Phantom of the Auditorium (6 page)

“I heard you sneezing a lot yesterday,” Tina said, pretending to be concerned.

“I always sneeze a lot,” I replied. “Bye, Tina.”

“Who was that other phantom who jumped onstage this afternoon?” Tina asked before I could hang up.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I really —”

“That was kind of scary,” Tina interrupted. “I hope you weren’t
too
scared or anything, Brooke.”

“See you tomorrow, Tina,” I said coldly.

I hung up the phone before she could say anything else. Tina was really becoming a pain, I decided.

How much does she want to play Esmerelda?
I found myself wondering.

Just how much does she want the part? Enough to try to scare me away?

Zeke called later and convinced me that Emile
had
to be our phantom. “He lied to us, right?” Zeke asked excitedly. “He told us he worked for the school. And he tried to frighten us. It’s
got
to be him,” Zeke insisted.

“Yeah. Probably,” I replied, twirling the scrunchie on my wrist.

“He’s the right size,” Zeke continued. “And he knew about the trapdoor.” Zeke took a breath. “And why was he there, Brookie? Why was he there in the auditorium at night?”

“Because he’s the Phantom?” I asked.

It made sense.

I agreed to get to school early so that Zeke and I could tell Ms. Walker about Emile.

That night I dreamed about the play. I was onstage in my costume. The spotlights were all on me. I stared out at the seats filled with people.

The auditorium grew silent. Everyone was waiting for Esmerelda to speak.

I opened my mouth — and realized I didn’t remember what I was supposed to say.

I stared out at the faces of the audience.

I had forgotten everything. Every word. Every line.

The words had all flown away, like birds leaving a nest.

My nest was empty. My mind was a total blank.

I stood there in panic. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.

I woke up in a cold sweat. My entire body trembled. My muscles had all knotted up. I had kicked all the covers onto the floor.

What a horrible dream.

I couldn’t wait to get dressed and get to school. I wanted to forget about that awful nightmare as quickly as I could.

I had to walk Jeremy to school. So I didn’t get there as early as I wanted.

Jeremy kept asking me about the play. He wanted to hear more about the Phantom. But I really didn’t feel like talking about it. I kept remembering my dream, remembering the panic of standing in front of three hundred people and looking like a total jerk.

I dropped Jeremy off, then hurried across the street. I found Zeke waiting for me by the front door. He was staring impatiently at his watch.

I don’t know why. It doesn’t have the correct time on it. It’s one of those digital watches with seventeen different controls on it. Zeke can’t figure out how to set it. He can play games on it — and play a dozen different songs. But he can’t get it to tell the time.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me right into the classroom. He wouldn’t even let me get my books from my locker or take off my coat.

We marched up to Ms. Walker, who was sitting behind her desk, glancing over the morning announcements. She smiled at us, but her smile faded as she saw the solemn looks on our faces.

“Is something wrong?” Ms. Walker asked.

“Could we speak to you?” Zeke whispered, glancing at the kids already in class. “In private?”

Ms. Walker gazed up at the wall clock. “Can’t it wait? The bell is going to ring in two minutes.”

“It will only take a minute,” Zeke promised.

She followed us out into the hall and leaned her back against the tile wall. “What’s the problem?”

“There’s a phantom in the school,” Zeke told her breathlessly. “A real one. Brooke and I have seen him.”

“Whoa!” Ms. Walker murmured, raising both hands to say
stop.

“No! Really!” I insisted. “We
did
see him, Ms. Walker. In the auditorium. We sneaked in. To use the trapdoor, and —”

“You did
what?”
she cried, narrowing her eyes first at me, then at Zeke.

“I know, I know,” Zeke said, blushing. “We weren’t supposed to. But that’s not the point.”

“There’s a phantom,” I said. “And he’s trying to stop the play.”

“I know you think I’ve been doing all those things,” Zeke added. “But I haven’t. It’s the Phantom. He —”

Ms. Walker raised her hands again. She started to say something, but the bell rang — right over our heads.

We raised our hands to protect our ears.

When the bell finally stopped clanging, Ms. Walker took a few steps toward the classroom door. It was really noisy inside. The kids were all taking advantage of her not being in there.

“I’m sorry I upset you with that story,” she told us.

“Huh?” Zeke and I both cried out.

“I never should have told that old phantom story,” Ms. Walker said fretfully. “It got a lot of kids upset. I apologize for scaring you.”

“But you didn’t!” Zeke protested. “We saw a guy, and —”

“Have you been having nightmares about a phantom?” Ms. Walker demanded.

She didn’t believe us. She didn’t believe a word we had said.

“Listen —” I started.

All three of us jumped when we heard a loud crash inside the room. A crash followed by wild laughter.

“Let’s get inside,” Ms. Walker said. She pointed at Zeke. “No more practical jokes — okay? No
more jokes. We want the play to be good, don’t we?”

Before we could answer, she turned and hurried into the room.

“What am I doing here?” Brian moaned. He shivered and stared up at the dark trees. “Why am I doing this?”

“You came with us because you’re a nice guy,” I told him, patting the shoulder of his sweater.

“No. Because I’m an
idiot!”
Brian corrected me.

This was all Zeke’s idea. He came to my house after dinner. I told my parents we had our play rehearsal. A lie.

Then Zeke and I walked to school. We met Brian on the front walk, where he’d promised to wait for us.

“I can’t believe Ms. Walker didn’t believe us,” Zeke fretted.

“Would
you
believe such a nutty story?” I demanded.

“Well, we’re going to find the Phantom and prove we’re right,” Zeke said firmly. “We have no choice now. I mean, if Ms. Walker won’t help us, we’ll have to find him on our own.”

“You just like a good adventure,” I teased him.

He raised his eyes to mine. “Well, Brookie, if you’re too scared …”

“But what am
I
doing here?” Brian repeated, staring at the dark school building.

“We need all the help we can get!” I told him. I gave Zeke a shove. “Let’s go. I’ll show you who’s scared and who isn’t.”

“I think I’m a little scared,” Brian admitted. “What if we get caught?”

“Who’s going to catch us?” Zeke asked him. “There’s no night janitor.”

“But what if there’s an alarm or something?” Brian demanded. “You know. A burglar alarm.”

“For sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Our school can’t even afford pencil sharpeners! No way they’ve got burglar alarms.”

“Well, we’re going to have to break in,” Zeke said quietly, his eyes on the street. A station wagon rolled by without slowing. He tugged at the front doors. “They’re locked tight.”

“Maybe a side door?” Brian suggested.

We crept around to the side of the building. The playground stretched out, silent and empty. The grass glowed all silvery under the bright half-moon.

The side doors were locked, too.

And the back door that led into the band room was also locked.

I raised my eyes to the roof. The building hovered over us like some kind of dark creature. The windows reflected the white moonlight. It was the only light I could see.

“Hey — that window is open!” Zeke whispered.

We ran full speed up to the half-open window in a ground-floor classroom. It was the home ec room, I saw. Mrs. Lamston probably left the window open to let out the horrible smell of the muffins we baked that afternoon.

Zeke raised both hands to the window ledge and hoisted himself up. Sitting on the ledge, he pushed the window open wider.

A few seconds later, Brian and I followed him into the home ec room. The aroma of burned cranberry muffins lingered in the air. We tiptoed through the darkness to the door.

“Ouch!” I cried out as I banged my thigh into a low table.

“Be quiet!” Zeke scolded.

“Hey — I didn’t do it on purpose!” I whispered back angrily.

He was already out the door. Brian and I followed, moving slowly, carefully.

The hall was even darker than the classroom. We kept pressed against the wall as we made our way toward the auditorium.

My heart was racing. I felt all tingly. My shoes scraped loudly over the hard floor.

Nothing to be afraid of,
I told myself.
It’s just the school building, the building you’ve been in a million times. And there’s no one else here.

Just you. Zeke. Brian. And a phantom.

A phantom who doesn’t want to be found.

“I don’t think I like this,” Brian whispered as we edged our way around a corner. “I’m really pretty scared.”

“Just pretend you’re in a scary movie,” I told him. “Pretend it’s just a movie.”

“But I don’t
like
scary movies!” he protested.

“Ssshhh,”
Zeke warned. He stopped suddenly. I bumped right into him. “Try not to be a klutz, Brookie,” he whispered.

“Try not to be a jerk, Zekey,” I replied nastily.

I squinted into the darkness. We had reached the auditorium.

Zeke pulled open the nearest door. We peered inside. Total blackness. The air in the auditorium felt cooler.

Cool and damp.

That’s because a
ghost
lives in here,
I thought.

That made my heart pump even harder. I wished I could 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’t
we? 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.

“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: