Capeworld Comics

Martin and Matthew pushed the blue door open and entered the theater.

The sight was breathtaking.

All was blue light and motion, like an electric, turbulent sea. After a few moments, their eyes adjusted to the motion of the figures, and they could pick out characters within the chaos like picking out shapes within a cloud. Macduff stood on the ceiling and gave orders for his troops to advance behind the cover of trees. King Henry V stood on the ground and gave his famous St. Crispin’s Day speech. But neither spoke to troops. There were no bit parts in the theater. Every player was a lead.

Martin attempted to say something, but found that he couldn’t hear himself in the cacophony, and so used an Operation to place his thoughts upon the wind.

A Dyeus king hailed every subject in his kingdom, from the mightiest baron to the lowest peasant, as he did every morning.

The Ozongon Operation

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel bad for Joseph.” Martin said through his mind. “He would love to see this.”

“I think anyone would. This is incredible.” Matthew said. “We’re in a roiling cloud of ectoplasmic activity. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Not anyone would love to see this–consider Mr. Carter.” Martin said. “Say, I’ve noticed something Matthew–I can’t see all the characters, and though I can’t make out what each of them are saying, I’m reasonably certain there aren’t any villains in this cloud.”

“You’re right. I don’t see Ricahrd III, or Caliban, or Shylock, and those should stand out.” Matthew said.

“Oh wait, there’s Falstaff! See, the really plump one, right there!” Martin said.

“Falstaff isn’t a villain.” Matthew said.

“He stood in the way of young Hal’s edification.” Martin said. “He was an obstacle on his way to the throne.”

“He was antagonistic, certainly, but he still wasn’t a villain. He was a clown.”

“He lived on stolen money.”

“We all have our faults. Look, you don’t become so popular that the Queen asks for there to be another play with you in it by being a villain.”

“I will admit, it was a shame that he died before Henry V. I wanted him to see Hal one more time.”

“I did as well. I imagine quite a few people did.”

“Falstaff was incredibly entertaining.” Martin said. “He’s easily one of the Bard’s best–but he was still a villain.”

“If you say so.” Matthew said. “But I think the manes and I disagree with you. Another observation–everyone present seems to be a lead, or if not a lead, a character of great acclaim like Falstaff over there. I don’t see Ariel. I don’t see Julius Caesar. Maybe there is a villain or a secondary out there, who can rightfully tell who a man in hosiery is supposed to be, especially when you can’t make out what they’re saying, but I think our manes wants a certain kind of role. Oh look! A man with a dark cloak and a skull, that must be Hamlet!”

“Hamlet, or Titus Andronicus in the middle of cooking.” Martin said.

“Ha!” Matthew laughed. “You know Martin, this has been a pretty fun haunting, so far. It’s a shame Mr. Carter can’t enjoy it.”

“Can you imagine how he would’ve behaved if he was with us during the Octavius investigation?”

“Oh, I can imagine, but I don’t want to!” Matthew said. “Another observation in favor of the hypothesis that he wants to be a heroic lead–no fallen heroes. Othello should stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd with his black face, but I don’t see him.”

“I don’t see him either.” Martin said. “You know, I don’t think I share our manes’ preference for roles. The villains always seem more fun to me. If I could play a Shakespeare character in front of an audience without embarrassing myself, I think I would want to be Iago. Who would you want to be, Matthew?”

“Caliban.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m curious how it would feel to have all that makeup and a big costume on.”

“It would probably feel like wearing a potato sack and dipping your face in mud.”

“Don’t disenchant it..” Matthew said. “Well, our manes is not responding to us at all. None of his bodies are looking at us. It’s clear he only has eyes for our director.”

“Clear for everyone but the director himself, that is.” Martin said. “Should we get Mr. Carter and Joseph in here, now?”

“Yes.”

Martin ordered one of his dogs to knock on the door.

There was a commotion on the other side. Mr. Carter wasn’t sure whether it was the manesologists knocking or the ghosts and was making his concerns known to Joseph, and loudly.

“It’s us, Mr. Carter!” Matthew shouted exasperatedly. “Come on it, it’s alright!”

Joseph opened the door with one hand, after shouldering Mr. Carter out of the way, and escorted Mr. Carter into the theater with his other hand.

Mr. Carter kept his eyes shut and lowered to the ground.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the acting stopped.

All the players stopped and turned their eyes to the director.

“See?” Joseph nudged Mr. Carter. “It’s just like we thought. They want to see you, not us. Come on, lift up your head, face them like a man.”

Mr. Carter raised his head just enough to peek at the many-bodied ghost, and gasped. In the silence of the theater, his gasp was like a shout. He would have stumbled backwards if Joseph’s massive frame wasn’t behind him to stop him.

“Stay calm, Mr. Carter. See? The ghosts are calm. They, or rather he, just wants to talk. And we are here, with our gaeite candles, to protect you. Now say hello.”

