We funneled into the office, each of us taking a seat around the desk. Ms. Rader's face was still stone solid; one brow raised as she glanced at my friends and I while we took a seat.

​

Scarman seemed uneasy. He said, "Now, Clair, this is none of my concern anymore; my hands are completely clean of this place. However, if this is about her, are you sure so soon is the best time to bring these three into all of that?"

​

"It's addressed to them,"she said, flashing the envelope at him and then placing it before the three of us. "They'd never know, if it were up to me. The fewer the better. But you know I've no say in that." Then, absently, she snapped, "they were going to find out eventually, anyway."

​

"William, what the hell are you two talking about?" Foldress questioned.

​

Scarman and Ms. Rader sat in silence a moment; their eyes locked in a silent conflict. Ms. Rader maintained that hard stair she'd been wearing from the moment we'd met her mere hours earlier. Scarman's face was nervous, and he looked to Rader like a child looks to his mother when he's in trouble with his father.

​

"One of you two had better start talking," Foldress said. His patience, as always, was wearing thin.

​

"Mr. Scarman," I said, "what's going on?"

​

The man stood with a sigh. The weight which he'd taken off his shoulders earlier seemed to be placed back upon them now. Scratching his head, he strode to the window, looking out it as he collected his thoughts on the matter.

​

Colgrey, Foldress and I exchanged curious, impatient glances. This was a very bizarre situation, and we had assumed that, had something been wrong with our acquiring of the business... well surely we should have been told before we closed! I can't speak for my friends, but at that moment, given the context of the conversation, I had thought that perhaps Sebastian Leroux had had a sister or perhaps a mistress who gave the dinner-theater trouble; trying to gain ownership since Leroux died. I mean, who else could the 'her' which Scarman referred to be?

​

Finally he, with a sigh, turned around and said, "I don't even know where to begin with this, do you?"

​

Ms. Rader finally surrendered her hardened scowl, as her brows furrowed into a pensive expression while she bit her lower lip; contemplating the answer to the man's question. At last, she leaned on the desk and, with a sigh, began.

 

"The stage has always been a place of magic and mystery," she said. "Though the actors know every trap door, one-way mirror, or illusion we procure, the audience is kept in the dark; left to wonder how it is that we 'pulled that off'. It surprises and mystifies them, and keeps them coming back for more.

​

"There is one other secret which the staff at Leroux's keeps from its adoring public," Rader continued. The stoniness in her face was almost completely gone now; replaced instead by a look of fearful unease, not too unlike the one Scarman displayed.

​

"The theater is haunted."

​

The words were simply spoken from her mouth as though they were a matter of fact, and, for a moment, my friends and I were caught off-guard. We sat for an instant in silence; unsure of what precisely it was she was saying. Finally, Colgrey burst out laughing.

​

"Oh, that's clever!" he said between laughs. "What is this, a hazing for the new guys? You'll need to do better than that."

Foldress and I tried desperately to stifle a couple of laughs, but our efforts were pretty well useless. The simple fact that these two people, both of whom were mature, would try something so juvenile as to attempt to convince us of something so silly as a ghost in the theater was absolutely ridiculous!

​

Ms. Rader's face blushed red with anger as she scowled at us three. "You may believe whatever you want, closed minded men. Typical of your generation. But the simple fact is, as early as 1973, there have been recordings of paranormal occurrences from the staff, as well as a few guests. Back then it wasn't something we thought to hide from our patrons, but as time went on..."

​

"...we decided it best that the public didn't know of our little haunting," Scarman finished.

​

"So, what? Sebastian Leroux believed in this ghost too?" Colgrey asked with a condescending smirk.

​

"Everyone... most everyone on staff believes in the ghost," Ms. Rader said, once more throwing Colgrey those piercing eyes. "Leroux, rest his soul, was a very spiritual man and took whatever precautions he could to appease the spirit."

Foldress rolled his eyes while Colgrey just shook his head.

​

"What's in the envelope?" I asked. It had been sitting on the table where Ms. Rader had set it earlier, and seemed to have been forgotten about since.

​

"I don't know what the contents of the letter are," she said. Slowly, she was returning to that stern, shrewd, stone-cold face she'd bore earlier. "It is addressed to you three, and therefore not for me to read. She meant it for your eyes only."

"Oh!The ghost wrote it!?" Colgrey said in mock enthusiasm. "I've neverreceived a ghost letter before! Have you Cole?"

 

Foldress shook his head. "No! This is very extraordinary!" he exclaimed. Then, sliding the note down the table, he said to me, "Here! You believe in this sort of stuff. Open that up for us; let's see what the theater ghost has to say to us!"

​

I took the note from him, biting back whatever retort I could have come up with for my friend's constant jests. In college I had studied demonology, and taken a course titled, 'The Science of Spirits'. Naturally, Foldress and Colgrey found great humor in this, especially in those unfortunate moments when I, stricken with some newfound knowledge which lent credence to a passage of Biblical text, would relay some fact to them with the excitement of understanding.

​

I'd thought the harassing would end after graduation. But as I held this envelope in my hands, sliding my index finger into the corner of the flap and dragging it to the opposing end, I had the deep feeling it would progress for some time.

