The Phantom of Oz, Installment #14
Plus Some More Fun Words
Hello! As most of you know, I’m serializing The Phantom of Oz here in a bit of an experiment. Once a month, you’ll still receive the “regular” Slightly Silly News. If you missed earlier chapters of Phantom, you can find links to all of the earlier installments here.
And before we get to reading, a bit of a catch-up:
In the intro to the last installment of Phantom, I complained about losing a big chunk of the work on my novel. Thanks to all who wrote to commiserate with me. The guy at the Genius Bar at the Apple Store confirmed my fears—the work is really gone.
Though I had saved it in three separate places, unknown to me, iCloud was backing up all of them. And when iCloud and Scrivener had a tiff, iCloud basically threw Scrivener’s record collection out the window. I am still piecing together the bits I recovered on the lawn, but the album that cost me three months worth of babysitting money is gone. (I’ll stop with this metaphor now.)
In better news, after reading the Bumfuzzle! Slightly Silly Newsletter last week, Mary Lynn Ostrom emailed me about some indigenous place names she loves (say them out loud as you read for the word-happiness effect):
Susquehanna
Rappahanock
Monongehela
Youghegheny
Schenectady
And of course, Punxatawney.
Happy Almost-Groundhog Day!
Now, on to Chapter 10, Part Two, “It’s the Ghost Who Did the Trick!” Happy reading!
Chapter 10, Part One
It’s the Ghost Who Did the Trick!
In last week’s installment, the cast of The Phantom of Oz was rehearsing onstage when…
“The ghost!” said a man’s hoarse voice behind me. “She’s here. Up in the fly space.”
Munchkins began to scream. “She’s there.” Madison pointed up. “Don’t you see her? The Lady?” More screaming.
“Hold!” yelled the stage manager.
People rushed onto the stage. Some were mothers protecting their darlings, but most were people hoping to get a glimpse of the ghost. “Quick, take a photo,” said someone next to me.
I pulled out my phone. “What? Where?” No one answered, so I pointed my phone toward the rafters several stories up and snapped a bunch of photos.
Madison’s mother arrived onstage. “What did you see?” she asked her daughter.
“Lights. Up there.” She pointed into the fly space, which was crowded with cables and flats and lights.
“Duh,” said the now-familiar hollow-eyed boy munchkin. I was taking a firm dislike to him.
“No, above where the lights are supposed to be.” Madison turned to me. “Did you get a picture?”
I scrolled through the photos I’d taken, but my phone was so small. “I don’t know,” I said, enlarging the picture. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for...Omigod.”
“What?” said, oh, everyone.
“These photos, they’re full of...glowing orbs.”
“That’s just Glinda’s bubble,” said the munchkin I wanted to smack.
No. I looked again at the four photos I’d taken. Each one of them was full of misty bright circles, like small full moons, or bubbles, or...
“Spirit lights,” said Madison, peering over my shoulder. “Those are ghosts, or maybe just one.”
“Just one? What’s she doing, blowing bubbles?” said the boy munchkin. I decided I wouldn’t learn his name. Didn’t want to give him any power.
“I’d be happy to hold a séance,” Eden said. “I have a Ouija board and—”
“Shhh. I thought I heard footsteps.” Babette stared up into the fly space.
There was no way anyone could have heard anything over the din on stage, but people did quiet down, straining to hear the ghostly footsteps.The theater was almost silent when a whirring noise came from overhead. Dorothy’s house. And it was falling.
“Runaway 47, downstage, heads up!” shouted a techie. Actors and munchkins and mothers bolted, scattering in the wings.
“No!” a man yelled. “Let go!”
A scream from stage left. A blur of motion. A techie, flying into the air. We couldn’t do anything but watch as the runaway rope yanked her up into the fly space.
Bam! Dorothy’s house hit the stage floor and the techie’s ascent stopped. She dangled from the rope some thirty feet above the stage.
“Shit!” Logan ran onstage. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The techie’s voice trembled. “Just get me down fast, okay?”
A flurry of movement backstage, then the woman was slowly lowered down. As she touched down onstage everyone applauded, except for Logan, who looked like he was going to bite off his bottom lip, and Babette, who said, “Hang on. That house could’ve fallen on me. Isn’t anyone concerned that the ghost just tried to kill me?”
Everyone stared at her, open-mouthed. Next to me, a light on a stand flicked on. The Grand Phoenician’s ghost light. Why did someone turn it on? It usually wasn’t lit until later, when everyone was about to leave the theater.
Then, a scuffling noise from Candy’s bubble and movement from within. The silver tent-like fabric dimpled like someone was punching it from the inside. Another louder noise—a muffled cry for help?
“Let her down,” shouted the stage manager. “Lower Glinda’s bubbleship.”
The ship touched down. The stage manager opened the panel that acted as the bubble’s door. Candy crawled out, wild-eyed. “Help!” She clutched her chest. “She’s got me. She’s killing me.”
I rushed to my friend. She didn’t seem to recognize me. I knelt down beside her and felt her pulse. It seemed fast and erratic. “Candy,” I said loudly, right in her face. “Candy.” Shaking violently, she shut her eyes tight against whatever she was afraid of.
“Help should be here right away,” said Logan. “I called 911 as soon as the house fell. I was afraid someone was hurt.” He dropped to one knee beside Candy. “What do you think happened?”
“It was the Lady,” Madison said in a hushed voice.
I forced myself to be calm. I reached for Candy’s hand. She grabbed mine and held on, tight enough that it hurt.
A burst of noise from the stage door, followed by a team of firefighters and EMTs bearing a stretcher and medical equipment. “Here,” I shouted. They ran over to our little group.
“What happened?” asked a guy who was taking Candy’s pulse. Or trying to. She’d let go of my hand and turned into a wild person, screaming and clawing at the air.
“We don’t know,” I said.
“We’re going to need to restrain her.”
I cringed, but the guys were professionals. In what seemed like seconds, they were securing Candy on the stretcher, using soft restraints on her hands and feet. “Let’s get an IV started, and we need a heart monitor,” the first guy said to another EMT. He shone a penlight in Candy’s eyes. “Dilated pupils, but reactive. Do you know if she’s taking any medications?” he asked me. “Or if she’s allergic to anything?” I shook my head, but the stage manager said, “I’ll check her employee file and get right back to you.”
“What kind of medication causes dilated pupils?” I asked, thinking back to what Ricky had said about drugs.
The EMT didn’t answer my question, just said, “Would you help to clear this area? Let’s get some privacy for your friend.”
Watch next week for Installment #15, Chapter 11: “Perplexed Me Most Terribly.”
And if you haven’t read the first four books in the Agatha-nominated series:
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I grew up saying most of those names, as many are indigenous to the northeast and New York. Thank you for sharing.
That reminds me that I grew up saying a couple other great indigenous place names: Sammamish and Walla Walla:)