Chapter 21: A Ghost’s Stage

Chapter 21: A Ghost's Stage

The low murmur of voices filled the rehearsal hall.

Students milled about—some stretching, some running lines, others simply chatting. The faint smell of old curtains and wooden props clung to the air, mixing with the sharper scent of fresh paint from the recently refurbished backdrop.

Sam stood near the edge of the stage, hands in his pockets, as Ethan and Alex chatted beside him.

"I'm just saying," Ethan was saying, "if Prof. Grant actually leaves, the next director is gonna have some big shoes to fill."

Alex snorted. "If he leaves? The guy's already got one foot out the door. Did you hear? Three studios are trying to bring him on board. He's been invited to, like, two big-name productions."

"Two?" Ethan whistled. "Damn."

Sam hummed, half-listening.

He'd known Grant was respected in the industry, but if studios were actively trying to snatch him up, then this play was even more important than he'd thought.

Grant wasn't just directing for the sake of a university production.

He was making his final mark before leaving.

"Guess that means this play needs to be flawless," Sam muttered.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no pressure or anything."

Alex smirked. "Not like you'll have a problem. You're playing a villain. If you mess up, people will just think it's part of the character."

Sam huffed. "Great. So if I bomb, I'll just 'method act' my way through it?"

Ethan grinned. "Exactly."

Alex turned to Sam, crossing his arms. "But honestly, how are you feeling about this whole 'main villain' thing? I know you didn't expect to get it."

Sam hesitated.

How was he feeling?

Conflicted.

On one hand, he had been surprised—almost suspicious—when Grant chose him for the lead antagonist. He knew he wasn't the strongest actor in the club. He didn't have the same natural stage presence that Alex did, nor the precision that Victoria had.

But at the audition…

Something had been different.

Something had changed when he spoke those lines.

Something had been watching.

His fingers twitched. The weight of his bag felt heavier than before.

"…It's fine," he said finally, forcing a small shrug. "I'll just do my best."

Alex raised an eyebrow but didn't push.

Ethan, on the other hand, clapped Sam on the back. "That's the spirit! Worst case scenario, you get so deep into the role that you become an actual menace to society. Instant method acting."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, let's not do that."

Their conversation drifted after that, the three of them chatting about minor things—set pieces, blocking, the possibility of a post-play celebration.

---

Before long, the scattered conversations around the room quieted as Professor Grant strode onto the stage. His presence alone commanded attention—not because he was particularly loud or imposing, but because he carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had been there, done that, and expected everyone else to keep up.

"Alright," Grant said, clapping his hands once. "We don't have time to waste, so let's get started. Everyone, on stage."

Sam took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of his bag before stepping forward with the rest of the cast. He could feel the weight of the ledger pressing against his back.

Take me with you today.

He still wasn't sure why it had written that. But as long as it stayed tucked away, it wouldn't matter… right?

"Positions!" Grant called out.

The students hurried to their spots. The scene they were running was a crucial one—the moment where the villain, played by Sam, first confronts the hero.

The stage felt different as Sam took his place.

Not because of the set. Not because of the other actors.

Because something was watching.

Elias?

Or something else?

He pushed the thought aside as Victoria, playing the lead heroine, stepped forward. She met his gaze with a sharp, unwavering intensity—the same kind that had made her a natural fit for the role.

The scene began.

"You," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain.

Sam smirked, settling into character. He let his voice drop into a slow, deliberate drawl.

"Me," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Did you miss me?"

Victoria scoffed. "You're a plague. Wherever you go, destruction follows."

"Flattering," Sam mused, stepping closer. His voice turned cold. "But don't pretend you didn't know I'd come back. You always knew."

Something shifted.

Not in the script—he knew the lines well enough.

But in the air.

The stage felt colder. His breath came sharper. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

He wasn't alone.

Something was standing behind him.

Watching.

No—listening.

It was the same feeling from before, back when he had practiced in his room. That creeping, unshakable sensation that something unseen was lingering just beyond his reach.

For a split second, he wondered if the others felt it too.

But Victoria didn't flinch. Ethan, waiting for his cue offstage, looked normal. The rest of the cast was focused.

It was just him.

Just like before.

Sam swallowed hard and pushed forward.

"You should be careful," he continued, his voice low. "It's dangerous to make assumptions about people like me."

Victoria held her ground. "There are no assumptions. Only facts."

And then—

The lights flickered.

Just for a moment. A single, brief second.

Then everything returned to normal.

Grant, sitting near the edge of the stage, narrowed his eyes. "Electrical issue?" he muttered to himself.

The crew exchanged glances. No one had touched anything.

Sam's grip tightened at his sides.

That wasn't just an electrical issue.

Something had reacted.

To him.

Or rather—

To his acting.

His mind raced, but he forced himself to keep going.

"Let's run it again," Grant said after a moment, shaking his head. "From the top."

The cast reset.

Sam took his place once more.

And as he spoke his first line again, he swore he heard something in the distance—

A whisper.

A voice that didn't belong to anyone on stage.

It was soft. Barely there.

But unmistakable.

"Too hesitant on the last word."

Sam's blood ran cold.

His breath hitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

He hadn't imagined that.

He knew he hadn't.

The whisper was real.

And worse—it was critiquing him.

Elias?

It had to be.

But why—?

Before he could even process it, the voice returned, quieter this time.

"Your pause after 'destruction' was off. Feels unnatural."

Sam nearly broke character.

A dozen questions shot through his mind at once.

Why was Elias correcting him?

How did he know what was natural and what wasn't?

Was he just interested in the performance, or—

Had Elias been an actor, too?

The thought came unbidden, striking him like a physical force.

A ghost who reacted to acting. Who lingered when Sam rehearsed. Who was watching now, offering quiet, precise criticism—

Had Elias once stood on a stage like this?

Was he seeing his past self in Sam?

Before Sam could even form another thought, Grant clapped his hands.

"Good work," the professor said. "Let's move to the next scene."

The moment broke.

The weight of unseen eyes lifted.

But Sam's heart was still pounding.

He had too many questions.

And no answers.

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