"What were you saying?" Darren asked. Riley whined. "No, come on now, tell me first, then I will throw the ball."
"I said thank you for playing with me. You have been boring while you read. All you do is sit and stare." Darren gave Riley an annoyed look.
"You're the one who told me to go see the shark, remember?" Riley gave a short, sharp bark. Riley was just as annoyed, but didn't have a retort. "But yes, it's fun playing with you. I'm glad we stopped here for the day at this park too." Darren slowly cocked his arm back. "Ready? Here we go!" He gave the ball a good hard toss, and Riley was off, yelling "Whoooooooo-hoooooooo!" Darren chuckled. Riley didn't come back with the ball, though, because he encountered another dog. The two dogs started to frolic, running back and forth, once they'd completed the obligatory butt-sniffing. Darren wondered what they said during that ritual.
After a few moments, Darren stole a look down at the packet of postcards. He watched Riley while he reached down and took out the postcard in front. He'd been keeping them in order, putting each read one in the back of the stack.
The one he held now showed an older photograph of a movie theater designed in a faux Egyptian style, and just in case the design wasn't obvious enough, it said, "Egyptian Theater, Boise Idaho" on the front, in small letters on the bottom right. Darren flipped it over.
A LIFE CAPTURED ON FILM
Gwen stared down at the sticky bright blue trail her lollipop imprinted upon her shirt and jeans as it rolled down to the floor. She didn’t look at that for long because she was more interested in what she’d seen in the projection booth. She twisted to look up at the window again, but there was nothing to see except the dust swirling through the flickering beam shining through the glass.
She glanced at her friend, Rachel, who was totally engrossed in the movie. Gwen and Rachel had completely different tastes in movies, but in the spirit of compromise they took turns choosing which movies to go see together. This one, some lame slapstick comedy involving talking ostriches, was Rachel’s pick. This meant that Gwen would, more likely than not, spend the duration of the film studying the details of the theater from the gooey debris on the floor to the chipped artwork on the ceiling. At least this theater was more interesting than most, being the Egyptian Theater, an old art-house type of theater.
“Rach,” Gwen whispered to her friend, “I just saw a mummy.” Rachel leaned slightly towards Gwen, cocking her ear, but not taking her eyes off the screen.
“What?” Rachel’s lack of attentiveness was blatant, but also not news to Gwen. Gwen leaned and spoke into Rachel’s ear, causing her friend to flinch slightly with the unexpected volume.
“A mummy! I just saw one, up there in the, what do you call it, the room with the projector. And,” she finished, as Rachel tore her eyes away from the screen to look at her friend confusedly, “I dropped my lollipop.”
“What?” Rachel repeated, glancing back at the screen. Gwen rolled her eyes and slumped back in her seat.
“Forget it, Rach. Just watch the movie,” she muttered. Several times, she stole glimpses at the window, but it remained empty of the shape she had seen. A shape of a person, all wrapped in ribbons of some dark and shiny material. Like film. Exactly like film.
The following Monday at school during lunch, Gwen mentioned the mummy to her oldest friend, Alan, who grew up on the same street as she had.
“Come again?” Alan cocked his ear at her, unsure of what he’d heard. Gwen shifted impatiently.
“I mean it, Bean,” she declared, using their shared nickname, “I know what I saw. A mummy, standing right there in the projector room.”
“Projection booth,” Alan corrected her automatically, but not out of any kind of snobbery. He just did that always, as she did for him. “Okay, well, it’s not impossible, I guess, because that place is haunted big time, but a mummy seems a really weird form for a ghost to be.”
Gwen took a long sip from her Capri Sun juice pack. “What are you talking about, haunted? Ghosts aren’t real.” Alan lifted his shoulders in a massive shrug.
“You’re the one who’s talking about mummies, Bean. Shriveled up living dead people, like some of the teachers here,” Alan moaned, holding his arms out and shuffling a few steps. Gwen tossed her empty juice pack at him.
“I never said it was a real mummy, like the monster movie kind, dumbass,’ she said. “It could have been some dude just all wrapped up, you know. I bet that’s a real boring job up there in the booth.” Alan snickered, raising his eyebrows.
“I could think of many better ways to pass the time, for sure.” He remarked with a leer, scratching his unruly hair. Gwen reached out and bonked him gently on the head.
“Perv,” she giggled.
Gwen forgot about the mummy, the incident completely gone from her consciousness even when she returned to the Egyptian Theater twice in the following month. However, during her third visit at the theater, as the previews played upon the screen, Gwen saw, for the briefest moment, the silhouette of an arm. As if someone had stepped too close to the projector.
