Lenore Laymon was never what people expected her to be. Although, in fairness, most expected her to be no older than fifteen. She was a dainty thing. All sharp bones and gently, nearly nonexistent curves. Eternally young in shape but old in mind, Lenore stood a little under five feet tall to her constant chagrin.

Hardly the expected build for an adult thirty-one-year-old woman. It made first impressions difficult. Luckily for her, as she made her way up the spiral of stairs leading from her little room, she rarely had to talk to strangers anymore. Hadn’t for a long time. The visages that she masked her face with suited her stature far better. Elderly silhouettes or childlike features made up most of her collection. Tonight she was the old hag that staff knew as ‘Judith Millhouse’, the Theatre’s General Operations Supervisor.

Her masks were lovely gifts. She didn’t have the time to craft them herself anymore.

“I should visit them soon.” She muses in her mind, curling her gloved hand around the protruding and warty chin of her new face. “Knowing them, they’re likely itching to give me another lecture about how I never leave my room.”

She reaches the top of the staircase. A thick door with thirteen locks. It’s a pain to unlock and when she finally cracks it open she’s blinded by the lighting change. The few candles that lined the cavernous walls had not prepared her.

“Please be empty! Please be empty!”

Thank goodness, the utilidor is empty. No workers in sight. No unsolicited socializing. Just the way she likes it.

The utilidor, utility corridor, is a vast tunnel system that only Theatre personnel have access to. It wraps around the Theatre like a snake strangling a rabbit. The tunnels are tall, wide, and drafty. Pipelines cover every inch of wall, bent in all directions and diving in and out of sight. The pipes were in several colors; predominantly in white, blue, and, more than anything else, red.

She shuts the door behind her. It perfectly blends into the wall and when it locks, it's like there was never a door there at all. Her footsteps tip-tap incessantly as she speed-walks up the utilidor. Her cane keeps the beat with a heavy thud every one-and-a-half steps.

Moments tick by.

“Make way, people!” Around another corner, a voice whisper-shouts, “I can’t believe this shit… Make way, injured performer!”

Lenore pauses, eyebrow raised. “Injured performer…”

She fixes her hood further over her head, hunches her shoulders, and turns the corner.

“What has happened here?” Her voice booms in a tone not her own. Upon hearing it, the group of workers snap to attention, bodies suddenly tense. They’re all standing except for a large man sat in the middle of the circle. He’s dressed is a white puffy blouse and tight purple pants. The pant leg of his left ankle is pulled up. He’s gripping the joint and rocking back and forth.

“Must I repeat myself?” Lenore says, marching through the crowd. She stops in front of a lanky woman who, unlike Lenore, was authentically an elder. Like the rest of the workers, she’s wearing a Theatre uniform with a gold and violet Theatre pin. However, the clipboard she held distinguishes her as one of the floor managers.

Lenore leans on her cane and huffs, “Missus Netta Vernon.”

Missus Vernon clears her throat. “I apologize for disturbing you, Missus Millhouse--”

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked for you to tell me what has happened here and I have yet to receive an answer.”

“Of course, Missus Millhouse,” Missus Vernon gestures to the injured man, whom Lenore recognizes as the gymnast Joe Brogan, “I’m afraid Mister Brogan took a fall off his balancing beam. Unfortunately, we’ve blocked the hallways carrying in his equipment from the stage. If you give me a moment, I’ll clear the way for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Lenore sidesteps the manager and speaks to Joe. Although he maintains a stiff lip and a forced smile, it was clear that his ankle was causing him a great deal of pain. Lenore stops in front of him and makes a show of shakily bending down to his eye level.

“Your ankle was injured, Mister Brogan?”

His voice is strained, “Yes, Ma’am. But I think it’s just a sprain. Give me an hour and I’ll be back on the beams--”

“I think not, sir. You will be given a few days off to rest that ankle. Maybe a week.”

Joe’s eyes go wide with what was unmistakably fear. He scrambles to his feet, wincing when weight is put on his left leg. That doesn’t stop him from trying to stand.

Joe sputters, “No, no please, Ma’am, please don’t put me on leave! I’m fine, my ankle’s fine!”

The expression of disinterest stays on her masked face, even as Joe’s begs get more desperate. She says, “You’ll be paid for the hours missed, of course.”

“Please, I need the shifts, I—What?” The gymnast stumbles, falling onto his back with a wince.

