Capeworld Comics

Mr. Carter blinked.

The floor was different. There was no texture or pattern to it. The ghostlight had made it smooth and blue and featureless.

“Am I alive?” he asked.

He felt Dr. Morton squeeze his shoulder. “Of course you’re alive.”

“What happened? What happened to the ghost?” Mr. Carter asked.

“As you can see from the ghostlight suffusing the floor, he’s still here, but you might want to look up to get a more comprehensive view of the situation.” Joseph said.

“I don’t want to.”Mr. Carter whined.

“And I don’t want a cowardly man attached to me at the hip, making what should be a simple haunting take all night to resolve, yet here we are!” Joseph exclaimed.

“That’s easy for you to say!” Mr. Carter snapped. “You and Dr. Ernst and Dr. Glass, the three of you live this everyday! I don’t! I’m not used to ghosts swallowing up people like Jonah and the whale!”

“Oh, don’t get cross with me, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “It’s not me you should be upset with, anyway. It’s the giant demon with three heads that’s standing in front of us.”

Mr. Carter suddenly did not want to stare at the floor.

He jerked his face up and though he didn’t find a demon, he found another object of his fear.

His theater was gone.

In its place was a blue throne room empty save for the black-cloaked hero who waited patiently for his audience to fall silent.

“What has the ghost done?” Mr. Carter grasped Joseph. “What did you let him do?”

“If you keep acting like a hysterical woman, know that I’ll hit you like one.” Joseph said. “Stop scratching me, or I’m going to slap you.”

Mr. Carter let go. He was sure Joseph meant what he said.

“What you see before you is an example of what we manesologists term Odic induction.” Matthew explained. “Powerful manes, such as the one in your theater, can take physical matter up into the Odic layer of the Astral.”

“Are you saying he’s turned my theater into ectoplasm?” Mr. Carter asked.

“Yes.” Matthew said. “But isn’t it a fine recreation of Elsinore castle? Imagine you putting on a production and your Claudius sits right on that throne. Imagine how regal he would look! Why, I wouldn’t mind having a seat in it myself, it looks very comfortable!”

“Dr. Morton, I’ll kill you for this.” Mr. Carter said.

“What? Just him?” Martin asked.

“He’s the one that said we were making progress! He said we were making great progress in reducing the haunting and now my theater is a throne room!”

“Most people would consider that an improvement.” Matthew said.

“You wouldn’t want me dead, my ghost would haunt you.” Joseph said. “Then what would you do?”

“Hm…good point, Morton.” Mr. Carter said.. “But that does nothing to abate the rage I have towards you! My theater is gone!”

“Not gone, but transported and transformed.” Matthew said. “It’ll come back, just the way it was. What’s taken up into the Astral can be brought down from the Astral.”

A shrill cry made Mr. Carter jump.

The manesologists turned towards the sound and Mr. Carter away from the sound.

“Mr. Carter, it’s a cat.” Martin said. “And a flesh-and-blood one at that.”

“And it’s cute!” Joseph said.

“It’s a tabby, I think.” Matthew said.

“Oh, hello, precious little thing!” Joseph knelt down and extended his hand toward the cat.

The cat trotted into Joseph’s halo of olprt radiance. It nuzzled against Joseph’s hand and playfully bit at his fingers.

“Look Mr. Carter, it isn’t a manes.” Martin said. “See? No silhouette.”

“Why did you think it was real before it entered the olprt radiance?” Mr. Carter asked.

“Firstly, “real” is not a synonym for “physical.” Secondly, do you know any cats from Shakespeare?” Martin asked. “The closest I can come is Tybalt from Romeo and Juliet being likened to the prince of cats from the Reynard stories.”

“I think one of the witches from Macbeth mentions owning a cat.” Matthew said.

“The point being, Mr. Carter, that this isn’t a manes.” Martin said. “Instead, it’s proof that our manes can show great consideration for living things. He is stuck in a phantasmagorical loop of activity, but he is not insane or violent.”

“How does a cat show that?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I think I’ll call him Tybalt.” Joseph said as he stroked the cat’s back.

