Starbeast
Benevolent Galaxy Being
I'm #7
I was as grim looking as the winged gargoyles that decorated the outside fifth floor of this crumbling 153 year old, Chicago opera house, known as the Genesse Theater. I paid the cab driver, grabbed my suitcase of essentials, then limped to the front door. My wolf's head cane relieved the pain in my leg (an injury I received back in the 1980's, from serving in the Kuwait war). When I reached the front double doors, they opened, Patrick McGoohan greeted me. "At last, the writer, has arrived. Please come in, Mr. Foxworth."
"Thank you Patrick."
"I normally don't let anyone come here. But, the fact that you are a well known author of paranormal mysteries, along with a generous cash offer, helped convince me, to allow you access to my gothic paradise."
"It's a beautiful opera house. Perfect for me to write my new book. Lot's of classic atmosphere."
"Yes. I have your room ready."
"Great. After I settle in, I'd like to wander around this old theater."
"To gather inspiration, I'm sure. But, do be careful, there are a lot of damaged areas, such as fallen stones from the walls. I wouldn't want you to take an unfortunate misstep. People have died here, you know."
#
An hour later, I began exploring the Genesee Theater. I looked around the dusty dressing rooms, strode through the balconies, and finally ended up in an organ pit. Curiosity overwhelmed me to press a brass button, located on the wall next to me. Suddenly, the huge organ rose slowly in front of the massive opera stage. I marveled at this artistic instrument, and how well polished it had been kept. I was startled by Patrick's voice.
"You are looking at my pride and joy of this theater. When I purchased this opera house, three decades ago, I had this organ repaired. I plan to have it relocated, before this building is condemned. Do you play?"
"No, sir. I wish I could"
"Allow, me."
After Patrick switched on an air pump for the organ, he began to play, Bach's, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. He was a master with the keyboard, but it was eerie to watch him perform, with a curled smile on his lips, and crazed eyes. I still applauded when he finished playing.
"Thank you. I haven't played for an audience, in a long time. Since thee, unfortunate accident of a fellow performer."
"What happened?"
"The poor soul, was beheaded when he fell under the organ. I couldn't stop the mechanism, as it lowered down into the pit, pinching off, his head. He was one of the few, who met an untimely death in this theater."
"I think, I'll turn in now. I want to spend all day tomorrow typing a few chapters, in my room."
"Ah, good. I'll be in town tomorrow. We can have dinner together."
"Sounds good."
"Excellent. Oh, and please, don't walk around the opera house when I'm not here. I wouldn't want you to be, another victim of an accidental death."
#
The following morning, Mr McGoohan, observed me taking sandwiches and coffee on a tray to my room. He waved goodbye to me, I nodded in acknowledgement with a sandwich hanging from my mouth, as I shuffled away in my black sweat pants, faded t-shirt and warm slippers on my feet. I sat near a window, typing, and as soon as I heard his car drive off, I suddenly remembered, I left my cheese danish on the kitchen counter. I groaned, "I'd better get it before something crawls on it."
#
Sliding on wide hand railings made it easy for me to quickly go down four flights of stairs, then I used my cane to limp the rest of the way. Once in the kitchen, I flicked on the light. I noticed a large, black, green-eyed spider scrambling away, and disappearing in a slight shadow underneath an upper, left hand brick in the painted white wall. I wanted a closer look at this unique looking arachnid, so I stood upon a chair, then tried to gaze into opening. I could feel a slight breeze coming from the horizontal hole, and I could see that the brick above it, was without grout. When I touched the seemingly loose upper brick, it depressed and the wall slid open. To my joy, I found a secret passage.
