CHAPTER 15
he ostentatious Fantod Theater was apparently doomed from the
start. Originally conceived as a grand opera house, the theater
opened in 1839 in spite of a series of accidents and escalating
costs that had plagued construction.
The debut production was a disaster. During rehearsals, a distraught soprano had complained of being plagued by disembodied voices. Rumors spread of pianos playing themselves and a floating hand that drew cruel caricatures of the performers on dressing room walls. The theater developed a sinister reputation among superstitious performers and an increasing number of performances had to be canceled.
The Fantod became a vaudeville theater in 1910, and was eventually converted to show movies. It faltered along until the early 1970s, when, afflicted with continued disasters and anemic ticket sales, the theater went dark.
“How long has it been since they showed movies in here?” asked Casey. He leaned in close to Bobby and raised his voice, trying to be heard over the music and laughter.
“According to my mom, it’s been closed for over forty years,” Bobby shouted back. “The whole place is creepy. They say that the man who built the place walled himself up in here somewhere after he lost all his ill-gotten millions. That’s why it’s so perfect for Halloween.”
The central rows of seats had been removed from the main auditorium to create a dance floor. On the stage a four piece band was performing amid swirls of dry ice fog. Casey noticed people streaming up the stairs to the balcony, and tapped Bobby on the shoulder.
“Let’s find out what’s going on up there!”
They headed up creaking stairs covered in threadbare carpet. Rows of decrepit seats still lined the balcony and groups of people sat talking and watching the dancers below. While Bobby looked for friends in the crowd below, Casey scrutinized the space for signs of danger. A flicker of movement made him look up. Layers of gauzy material and a cloud of plastic bats hung suspended from the ceiling.
Suspended in midair, a strange transparent figure began to writhe and dance. Casey stared like a deer caught in headlights as another ghost materialized and joined in the spooky ballet.
“Oh, no!” Casey’s legs turned to rubber and he staggered backwards colliding into Bobby.
“Hey, look out! Don’t knock me off the balcony. You know they’re not real ghosts, don’t you? They’re projecting them onto that shiny cloth.” Bobby looked over Casey’s shoulder at a slender figure in black drawing closer. “Now here comes something really scary…my sister dressed as a witch. That’s what I call type casting.”
“Wow. She looks beautiful.”
“Some people think snakes are pretty too,” whispered Bobby as he turned sullenly to face his sister. “Hey, Boots. What’s up?”
Bobby’s twin sister was twenty minutes older, a fact which she felt gave her an undeniable edge of authority over her baby brother. There was clearly a family resemblance although as Bobby always put it, “I got the personality. Boots got the looks.”
While Bobby was tall, rangy, and a little awkward, Bootsy was as graceful as a willow. Both Bambergers shared the same Mediterranean coloring. Bobby’s dark crewcut and olive complexion made him look sporty. On Bootsy, the effect was somehow exotic.
Bootsy’s black hair was pulled back and intricately braided with velvet ribbons. Her slightly slanting eyes peered from underneath bangs that had been trimmed with breathtaking precision. She was draped in a black gown with a high pointed collar and full sleeves buttoned tightly at the wrist.
“You look great,” said Casey.
“Not bad, is it?” Bootsy preened, accepting the compliment as her due. “I am supposed to be a witch, but I didn’t want to wear a pointed hat.”
“Um, right. Well, you look pretty spooky,” stammered Casey. “Or I guess spooky but pretty.”
He was hoping for the kind of witty remark he’d heard actors say in old black and white movies, but realized his attempt at sophisticated charm had fallen woefully short of the mark. It didn’t really matter, however. Bootsy was no longer paying any attention to him.
“Bobby, come and buy me a soda,” she demanded. “I didn’t want to lug a purse around all night. I know you’ve got pockets under that mummy wrap, so you must have some money with you.”
Without waiting for a reply, Bootsy turned and swept off towards the refreshment counter. Bobby Bamberger viewed his sister as a force of nature like a tsunami and knew resistance to her demands was futile. He shrugged and followed glumly in her wake.
Casey plopped down on one of the threadbare old theater seats. The rickety metal frame let out a squeak.
“Hey, kid, look. You have a twin,” said a boy in a pirate costume pointing down at Casey’s feet.
Sitting underneath the seat next to Casey, tail switching back and forth, was a black cat with mismatched eyes. Casey reached out, and the cat jumped into his arms.
“What are you doing here, Carlisle? Where have you been?”
The cat began a low rumbling purr at odds with the black tail which flicked back and forth ominously.