“Think about it, Mr. Carter.” Martin said. “Our manes has extended his ectoplasm to cover the theater, and likely a little bit more. Cats don’t live in your theater, do they?”

“Certainly not!”

“So Tybalt must be a cat that lives in one of the adjacent alleys. That our manes didn’t absorb him shows that he’s very careful about what he scoops up with his ectoplasm. We could have turned off our gaeite candles and all of us would have been fine.”

“So what do we do now?” Mr. Carter asked. “Is there some sort of Operation you can perform to turn my theater back to normal?

“What we do now is very easy.” Joseph said. “You’ll like this part. We just stand here and give Hamlet our undivided attention.”

Joseph stood up and held the cat in his arms.

“You look so cute.” Martin smirked. “Like a big, fuzzy momma cat.”

“You think Esmee would like a cat?” Joseph asked.

“Maybe. But I know Eva would. She’s been begging for us to give her one for the longest.”

“As long as she understands not to show him to her other “kitties,” it should be fine to give Tybalt to Eva.” Matthew said.

Joseph handed Tybatl to Matthew. “Here, Mercutio, your rival.”

“I think I’m rather more Friar Laurence.” Matthew said.

Substitute director Joseph Morton stood before Hamlet and brushed the cat hair off his sleeves.

“Excellent work on the stage, young man. What you have here is a quick and beautiful setup. And it came with a cat! You don’t see many actors that come with their own stages, let aloe their own cats. However, before you do something like that again, please give us early warning. We don’t mind, you understand, but the higher-ups and investors, well, they’re rather particular about who moves what when where and why. Now that that’s out of the way, please, go into your act.”

Hamlet scowled in disapproval at the throne.

“A little more than kin, and less than kind.” he said.

Then he paused.

“Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun.” Hamlet said.

Then he paused again.

“What’s he doing?” Matthew whispered. “Is he saying the right lines?”

“Those are the right lines.” Mr. Carter said. “Those are Hamlet’s first lines. But…he’s not giving a monologue. He’s doing the lines with Claudius, but there’s no Claudius. He’s talking to an empty throne…like a madman!”

“Keep your voice down.” Joseph said.

“Oh, of course. I don’t want to anger him…”

“No. You should keep your voice down to be polite.” Joseph said. “Calling people madmen out of the blue, where are your manners?”

Hamlet turned from the throne. “Ay, madam, tis common.” he said.

“Now he’s talking to Gertrude.” Mr. Carter said.

“Seems, madam, nay! I know not “seems”.” Hamlet continued. “Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forced breath, no, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected havior of the visage, together with all moods, forms, shows of grief, that can denote me truly.”

“Oh good.” Mr. Carter whispered as Hamlet continued. “Claudius has a lot of lines coming up.” he turned to the manesologists.  “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something to make him more lucid and less like he’s stuck in an eternal daydream? Shouldn’t you be doing some sort of Operation?”

“I really shouldn’t have to tell you this again, but I’ll tell you again anyway.” Joseph said. “We talk first. Then we do gaeite candle magic. The Ror Raas didn’t give these candles to us because they thought we’d use their power at the drop of a hat.”

“But talking with the ghost doesn’t seem to be doing a bit of good!” Mr. Carter exclaimed.

“One moment.” Joseph said. “It’s not fair for us to keep talking over our actor.” Joseph turned to the ghost. “Hamlet! Mr. Carter and I need to converse amongst ourselves about your performance.” Joseph said.

But Hamlet continued to speak to a Gertrude that wasn’t there.

“Mr. Carter has told me to tell you that you can take a break now. You can stop and be silent.”

But Hamlet continued to speak.

Joseph nudged Mr. Carter with his elbow. “Tell him to take a rest.”

“Take a break. Please.” Mr. Carter said.

Hamlet finally paused, and resumed staring at Mr. Carter as he had done so many nights before.

Mr. Carter shivered at the familiarity of the stare.

