up. I totally do, but it’s kinda hard with you shaking that light everywhere.”
“That’s cuz he’s freakin’ scared, man,” the third voice sneered. “You don’t believe those ghost stories about old man Bateman, do you?”
“Woo-oo!” The first guy cackled. “I heard that old guy hung himself off the balcony.”
“I heard he blew his brains out in the projector room.”
“I heard he was murdered by someone in his family.”
Shane’s skin prickled. He hadn’t heard any of these grisly tales. If any proved to be true, he’d have to disclose it to the development board. It could affect sales of the units.
The darkness stirred again, like shadows moving through smoke. He searched for the source but saw nothing. Maybe it was a rat...
The PA system suddenly crackled to life. A funereal carnival dirge played on a tinny piano warbled through the lobby, making the hairs on his neck stand up.
“What the hell?” one of the boys whispered.
The raspy voice quavered. “Someone else is here.”
More scuffling. Shane pressed against the wall, heart hammering. The boys were headed his way.
Suddenly, all the lights went out. He hadn’t noticed the ambient hum of electronics, but the air was dead silent now. Only the piano continued its forlorn melody. His veins filled with ice. Ghost stories that his chachi Priya had told him rose from the depths of his memory. He suddenly felt very exposed.
“Holy—”
“Go, go, go!”
Something metal clanged. A crash, and one of the boys yelped.
In the pitch black, Shane sensed movement. A pair of doors leading to the auditorium banged open, and a blast of cold air hit him.
The red exit signs flickered. A dark something glided soundlessly across the lobby, and Shane’s chest seized. He caught sight of the boys, the three of them heaped in a pile on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the approaching figure in black.
And then it spoke.
“Get. Out.”
The lights went out again. From beneath billowing black robes, the outline of a skeleton glowed neon green.
The boys screamed. Shane squinted against the strobe light flickering from within the empty vending machine, catching the stop-motion-like progress of the teens as they tripped over each other sprinting toward the front door.
One of them paused to look back, the way an emboldened and inexperienced lion cub might when facing an angry badger.
The shadowy figure stopped. It raised its arms. A series of soft cracking noises punctuated the piano melody. The boy yelped as bright green globs exploded on his chest and arms.
Was that ghost using a paintball gun?
The doors burst open as the three trespassers stumbled out. The wraith stood there a moment longer, then drifted toward the exit. It set the bolts on the top of the door, then locked a large dead bolt.
Shane was still plastered to the corner when the figure turned around. It pulled out a smart phone and hit a few buttons. The strobe light stopped, and blinding emergency floodlights turned on, washing the lobby in dirty brown light. A second later, the piano music ceased. The figure in black wasn’t quite so menacing now. It stood barely five-three, draped head to toe in filmy, artfully ragged cloth. Not an inch of skin showed, not even the small, delicate hands. An indigo-hued black light hung from a chain around its neck, which explained how the skeletal figure could be seen in the dark.
This was no ghost.
Relief and amusement swamped him. He stepped out from the corner and cleared his throat. “Miriam Bateman, I presume?”
He thought catching her off guard would shock her into revealing herself. He was wrong.
With lightning reflexes, the figure raised the paintball gun and pulled the trigger.
* * *
MIRA HAD NO tolerance for trespassers. Why anyone thought they could simply waltz into her theater to hang out, drink beer and piss against the walls like a bunch of animals...
The little bastards were lucky she didn’t own a real gun.
The paintball gun huffed a fierce volley of Day-Glo green pellets at the remaining intruder. Not only would he be cleaning the stuff out of his clothes for days, but he’d probably have some nice bruises, too. The sheriff wouldn’t have a hard time finding him or his friends.
As the first volley hit him square in the chest, he twisted away, hands shielding his head, exposing his ribs and thigh to the assault instead. He reeled back as she stepped forward. The closer she got, the worse the impact would hurt.
She let go of the trigger briefly. “Get out,” she gritted, though it didn’t have the menace the voice-changing app on her phone gave her. “You’re trespassing. The sheriff is on his way. Get out or I’ll put one through your eye.”
“I followed those boys in here. I thought they were causing trouble—”
“I’ll cause you trouble. Get out!” She pulled the trigger again. Three paintballs hit him square in the crotch. His face contorted, his mouth opened in a silent scream and, eyes crossed, he collapsed.
Mira lowered the gun. He wasn’t getting up. And she was pretty sure he wasn’t faking his agony. Crap. That wasn’t good. She put the gun aside and dialed the sheriff, filling him in on her situation.
“I’m driving as fast as I can, Mira,” Ralph McKinnon told her gruffly, “but I’m still about ten minutes out. I called Arty. He’ll probably get there before me.”
“There was a fourth one, Ralph. Older guy. I shot him in the nuts with my paintball gun. He’s down.” She kept her gun pointed at him and leaned in far enough to ascertain if the man was still breathing. He had his hands cupped around his crotch and his eyes squeezed shut.
Only a little remorse broke through her self-righteous fury. He was wearing a fairly nice gray suit and a pink tie, all of it now splattered with neon green paint. Clearly he hadn’t been with those punks. Not that it excused him from breaking into the Crown.
The sheriff sighed. “I should never have given you those shooting lessons.”
“Hey, you were the one who was all about standing your ground.”
“Does he need an ambulance?”
“Hey, you,” she said to the stranger. “Do you need an ambulance?”
The man gurgled something that sounded like a no.
“Nah,” Mira told Ralph. “But get over here quick. If he tries to get up, I might have to unload on him again.”
“Please don’t.” The man rolled over and looked up at her
