, talking faster than he’d ever heard her speak. The Dramatic Society’s best actress, Destiny Littman was ordinarily cool, calm and collected, never one to allow emotions to get the best of her.

  But this Destiny was near tears. Given her state, Jason was certain it was about more than just the lost ring.

  “Something else happen?” he asked.

  She stepped toward him, nodding rapidly. “I heard someone. In here with me. In the dark.”

  “Someone? A person?”

  A quick head shake this time. “No one was there. I had my cellphone. I used the flashlight and checked. There was nothing. But I heard it. Someone walking. And then I heard—oh God.”

  Jason’s eyes had widened despite his best efforts. “You heard what?”

  Destiny rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill. “A voice. In my ear. A woman. She said something.”

  “What?” Jason asked.

  Destiny’s eyes locked onto his. “I don’t know exactly. It sounded like a name. Angie.”

  Maybe it meant something, maybe it didn’t. Right now, Jason didn’t care. The only thing he was truly interested in was getting the hell out of here.

  He put an arm around Destiny’s shoulders, guiding her toward the hall. “Let’s get back toward the front area before we trip on something and give new meaning to the term ‘break a leg.’”

  He’d been trying for a joke, but he supposed it came off sounding as dead to her as it had felt leaving his mouth. Didn’t matter. He’d figured out the source of the sounds he’d heard in the dressing room, and that much was a relief—for him, at least. As for the rest, maybe it was time to consult a professional.