Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 52, No. 7 & 8, July/August 2007

The creepy thing about the old movie house, even a little scary, was that the small, dim, shrouded usher lights were glowing near the floor in the aisles. Maybe, she told herself, it was some sort of security effort — leave a light on and frighten the lowlifes away. And that was laughable; she was here, wasn’t she? Or maybe the lights had been burning for ages because the last person to trot home to bed had forgotten to shut them off. Whatever. It was just as well. She had a flashlight somewhere in her pack, but it was dead — dead as the grave.

She’d got in through the unlocked emergency exit on the alley. Unlocked, hell! The door had been standing slightly ajar. And with the rain pouring down like crazy it might as well have had a motel vacancy sign blazing over it. A short dark corridor had led her to this room, the auditorium. So there was security for you.

She shrugged out of her sodden backpack and set it down at her feet. She needed shelter, a place to crash for the night, and this ought to do just fine. She wondered if there was a working toilet here. She’d feel more at ease if she could make out something of her surroundings.

The room was big. She could feel the size of it. She had the sense of floating in a great, black immensity. All that the feeble lights revealed were the broken outlines of two aisles rising toward the back of the room. She couldn’t make out anything else; the banks of seats were a featureless mass.

But if that direction was the back of the room, then — she turned and peered over her shoulder — the screen had to be right up there behind her. She couldn’t make it out, though. It was just part of the contiguous darkness.

Still, it was better than the street. There might be rats, of course. There often were in derelict buildings. But she would spread out her sleeping bag, burrow down deep, pull the rain flap over her face, and they would leave her alone.

But spread it where? It was so darn dark!

She turned away from the barely visible aisles and the indistinguishable seats. If she moved in the direction of where the screen ought to be, she ought to come up against the edge of the stage. Old theaters always had a stage. What had they called it in drama class? A proscenium? Or was that the arch over the stage? No matter. Climb up on that and she’d be safe from rats. Well, she’d feel safer, anyway.

She stooped to grip the pack in her right hand, straightened up, and took a very careful exploratory step. Nothing blocked her way. She took another, then another, placing each foot cautiously, feeling for rotten boards or open holes in the floor before bearing down with her full weight.

After three short, tentative steps she halted. She’d felt something. A gentle draft of air against her face as if a door had opened in the building somewhere. No. She was being ridiculous. The creepy old place was starting to get to her. If she was going to feel like this, maybe she’d be better off out on the street after all.

Another step.

Another—

And then her heart gave a wrenching leap. Somebody had coughed. Or at least she had heard something that sounded like a cough.

She wasn’t alone. That explained those freaky lights. She ought to have realized it in the first place, only—

She heard it again, or thought she did. A thin, short rasping sound that reverberated faintly in the unseen depths of the room. Instantly choked off as if suppressed by the back of a hand.

Her heart was now pounding so hard it seemed to be reverberating off the walls. If only it wasn’t so damn dark in the place. If only she had brought a flashlight that worked. If only—

A floorboard creaked. Now that she was sure of. There was no mistaking it. And she was absolutely certain it came from somewhere off to her right. Now her knees were trembling so violently her whole body was shaking. A cold dread pressed around her like a suffocating weight. She turned back to the tracery of aisle lights.

“Anybody there?”

Her own quavering voice startled her. It didn’t even sound like her. And why ask the question, anyway? She was the intruder. The situation was ridiculous.

Ridiculous but absolutely terrifying.

And then she heard the rasp of a breath. She knew she heard the rasp of a breath. And at the same moment the aisle lights winked as if something shadowy had passed in front of them. She felt herself losing control. Starting to panic. She lurched blindly toward the exit just as a whickering sound whipped past her head. What the hell was that? Were there bats in here?

The whickering sound came at her again, but she only heard the start of it this time.