Of Masks and Macarenas

By Beka Gremikova

“I hate my job.” Tina scowled at the curtains that separated her from the audience. “I’d rather play bingo.”

“No, you don’t.” Tello, the stage manager, shuffled his cue cards. “And no, you wouldn’t. You hate bingo.” He tugged at her arm. “Come on, your cue’s coming any minute!”

“Yayyyyy, time to go get out-staged by a—”

“Oh hush, you should be grateful! All the great singers get haunted. It’s part of their charm.” His face brightened. “That’s your cue!”

Before Tina could protest, he pushed her into the middle of the stage. She nearly tripped and landed on her face. She gave her skirts an angry swish and shot a dark look over her shoulder. Tello just smiled at her.

Tina glanced up into the rafters. A chuckle floated down to her.

She sighed.

Her nemesis was here.

From the musicians’ pit, the soaring strains of the chorus faded away. Then the high notes of her aria tiptoed through the air. She folded her hands together, heart thumping. Her shoulders tensed.

Then, she started to sing.

She poured all her strength and power into her voice, and the front row audience members leaned forward in their chairs. Their rapt attention lasted through the song’s midpoint, the ghost in the rafters staying silent. Tina rolled her shoulders, felt a relieved smile stretch her lips—

As if on cue, the ghost’s deep, smooth voice cut off her song. The musicians scrambled to best match the ghost’s dramatic tenor, the melody swinging low and haunting.

She waved at the maestro, hoping to get him to cater to her, not the ghost.

But the maestro’s eyes were on his musicians, and the audience’s attention swiveled to the rafters, where a shadow danced across the curtains.

Was the ghost dancing the Macarena while singing an opera?

Chuckles floated to her from the front row.

Not only had he taken over her act, he’d made it into a laughingstock. That interrupting, thieving opera ghost.

During his first appearance two nights ago, Tina had tried to fight back. She’d projected more, pressed her voice higher and further, but he had still drowned her out. She drew herself upright and walked off the stage, ignoring Tello’s protest. She’d cut this ghost off before his presence became a refrain.

Time to do a bit of ghost hunting.

Tina strode through the meandering tunnels under the old opera house, snagging cobwebs Tello had allowed to build up for dramatis effectis. She swiped them against her skirts. “Good grief, this place probably hasn’t been cleaned since Erik lived here!” She shuddered at the mention of the human-pretending-to-be-a-ghost who had tormented her poor predecessor.

She turned down a passage. Doors etched with golden stars lined the walls. The high, soft voices of long-dead opera singers drifted out. At least these ghosts knew how to behave. They haunted the ancient dressing rooms, emerging only at night for bingo in the opera hall. The living were… discouraged from joining after the ghosts discovered they were too slow at calling and too quick to shout “bingo!”

Past the last door, Tina marched down a set of narrow stairs leading to Erik’s old domain. The strains of a popular tune floated through the air, full of funk and bounce.

Heh. My hunch was right. He would use the Phantom’s old chambers, the upstart.

She stopped on the last step. In the lavish room before her, a masked ghost danced the Macarena with gyrating hips and flailing arms. “Is that the only dance you know?” she asked.

The ghost startled and whirled around, hand clasped to his chest. “What—what are you doing here?” He sounded vexed. “Can’t a ghost enjoy some downtime? It’s my off hours! I’m not haunting you right now.”

Tina plopped onto a nearby red satin sofa, crossing her ankles in an overly-dramatic, ladylike way. “Maybe I’ve decided to haunt you instead.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, every real phantom needs a ghost hunter, right? It’s like vampires and slayers.”

“Says who?” The ghost flipped his cape over his shoulder.

“Says the majority rule of pulp fiction.”

“Ghosts haunt. They. Do. Not. Get. Haunted.” He stabbed an ethereal finger at her with each word.

She bit back a giggle. “Why not? We’re in the twenty-first century. Equal opportunity haunting and all that.” She mock-glowered at him. “Are you saying I can’t haunt because I’m alive? How very narrow-minded of you.”

He gaped at her. “But, ever since Erik, there’s been a long, esteemed tradition of Christines being haunted!”

“We don’t appreciate it,” Tina said crisply. “And Erik wasn’t even a real ghost!”

“Well, after seeing a fake ghost do so much, some of us real ghosts felt outdone. You can’t let a fake ghost out-ghost a real ghost!”

“Real ghosts stay quiet!” Tina snapped. “They make lights flicker, and sometimes do jump scares, and utter low, moaning noises that make you question your life choices—but they do not interrupt my singing!” She leaned back. “I’ll let you off easy, because I’m a nice person—”

“Says who?” muttered the ghost.

She ignored that. “—And because I want to encourage you to live your best ghost life.”

“We only choose the greatest singers to haunt. You should feel flattered!”

“Well, I’m not. Listen, if you don’t cut it out, I’ll haunt you back. I’ll randomly interrupt your Macarena sessions. I’ll”—she racked her brain—“I’ll make them let me call at bingo.”

He gasped. “No! Not bingo! You’ll ruin it!”

She stood, and the ghost shrank back. “Indeed, bingo.” She pretended to hold up a bingo ball. “B Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiive…” She dragged out the word, her voice barely audible.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll stop haunting you!” The ghost wrung his hands. “On Erik’s grave, I swear. Anything to save bingo!”

As she climbed the stairs, Tina sighed in relief. She’d almost had to play bingo. She swiped a hand across her forehead, streaking cobwebs across her skin. Close call.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova lives, writes, and dreams from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. She loves travelling, wolves, folklore and myth, and both reading and writing fiction that matches her eclectic tastes. Her story “Nothing More Than Death” was published in the A Kind of Death anthology from Uncommon Universes Press, and she has multiple stories published with Havok. Currently, she is working on an anthology of fairy tale retellings that includes both poetry and short stories.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter