The Last Matinee

My name is Elara, and this happened when I was a senior at Ridgemont High. I was the middle child of three, and my parents had split when I was twelve. My boyfriend, Devin, and I were inseparable, the kind of couple that everyone rolled their eyes at but secretly envied. On a Friday the 13th, a group of us decided to explore the old Crown Theater on the outskirts of town. It had been abandoned for decades, and rumors of ghosts had kept most people away.

When we arrived, the parking lot was empty, which we found odd given the date. We had expected other thrill-seekers, but we were alone. As we approached the door, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The theater was a relic of a bygone era, its marquee still intact but the bulbs long dead. To our surprise, the door was unlocked. As we pushed it open, the smell of dust and decay washed over us. Five of our friends chickened out and turned back, leaving just me and Devin.

We stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind us, plunging us into semi-darkness. The only light came from the faint glow of the broken marquee filtering through the dirty windows. I felt a cold breeze brush through my hair, raising goosebumps on my arms. Devin didn’t seem to notice. We walked through the lobby, our footsteps echoing on the cracked marble floor, and into the grand auditorium. Rows of moth-eaten red seats stretched toward a stage that was still set with a decaying curtain.

That’s when the doors behind us creaked open. I spun around, expecting to see our friends, but there was no one there. Devin laughed it off, saying it was just the wind. But I knew better. We heard a faint sound, like a child humming, coming from the stage. Devin went to investigate, and I followed, my heart pounding. As we got closer, the humming grew louder, and the air grew colder. The curtain began to sway, though there was no draft.

Suddenly, a spotlight flickered on, illuminating the center of the stage. There, a figure in a vintage dress stood, her back to us. She started to hum a lullaby, and I recognized it from a old movie I’d seen. Devin called out, and the figure turned. Her face was a hollow void, and her eyes were like black pits. She raised a hand and pointed at us, and the spotlight went out. When it came back on, she was standing right in front of us.

I grabbed Devin’s arm and pulled him, running for the exit. But the doors were locked. We ran through the corridors, trying every door, but they all led to blackness. The humming echoed all around us, and laughter joined it. We found a stairwell and raced up, hoping to find a way out on the roof. At the top, a door opened onto a balcony overlooking the auditorium. Below, the figure was gone, but the chairs were now filled with shadowy figures, all staring up at us.

Devin shouted, ‘What the hell is this?’ And the figure appeared behind him, her cold hand on his shoulder. He went rigid, and his eyes went blank. I tried to pull him away, but she held him tight. She turned to me, and her voice, like the sound of tearing silk, said, ‘You’ll stay for the last matinee.’ The shadowy figures in the seats began to applause, and the curtain on the stage rose to reveal a screen.

The screen flickered to life, showing a black-and-white film of a theater, and in the film, I saw myself and Devin walking through the doors. The film played on, showing us exploring, and then it showed us reaching this balcony. It showed Devin being taken, and then it showed me alone. I knew then that I was trapped in a loop, doomed to relive this night forever as the theater’s ghostly spectator.

I backed away from Devin and the figure, and I fell through a trapdoor I hadn’t noticed. I landed hard on the floor below, but the impact didn’t hurt. When I looked up, I was in the auditorium, sitting in one of the worn seats, and the shadowy figures were all around me, watching me with hollow eyes. The screen showed me sitting in the seat, and I realized I was now part of the show.

The lights went out, and when they came back on, the theater was empty, save for me. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck, a permanent audience member, forced to watch the same movie play over and over, a movie that always ended with me trapped in a seat, watching myself trapped in a seat.

Some say that if you go to the Crown Theater on Friday the 13th, you can hear a girl humming, and if you’re unlucky, you’ll become part of the last matinee. I’m writing this from the theater, scratched on the armrest of my seat, hoping someone will find it and understand. But I know no one will. They’ll just hear the humming, and they’ll run. And I’ll still be here, watching, forever.