“And we’ll have to add a pay raise for short-term disability.” She glances over her shoulder at Missus Vernon, “Forward the incident to upper management and they’ll handle payout and billing.”

“Yes, Missus Millhouse.”

Lenore shakily stands, greatly exaggerating the difficulty of the motion. Joe’s only then relaxes into his position on the ground.

Lenore asks, “You work on floor ten, Mister Brogan?”

“... Yes, Ma’am. Stage four.”

“All right,” Lenore studies the workers, still standing tense, “Continue as you were. I will be going to floor ten to investigate. Inform security to be on high alert.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” All the workers answer in unison, turning back to their tasks with quick efficiency. Lenore marches to the heavy metal door adjacent to the crowd. Before she can disappear behind the hatch, Joe calls out to her from within the circle of workers tending to his ankle.

“Thank you for the pay raise, Ma’am!” There’s relief in his voice, and just the barest hints of a genuine laugh, “Thank you kindly!”

The little lady scowls, although Joe wouldn’t be able to see from his angle, and replies, “It’s Theatre policy, Mister Brogan…”

~*~

This was an unexpected divergence, but a necessary one all the same. Hopefully, if she made haste, she’ll make it upstairs in time.

Floor ten is a long gallery ballroom, simpering warmly under gentle lantern-light. The floor, walls, and ceiling are metal but carved with intricate designs and painted brown to imitate sturdy oak. Unlike most ballrooms, floor ten is compacted with its border of towering black platform stages. The stages are raised circles, five feet off the floor, under ceiling-high arches. Twelve acts are performing simultaneously tonight, and each performance has a populous crowd gathered. The only stage barren is Joe Brogans, although the guests barely notice his absence.

Lenore meanders near the walls as she maneuvers her way through the crowds that the audiences had split into. She spies two men and a woman, dressed casually. To anyone else, the three of them were indistinct from any other guest. But Lenore was well aware of the way they scanned the room, ignoring the performances. When Lenore makes eye contact with one of them, a silent sense of understanding passes between them. They had alerted the security as she had instructed. She watches the guests, distracted in their delight. Most were children with their parents, which was normal for this floor.

Everything seems to be business as usual. Until she sees it. Or more accurately, him.

He’s a scrawny fellow, more boy than man. Everyone wore their best when they came to the Theatre, but the best for most was still pretty ragged. This fellow is dressed to kill. A dapper grey suit, pristine pinstripe pattern, and a Panama hat. Not a scuff or a hole. A rich kid, that much was certain. Lenore watches him stroll up to a stage, thinking he’s slick as he tries and fails to hide the can of beans he’s holding behind his back.

She again makes eye contact with the security. They exchange nods. The security quickly, but not so quick to cause an alarm, close in on him. But, alas, they would be too late.

This fellow is watching the dancer Liliana and the singer Lucio perform on their stage. They’re a nice couple although their act could use some work. Liliana could be a little stiff and Lucio’s voice went flat sometimes. But every night, they’re act improved. Their crowd was much smaller than the other stages but it was still a decent number of people, mostly little kids dancing with Liliana or singing with Lucio.

They did not deserve what was about to happen.

The scrawny fellow draws the can out from behind his back like it's a pistol. From the back of the crowd, he’s invisible to the audience and the performers. He rears back, aiming directly at Liliana’s head.

His feet go flying out from under him.

The scrawny fellow squeaks, arms flailing. Before his head makes contact with the hard metal floor, a cane catches him by the neck and ruthless hand slaps over his mouth.

“Purposefully causing injury to Theatre personnel,” The little lady whispers into the fellow’s ear, her much smaller body pressed close to his back, “Is punishable by removal from Theatre property without refund.”

Lenore slowly removes the handle of her cane from his neck. Her other hand remains were it is. Security finally draws in, grabbing the fellow by his elbows.

The little lady continues in a low voice, “Security will guide you out where your ticket will be confiscated and your name will be put on our suspension list. Damage fees will also be billed. Any attempt to argue or fight will result in a permanent ban. Come quietly and ticket privileges may be reinstated after suspension. Is that clear?”

She takes her hand off his mouth and steps away. The fellow is slack-jawed with shock and fearfully silent. Shakily, he nods.

“Good. Have a magical evening.”

Two of the security guards guide him across the ballroom, more dragging than walking. They slip behind one of the curtains and into one of the many hidden entryways into the utilidor. In less than a minute, the fellow is removed and the other guests are none the wiser.

Except for one.

