Fear

Short ghost story for Halloween. But this one is absolutely true. So if you find yourself feeling uneasy after reading this - DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU! WA - HA - HA - HAaaaaa...

FEAR

by  GeorgeE

Number of words: 1504

 

          Many people have experienced fear at some point or other in their lives.

          This is one memorable experience I had - I was about to say enjoyed - but perhaps that isn’t quite the right word.

          It all took place in London, some time round about the autumn of 1963.

          I had left Scotland nearly six months before, as a young man of 19 years old, after failing most of my exams at Edinburgh University.

          After all the trauma of this dismal failure and deciding to leave my safe, comfortable home and all my friends and go to London to seek fame and fortune in the Theatre, I had rapidly discovered that the streets of that great city were not, after all, paved with gold and that agents and directors  were not beating a path to my bed-sit door with offers of instant stardom. Surprise, surprise.

          However, an unexpected contact provided me with the opportunity I had been longing for.

          My new friend, an experienced London stage manager, obviously taking pity on this raw young Scots lad with a thick Fife accent and blissfully ignorant of the fact that he had almost no useful skills at all, had nevertheless decided he could do something for me.

I was quickly introduced to his colleague, George Wright, chief resident electrician at London's famous Drury Lane Theatre. There, by dint of lying about my age, experience, training, skills, etc, I was awarded the position of Apprentice Dayman Electrician, more commonly known as a "sparky", and started work on the Camelot show which was being performed in the theatre at that time.         

          From the beginning I was totally enraptured with the glamour and excitement of working on a major London show in one of the most famous theatres in the world and  I gradually got to know the people who formed the huge backstage crew who contributed to presenting that marvellous show.

          Among the crew of electricians, I made friends with my boss, George Wright, and his faithful deputy, Ernie Trimm, a huge Covent Garden cockney with a sergeant-major’s roar which he used on everyone indiscriminately, but who had a heart as big and kind as his massive frame and who corrected my frequent blunders with invariable good humour till I actually began to get a few things right.

          I was also eventually accepted, after some initial suspicion, by ‘Old Arthur’ who became my personal mentor. Arthur was an amazing old character with a crippled leg which forced him to use a stick to get around. He also had the amusing habit of often smoking his pipe upside down.

          However, there was much more to Arthur than this. He had worked in the theatre for years and knew his way around it intimately. It was he who showed me the storeroom in the basement which used to be the dressing room of Nell Gwynn in the days of the original sixteenth century theatre. He even showed me its hidden entrance to the secret tunnel which led down to the Thames, where King Charles the Second used to moor his royal barge before creeping through to loving assignations with his famous mistress.

          It was a magical place, full of history and charm and its own unique atmosphere - which brings me to my own special experience with this aspect of it.

          One of my duties as a humble, lowliest-of-the-low ‘sparky’ was to replace light bulbs in various areas of the Front-of-House or public part of the theatre. This was usually done either before the show started at night or between performances if there was a matinee.

          On this particular Saturday, between the matinee and evening show I was once again assigned this unwelcome chore, but to my relief, discovered that only one bulb needed replacing in a box on the Opposite-Prompt side of the theatre - so no need to hump around a heavy step-ladder this time, thank goodness.

          As usual, I realised that there was no easy way to get to this box as the stage had only one exit through a door on the Prompt side, so I set off through the steel fire door next to the Prompt corner and immediately lost myself in the maze of passages leading round to the box I wanted.

          Eventually, however, I found it and letting myself in through the door, I replaced the bulb and paused for a moment to orient myself before choosing the quickest way back.

          It was at that moment I realised how deathly quiet and dark this normally bright and bustling place had become. Looking out from the box high up on the side of the balcony near the stage, the auditorium seemed impenetrably black and silent with only a faint, eerie glow of light spilling out from under the edge of the closed fire curtain. The air around me felt stifling and oppressive and my cheerful whistling quickly died away as though it had been somehow sucked into that black emptiness and smothered.

          Feeling distinctly uneasy, I decided to get back to the comforting brightness of the backstage work-lights as quickly as I could and accordingly decided to take a short-cut back by crossing the Grand Circle balcony I was on and then letting myself out the emergency exit on the other side. Although it would mean a few moments in almost total darkness as I crossed through the seats in the balcony, it would bring me out, down only one flight of steps to the corridor and the backstage door. It certainly seemed preferable to working my way back the long way round all those gloomy, echoing, dimly-lit corridors outside the auditorium to the same place.

          I duly set off into that warm, dark cave, finding my way mostly by feel along a row of seats which I thought would bring me out at the exit I wanted. I padded silently over the soft carpeting, bumping into occasional unseen protrusions and feeling my eyelids stretching wider and wider open as they vainly tried to pierce through the thick, enveloping, gloom surrounding me.

          Suddenly, I felt as though I had walked into a fridge. I seemed to have, somehow, entered a zone of freezing air; which was peculiar as the auditorium was normally comfortably warm. As I realised this, I immediately felt an inexplicable sense of presence - of someone there - behind me - someone who was watching me.

          The hair on the back of my neck bristled as goose bumps ran up my spine. My heartbeat speeded up as if I was in a race and for the first time I felt pure unreasoning fear. The worst part was that I couldn’t see anything in the dark - I just felt it - but that feeling was more than enough.

          Hurrying and bumping along as best I could, I finally made it to the emergency exit door. The door, unfortunately, was located behind a thick, velour curtain which seemed to take on an obstinate, clinging life of its own as I struggled to find the parting and get through.

          And all the time, I knew that hidden, unseen presence was drawing closer and closer.

          At last, I broke through and thrust desperately at the push-bars to get out. The doors opened with a harsh, metallic clang and I threw myself down the nearby stairs and fled along the passage to the sanctuary of the backstage door - which opened an inch - then mysteriously stuck.

          I don’t know how long I hammered there, shouting myself hoarse, in a state of blind, sweating panic till a passing scene shifter coming back from his tea break heard me and removed the wedge that was normally used to prop the door open between shows. It was probably only minutes but it felt like hours.

          A pale, trembling, distraught wreck of my former self was finally deposited back with my uncaring mates in the backstage electrics workshop.

          Needless to say, Arthur was the only one of that motley crew to notice that something was seriously amiss. He pressed a hot cup of tea into my clammy hands and I poured out my story.

          The reaction of the others when they finally deigned to take some notice was unexpected - roars of delighted laughter.

          ‘He’s seen the ghost!’ bellowed Ernie. ‘You’ve met the ghost of Drury Lane, kid,’ and he slapped me heartily on the back in gleeful congratulation.

          ‘Don’t worry, son,’ said Arthur. ‘We’ve all had run-ins with that character at one time or another. Don’t pay it no mind. Matter of fact, it’s supposed to be good luck, or something, if you do see him,’ and he sniffed and limped off, spraying sparks into the laden tea tray from his upside down pipe.

          Strangely enough, Arthur was right, as the following day I received the long awaited letter that my application for a place in a leading London drama college had been accepted.

          But, I’ll never forget my fear that night when I met the ghost of Drury Lane.

 

GeorgeE : Copyright © 2020