#
Fortunately, a nearby flashlight lit my way into the unknown. A short corridor led to a steep stone stairway, which I happily ventured downward. Deep below was a stone room with an old wooden table against a wall. Atop it was a lantern, a box of matches and an ashtray filled with ashes and burnt matches. I knew the lantern would be better than the weak luminescence of the flashlight, so I struck a match, lit it, and eliminated the dark by increasing the oiled wick. I grinned at seeing a huge, ancient looking, wooden door, which I delighted upon hearing it's eerie creakiness as I slowly pushed my way into the next room. My eyes were met with nerve-ripping horror, as I stood frozen, I stared at an abomination that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Trembling, I turned and headed for the staircase, then quickly hobbled up the stony passage with my heart pounding in my chest. As I reached the top, I stumbled, my wolf's head cane slid downward on the steps in a clatter, I scrambled on my hand and knees through the corridor. I stopped moving, when I saw a dark figure obstructing my escape, it was Patrick.
"I came back for my grocery list. Let me help you to your feet."
"Don't touch me!", I said loudly as I stood up.
Patrick looked at the passage, then at me, with a raised eyebrow. "Find something...disturbing, down there?"
"What, are those, creatures?"
"Those hairless, creatures, are a breed of Spinx cat. Most of them are only kittens."
"What are they doing?"
"I have them using old typewriters. They're helping me to write my own novel. I wish you didn't discover my secret, like the others did."
"You, killed them. Are you going to kill me too?!"
"Heaven's no. I didn't harm anyone."
"The deaths you mentioned, they weren't accidents. You murdered them all!"
"No one ever died here."
"But you said..."
"I made that up. I thought I'd spice up this deary place with some scary stories, to give it atmosphere, for your new book. I'm a big fan of yours."
"But what about the cats?" Just then, one of the hairless felines strode past me, holding a few pages in it's mouth.
"Ahhh, Reginald. Thank you."
"Meow meow, fourth chapter, meow meow."
"This is splendid. Would you like to read this Mr Foxworth?"
"Then you're really on the level about writing a novel?"
"Of course. I'm not a monster."
"Oh baby. What a relief. Hey. This is quite good. A spooky story about a dog ghost. I like it."
"Meow meow, thank you, meow meow."
As the cat rubbed against my legs, a cold chill ran up my spine...this cat...can talk!?
Opera House of Dark Secrets
I was as grim looking as the winged gargoyles that decorated the outside fifth floor of this crumbling 153 year old, Chicago opera house, known as the Genesse Theater. I paid the cab driver, grabbed my suitcase of essentials, then limped to the front door. My wolf's head cane relieved the pain in my leg (an injury I received back in the 1980's, from serving in the Kuwait war). When I reached the front double doors, they opened, Patrick McGoohan greeted me. "At last, the writer, has arrived. Please come in, Mr. Foxworth."
"Thank you Patrick."
"I normally don't let anyone come here. But, the fact that you are a well known author of paranormal mysteries, along with a generous cash offer, helped convince me, to allow you access to my gothic paradise."
"It's a beautiful opera house. Perfect for me to write my new book. Lot's of classic atmosphere."
"Yes. I have your room ready."
"Great. After I settle in, I'd like to wander around this old theater."
"To gather inspiration, I'm sure. But, do be careful, there are a lot of damaged areas, such as fallen stones from the walls. I wouldn't want you to take an unfortunate misstep. People have died here, you know."
#
An hour later, I began exploring the Genesee Theater. I looked around the dusty dressing rooms, strode through the balconies, and finally ended up in an organ pit. Curiosity overwhelmed me to press a brass button, located on the wall next to me. Suddenly, the huge organ rose slowly in front of the massive opera stage. I marveled at this artistic instrument, and how well polished it had been kept. I was startled by Patrick's voice.
"You are looking at my pride and joy of this theater. When I purchased this opera house, three decades ago, I had this organ repaired. I plan to have it relocated, before this building is condemned. Do you play?"
"No, sir. I wish I could"
"Allow, me."
After Patrick switched on an air pump for the organ, he began to play, Bach's, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. He was a master with the keyboard, but it was eerie to watch him perform, with a curled smile on his lips, and crazed eyes. I still applauded when he finished playing.
"Thank you. I haven't played for an audience, in a long time. Since thee, unfortunate accident of a fellow performer."