“Oh, find your manhood, already!” Joseph exclaimed. “I’ve never met a man who can so utterly control a ghost and yet be so afraid of him at the same time! Anyway, to answer your complaints that nothing seems to be improving, not so! We are easing our ghost out of his phantasmagoria into lucidity. He started with many bodies chaotically moving around, none aware of anything. Then, we got him to take the form of a single body and listen to someone. He’s now aware of someone other than himself. That’s a good start. Now, we need to make him aware of several people and interact with them, and that shouldn’t be too hard considering we’re doing a play!”

“I don’t understand.” Mr. Carter said.

“We have Hamlet. I can be another role, and so can Dr. Glass, and so can Dr. Ernst. Good lord man, you’re a director! All we’re asking you to do is direct!”

“Oh, the director complains about directing!” Joseph said. “You don’t need to do the whole play, just a scene. It doesn’t even need to involve all of us. We just need you to do a scene in which our ghost interacts with, and thus acknowledges, the presence of other people.”

Suddenly, Hamlet broke from his stock-still silence.

He took a step forward to the group.

“He’s moving! Ah!” Mr. Carter exclaimed. “He’s moving! Why is he moving?”

“Why are you moving, Hamlet?” Joseph asked.

Hamlet took another step forward. His eyes were set on Mr. Carter.

Mr. Carter moved so that Joseph was in front of himself like a shield.

“Do you want Mr. Carter to direct you, is that it?” Joseph asked. “Yes, that’s probably it. You’ve been waiting for him to direct you for so long that you just can’t endure the burden of further waiting. You just won’t have it. And neither should you.” Joseph turned to Mr. Carter. “Give him directions. What part of Hamlet is he doing? Come on, something with two people at least…”

“Um…um…just give me a moment!” Mr. Carter exclaimed. “It’s not so easy to remember things under pressure, even easy things!”

The ghost took another step toward Mr. Carter.

“You better tell him something and quick.” Joseph said. “He’s nearly close enough to touch you, Mr. Carter!”

“Ahhh!” Mr. Carter yelped. “Act Five, the fencing portion!”

Hamlet paused. He transformed into mist and floated away some distance. Then he reformed, and when he did so, his cloak was discarded and a rapier was held in his hand.

He brought the rapier up to his face and gave a flourishing salute.

The three manesologists turned and looked at Mr. Carter.

“The fencing portion? You cannot be serious! You simply cannot be serious!” Martin exclaimed.

“I’m sorry! I panicked!” Mr. Carter exclaimed.  “I’m usually so hands-off when it comes to the fencing scenes, I let a man named Shaw handle the choreography of Hamlet and Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet and the rest!”

“So we tell you to direct a scene with us and Hamlet and you pick the one that has the least amount of directing in it, is that it?” Joseph asked.

“Well, there’s some directing to do here…a little.” Mr. Carter said.

Hamlet moved his body so that he faced the group with his shoulder. His feet were perpendicular to each other.

He bent his knees.

“Come on, sir.” he said.

“Wait, that’s the line?” Joseph asked. “The line is “Come on, sir?””

“You need to watch more Shakespeare plays.” Martin said. He reached out, and a portion of the throne room dulled until it was the blue of deep, sunless water. From this discoloration, Martin withdrew a thin rapier to match Hamlet’s own.

“What Operation is that?” Mr. Carter asked.

“It’s not a manesological operation.” Martin explained. “It’s a result of my thaumaturgical training. I can shape ectoplasm by touch. The dogs were not the only things I gained from my time as a student of the invisible arts.”

Martin leveled the rapier at Hamlet. “I can be your Laertes.”

“You can’t fence.” Joseph said. “No way.”

A quick display of a pronated prime parry, a quick circle to parry six, a slash to parry four, and an agile lunge proved Joseph wrong.

“When the hell did you learn to do all that?” Joseph asked.

“I’ve lived a long and storied life, Joseph Morton.” Martin answered. “It’s not as long and storied as your own, but still very long and very storied. I have developed several mundane skills to complement my metaphysical knowledge.”