Quickly turning to scrutinize the booth window, Gwen’s skin went cold when she saw the wrapped figure standing there motionless. It definitely was wrapped in film, and as far as Gwen could tell, the ribbons of film left not one inch of skin exposed. She stared at the mummy but could not tell if it stared back at her as it stood there without moving.
This time she was with a group of friends from school, but none of them noticed, or cared, that she wasn’t into the various explosions caused by giant horseflies from outer space that were occurring upon the screen. Gwen mumbled something about the bathroom, and made her way into the aisle.
In the lobby, she looked around carefully as she walked up to the door with the worn sign that read EMPLOYEES ONLY. There was just one person visible in the lobby, the concessions/maintenance/manager guy, a gaunt older man wearing an uniform that looked as if it might have been made early in the previous century. This sallow being was slowly sweeping spilled popcorn into those odd looking hinged devices at the end of a pole designed for cleaning up spilled popcorn.
As quietly as she could, Gwen tested the knob to the door, twisting it firmly yet slowly. The door clicked open, and after another quick glance at the lonely employee, Gwen slipped inside the hallway. She walked quickly down the short span of the hall, coming upon three doors; two on her right and one on her left. Doing a quick mental calculation, she deduced that the door on her left led to the booth. The theater only had one screen so it was an easy guess to make. This door was also unlocked, leading to a flight of stairs. Gwen slid off her flip-flops to avoid making any noise on the steps, cringing slightly at the filth her bare feet were making contact with as she ascended.
Gwen realized all of her stealth and anxiety about being caught were all for nothing when she got to the top of the flight. The last door was locked, the knob not yielding at all to Gwen’s firm grip. Grunting with frustration, she gave the door a shove. The door slid open a few inches. Gwen stifled a yelp of surprise. Gingerly she pushed the door further until she could see the machinery of the projector, as well as the digital controls. There was no one in the room. She listened to the whir of the machinery for a few moments before she turned and walked down the stairs, rubbing the gooseflesh on her arms.
She searched various websites online for any information on a ghost or other apparition matching that of the figure she had seen, the filmummy, but her searches proved fruitless. However, Alan was right. The theater had quite the reputation for being haunted. Dozens of stories filled cyberspace about sightings, stories of suicide and heart attacks within the building, stories of construction workers whose mangled remains would forever remain a part of the building’s foundation, and stories of Joe, the projector ghost. Joe was the projectionist at the theater for three decades, right up until when he had a heart attack on the stairs leading up to the booth, dying on the spot on the floor of the booth.
Gwen leaned back in her chair, drawing her knees up to her chin and huddling her legs. “Joe,” she whispered, “what’s up with the mummy getup?” Joe was described as a fairly passive ghost, merely making his presence felt via flickering lights, thumps upon the stairs, a touch here and there on staff people’s shoulders. Either the filmummy was a different ghost, Joe changing his style (or just becoming visible, since there were no actual reported sightings of Joe), or a real person wearing a quite specific outfit.
Gwen decided there was one sure way of getting to the bottom of this puzzle. Since the school year would end soon, she applied for a job at the Egyptian theater, working the concessions stand. She agreed to half-pay, since the theater didn’t earn very much revenue. There was only one full-time staff person, Harry- the gaunt old man who was always there.
Harry wasn’t one for conversation, but Gwen did find out he wasn’t the owner or the manager. The city owned the theater, which explained how the theater was able to stay open with a limited clientele and a single screen. It was designated a historical landmark in the eighties. Harry had nothing to say on the subject of Joe, however.
As jobs went, it was a rather mind-numbingly boring one. Gwen did get to see each film during the first week of release from the booth. Harry explained to her that everything was digital now. The film was downloaded, then all he had to do was hit the start button, and let it run until the end. He didn’t even bother to stay in the booth anymore once he’d started the film. Gwen liked it in there, though. It was a cozy space, and granted her solitude. She sometimes did homework up there, and twice, she’d snuck Alan in. The first occasion, they spent their time chatting and laughing and eating junk food.
The second time though, Alan wanted to look for the ghost. Gwen found this oddly annoying. The search felt as if it should be hers, alone. As Alan walked about the booth, stage-whispering, “Joe? Joe, come on now, we won’t hurt you. Jooooooooooooe?” Gwen found herself angry on a level she had never felt with her best friend, and the anger surprised her. Alan’s lighthearted attitude wasn’t necessarily the wrong one at all, really. Gwen also hadn’t seen the filmummy in nearly a month and half. For all she knew, Harry liked to play dress-up when the moon was full.
