The Mystery Of The Theatre

She told her daughter stories, versions passed down from her parents, including the story of a local theatre, though she did not finish it, which piqued her daughter's interest.

Curious to the point of agony.

It made her wonder why her mother hasn't continued these stories, which begin with the glitz of this theatre, telling her children about the inside of what she refers to as the Del Toro.

The Del Toro, a local theatre that has been operating since her mother's birth, was a tourist's dream when they first stepped inside, and the theatre was full of art lovers, vultures, scrutinizing every move.

The hall was packed with individuals from all walks of life.

Those that wished to walk the red carpet, who dreamed to stride on the stage worked hard every night, and Del Toro described it as a dream come true. Her mother recounted her experiences of being in the theatre.

"Is there anymore left?" The daughter inquired, eager to hear more of the tale.

"Well, there's one more, they say there's someone, a person who said to live in the theatre, mysterious and hidden in the dark, she's infamous, and her name gives those who speak it shivers." She spoke.

She asked, "What's her name?"

However, she stops for the day when the narrative has concluded.

"Maybe another time, you go to sleep because it's late."

The daughter cries and stands up, kissing her mother goodbye before going to bed while reflecting on the incident and wondering what the woman's name was.

What lies behind the Del Toro's exterior and what secrets does this theatre carry in particular?

Chapter 1. That Beautiful Figure

She observed a sudden shift in the weather; after a protracted period of darkness, a day of warmth finally appeared.

When they heard the sound of a vehicle coming up, her mother was calmly folding the laundry into her basket. A man in his mid-forties adjusted his jacket and tied his laces before oddly approaching them. They were unable to see the man, but after moving a few steps closer, they could now identify him.

He goes by the name of Mr. Angie, has brown eyes and hair, and is a close friend of this girl and her family. His face was too obstinate and unsteady to remain motionless, and his body was restless and strangely agitated.

"Mrs. March, but you’d best come right away."

"I’m sorry, Mrs. March, but you’d best come to the police station right away." His forehead was drenched in sweat as he talked. On one of her mother’s shoulders, he raised his arms and placed them before giving her a gentle pat.

The small girl spoke out bravely out of curiosity. "What’s going on?"

Her mother caught her attention. "Mother, what’s wrong?"

She gently hushes her to make room for Mr. Angie’s remarks.

“Esmeralda.”

“What’s going on?” Her mother asked.

Esmeralda noticing her mother’s body language, her hands were restless, anticipating what Angie was going to say as he leads her inside the house.

A moment later, there was a scream, Esmeralda ran inside to find her mother crying, slouched on her chair, being embraced by Esmeralda’s father, Angie attempts to comfort her.

“I’m sorry Claudia.”

Esmeralda slowly walks towards her parents with her father noticing, behind her was her younger sister Florence and her twin eldest brothers, Henry and Leopold.

“It’s okay Esmeralda, no need to worry, why don’t you take your sibling in your room, keep them occupied. Her father said, tries to ease the situation.

Esmeralda nodded, still confused as she gathers the other siblings, leading them to her room, Esmeralda slightly closes the door, but wide enough she can still see the living room.

“John... Claudia, the police will escort you down to the morgue, we need both of your Id’s of the body.” Mr. Angie said.

“Esmeralda... who’s that outside?” Florence asked.

Esmeralda ran to see two police officers, getting out of their cars, now entering the front door with a knock.

They watched their mother slowly exit the house, accompanied with her father and Mr. Angie, but only one of the officer and Mr. Angie stay behind.

The girls continue to watch their parents being driven away by one of the cops.

Later that night, Esmeralda was in bed, unable to sleep, those screams stuck inside of her head, it was scary, then her door opens.

It was her mother, she looked tired, her eyes red from the crying, she sat on the bed, now staring at the floorboards.

“Mother, are you okay?”

“Yes. “I’m fine, Esmeralda.”

“What’s going on? Did something bad happened?”

“They’re something that you should see.” Her mother said.

“What is it?” Her mother than gave Esmeralda something.

“A key and your diary?”

“Yes, Esmeralda, I want you to have it; do not lose this, promise?”

Her eyes were gazing at her; she saw there was still hope and some time to grieve for their loss.

“Read it, Esmeralda.” Kindly, she asks of her.

Flipping each page, the mother pointed at one page. “Go on reading Esmeralda.”

August 6th

One day, while cooking some soup for tea, something patted my hand quickly. I gasped like I was gasping for air, and the utensils slipped out of my hand. As I was going to pick up the utensils, darkness rose upon me as I saw a tall fugitive drastically dressed in clean, elegant clothes.

I screamed, grabbing the knife behind me, but when I looked back quickly, she was gone.

“Gone? What do you mean she was gone?” She said she was confused.

“Esmeralda, you’re going to have to understand what I’d have seen: that the mysterious figure was the Spectre.”

“The Spectre?”

“Yes, Esmeralda, remember those stories I stopped, every time you asked.” She correctly reminded Esmeralda.

“I think that was her, her spirit.”

“The Spectre at the Del Toro Theatre. That’s where she lived,” Esmeralda said.

“Correct.”

“I should let you go to sleep, you can use that diary, it’s yours to have.”

Her mother left, kissing her goodnight before leaving, Esmeralda was now alone in her room, staring at the diary as she quickly flipped through the pages, noticing some of the curled papers were ripped.

Esmeralda, without a doubt, continued to be concerned about her mother’s mental health, her mother looked like an empty shell of herself.

Blankly staring at the roof, thinking of imagery and thoughtfully thinking of how to summon the words she was thinking of at the tips of her pen.

August 19th

I don’t know what is happening, my parents are not telling me anything, my siblings are scared, Mr. Angie won’t tell me anything, I think something bad has happened, I feel so scared, confused and then my mother is now telling me about the Spectre, those stories she would not finish, now this figure has the name I been waiting...

Esmeralda then closes the diary, placing it under her pillow to keep it safe, staring at the window before closing her eyes.