Martin crouched, ready to spring into a frenzy of thrusts and lunges. “Do we begin, Mr. Carter? We don’t begin until you say so, right?”

“Uh…yes! Yes, that’s correct.” Mr. Carter said. “Um…action!”

“Come on, sir.” Laertes returned Hamlet’s words and the two sprang at each other in a blur of action.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Joseph said as he watched the fencing match with Matthew and Mr. Carter. “It seems that boy will be a mystery to us forever, Matthew. As soon as we think we know him, he springs another surprise on us.”

“Well, he is, like you say, a magic man.” Matthew said. “And they are known for their secrets.”

“I wonder if he ever dueled anyone?” Joseph asked.

“Hopefully no one that’ll be a client of ours in the future.” Matthew answered. “That would make things very awkward.”

“He’s pretty handy with that rapier, isn’t he? Does your man Mr. Shaw teach your players to fence this well, Mr. Carter?” Joseph asked.

“No.” Mr. Carter said. “I’ve only ever seen Mr. Shaw himself move like this.”

Man and manes continued their bout. Thrusts led to parries led to ripostes. They were locked within the rhythmic pattern of a duel in which both sides knew exactly what they were doing.

“Was the ghost a swordsman in life?” Mr. Carter asked.

“It’s possible.” Matthew answered. “But then again, it’s also possible he’s getting by on supernatural quickness.”

“If so, then further praise to Dr. Glass for keeping up with the superhuman.” Mr. Carter said.

“I wonder if he’s as good with firearms as he is with a blade?” Joseph asked. “We need to find some rifles and go out in Epping Forest and find out.”

“So…how long do they fence?” Matthew asked Mr. Carter.

Mr. Carter didn’t answer. He was transfixed by the action.

“Mr. Carter?” Matthew asked.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Mr. Carter said. “I just got carried away watching the back-and-forth. It’s not something you see everyday. Um…they fence until Hamlet scores a hit.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen until you say so.” Joseph said.

“Perhaps.” Mr. Carter replied. “I should go ahead and say something.”

“I say we let them keep going.” Joseph said. “The boy is clearly enjoying himself.”

“No. He’s getting tired.” Matthew said. “Let’s move this along.”

“Ha!” Joseph laughed. “Okay, Gertrude, our boy is fat and scant of breath. Mr. Carter, continue with the directions.”

“Well…Hamlet now scores a hit!” Mr. Carter announced.

Martin dipped his rapier and allowed Hamlet to strike him. The ectoplasmic sword left a chalk-like mark on his clothes.

“Say, that’s clever!” Martin said. He touched the luminescent steak on his clothing. “It marks you just like a practice rapier!”

“Um, those aren’t your lines.” Mr. Carter said. “Hamlet speaks next.”

“Oh! Sorry about that.” Martin said. “I forgot I was in a play for a second and thought I was back at the fencing academy.”

“Fencing academy?” Joseph asked.

“A long story.” Martin said.

Mr. Carter looked at Hamlet. The ghost said not a word and made not a motion.

“Look at that! He’s actually waiting for directions now!” Mr. Carter said. “You know, I think he’s changing a little. I mean, mentally, he’s changing.”

“Trust to us and our expertise, Mr. Carter.” Joseph said. “Hamlet is not the first ghost we’ve broken out of a phantasmagoria.”

Mr. Carter grinned. “You know what? I think we really are on the right track here! Suddenly our Hamlet’s antic disposition doesn’t seem so…uncontrollable.”

“LIsten up everyone!” Mr. Carter said. “Let’s keep on going. Let’s not lose our momentum. Hamlet has just scored a touch against Laertes. Hamlet, line?”

“One.” Hamlet said.

“Argh!” Martin bared his teeth and groaned.

Joseph chuckled. “What was that? Did you just growl?”

“I’m upset.” Martin explained. “I got the blade envenomed, remember? I’m trying to kill Hamlet under the cover of a fencing accident because I blame him for the deaths of Ophelia and Polonius.”

“No no no!” Mr. Carter snapped his fingers. “Don’t break role! We are here to act, not to talk about acting!”

