that's why the writer wanted it performed here first," he told the rest of them with a knowledgeable look. "The stories say there are things in the shadows, which steal people away; an ironic juxtaposition with the theme of the play," he continued.
"You don't believe it though, surely?" Chlo? asked, Ren?e glanced at her and saw that she was looking around nervously. There were an awful lot of shadows, and the building was several hundred years old.
Martin shook his head. "I've read a few books on the subject, it has intrigued several historians from here and abroad," he said. "The most common theory is that there was a Jack-the-Ripper style character operating in the era when most of the young women went missing."
"How many?" Chlo? asked hesitantly, like she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
"Eight over a twenty year period," Martin said.
"Ah but there were others too," Jimmy interjected.
"Yes, that's true," Martin nodded. "The eight are just the ones the historians attribute to being down to a killer operating here."
"How many went missing overall?" Chlo? asked, just as Ren?e spoke up again, to ask the same question.
"I think the final figure stands at twenty," Martin informed them. "The last to disappear was about eighty years ago though," he added.
"It's always women too, isn't it?" Jimmy asked.
Martin nodded. "Always women, always in a prominent, but supporting, role. Never understudies or leading ladies. Never men in the roles of female characters, when that was the norm."
Jimmy looked at Ren?e, his eyes twinkling. "Bet you're wishing you'd auditioned for Chlo?'s part now, eh?" he said.
Ren?e frowned. "I like the character of the shadow," she said. "And I'm sure it's all nonsense anyway. There must be some other explanation," she added tensely.
"Most likely the girls were brought home by their families, or fell pregnant, or something rather more mundane like that," Martin suggested. "It's a long time ago, tales grow as the years go by."
"Exactly," Ren?e said, glaring at Jimmy, who held up his hands and winked at her.
"I'm just chatting," he protested. "Never mind me, I just like to have a laugh."
"I should probably get back to reading through the script," Ren?e said coldly.
"That's me told!" Jimmy exclaimed, grinning. "I'm going for a smoke before the director gets here," he added, getting to his feet.
"I'll join you," Chlo? said. "After all the talk of ghosts, I need some fresh air."
"Hardly fresh, if you're smoking," Martin commented.
"The breaths in between are, and that'll do me," Jimmy grinned, linking arms with Chlo? as they headed for the exit.
"Not a smoker then?" Martin asked Ren?e.
She shook her head, declining to mention that she had smoked until a year ago, and was about to make a disparaging comment when she heard whistles again, softer this time. She looked at Martin.
"More whistling noises?" he asked.
Ren?e nodded. "You really didn't hear anything?" she asked.
Martin shook his head. "Maybe I just wasn't giving it any attention. It probably is only the wind, after all," he told Ren?e.
"Yeah," Ren?e said, rubbing her eyes. "Must be."
?
"Dress rehearsal, five PM tomorrow," the director said. "I've got to go talk to the media for a bit. Don't forget to lock the back door, whoever is last out."
Ren?e sat on the floor of the stage, rubbing her temples. She kept hearing whistles, and they were making her miss her cues. Her head was pounding.
"You ok?" Jimmy asked, touching her arm. She flinched.
"You're always cold," Ren?e snapped.
"Cold hands, warm heart," Jimmy grinned. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."
"I need to practise more," Ren?e replied. "Any of you up for one more run through?"
"I could do with the practise," Chlo? said.
"One run through, then we'll head to the pub?" Jimmy asked.
"You can get the first round!" Martin said.
"Right, let's get on with it then!" Jimmy said, standing in the wings. Ren?e stood on the opposite side, waiting for Chlo? and Martin to go through the first scene. She watched silently, feeling shivery, briefly wondering if she was coming down with something. She tried to remember her lines, but all she could think of as Chlo? and Martin began the opening scene was the whistling, and the shadows that seemed sinister tonight. More so than usual. The room felt cold, so cold, and she shivered.
?
"Ren?e!" Martin snapped. "That's your cue!"
"Sorry," Ren?e said, stepping forward. "I was lost in thought for a minute."
"Ren?e?" Martin said again, looking around. "Jimmy? Where did Ren?e go?" he asked.