"What happened?"
"The poor soul, was beheaded when he fell under the organ. I couldn't stop the mechanism, as it lowered down into the pit, pinching off, his head. He was one of the few, who met an untimely death in this theater."
"I think, I'll turn in now. I want to spend all day tomorrow typing a few chapters, in my room."
"Ah, good. I'll be in town tomorrow. We can have dinner together."
"Sounds good."
"Excellent. Oh, and please, don't walk around the opera house when I'm not here. I wouldn't want you to be, another victim of an accidental death."
#
The following morning, Mr McGoohan, observed me taking sandwiches and coffee on a tray to my room. He waved goodbye to me, I nodded in acknowledgement with a sandwich hanging from my mouth, as I shuffled away in my black sweat pants, faded t-shirt and warm slippers on my feet. I sat near a window, typing, and as soon as I heard his car drive off, I suddenly remembered, I left my cheese danish on the kitchen counter. I groaned, "I'd better get it before something crawls on it."
#
Sliding on wide hand railings made it easy for me to quickly go down four flights of stairs, then I used my cane to limp the rest of the way. Once in the kitchen, I flicked on the light. I noticed a large, black, green-eyed spider scrambling away, and disappearing in a slight shadow underneath an upper, left hand brick in the painted white wall. I wanted a closer look at this unique looking arachnid, so I stood upon a chair, then tried to gaze into opening. I could feel a slight breeze coming from the horizontal hole, and I could see that the brick above it, was without grout. When I touched the seemingly loose upper brick, it depressed and the wall slid open. To my joy, I found a secret passage.
#
Fortunately, a nearby flashlight lit my way into the unknown. A short corridor led to a steep stone stairway, which I happily ventured downward. Deep below was a stone room with an old wooden table against a wall. Atop it was a lantern, a box of matches and an ashtray filled with ashes and burnt matches. I knew the lantern would be better than the weak luminescence of the flashlight, so I struck a match, lit it, and eliminated the dark by increasing the oiled wick. I grinned at seeing a huge, ancient looking, wooden door, which I delighted upon hearing it's eerie creakiness as I slowly pushed my way into the next room. My eyes were met with nerve-ripping horror, as I stood frozen, I stared at an abomination that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Trembling, I turned and headed for the staircase, then quickly hobbled up the stony passage with my heart pounding in my chest. As I reached the top, I stumbled, my wolf's head cane slid downward on the steps in a clatter, I scrambled on my hand and knees through the corridor. I stopped moving, when I saw a dark figure obstructing my escape, it was Patrick.
"I came back for my grocery list. Let me help you to your feet."
"Don't touch me!", I said loudly as I stood up.
Patrick looked at the passage, then at me, with a raised eyebrow. "Find something...disturbing, down there?"
"What, are those, creatures?"
"Those hairless, creatures, are a breed of Spinx cat. Most of them are only kittens."
"What are they doing?"
"I have them using old typewriters. They're helping me to write my own novel. I wish you didn't discover my secret, like the others did."
"You, killed them. Are you going to kill me too?!"
"Heaven's no. I didn't harm anyone."
"The deaths you mentioned, they weren't accidents. You murdered them all!"
"No one ever died here."
"But you said..."
"I made that up. I thought I'd spice up this deary place with some scary stories, to give it atmosphere, for your new book. I'm a big fan of yours."
"But what about the cats?" Just then, one of the hairless felines strode past me, holding a few pages in it's mouth.
"Ahhh, Reginald. Thank you."
"Meow meow, fourth chapter, meow meow."
"This is splendid. Would you like to read this Mr Foxworth?"
"Then you're really on the level about writing a novel?"
"Of course. I'm not a monster."
"Oh baby. What a relief. Hey. This is quite good. A spooky story about a dog ghost. I like it."
"Meow meow, thank you, meow meow."
As the cat rubbed against my legs, a cold chill ran up my spine...this cat...can talk!?
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