Hamlet looked at Martin.

“See?” Mr. Carter said. “Even he knows what the problem is! Take your role seriously.” Mr. Carter turned to Joseph. “And as for you, no further comments from the audience!”

Joseph smiled. “No complaints here, Mr. Carter. They go into their roles, you go into yours, and everything will work out.”

“Start at “One.” Hamlet.” Mr. Carter directed.

“One.” Hamlet said.

“No.” Laertes protested.

Hamlet turned to Mr. Carter. “Judgment.”

Mr. Carter pointed to Dr. Morton. “He can be Osric.”

“Osric?” Joseph asked. “Who’s Osric?”

“Never seen Hamlet?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I have, but I don’t remember Osric.”

“He’s a courtier. A functionary. He’s the judge of the fencing contest. It’s a very simple role. You say “A hit, a very palpable hit.”

“That sounds like something I can do.” Joseph said.

“Your character is that you’re an obsequious courtier. Hamlet called you a waterfly, a dainty little nuisance. You are on Laertes’ side. But the hit is palpable. You can’t deny that Laertes has been hit.”

“Oh. I can see why you gave me this part.”  Joseph said. “Do I say the line now?”

“Yes. Action!” Mr. Carter directed.

“A hit, a very palpable hit.” Osric said.

“Well, again.” Laertes swished his rapier through the air. He was more than ready for another chance.

“Dr. Ernst, would you care to be Claudius?” Mr. Carter asked.

“I would love to.” Matthew replied. “I’ve always found the villains of Shakespeare’s works to be fascinating. I’m not sure of the lines, however.”

“That’s perfectly fine, I will tell them to you and all you’ll need to do will be to repeat after me.”

Matthew petted Tybalt. “And I suppose you can be Gertrude. At least until we need Gertrude to speak.”

Mr. Carter clapped his hands “We need props!  We need Claudius’ cup of wine and his poisoned pearl.”

Hamlet let go of his rapier. The practice foil floated in the air next to him. He held out his hands to Mr. Carter. In one, a large, jeweled goblet appeared. In the other, a small, glassy pearl.

“That’s a very handy ability.” Matthew said.

“It is.” Mr. Carter agreed. “He’s an actor and a prop master. He doesn’t just do the work of an entire  troupe of actors, he does the work of an entire theater company.”

Mr. Carter looked at Hamlet. “That’s some fine work with those props, Hamlet…but do you walk over to me, or do I walk over to you?”

Joseph nudged Mr. Carter with one giant finger. “Oh, walk over to him. He’s not going to bite.”

Mr. Carter began to walk–slowly. It wasn’t so hard to talk to the ghost, now, but he didn’t have to look directly at him to do that, and the distance that separated them felt like a protective shield. But when it came to approaching the ghost and getting close to that unnerving stare of his, Mr. Carter could not help but feel his skin crawl.

Still, Mr. Carter walked, one foot in front of the other.

He held out his hands and accepted the props, and though he didn’t mean to, he got a good look at Hamlet’s face.

Their eyes met, and Mr. Carter saw that the ghost’s expression was unlike any he had made previously. It was neither the expression of his character nor the cold, empty stare from the nights before.

There was warmth in the ghost’s eyes and a smile on his face.

“Thank you.” Mr. Carter said as he accepted the props.

The ghost nodded.

He walked back to the others, stupefied.

“I think he’s starting to come out of it!” Mr. Carter said. “I really do!”

“Hopefully he is.” Matthew said. “But let’s not stop here if he is making progress. Quick Mr. Carter, give me my props and my lines.”

Mr. Carter gave him both, then Matthew was ready, after Tybalt moved to his shoulder.

“Stay.” Claudius instructed Laertes. “ Give me drink.” Claudius sipped from an empty goblet. There was no need to fill something the audience would never see.

“Hamlet.” Claudius slipped the poisoned pearl into the goblet. “This pearl is for thee.” he muttered quietly.

“Oh, he says that so sinisterly!” Joseph whispered.

Claudius raised the goblet. “Here’s to thy health. Give him the cup.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of a rifle going off, and trumpets.