Still, the booth’s atmosphere felt different to Gwen now. Almost- violated. No. That was too strong a word. Muddied seemed more appropriate. The air felt thicker, more difficult to breathe in. “Knock it off, Alan,” she’d snapped at him. Alan had turned to look at her bemusedly.
“I’m just playing, Bean.” Alan held out his hands. Gwen turned away from him, looking out the booth window to hide the pique in her eyes.
“Yeah, well, don’t. Just- I’m not in the mood,” she’d told him. Alan shook his head, perplexed.
“Come on, what? You don’t really believe the ghost’s real, do you? They’re just stories, you know that, right?” Gwen stood up to gather her things, sighing irritably.
“I got to get back to work,” she told Alan, her lips tense as the rest of her. Alan stared at her for a few moments, then slowly nodded, his jaws tight. He shook his head and picked up his backpack.
“Whatever,” he muttered. He marched out of the room, peeved. Gwen took a few rapid steps to go after him, but then stopped. If he was going to be that pissy about it, he could just chill for a couple days.
That had been a couple weeks ago. It was now a July Thursday night, and a murder mystery was showing. Gwen liked it the first four times, but now she was looking forward to the next film, even though it was a comedy of the type Rachel liked. Alan and she had patched up already, but Gwen had no desire to invite him back into the booth. She wasn’t sure that she was going to stay much longer at the theater anyway. It paid next to nothing and she didn’t exactly find selling soda, candy, and popcorn very simulating. She wasn’t thrilled with all the grease spots she kept finding on her clothes- even ones she was sure she hadn’t worn to work. It was as if the grease found ways to cling the fabric of her clothes and then transfer to the rest of her wardrobe.
Consequently, Gwen began trying to clean her clothes before leaving at the end of her shift. She sat in the booth with a washcloth she brought along with her from home, scrubbing at the grease spots with various cleaners, half-listening to the film’s dialogue, which she already knew by heart. She was halfway through a butterfly shaped (but half-dollar sized) spot when she glanced up and saw the filmummy.
She flinched so strongly the rag flew out of her hand to land scant inches from the apparition’s feet. She stood up quickly, hissing in trepidation when the figure’s head moved in synchronicity. She stepped to the side away from the chair, and the figure’s head moved again. It didn’t have a face, really, but there was an approximation of features underneath the filmstrips encircling its head.
“Who are you? Is that you, Harry?” Gwen asked, still poised for flight. The figure stood motionless. Gwen studied the filmummy. It was too short to be Harry. Gwen cocked her head, which the figure mirrored. “Are you-” she closed her eyes, breathing out the next word with a nascent, hopeful pleasure, “Joe?” Silence. She opened her eyes to see the figure still motionless. “Not Joe?” she inquired. Still no movement. “Wait, you’re someone else?”
The figure nodded slowly. The sound of the celluloid crinkling caused Gwen’s skin to crawl. Gwen then realized that she hadn’t heard the figure enter the booth, and given how loud the film swathing was, there was no way it’d walked into the room. She shivered involuntarily, then inhaled deeply. This, really, was why she was here.
“So, who are you, then?” The figure said nothing in response to the question. After a moment, however, it moved again. It raised an arm, to point at the projector. Gwen shifted her gaze back and forth between the filmummy and the projector. “I don’t understand,” she protested. “You’re not Joe? Were you another projectionist?” The figure stood still, arm outstretched. Gwen pursed her lips, rolling her eyes slightly. “Don’t tell me I got to play twenty questions with you?” No answer. Gwen sighed, returning to the chair to sit down. She rubbed her face with her hands slowly, organizing her thoughts. “Okay, so, you have some kind of relationship to the projector?” she asked, looking up to see the figure’s reaction, or lack of one.
The figure was gone.
“Aw, crappit,” Gwen said.
She did not need to wait long before her next encounter, though. Two nights later, Gwen entered to the booth to discover the filmummy already standing at the window, gazing (or at least pointing its approximation of a face in that direction) down at the seats.
With a resolution that took her by surprise, Gwen crossed the booth, and stood by the apparition. She stared down at the half-filled theater for a while, debating her next move. Suddenly, she reached out carefully without turning her head and brushed her fingers against the arm of the filmummy. The material was cool and smooth to the touch. The crackle as the filmummy’s head turned drew Gwen’s gaze.