“Hey! You there!” shouted someone nearby. The voice was strident and tinged with menace. “Cat boy!”
Casey turned his head quickly to see a scowling Pike working his way roughly through the crowd, shoulders squared and fists clenched. His relief at seeing that his friend was safe was overshadowed by the fact that Pike was charging across the balcony like he was ready for a fight.
“Just give my cat back,” snarled Pike, “and there won’t be any trouble.”
“Stop being a jerk,” said Casey, his green eyes defiantly meeting Pike’s fierce blue ones. “He’s not your cat anyway.”
In spite of the music and noise, Pike recognized Casey’s voice and his antagonism melted into bewilderment. “Red, what are you doing here in that getup?”
“It’s a costume party. What are you doing here?” He sat back, cradling Carlisle in his arms. “And why are you stomping around with one boot on and acting nuts?”
Carlisle, who had been observing the scene with feline detachment, suddenly tensed. He leapt off Casey’s lap and streaked across the worn carpet, vanishing down the stairs that led toward the main auditorium. Casey raced off after the cat, maneuvering around the costumed characters blocking his way.
The auditorium was now mobbed with boisterous partygoers. Along the sides, the worn velvet seats still in place provided a spot where quieter guests could watch the show. Carlisle jumped up and streaked directly across a row of seats and over the well-padded lap of a startled Olivia Livermore, Casey’s intimidating English teacher. Casey followed in hot pursuit, hoping the cat mask would keep his identity a secret.
“Excuse me,” said Casey, climbing over Miss Livermore.
“Is this a public thoroughfare?” gasped the affronted schoolteacher, her face flushed with indignation.
“Hey, wait up, Red!”
Casey glanced back to see Pike clambering over Miss Livermore, whose round red face now resembled a furious tomato. Margo and Oliver Wilde were frantically pushing their way through the crowd and pointing in his direction. The unshakable Detective Kestrel followed close behind.
Casey paused for a moment. He realized that something had happened to upset everyone, but he also figured that one of the few leads he had was Carlisle. The cat paused in front of a curtained doorway blocked off with a velvet rope. He lowered his head and slipped through the draperies.
Casey ducked under the velvet rope. He pulled the curtains aside and stepped into a dimly lit vestibule. A cast iron spiral staircase leading down to the theater basement was obstructed by ropes tied across the railings. Carlisle stood poised on the top stair next to a sign printed in bold block letters.
UNSAFE. KEEP OFF.
“No. No. No. Please, come here, Carlisle,” cooed Casey. “Nice kitty.”
Carlisle cocked his head for a moment and stared as Casey slowly approached with his hands outstretched. Then, with a final twitch of his tail, he started down the spiral stairs.
“Oh no,” sighed Casey. “Well, here goes nothing.”
He gingerly climbed over the rope barricade and began to make his way down holding tightly to a rusty rail. The spiral staircase grumbled and squeaked but seemed fairly secure. Suddenly it vibrated, and lurched to the left with a loud groan. Pike had grabbed the railing and started to descend, pounding his way down two steps at a time.
“Be careful! I don’t know if this thing can hold both of us,” said Casey, standing motionless and gripping the rail with white knuckles. “That cat belongs to a neighbor of mine who vanished and I don’t want him to get away.”
The iron stairs groaned and shifted. The boys froze, both holding their breath. The staircase seemed to hold, and Pike took a few more tentative steps.
“Listen Red, I’ve been looking for you and trying to avoid the cops. I guess they got my name from you. They already think I’m a trouble maker. I’d be easy to blame for whatever is going on,” said Pike, his voice tinged with resentment. “It’s a safe bet that they wouldn’t believe a no-good kid like me saying that monsters burned down that old shoe factory.”
There was a commotion in the little vestibule above them. Officer Holstein was the first on the scene. “Down there. I see them. They’re down there!”
Casey and Pike looked up simultaneously. Several people were peering over the thin, cast iron railing, pointing down at them. Bootsy Bamberger was watching the scene with an expression on her face that Casey couldn’t identify. Officer Holstein hoisted himself over the rope barricade. His big feet hit the first step and the wobbly staircase shimmied.
The rusted iron began to squeal as the big cop rushed down it. Following close behind, Detective Kestrel felt the step shudder under his feet. He stepped back quickly, blocking Margo and Oliver who had pushed through the gathering crowd of onlookers.
A piercing screech of metal was followed by a loud clang as a section of railing gave way and hit the floor below. The squeaks and squeals became an agonized moan accompanied by the sound of ripping wood as the staircase tore loose and collapsed.