“What on Earth was that?” Joseph asked.

“The sound of Fortinbrass’ army approaching.” Mr. Carter explained. “It is in the playnotes. There’s supposed to a shot and trumpets. Our ghost really cares for the details…incredible!”

Laertes suddenly lunged at Hamlet and wiped a mark across his chest.

A touch, a touch, I do confess.” Martin said with a smirk.

“Hey! Hamlet is supposed to score the second touch!” Mr. Carter shouted.

“I know.” Martin replied. “But I think it’s time to see if Hamlet knows that.” Martin turned to the ghost. “Hamlet, was Laertes supposed to get that touch?”

“No.” the ghost said.

It was the first thing he ever said that wasn’t a character’s line.

“Who was supposed to get that touch?” Martin asked.

Hamlet pointed to himself.

“And who are you? Hamlet?”

Hamlet nodded.

“Let me see if I understand this, Hamlet.” Martin said. “For the second round, Hamlet is supposed to score the touch, and Laertes is supposed to get hit?”

Hamlet nodded again.

“Well, you see, in that case, I can’t be Laertes, because I got that touch, and Laertes didn’t. So that means I have to be Martin Glass. That’s who I am. And you can’t’ be Hamlet, because Hamlet isn’t supposed to be hit by the poisoned rapier until the third round. So who did I hit, just now? Who are you?”

A somber look of realization flashed in Hamlet’s eyes.

“Way to go, Percival.” Joseph whispered.

The ectoplasmic Elsinore began to flicker like a candle flame caught in the wind.

Tybalt ran down Matthew’s back and ducked behind Joseph’s legs.

Elsinore vanished. In its place came the darkness of the Gnome theater, illuminated only by the gaeite candles of the manesologists and a single blue figure on the stage.

He was naked, or perhaps clothed from head to toe. Mr. Carter wasn’t sure which way was correct. He was smoothly formed from blue ectoplasm. He didn’t have toes, but he had fingers, and they were long like newt’s. He didn’t have eyes, or hair, but he did have a head, and it was as smooth as a bullet.

“He looks like…he looks like…” Mr. Carter couldn’t think of the word.

“Like a doll.” Joseph said.

“I am sane again.” The ghost touched his smooth face. “Whole, again.”

“Are you aware of what has happened to you, sir?” Matthew asked.

“Yes. Yes, I died. I am a ghost now.” the ghost answered. “And I am aware of what I have done. I…wanted to be an actor. And so I acted. I am sorry. All I thought about was my dream of gracing the stage. My mind was inside that dream and nowhere else.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, you couldn’t help it.” Mr. Carter said. “Out of all the hauntings that have been in the world, yours was nothing, just a midnight nuisance, just a nightly chore. And it wasn’t so awful, seeing you in all those bodies. Surely, there are grimmer sights in this world of ours.”

Mr. Carter leaned close to Matthew and whispered in his ear. “Is it alright that he looks like that?” he asked.

“We’ll find out.” Matthew whispered back. He turned to the ghost. “Is this how you want to look?” he asked.

“This is how I feel I should be.” the ghost replied. “In life, I was a small, shriveled old man. I don’t want to appear like that now that I am someone new. And every time I work to place details upon myself, I find that the details remind me of my costumes. I look at what I create upon the blank canvas of my form and I say to myself “This is Hamlet’s hand, this is Brutus’ face.” But this blankness belongs to no character, and so, I feel it belongs to me. I feel as if this is me.”

“Then it is you.” Matthew said.

The featureless face turned and regarded each member of the group before resting on Mr.

Carter.

“Thank you all. But especially thank you,Mr. Carter.” the ghost said.

“How’s that for misplaced gratitude?” Joseph mumbled under his breath.

“ I am so happy to have been able to act on your stage.” The ghost said.

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Mr. Carter said, and he truly meant that.

“My name is Thomas Beckman. I’m sorry if my appearance disturbs you. I see there is fear in your face.”

Mr. Carter raised his hands. “Fear? No! No, you misunderstand! I’m simply anxious. Quite a lot has happened very quickly. I feel as if I have come to the end of a very long and tiring adventure.” Mr. Carter looked over at the manesologists. “Is this how you three feel?”

“Every day, just about.” Matthew said.

“It’s amazing you three aren’t dead.” Mr. Carter said.

“We’ll get there.” Joseph said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Mr. Carter turned back to the ghost. “You say you’re Thomas Beckman?”

“Yes sir.” the ghost answered.

“You can’t see it in this olprt radiance, because it’s a very faint manifestation and only shows up when their gaeite candles are set a certain way, but there’s something like a piece of black glass stuck inside me. It’s a part of you, and the manesologists tell me that it’s inside me because there was something between us in life, but I don’t know anyone namedThomas Beckman. Who were you to me?”

“An audience member, sir.” Thomas said. “You wouldn’t have known me. But I saw all your works. I was here when the Gnome first opened. I was in the audience during the first play, the very first play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I saw all the others until my passing. I’m afraid I’m behind on my viewing. I’ve been in that phantasmagoria so long, it seems, always in the theater, but only when it’s empty.”

A look of recognition washed over Mr. Carter’s face. “Oh! Oh I do know you! You’re the old man! Third row! Oh, I wondered what happened to you!”

“That’s usually how it is.” Joseph said. “Our clients swear up and down that they don’t know who the ghost is and then suddenly “Oh! I’ve always known you!””

“You visited dutifully, Mr. Beckman.” Mr. Carter said. “Thank you!”

“I’ve always been a fan of plays, especially Shakespeare plays.” Thomas said. “When I learned a new theater was being built, you became my favorite. The electric lamps, the fresh paint, the polish on every brass surface–it made me feel young, in my final days, to be among such new and fresh surroundings.”

“I’m glad my theater made your twilight comfortable, sir.” Mr. Carter said.

“I…am somewhat embarrassed to say this, sir, but I’ve always had the dream of performing on stage as one of the Bard’s great heroes.” Thomas said. “Hamlet, or Romeo, or Prince Hal. I daydreamed of joining the actors on stage and being directed by you.”

“But why me, sir?” Mr. Carter asked. “I take pride in performing my duties to the best of my abilities, but I’m far from being the best director in the world. And I don’t have any experience with ghosts…and…I was very rude, with how I treated you during your phantasmagoria. If I had known you were the kindly man who always attended my plays, I would have spoken to you the very first night you appeared.”

“It is you I should apologize to.” Thomas said. “I remember what I was doing. I remember, night after night, mindlessly going through all the roles, all at once, and how you would tremble whenever I saw you.”

“No, you are blameless.” Mr. Carter said. “Night after night, I could have spoken to you. I could have brought us here, to this point, weeks ago. But I was afraid of who you might have been. I imagined that you could have been the ghost of a madman with a Shakespeare fixation, or a perfectionist actor that would kill me as soon as I said a word he didn’t like. I imagined you to be everything except what you actually were–a good man. And so the fault belongs with me. Mr. Beckman.”

“Please call me Thomas.”

“Thomas, there’s a theater up in Scotland with an entire cast of ghosts. They would welcome you. They would know how to handle you best.”

“Was my performance not good enough for the Gnome?”

“No, Thomas, no! You were exceptional, the best Hamlet I’ve ever seen grace my stage. But you deserve a far better director than myself.”

“No, Mr. Carter. I want you to direct me.”

“But I’m not worthy of such a talented actor. I would just hold you back.”

“Nonsense, it was this theater in which I daydreamed of being an actor. It was your productions that I imagined myself joining. It is you that must be my director. It is you or no one.”

Mr. Carter smiled. “Very well, Thomas. Very well. I cannot in good conscience have you remove yourself from the acting world. If your choices are between no one and myself…” Mr. Carter extended his hand. “…I pick myself.”

Thomas shook Mr. Carter’s hand. And though Thomas’ hand was a hand of cold ectoplasm, Mr. Carter imagined that it was warm and did not complain.