​

Ms. Rader and Scarman were silent. Scarman appeared ashamed; embarrassed. He sat slouched in his seat with a hand over half his face as his elbow rested on the chair's arm. Redness rose in his cheeks while the rest of his face seemed to become as white as paper.

​

Still as a statue with soul-crushing eyes, Ms. Rader simply looked down at the three of us from where she stood behind the desk. Her nostrils were flared wide; she was very clearly not amused by Colgrey and Foldress's humor.

​

"This was what you went upstairs for," I asked as I tore open the envelope, "Isn't it?"

​

Ms. Rader nodded. "The upstairs is unfinished. But only because she doesn't let anyone finish it. For some time now she has left correspondence up there. I check it every day between one-thirty and two to retrieve it, should there be one."

​

Pulling them from within the envelope, I unfolded the papers which made up the letter. The paper itself felt strange; like it'd been outside on a moist, humid day. The cursive letters which composed the message were not written with the neatest of hands, though they still carried the elegant lines which I've only seen a woman be capable of writing with.

It read as follows:

                                                          -----------------------------------------------

'Dear owners of Leroux's Dinner Theater,

​

'I would like to congratulate you on your recent purchase. I'm sure William Scarman has exercised a very sound judgment in his selection of you three to succeed the late Sebastian Leroux as the primary caretakers of this most beloved business.

​

'Leroux's is a very special place to me, so before you begin your reign, there are a few matters which must be cleared up. These matters regard myself exclusively, and are the terms and conditions on which you will all agree with me upon for my occupancy in this theater. It is not, I suppose, required that you submit to these terms. However, it would make your lives much easier if you did. These are the terms which Mr. Leroux originally proposed and agreed to, which Clarissa Rader has followed without inquiry, and which William Scarman has upheld while he held the reigns during his search for a suitable replacement. These are the way things have been done here for the past couple of years; it would be unwise of you to change them now.

​

'On the top tier of tables in the northern corner of the dining room, you will find a small, circular table with a single chair seated at it. In a dinner theater of fifty-two tables, this is table fifty-three. It is not on the books, and no one is ever to be seated at it. This table is mine; tucked away from the noise and the crowds so that I may enjoy the performances in peace.

 

'Venture upstairs, and you will find it, as I'm sure you've been told, unfinished. You need not know why, but I wish for this floor to remain in such a state. The original blueprints for this building had more offices arranged on the third floor. I'm sure, once you tour the building, that you'll find there are offices enough on the second floor. Besides, this is a restaurant and theater. How many offices do you need?

​

'Every attempt at finishing the third floor will elicit severe punishments. I would assume any negative press would be un-welcomed by you gentlemen. Imagine a day when the headlines herald the deaths of multiple contractors within your theater.

​

'Ending my terms on the note of unwanted attention; you will proceed with your day-to-day business as though I am not a being within these walls. I assure you, no amount of Holy Water blessing or technological investigations will ever remove me from these halls. The foolish stock which mortals place in communicating with spirits is something I do not tolerate.

​

'Read these terms again to ensure you can commit to them. Follow them to the letter, and it will be as if I am not even here. At present, I am little more than superstition to your employees. It could remain that way. Do anything which contradicts these, or any other terms which I might add, and I'm sure you'll find you've inherited more than you bargained for.

​

'If I wish to communicate to you, I will put pen to paper as I have on this occasion and many others before it, and will leave it on the third floor for Miss Clarissa to retrieve. Only Miss Clarissa may retrieve it. Remember that the ease with which you run your business is dependent upon my willingness to allow you to do so. You need not agree to these or any other terms I lay before you. But, it would be wise of you to do so.

 

'Charmingly,

'-The spirit on the third floor'

 

After reading through the note once, with no interest in pronouncing its contents out loud, I passed it along to my friends, who each read it through grinning teeth and suppressed laughs. Ms. Rader and Scarman were unamused.

​

"I'm glad you think this is funny," Ms. Rader said in a voice sharper and more cross than usual.

​

"Surely you can see how we might think so," I explained. "You've given us a letter you're alleging was written by a ghost. It does sound like a joke."

​

"Surprised the ghost didn't ask for an allowance," Foldress remarked to Colgrey.

​

"I'm going to take this moment to dismiss myself," Scarman said, standing.

​

"Oh, come on Will!"

​

"No no, Clarissa. I've no more stake in Leroux's Dinner Theater; the burden of ownership is off of my shoulders," he crossed the room and walked out the door. His hand still on the handle, though, he looked back at Ms. Rader and said, "If these three anger her, I wouldn't want to be around for it. She may like you now, but what if that changes?"

​

She took a deep breath in, opening her mouth as if to reply. But then, she closed her lips, pursing them in thought, and then simply replied, "Thank you, Will. I'll be sure to watch my back." And with that, Scarman shut the door and left. To this day, I haven't seen nor heard from him.

​

"So," Foldress said, sitting up a bit more, "if we went downstairs and questioned the wait staff, the cooks, the actors... they'd all corroborate your ghost story?"