Jimmy shrugged and looked around. "She was here a minute ago, maybe she went to get some air?" he suggested.
"I'm here," Ren?e said, stepping further forward to where the lights were. Something halted her. A force, an invisible barrier. "Hey! What the hell?" she exclaimed.
"I'll go look for her," Jimmy said. He walked past her. Ren?e reached out to touch him. His arm felt warm this time. He brushed his hand, scratching it, like all he'd felt was a minor itch. Ren?e reached out to him again, but where the lights were directly above, she couldn't go.
"No," she hissed. "No. Help! What the hell is going on? If this is a joke it's not funny!" she yelled. No one acknowledged her, Chlo? and Martin were calling her name, Jimmy was out of sight.
"Hey! You're not funny!" she shouted. "Listen to me!" Chlo? and Martin moved further away.
"I'm dreaming," Ren?e told herself. "Must have fallen asleep. Anxiety dream. Lucid anxiety dream," she muttered. "Wake up, Ren?e."
Nothing happened.
?
"What do you mean?" Ren?e watched as Lorraine's lips pursed. "Where has she gone?"
Jimmy, Martin and Chlo? all looked helplessly at her. "No one knows. Her flatmates, her parents... no one's heard from her," Chlo? said, glancing nervously around at the shadows. "We were all here, then suddenly... she wasn't."
"I'm here!" Ren?e yelled at him, though she knew her voice just sounded like a whisper of wind to them. She'd been shouting for hours. They hadn't heard a thing.
"The dress rehearsal is this evening!" Lorraine shrieked. "I can't find a new actress ready to play female shadow in time!"
No one said anything.
"Help!" Ren?e shrieked, from the darkest corner of the stage. There she felt strongest.
Chlo? looked around. "Did you guys hear that? Sounded like a whistle?" she asked.
Lorraine and the two men shook their heads.
"Don't you start," Martin sighed. "Ren?e said she heard whistling, maybe she was afraid," he told Lorraine.
"Stupid, superstitious actors," Lorraine fumed. "I'll have to try to recast it. If any of you hear from her, let me know immediately!" she said, dialling a number on her phone. "It's me," she said. "We're going to have to cast the Female Shadow part again. I'll explain later." She snapped the phone shut. "I mean it, if you hear anything, call me at once!" she said, snapping the phone open again and dialling another number as she walked away.
"I hear you," Ren?e said sadly, from the shadows in the wings. She knew she wouldn't be heard in return. Jimmy sat with his head in his hands; Martin looked a little shaken as well. Chlo? kept glancing around nervously, but they all sat under the lights. Ren?e couldn't get close to them.
Ren?e knew now, what had happened to those girls. She could see them, pale faced with rouge on their cheeks. Old fashioned dresses. To the rest of the world they were just shadows, but she could see them. Screeching in the vain hope their voices would be heard as anything other than a stray gust of wind, or even a ghostly whistle. Not dead, not alive. Not ghosts, just shadows. And she was one of them.
Picture the Scene
by E.J. Tett
Cut-glass candlesticks bounce rainbows
into the room which sit on the
/> walls and ceilings like pretty little pictures.
China dolls with white faces and red
lips smile down from the bookcase
they share with the novels and porcelain dogs.
Perfectly painted pictures of daisies
and other flowers hang spirit-level straight
above the fireplace where the Buddhas sit.
There is no TV.
There is a record player and
a chess set carved from stone.
Blood is splattered across the sofa
like paint flicked from an artist's brush,
a knife lies on the carpet in sunlight
before the curtains are drawn and
the room darkens. Her body lies prone
before she is bagged and taken away.
Remembering
by Jo Robertson
It was stupid. I suppose we'd all say that now, only I'm the only one who has lived long enough to think back on what we did, so I guess I'm the only one with the benefit of hindsight.
The wine spilt on the rug again and I rubbed it in hastily as Judy yelled that it would ruin the carpet. We dabbed at it, laughing like children. The holidays always made us act like that. Here we were, all approaching 30, a few of us thinking about kids and detached houses and yet, when we were together we were 18 again. Just stupid, drunken students. We forgot the mortgages and the council tax and the fact that some of us were getting fat, and we laughed