“I’m here for you,” she said. The figure nodded once, then turned to point at the projector again. Gwen frowned as she considered this act. “You want something to do with that?” she inquired, inclining her head towards the projector. Another nod. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Gwen continued with enthusiasm, “but can it wait til my shift is done? I’m due downstairs, and Harry will be up here soon to- and yeah.” She didn’t bother to finish because the booth was now empty of any film-wrapped ghosts.
At the concessions stand, minutes later, Gwen’s legs suddenly buckled under her as the enormity of what had just happened hit her. She’d basically made a date to meet with a ghost to do some unknown deed. Regaining her balance, Gwen prepared to begin her shift.
She remained downstairs for the duration of the entire film, partly to sharpen her anticipation and partly because she was quite nervous about what would transpire. She was so nervous her concentration was shot. She caught herself having to ask customers to repeat their orders, and during the very long intervals between customers, she didn’t even think about grease spots.
After Harry turned off the projector later that night, once the final showing was done, Gwen simply walked into the theater and sat in one of the seats near the back to wait. Harry cleaned the theater in the mornings, so once he shut down the projector, he did a quick sweep of the lobby and the restrooms to look for any stragglers, then left for the evening. Gwen knew where the spare keys were kept, so she had no concerns about being locked in overnight. The alarm system was a problem, but she figured that tripping it on the way out would be just a minor mystery to the police, and the incident would be forgotten as soon as proof that nothing had been vandalized or taken.
Gwen waited in her seat until the main lights went off. Her eyes adjusted to the running lights alongside the walls, but she remained in the seat for a while longer until she was quite sure that Harry was long gone from the building. Only then did she look back over her shoulder up at the booth. There the figure stood. “I will be right up there!” Gwen called, already up and walking towards the exit.
When she opened the door to the booth, Gwen jumped slightly, for the filmummy was standing right there. It turned and pointed again at the projector. Gwen stepped around the figure, nodding. “You want it on, huh?” The figure nodded, and walked over to the window, watching Gwen, or so she assumed. She’d learned the basics from Harry, and was confident she could get the projector running. Anything more complex than that, she’d worry about when the time came.
Once the projector whirred to life, and the bright beam of white light shone through the window onto the screen, the filmummy raised its hand again to point- but this time, at Gwen. Then it pivoted slowly, hand and finger still out, to point out the window. Gwen thought for a moment.
“You want me back out there?” Nod. “You won’t disappear on me again?” The apparition shook its head. “Okay, then. Give me a minute.” She walked quickly down the steps, through the lobby, and back into the theater. She stood in the aisle, feeling awkward. She was about to call out and ask what next, when suddenly images appeared on the screen. Gwen started, watching the repeating loop on the screen. It was a two or three second loop of a clip from a credits scene, which read “Introducing Alfred Gre-” (The last name was partially obscured by scratches).
Then Gwen got it. She called out to the filmummy excitedly, “Your name is Alfred?” She could discern the answering nod. “How did you do that, Alfred?” she called out. Alfred held up his hand, and made some rapid motions in front of the projector lens with it. The loop appeared again. Gwen groped her way to a seat, still staring at the screen. She dropped down into the seat, her jaw open.
“Alfred, that is amazing,” she exclaimed. “So you want me to watch some of the stuff you got wrapped around you, is that what you’re telling me?” Alfred nodded. Gwen beamed at him. She turned around and settled down in the seat. “Take it away,” she cried.
Upstairs, Alfred began to dance. He gyrated, spun, leaped, threw his arms up, shuffled his feet, and many more movements, all at a rate faster than a human eye could discern. As he danced, different parts of his film bandaging flashed in front of the projector, and on the screen, for a rapt Gwen, the story of Alfred’s history played out. When he was done, Darren blinked his eyes rapidly, adjusting to the bright sunlight outdoors, after having been inside the dim theater. He knew this was an illusion, but still his eyes did need to adjust. He realized Riley was at his feet, laying across them. Riley looked up at Darren. "How much more?" he complained to his owner.
Darren stood up. "I'm done," he told the dog. Riley's tail began to wag.
"With all of them?" Darren realized Riley was asking about the entire set of postcards.
"Oh- no I mean I just finished this one. There's still, like forty more to go." Seeing Riley's look of incomprehension, he amended his reply. "A lot more."
Riley lay his head back down, exhaling loudly. "Oh, man," the dog said.
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