​

She looked at him a moment; studying the expression of my friend, her most recent adversary. Through the silence, I thought I'd heard the woman's breathing in heavy, angry breaths. She certainly seemed mad enough. But although the nostrils of her tapered nose were flared, her eyes were wide, and her pupils were as narrow as fine bullets, she controlled her breathing, and spoke in her customary cross voice.

​

"They would tell you," she started, taking the seat previously occupied by Scarman, "that they think there is a ghost. Some will probably claim to seeing 'him', which is how you know they haven't. Others will just have stories of some strange thing which happened to them around the theater."

​

"And what about this note business?"

​

Ms. Rader inhaled deeply, leaning back in her seat before saying, "They don't know that. And if you know what's best for the company, you'll keep quiet about it."

​

"I see," Colgrey said. Foldress and I both turned to the man; we were surprised by the seriousness of his voice.

​

"Do you." Dry and heavy, the words were spoken from Ms. Rader's mouth more as a statement than a question.

​

Colgrey nodded. "Yes, I think so," he said. Having seen the look of confusion on Foldress and I's faces, and the distrust on Ms. Rader's, he added, "I'm not saying I believe one-hundred-percent that there is a ghost. But I'm willing to keep an open mind. I mean; if so many people all seem to share these stories of strange happenings, surely something is going on in the theater."

​

There was yet another bout of silence in the room after that. I myself didn't know if I should take him serious or if he was simply holding out for a punchline. It's safe to assume Foldress and Ms. Rader felt likewise. Ah, how scrutinizing, how truly penetrating were her eyes!

​

"I don't know whether you're being serious, or just humoring me, Mr. Colgrey," she said as she stood. "If you're being serious, then I should think you're doing yourself a favor. If you aren't, be it because you're trying to shut a crazy woman up, or because you're attempting a joke... I'm sure you'll stop laughing soon enough."

​

And with that she left the three of us in our office; off to continue with whatever chores she does throughout her day. As the door latched shut, Colgrey stood, edging his way around the desk until he was behind it, and sat in the seat which Clarissa Rader had just occupied with a sigh. "I think I know what all this was about," he said, motioning around the room with his fingers.

​

"I think," He said, "that perhaps the dear old woman has begun confusing fantasy with reality. Probably schizophrenic or suffering a kind of M.P.S."

​

Icontemplated Colgrey's words a moment. There was a small possibility he couldbe right; his theory did make sense. That would explain why this 'ghost', whosepersona might have spawned from the depths of her mind, wanted to communicate only through Ms. Rader. And, on a subconscious level, Ms. Rader, as the 'ghost', would have included a condition about not bringing in paranormal investigators, knowing full well that the body which crafted those letters was alive. Yes, it very well could have been that this was all in Ms. Rader's head.

 

Or, there could have actually been a ghost. After all, Ms. Rader isn't that old, being in her late forties. Not that age correlates with mental illnesses; however, I would find it difficult to think a woman who seemed as sharp as Clarissa Rader would hold down a full-time job with multiple personalities floating around.

​

The three of us discussed the possibility of Ms. Rader being insane for a while in that office; each person adding more to either argument (though, to be honest, they added to the 'why she is crazy' argument, while I alone added to the 'why she may not be'). From there, the conversation moved on to such matters as payroll, profit, and professionalism. We all seemed, for the most part, in agreement on how the business would be ran between the three of us, which was of some relief in my mind. Of course, our agreement verbally to responsibilities and those responsibilities actually being acted out on a regular basis were two different things. But, as my friends shared my work ethic, I worried little about if they'd carry their own weight.

​

I couldn't help but smile as the three of us held our discussion. We were twenty-two when we first became friends at CI-U, and it was during that year that we'd made a pact to become business partners; equal owners in a profitable enterprise and accountable to no one but ourselves. And here we were, living that dream.

​

The conversation somehow managed to drift towards the interview my friends had with WGN the next morning, and while I wished them the best of luck with it, there was little I could contribute to their discussion. I excused myself from the room, and stepped out into the hall. It was around three-thirty in the afternoon by this point. The sun was just now beginning its slow decent into the horizon; the shadows outside still short on the sidewalk. With so much time until I could return to my apartment (having agreed to manage tonight's dinner service), I decided to make my way downstairs and sit in on the rehearsal for 'Tiffany Knows Best'.

​

With any bit of luck I'd bond more with the likes of Ron Hartman and Teresa Hannigan. And if not, at least it would give me the opportunity to check out Ramona Reid: see if she was really as good an actress as Scarman made her out to be.

I took my seat behind Ron and Gail, watching as the rehearsal continued. The scene involved Ms. Reid's character sitting at a cafe with Savanna White's character, attempting to get to know her better. Presently, the two were rehearsing their duet, "Know You More".

​

Sitting there, watching these cast members, the directors, the pianist... I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. I was glad I was now the owner of a theater, of all things. I can't speak for Foldress or Colgrey, though I'm certain any business would have done it for them, but it felt great being a part of something so grand and with such a regard in the community.

​

So, I sat smiling; listening to this beautiful woman and her young co-star as they sang with angelic voices for their life's work.