A little girl, with red rosy cheeks who can’t be any older than ten, gawks at the little lady. She's holding the hand of an older woman who, like everyone else, is blissfully unaware of what had gone on just seconds ago. She was one of the little kids singing alone with Lucio. She had a cheery little voice, a little rough from lack of use. Now she is mute with dread. Aware of what had happened to the fellow with the can and aware that the person who did it now knows that she saw it happen. She visibly shrinks.

Lenore pulls her hood further over her forehead and shuffles out of the ballroom. Before she leaves, she gestures for the last remaining security guard. When they draw close, Lenore murmurs, “The little girl with the red cheeks. Give her and her guardian a full refund and a complimentary food basket.”

“Yes, Missus Millhouse.”

Lenore decides to leave through the guest entrance instead of going back to the utilidor. Outside the ballroom is a staircase leading to the last stop of the guest elevator. Atop the ballroom door is a large gold neon sign with floor ten’s name. The Harlequin. As she closes the ballroom door behind her, the guest elevator dings.

The little lady crouches down beside the back of the staircase. She holds as still as stone.

The guests pour out, rushing down the staircase, talking and laughing with each other as they went. As far as they know, they’re the only people in the hall as they filter into the Harlequin. Only when their individual voices are drowned out by all the others, does Lenore move. She inches back and sidesteps into a hidden cavity within the stairs. Unseen by the audience members is a second birdcage elevator. Its smaller than the guest elevator with no furnishing. Just harsh metal and wires.

Lenore sighs, “Finally, some privacy.” She allows a wry smile to grace the thin lips of her mask as she reaches into her sleeve. She pulls out a big silver key, sticking it into the elevators keyhole, the doors slide open. She looks up only to come nose to nose with a man, glassy-eyed and pasty-skinned, standing in the entrance.

“Ah!” She yelps and lurches backwards, colliding with the narrow back wall of the hidden cavity. Then she growls, pulling back the hood of her cloak.

“Bloody hell, Mr. Tanner!” She says, stepping onto the rickety platform “Must you stand so quietly like that?”

“Apologies, Miss.” He says in earnest as the elevator doors close behind her, “Lady Averill sent me to make sure you ‘make good time’.”

Mister Jason Tanner is the doorman and head cleaner at the Theatre. It would be a lesser status, one that would have kept him from being authorized to ride this elevator, if it weren’t for one thing. Mr. Tanner knows. About the hidden eleventh floor. About the experiments. About Judith Millhouse, who was really Lenore. He was one of only two other people in the Theatre who knows. That grants some privileges, such as riding the Multi Elevator which, unlike the guest elevator, moved up, down, and sideways. It speeds around the Theatre floor, the utilidor, the guest elevator, completely out of sight. Darting, diving, and dashing like a rocky roller coaster. It’s liable to make you a little motion sick if you stay on it too long. Mr. Tanner rides it all the time, often just to keep Lenore and Lady Averill company when he isn’t answering the door or cleaning after hours.

Mr. Tanner’s performances are between 8:00 am and 4:00 pm every Sunday through Wednesday as he sweeps through the floors, dusting and polishing. Only the other workers can hear him sing, little half-lullabies under his breath. They never said it aloud but his voice could even rival Lady Averill’s.

Oddly enough, Lenore hasn’t heard his mournful lullaby in a good few nights, though she’s sure she’s been seeing him around more often than usual. His singing is one of the few ways Lenore had been able to tell the day from the night without the use of a timepiece. It’s worrying to have the nighttime be so silent.

“You have been hanging around here far more often, Mr. Tanner,” Lenore states. Her silent question hangs in the air for a time while the two stare ahead at nothing. The multi elevator takes a series of sharp swivels.

“... Patrols have increased in my neighbourhood in the past few weeks. It makes me nervous. Lady Averill has given me a place to stay in the Theatre until I can find someplace new.”

“I see.” They say nothing for a little while. Mr. Tanner turns to her, his black eyes studying her for a moment. The elevator pitches a little as it clears the fifth floor. “Rest assured, this will not impede my duties, Miss. The deliveries will be sorted and examined on schedule.”

“Good.”

He waits. She says nothing more. Only then does he raises an eyebrow, “You look agitated, Miss.”

“I always look agitated. It’s part of my character.” Lenore’s eyes narrow for a second before she smooths out her features.

“... More so than usual. The project did not go well, I presume?”

More silence. The elevator doors shake like they always did when they passed floor three. Lenore sighs, “No, Mr. Tanner. It did not.”

