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Topic: Winslow Theater Ghost Sighting
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► Cape Sightings
XxVoid_CowboyxX (Original Poster)
Posted On Nov 11th 2010:
Guys,
Okay so I was in my tech theater class at Winslow running XLR cables underneath the stage as part of setup for the show when I heard somebody come into the orchestra pit.
Now, theater tech is a pretty small group so we all tend to know each other. So when I heard somebody else walked in, I just assumed it was one of the guys in tech who was helping me run cables at the other end.
It was not.
It was very much not that.
I saw a figure in a long cloak and white mask covering their face. At first I thought it was Shadow Stalker or Daroga or whatever it is she's calling herself now.
If I had to describe it, I'd say that this person was extremely thin and their clothes seemed to almost hang off of their frame like a tent. They were wearing what appeared to be a formal suit with a cloak around them and a featureless white mask that covered their face.
I screamed like a little girl asked them what they were doing and they just respond, just ignored me and walked off down a corridor.
I chased after them but as soon as I ran into the same corridor they had vanished. (some kind of mover power?)
Anyway, I'm kinda freaked out here.
(Showing page 1 of 1)
►GstringGirl
Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
OMG! Are you okay? That sounds really scary!
►Laser Augment
Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
Oh great, another Winslow Ghost sighting from Void.
*Yawn*
My girlfriend does dance there. The ghost is just a bunch of stories that seniors make up to scare freshmen, then those freshmen go on to tell the same stories to freshmen when they become seniors. You were being pranked bro.
►Alathea (Moderator)
Replied On Nov 11th 2010:
Not a cape sighting.
Locked.
End of Page. 1
If you appear onstage tonight, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment when you open your mouth to sing ... a misfortune worse than death. O.G.
The anonymous letter took away Emma's appetite for breakfast. She put her bowl of cereal on the nightstand, sat up in bed and thought hard. It was not the first letter of the kind which she had received, but she never had one couched in such threatening terms. When the first one had arrived those months ago, she had thought little of the anonymous note, written with messy handwriting in red ink.
But then the letters kept coming.
Her father had tried going to the police for help, but they referred them to the post office who could only tell them that the letters had been postmarked from various public mailboxes in Brockton Bay, something which had failed to narrow things down.
Emma had thought at that time that she was the victim of a thousand jealous attempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had sworn to ruin her. She pretended that a conspiracy was being hatched against her, a cabal which would come to a head one of those days; but she added that she was not someone to be intimidated.
The truth is that, if there was a cabal, it was led by Emma herself against Charlotte, who had no suspicion of it. Emma had never forgiven Charlotte for the triumph which she had achieved when taking her place at a moment's notice. When Emma heard of the astounding reception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of a sprained ankle and her case of sulking. From that time, she worked with all her might to "smother" her rival, enlisting the services of her friends to persuade the teachers not to give Charlotte an opportunity for a fresh triumph. Certain gossip circles which had begun to extol the talent of Charlotte now interested themselves only in the virtues of Emma Barnes. Lastly, in the drama club itself, as the celebrated, but heartless and soulless diva, she had made it her goal to needle Charlotte every time she saw her, to derive a reaction out of Charlotte and prove her unfitness for the stage.
As much as Emma had wanted to go to the PRT about this "ghost" threatening her, one of the early letters said that the writer knew of a 'sin' she had committed, a sin that would see her imprisoned or worse for it. Further letters had made oblique references to details of an incident that only Emma could have known about, an act which served to prove the letter writers seriousness; and which had placed going to the authorities out of reach for her if she did not want this incident to become public.
The more that Emma had thought about this ghost that had been threatening her, the more confident she felt that nothing untoward would happen if she sang Il Muto. Charlotte had been cast in a non-speaking role so as to spite the letter writer, and Charlotte had not even been cast as an understudy to Emma this time, to further frustrate this ghost.
As Emma went downstairs to put her bowl of cereal into the sink, she happened to take a look out of the window in her family's house onto the street outside. The first thing she saw, upon looking out the window, was a hearse. Emma had become very superstitious over the past few months; and the hearse and the letter convinced her that she was running the most serious dangers that evening.
As such, she began texting all her friends and supporters in the school, having told them that she was threatened at that evening's performance with a conspiracy organized by Charlotte Daae and declared that they must fight back by filling the house with her, Emma's, admirers. She had no lack of them, had she? She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any eventuality and to silence the adversaries, if, as she feared, they created a disturbance.
Forrest Chagny was at a loss when he saw Charlotte run out of Fugly Bob's in tears. He knew that his brother could be abrasive and hadn't left the best impression. And from what Charlotte had told him, Emma and her cronies had been spending the semester spreading rumors about her being some kind of devious social climber. Rumors that took on a dark implication when combined with the fact that Charlotte was Jewish in a city like Brockton Bay.
From his own experiences he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth, but he knew that Charlotte was haunted by something. Something that was dark and sinister. He could never forget that first night he had seen her on stage and the voice in the dressing room. The voice sounded as if it was being spoken from a person present in the room and lacked the tinny sound that a voice on a speakerphone would have had. Yet when he entered the dressing room, it had been empty, despite nobody having left the room except for Charlotte.
And now she had run off in the middle of their date due to his brother's abhorrent behavior.
"Well I hope you are proud of yourself, Phillip." He snarled. "Charlotte would rather walk home at night, in Brockton Bay, than endure another minute of your company."
"I'm sorry." Phillip apologized. "I didn't realize that was a sore spot for her."
"You should have!" Forrest shouted. "You know that Emma's had it out for her! Did you miss that Charlotte was shirking away every time your girlfriend opened her mouth?"
"Maybe she should grow a thicker skin then!" Phillip yelled.
"Grow a thicker skin? Are you even listening to yourself right now?!" Forrest shouted. "Look. Emma's been spreading shit around about how Charlotte is some kind of devious social climber. Charlotte is Jewish, in a city with a major Neo-Nazi gang. You don't think all the wannabe Empire 88 kids haven't picked up on what Emma's been saying and run with it?" At Forrest's remarks, Phillip and Laura seemed taken aback that their actions would have put them in the same breath as one of the more notorious gangs in Brockton Bay.
Forrest wasn't about to bring up Charlotte's angel with his brother.
"Come on, take me back home so I can get my car and tell Charlotte's parents what happened." Forrest sighed.
It was then that an envelope on the ground caught Forrest's attention.
Addressed on the front of it were the words "Forrest Chagny" with no street address and no return address. Opening the envelope he found a single sheet of paper, a hastily written note in Charlotte's handwriting.
FORREST:
You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Forrest My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it.
CHARLOTTE.