Short Horror Stories

Dead stage

Someone claps their hands together taking me out of the story and back into the real world.

"That was great! Now it is time for a short break." The words leave the mouth of the stage director.

With a napkin I wipe off some of the sweat from my forehead. The lights are rather hot and the play just got to the intense part.

I can see my fellow actors sigh of relief, it must be tiring for them as much as it is for me. I don't really know all of them, there are a lot of new faces after all. The only person I recognize is Henry.

Henry is a good friend of mine and we have been colleagues for some time now.

This is a rehearsal for a play I've done a couple of times before, not sure how many, but in all of them I had the leading role. Thanks to this I know the play by heart and on which parts the newer faces are struggling, I try to help them the best I can.

With some of the others I return to the dressing rooms, we have about half an hour for this break and I decide to take it easy and enjoy my lunch.

As I enter the room I notice that it is completely abandoned.

Maybe the others decided to eat out or somewhere else in the building? Strange I might have gone with them if only they asked.

Though I guess I can understand, they're all new and the weather today is very nice.

As I finish up and get ready to move back to the stage I walk past a mirror.

Did I just see something strange?

I take a step back and look at the object closely.

...

There seems to be something right there...

A strange smudge?

Carefully I reach for it and try to clean.

As my finger touches the cold mirror, it suddenly starts to break.

A giant crack appears on it.

Startled, I take a step back.

The shards fall onto the ground, shattering into more pieces as they hit the ground.

It happened all so quickly and violently, though without much sound.

It sounded more like the falling of a thousand small crystals and the pieces seemed to move away almost as smooth as water.

How strange.

Perhaps even a bit eerie.

However it isn't uncommon for weird things like this to happen here. I've heard many stories about the theater being haunted, the building is very old and this spot has even been a cemetery at some point. Honestly, how foolish could those builders be?

But it's fine, it doesn't happen too often and apart from startling me and some others. It doesn't do more than that.

I get a broom and quickly sweep up the broken pieces.

Then I hurry back towards the stage.

Back on the stage I'm one of the last to arrive.

This coming part is the one in which, the protagonist, my character, gets murdered by a friend of his.

Henry plays the part of the friend and some of the others play onlookers.

It all plays out rather smoothly, until the scene of the murder were to take place.

Henry stops what he was supposed to do, standing completely still, he looks down, it's my first time to see him look so tired.

Is something wrong with him? He's never looked this old before.

"I-I can't do this... I'm sorry." He whispers.

A lady sitting in the director's row, stands up: "Come on Henry, if you don't, more will fall!"

Henry looks down, avoiding to look anyone in the eye.

I walk over to him: "It's okay Henry, my friend. If you can't right now, it's okay." I put a hand on his shoulder, but instead of comforting him I can feel his fear.

He's shaking.

He's shuddering.

Just what could have frightened him like this?

Is it me?

No, that can't be. We've been friends and colleagues for ages.

The lady calls over to him again: "It's your responsibility! It's all your fault!"

I take a stand before Henry: "What is?! He's just having a moment, one like everyone can have."

I glare at the watcher and I get a glare back in return, but somehow this has made her stop running her mouth.

Henry turns to me, his face contorted by a sudden immense sadness and guilt.

"Edgar, it can't be you, right?"

The way he says my name feels strange: "Of course it is, what is wrong?"

Henry whimpers and looks away. He probably tried to hide it, but I already noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Then he turns to the lady: "I will finish this." He says, sounding tired and angry.

All of a sudden and avoiding my gaze, he rushes forward, plunging the fake weapon against my chest.

"I'm sorry, please leave us alone..." He whispers. "I'm sorry, please leave this place and go on to the next..."

Those aren't the lines for his character.

As I look to my side I spot a mirror.

Where the mirror was supposed to reflect me, I see another.

A person I don't know, a face I don't know, but someone I have all the control over.

A terrible headache enters my head, making me want to scream.

I remember.

I remember the glistering blade.

I remember the pain.

I remember how it was placed ever so neatly between my ribs.

I remember the wound.

The wound that burned so terribly.

I remember how I slowly fell to the floor and the sound of the dripping of my own blood.

At first there was applause, until they noticed.

It became eerily silent.

After the long silence, the first screams started.

As my body grew as cold as the floor, I lost consciousness.

I remember the perpetrator.

I remember the way he looked when he had stabbed right through me.

How could I have missed it?

How could I have forgotten it?

Utterly confused, I look up at the man in front of me.

"Henry... Did you kill me?"