Page 34 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

Setting it back, I took a picture of it with my phone and wrinkled my nose. It wasn’t like I could go to the gas station and demand to see video footage of the day James died.

It was a conundrum.

Opening the door and stepping back out into the hallway, I came face to face with James. Only he walked right through me into the closet, muttering to himself.

A shiver rolled over me and I shook like a wet dog.

There was no getting used to that. Ever.

But as I tossed my hair back and tied my bow there was a loud scream from the auditorium, followed by the screech of chairs shifting.

“Call 911! Someone call 911!”

I immediately started running, swiping on my phone to wake it up. I tried to do facial recognition but because I was jogging in heels I was bouncing around too much and it couldn’t recognize my face.

“Dang it!” I almost paused to unlock my phone but then I realized I wouldn’t know what to tell them on the call anyway, so I needed to see what was going on.

There was mass chaos in front of the stage. The screaming was coming from Sara Murphy who was holding the prop knife in her hand and jumping up and down with ear-splitting shrieks. Prop blood was flying off the knife in her hand.

I slowed down, thinking this was part of the production.

But then I realized everyone else was waving their hands, talking loudly, shuffling walkers to get closer to the front.

Anne was on her phone, barking orders to the dispatcher. “I don’t know what happened but there is a man down. I repeat, man down! Send an ambulance now, young lady.”

I half-expected her to add a “do you know who I am?” to the end of that.

“What’s going on?” I asked Grandma, who was just sitting in her seat like there wasn’t a full-blown ruckus occurring all around her.

“Sara Murphy stabbed Clifford.”

“What?” My head whipped around and sure enough, Clifford was face down on the floor, blood trickling out from under his chest.

“It’s a prop knife!” Sara screamed, still hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s not supposed to penetrate skin! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

“Zip it, girl,” Anne ordered, taking her phone away from her mouth to yell at Sara.

There were several elderly play participants attempting to kneel beside Clifford to render aid, but replacement knees and poor flexibility were deterrents. I flew to Clifford’s side, squatted down, and shook him gently.

“Clifford, can you hear me?”

He gave a low moan.

Relieved he was still alive, I added my own, “Oh my God” to the melee.

“Someone help Mary!” a shaky voice yelled out.

I was surprised I heard it over Sara’s incessant screaming.

As I attempted to roll Clifford over, I glanced back toward the stage and saw that Mary had slid off of her chair and was in a puddle on the floor. I couldn’t tell if she was in shock or having a medical emergency. Clifford was her long-time boyfriend so I imagine seeing him stabbed was quite a shock.

“Is the ambulance coming?” I asked Anne.

She gave me a thumbs-up.

Sweating from the effort of trying to tip Clifford, I blew my hair out of my eyes and shouted to Sara, “Shut up and check on Mary!”

Her mouth clapped shut. She stared at me, glassy-eyed. “What?” she asked.

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