The Show Must Go On!
Prologue
THIRTY YEARS AGO. . .
"You're fired, Ms. Kagene!" barked the principal of Crypton Middle School. "And we are canceling your play, forever." He leaned forward on his desk and locked his piercing gaze on the eyes of the woman seated across from him.
Rui Kagene stared back, her dark, sunken eyes blazing with anger. "Canceling?" she sneered. "I've worked on this play my entire life. Fire me if you wish, but the play will be performed!" Her curly shock of jet-black hair shook with every word.
"Maybe somewhere else," the principal said, standing now, his tone growing increasingly impatient. "But it will not be performed here, at this school—ever! Do you have such a little regard for a human life?" "Bah!" Rui snarled with a dismissive gesture. She stood, her long black coat flapping near her ankles as she turned away from the principal.
"A girl died last night, Ms. Kagene," the principal said through clenched teeth. "On this school's stage, playing the lead in the play you write and directed. And that was only the final terrible accident. The rehearsals have been marred with accidents and other troubles. In fact, strange things have been happening at this school since the day you arrived. I've heard rumors that your play is cursed. I'm not a superstitious man, but I'm starting to believe them. I've seen to it that every last copy of the play has been thrown out."
Rui turned slowly back toward the principal. "Cursed?" she hissed, her lips curling in a slight smile. "You really shouldn't let your fears get the best of you—"
"This conversation is over," the principal interrupted. He marched across the room and threw the door open. A roar erupted from the angry mob of parents and teachers who had gathered outside the office.
"There she is!" a man shouted.
"It's her fault," a woman yelled. "Her play!"
Rui squirmed out the door and through the crowd; her head bent low, her black coat flapping with every step like a cape. She headed for a hallway that led to the front door of the school. Pausing, she turned back toward the irate crowd.
"You may fire me," Rui cried. "But you cannot stop my play. The show must go on." Then she turned down the hall toward the front door of the building.
"Good riddance!" someone in the mob shouted.
"Don't ever show your face around here again!" screamed someone else.
Rui disappeared from view around a corner in the hallway. But instead of turning left toward the front door, she turned right—toward the school's auditorium, where her play had opened last night and where the girl playing lead had died.
Walking quickly down the center aisle of the empty auditorium, glancing back over her shoulder every few steps, Rui made her way backstage. Spotting an old stammer trunk, she shoved a pile of costumes off the top, then yanked open the lid. Inside the trunk were pops from all the years of school productions. She reached into an inner pocket of her long coat and pulled out the last remaining copy of her play. Burying it beneath the mound of props inside the trunk, she gently lowered the lid.
Seething, her breath now labored, she repeated her vow, muttering to herself, "The show must go on."