Mr. Tanner looks away as the elevator comes to a stop.

“Pity.” He says. He unlocks the door and gestures for Lenore to walk through.

Lenore closes her eyes, “Gents first.”

Mr. Tanner steps out and Lenore adjusts her cloak as she follows him. Since they were on the top floor, there was no staircase to hide behind. Instead, they found themselves on the top floor balcony. The balcony is dim, shadowed by vast dark navy curtains fit for the stage of a theatre. For that was what this balcony was. Another of the Theatres stages with a show in the works to begin.

The show itself stands a few steps away from the curtains. She’s still as a statue. If she was just a statue, etched in marble and gold, one would surely compare her to that of an angel, an enchantress, or a saint.

Her back curves ever so slightly with effortless strain. Leaning to her left, her legs point straight like a ballerina’s. Her black dress covers her well, only her upper chest and hands remained exposed although there is an occasional hole. The tears are sewed closed with bright yellow thread, resembling strands of gold woven in tight ringlets. From the back, she looks almost chaste. As she stands she hugs her chest tight, fingers resting daintily on her collarbones. Her lion's mane of long, thick midnight locks flows freely down her back like a river of silk.

Outside the curtains, they hear the rumbling of the crowd.

“Good evening, Lady Averill.” Mr. Tanner leans his head in a half bow. Lenore, on the other hand, rolls her eyes at the woman, little more than amused by the fanfare.

“Already playing for the crowd, Odell?”

The living statue moves, dropping her arms slowly to her side and turning her head to peek just a little over her shoulder. What an odd face she has. The clash of pigment mottling her skin. Dark Caramel and pale cream. The leering grin resting on her soft face betrays her nature. Truly, she is less a saint and more of a siren. For Odell is fairly different from Lenore. She is exactly what people expected her to be.

“That’s what they made me for, shapeshifter.” Whereas Lenore’s voice is clipped and impassive, Odell sounds heavy, like steam and spice.

“Now get behind the back curtains. My show is about to start.”

~*~

Back down in the depths of the Theatre, a strangeness occurs on floor nine.

Floor nine is the only room out of all the others that is not odd in the slightest. Every room has a theme, and this one is just the business of plays in its truest form. No outlandish antics, cons, or otherwise bamboozling around the idea of a what a Theatre could be. The marquee outside the foyer was titled The Play Cave. It runs one show a day, four times as the night goes on. This is the room that attracted the customers that want to feel like they are of a higher presence than the people in rooms such as the Harlequin. It let them hide their filth underneath highbrow pastimes.

Tonight the play Jovial Soul is in the middle of its second run through. All audience members are in their seats. The red velvet doors behind the back row creak and slowly drift forward. If the Play Cave had a full house, perhaps someone may have noticed. Tonight, only the front rows and theatre boxes have people seated, and no one finds the creaking to be of any concern to them.

In the dark and desolate back of the auditorium, light blues flicker, faint as the glimmer of a lake under an overcast moon. The more radiant it gets, the more potent the smell that follows it becomes.

It's pitch black but for the stage where an actress was playing the ghostly character, Ethel, who was in the middle of a comical monologue to the amusement of the audience. When the antics of the characters again pull another burst of laughter, something so rarely heard outside of the Theatre, the source of the glowing passes through the doors.

If it is possible for light and paper to be timid, that would surely be the best description for the wanderings of the blue twinkle. Upon closer inspection the colour is fickle, getting brighter and softer in slow intervals. It slips through the cracks between each page. The occasional glint of crimson joins the prevailing sapphire in its glittering.

The entity, Lenore’s unnamed accident, travels aimlessly around the room.

What is it thinking? Can it think at all? Is it frightened or fearless? It stays far from the stage, avoiding the blinking light bulbs lining the outer seats and the box lights suspended around the front stage curtains. Silent as a mouse, apart from the faint stir from the rustling of its papers.

It makes it to the side doors leading to the next set of stairs. With a little twirl, it blows them open. It floats away, continuing its aimless journey. On its way out, it passes the circle of lights around the door frame and the small flicker it made was just enough to attract the attention of a gentleman in a front-row seat.

While he and the audience are clapping at the end of the first act, in the corner of his eye he sees a figure; large as a grown man with an oblong wavy outline. He stops mid-clap and stares at where he thought the shadow had been. In the short time after he had noticed the flicker, he notices the faint whiff of iron in the room.

When the lights come on to signify the intermission before the second act, he rises from his seat and calls for the usher.