The Phantom of Mallory Lake

Chapter 1: Ghostly Apparitions

The flickering streetlights cast eerie shadows on the crumbling facade of the Mallory Lake Theater. Cordelia Chase squinted at the dilapidated building, her nose wrinkling in distaste. The once-grand marquee hung precariously, its faded letters barely legible in the dim light. Chunks of plaster had fallen away, revealing the skeletal framework beneath, like an old starlet's makeup wearing off to show her true age.

"Remind me again why we're here at this ungodly hour?" she asked, suppressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool night air. Her hand instinctively went to her hair, smoothing it down against the damp breeze that seemed to whisper secrets from the theater's past.

Anya Jenkins, ever practical, pulled out a flashlight from her bag. Its beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the theater's boarded-up entrance. The wood was warped and rotting, covered in graffiti that ranged from crude to cryptic. "Ghost sightings, remember? Though I fail to see how incorporeal entities could pose any real threat. Now, if we were dealing with vengeance demons—" Her voice held a note of nostalgia, tinged with a hint of pride.

"Yeah, yeah, been there, done that," Cordelia cut her off, rolling her eyes. "Where's the kid? I swear, if he's bailed on us..." She trailed off, her gaze scanning the empty street with a mixture of annoyance and concern. The last thing they needed was another complication in what was already shaping up to be a long, weird night.

As if on cue, Ethan came bounding up the street, his backpack bouncing with each step. The high schooler's eyes gleamed with excitement, his breath coming in short puffs from his sprint. His sneakers slapped against the pavement, echoing in the quiet night.

"Sorry, I'm late!" he gasped, skidding to a stop in front of them. A few papers fluttered out of his overstuffed backpack, which he hastily stuffed back in. "You won't believe what I found out about this place!"

Anya raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and mild interest. She crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. "Let me guess, someone died here in a gruesome and wholly unnecessary manner? Because that's usually how these things start." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather rather than potential supernatural horrors.

Ethan's face fell slightly, but his enthusiasm couldn't be dampened for long. He bounced on the balls of his feet, barely containing his excitement. "Well, yeah, but it's more than that. In 1952, there was this actress, Vivian Holloway. She was starring in 'The Phantom's Bride' when—"

"When the chandelier fell and crushed her to death?" Cordelia interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She'd seen enough horror movies to know where this was going. Her hand made a swooping motion, mimicking a falling chandelier.

"Actually, no," Ethan replied, unfazed by her tone. He tapped his fingers together, clearly relishing the chance to share his newfound knowledge. His words tumbled out in a rush, like he couldn't get them out fast enough. "She vanished during the final act. Poof! Gone without a trace. The audience thought it was part of the show until the curtain never came down. They say you could hear her voice echoing through the theater for days afterward."

Cordelia and Anya exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Years of facing the supernatural together had honed their ability to communicate volumes with just a look. "Okay, color me intrigued," Cordelia admitted, her curiosity piqued despite her better judgment. She leaned in slightly, her earlier reluctance giving way to genuine interest.

"That's not even the weirdest part," Ethan continued, practically bouncing on his toes. His eyes darted between the two women, gauging their reactions. He lowered his voice conspiratorially, adding to the dramatic effect. "Every year since then, on the anniversary of her disappearance, people claim to see her ghost on stage, reliving her final performance. Some say she's trying to finish the show, others think she's searching for something... or someone."

Anya frowned, her brow furrowing as she processed this information. Her fingers drummed against her arm, a habit she'd picked up in her years as a human. "And let me guess, tonight's the anniversary?" There was a hint of resignation in her voice, as if she already knew the answer.

Ethan nodded enthusiastically, a grin spreading across his face. The streetlight above flickered, casting strange shadows across his features for a moment.

"Great," Cordelia sighed, running a hand through her hair. A strand caught on her ring, and she tugged it free with a grimace. "So instead of a nice, quiet evening of ghost-busting, we're walking into some kind of spectral theater revival. Just once, I'd like a straightforward haunting. Is that too much to ask?" Her words were laced with exasperation, but there was an undercurrent of excitement she couldn't quite hide.

"Oh, come on," Ethan pleaded, his excitement infectious. He bounced on his heels, looking between Cordelia and Anya with puppy-dog eyes. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Cordelia fixed him with a withering stare. "I left it back in Sunnydale, along with my will to live through another apocalypse," she quipped, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to suppress.

Anya, seemingly tired of the banter, pushed past them both, marching toward the theater's boarded-up entrance with determination. Her flashlight beam bounced erratically as she moved. "Well, I for one am curious. If this Vivian is still around, maybe we can negotiate her departure. I've had experience with stubborn spirits before, you know. Did I ever tell you about the time I convinced a poltergeist to move to a more desirable haunting location? It was all about the property values—" Her voice echoed slightly in the empty street, adding an eerie quality to her matter-of-fact tone.

"Anya, focus," Cordelia interrupted, following her reluctantly. She turned back to Ethan, her expression serious. The playful banter was gone, replaced by the no-nonsense attitude of a seasoned supernatural investigator. "Ethan, you're on research duty. Find out everything you can about Vivian's last performance. Anya and I will do a sweep of the theater."

"But—" Ethan started to protest, his face falling at the thought of being left behind. His shoulders slumped, the excitement draining from his posture.

"No buts," Cordelia said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She softened slightly, seeing his disappointment. "You're our eyes and ears out here. Any sign of trouble, you call us. Got it?" She tapped her cell phone for emphasis.

Ethan nodded, deflating slightly but understanding the importance of his role. He squared his shoulders, trying to look more confident than he felt.

As Cordelia and Anya disappeared into the darkness of the theater, the boards creaking ominously under their feet, Ethan pulled out his laptop and settled on the curb. The glow from the screen illuminated his face with an otherworldly blue light. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flicker of the faulty streetlight. He began to type, diving deep into the mystery of Vivian Holloway's disappearance, unaware of the shadows gathering behind him. The air grew colder, and a faint whisper, like the rustle of a stage curtain, drifted on the night breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a clock began to chime, marking the hour when the veil between worlds grew thin.