“There’s so many!” Mr. Carter whispered. “There’s never been this many before! Good lord, some of them are hanging off the ceiling like bats!”

“I know.’ Joseph sighed. “I wish I was here before you were, so I could have seen them all in motion. It’s so neat to watch ghosts walk on the ceiling and walls, like at the Linderhof Palace…Oh well. You know, Mr. Carter, perhaps there’s so many right now because they keep trying to get your attention? They see the director run away with his tail between his legs and think, “Darn it, we need to show him more and different roles. He didn’t like what we showed him last time, so let’s show him even more!””

Mr. Carter made a series of weak, pathetic squeaks with his voice.

Joseph sighed. “Ah, God…Mr. Carter, you will have to talk to the ghosts, but maybe we can work something out so that you’ll have to talk to them a little less. Would you like that?”

Mr. Carter nodded so fast his head seemed ready to fly from his neck.

“Alright, then. All you need to do is tell them that I’m the substitute director for the day. Or a guest director. Or something like that. I trust you get the idea?”

Mr. Carter muttered something inaudible.

Joseph sighed. “I’m going to assume that’s a yes, so I’ll go ahead and make the first move. AHEM!” Joseph cleared his throat and folded his arms behind his back. “Attention! Attention! My name is Joseph Morton. Mr. Carter has invited me here to see what you can do. I’m a guest director, from the Blackwall theater, and before you get any instruction from Mr. Carter, you have to perform to my satisfaction! Do you understand?”

The many eyes of the ghost did not move from Mr. Carter. The many bodies of the ghost did not budge.

Joseph leaned close to Mr. Carter. “You better tell them something, Mr. Carter. Don’t let them get confused.”

“Wha-What should I say?” Mr. Carter trembled. He knew interacting with the ghost was going to be horrible, but he didn’t think it would be this horrible!

Joseph rolled his eyes. “At this point, anything.” he answered. “Say anything.”

“Tell them we’re doing Hamlet. So there should only be Hamlet on stage.” Mr. Carter whispered.

“Did you hear that, boys?” Joseph pulled Mr. Cater up by his shoulders. “You probably couldn’t, he was talking so quietly. Say it again, Mr. Carter!”

Mr. Carter saw the multitude of eyes waiting for him and gasped helplessly.

“That doesn’t sound like the name of a character, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said, then turned to the many-bodied ghost. “Mr. Carter wants to tell you the name of the character that we’re looking for, the character that you will work with me to portray. And he’s just about to do that, isn’t that right, Mr. Carter?”

Mr. Carter gulped. This was it, no way out of it now. It was him and the ghosts, as he had always feared…

“Mr. Morton will be your director for the day.” Mr. Carter said softly, very softly.

“Yes!” Joseph exclaimed. “Yes, we’ve well and established that Mr. Carter, my old and true friend, but the boys want to know what character they’re doing!”

“I need Hamlet. One Hamlet! Just one!”

The ghost looked at himself. All the actors that he was turned and glanced at each other. Then, they began to dissolve into blue mist and flow into each other as if caught in a strong wind. A blue whirlwind swirled throughout the theater.

“What are they doing? What are they doing?” Mr. Carter shouted.

“Oh, stop being such a silly child.” Joseph said. “What do you think they’re doing?”

“But are they…supposed to do that?” Mr. Carter asked.

“You did ask for one character, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “Now please, don’t complain that the number of ectoplasmic bodies on the stage is being drastically reduced before your very eyes, that should be something you want.”

“Um…yes, it is, actually.” Mr. Carter smiled. This meant that 99 percent of his problems were now solved. What was one more ghost? Things would probably get easier from here on out.

“Good. See, we’ve barely started and already the haunting has been reduced significantly, Mr. Carter. This is why we communicate with ghosts, it produces results!”

Soon, all the ectoplasm and ghostlight that flooded the theater became condensed into the form of a young man in a characteristically black cloak–or what would have been black if the ghost wasn’t the color of an electric arc.

“You cut the figure of a fine Hamlet.” Joseph said. “But it’s one thing to be well-costumed for a character, it’s entirely another to be well-versed in a character. Mr. Carter, what scene shall our prospective Hamlet perform?”

“Um…Act I, Scene II?”

The ghost began to glow bright, brighter than Mr. Carter had ever seen any of them glow. Then, he began to melt into liquid light and expand. He became like a single pane of blue glass, like an electric sky without clouds.

Then, like a wave, the accumulated mass of ghostlight, the totality of the haunting, surged forth.

Mr. Carter gave a shout of fear and turned to run, but Joseph grabbed his shoulder tight and held him. “Oh come now, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “You don’t want to run into all that ectoplasm now, do you?. This olprt radiance is your shield, remember?”

But it didn’t seem like a shield at all to Mr. Carter as the haunting engulfed the entire group.