It's the first thing they taught you at the college playhouse - always leave the ghost light on. And God help you if you ever forgot - Professor Byron would call you in for one of his infamous "office chats." Undergraduates always emerged rattled; many freshman girls in tears.
Why? Whats the big deal? You asked.
People might need to get back in and be able to see. Idiot.
Oh.
Also, one of the students killed in 'Nam still wanders the stage. The light keeps him quiet.
Right, you smirk. Ha ha ha.
Nevertheless, that night you forgot to set the ghost light out, and, fearful of professorial reprimand, you jogged back to the playhouse to fix it, you had to admit the atmosphere on the old stage was decidedly creepy.
A cold breeze passed like a sigh over the back of your neck as you swiftly unwound the extension cord and rolled the rickety lamp out onto the stage. A curtain swung softly as you walked backstage a little too quickly to plug in the light.
And nothing happened.
You could hear your own breathing, but for a minute you heard (or thought you heard) an answering exhale.
Something creaks onstage.
Very intentionally, you stride in from stage left and wiggle the cord at the base of the lamp. You may or may not hold your breath.
And then, as the Bible says, there was light, and it was good.
But you still ran.
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