The Palisade Hour

I’ve always been drawn to old places, the kind that hold their breath when you walk in. My small town in the Oregon foothills is surrounded by others, each with a historic gem or two. But it was in the sleepy town of Millbrook that I found the Palisade Theater, a relic from 1932 that had just reopened after decades of dust and decay. The marquee, with its chipped gold lettering and a single flickering bulb, promised ‘The Final Reel’ – a film I’d never heard of, which was odd, because I prided myself on knowing every obscure horror movie ever made.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I bought a ticket from a withered old man who didn’t quite meet my eyes. The lobby smelled of stale popcorn and something else – a damp, metallic scent I couldn’t place. The walls were lined with faded posters of movies I’d never seen, their titles in languages I didn’t recognize. The carpet was threadbare, revealing dark, polished wood beneath that seemed to shine with a greasy film.

I took my seat in the back row, the red velvet cushion worn thin and lumpy. The theater was empty, save for a few other patrons scattered in the shadows. The lights dimmed without warning, and the screen flickered to life. The film was grainy, black and white, showing a man in a long coat walking down an endless corridor. He stopped at a door, opened it, and entered a room filled with mirrors. But in the reflection, he was younger, and his face was twisted in a silent scream.

I tried to look away, but the images held me. The man began to transform, his skin peeling back to reveal something dark and writhing, and the mirrors multiplied his agony a thousandfold. I heard a low hum, not from the projector, but from the walls themselves, as if the theater was vibrating with a malevolent energy. The screen went black for a moment, and when it flickered again, the man was gone. Instead, I saw myself, sitting in the theater, my eyes wide with terror. I blinked, and the image was gone, replaced by the familiar rolling of credits.

The film ended, and the lights came up. I sat there, shaken, as the other patrons rose and shuffled out. I waited until they were gone, then stood to leave. But as I made my way down the aisle, the floorboards creaked in a pattern that seemed almost deliberate. I stopped at the exit, but the door was locked. The hum grew louder, and the lights flickered.

I turned back to the screen, and it was on again, showing a different scene – a young woman in a white dress running through a forest, pursued by something unseen. The humming became a voice, a low whisper that seemed to come from inside my head: ‘You see, don’t you? You stay.’ I tried to force the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The theater began to feel impossibly cold, and I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in the cavernous space.

I ran to the projection booth, hoping to find another exit, but the door was locked too. Through the small window, I saw the projector, its beam cutting the dust-filled air. On the screen, the woman stopped running. She looked directly at me, and her face melted, revealing the same dark, writhing mass I’d seen earlier. The voice returned: ‘They all stay. You will too.’

I stumbled back, tripping over a bucket of something that sloshed and smelled like copper. I got to my feet and ran to the emergency exit, but it was chained from the outside. The hum was now a roar, and the screen was filled with images of people screaming, their faces contorted in agony. I fell to my knees, covering my ears, but the sound was inside me.

The lights went out completely. In the darkness, I felt hands – cold, clammy – grabbing at my arms, my legs. I screamed, but no sound came out. When I opened my eyes, I was on the floor, curled up, and the theater was silent. The projector was off. The screen was blank. I crawled to the exit, and this time, the door swung open easily. I scrambled outside into the cool evening air, gasping.

I never went back to Millbrook. I never even drive past it. But sometimes, late at night, I hear that low hum in my bedroom, and I see the reflection in my mirror, twisted and screaming. And I know that the Palisade takes what it wants, and I was lucky to escape – for now. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s waiting, and that one day, I’ll walk through its doors again, because I see it in my dreams, and it knows my name.