Free Reign by Chet Williamson Page B

Potts was as big a bullshitter about everything else as he was about ghosts, and Abe quickly learned that the stories were just Billy's way of having fun, the same way he had fun telling the old stories to Harry Ruhl . The only difference was that Harry never was able to figure out that Abe was as big a bullshitter as old Billy Potts had been.
    Hell, some of the stories were true, in a manner of speaking. The ghost in the costume room had supposedly been seen. The woman who had reported the story said she saw the woman, who turned and looked at her, and then disappeared. That was all. The hollow eye sockets and the claws were nothing but Abe's embellishments, and the "blood stain" was only a darkening of the wood where he had spilled a bit of solvent back in 1967.
    But still, someone had reported seeing the woman, just as others had actually believed they had seen Mad Mary, the Big Swede, and the Blue Darling. Abe Kipp , however, having worked at the Venetian Theatre for the past forty years, and having explored every dark nook and cranny at every time of day or night, had never seen a thing even suggestive of the supernatural. No, the Venetian was his second home, more of a home than the three room apartment where he slept and kept the accumulation of a wifeless and childless life. He had a number of cubbyholes with mattresses and cots on long-term loan from the storage area beneath the stage, as well as an assortment of skin mags dating back to the early sixties. Many was the time he would take a little nap or have a little read during working hours, with not a fear of being discovered. There were many places Harry didn't like to go, and those were the places Abe had his havens.
    No , he thought as the blood came easily off the floorboards, the Venetian was a pretty good place to work. All except for the latrines .
    ~ * ~
    While Abe Kipp detested cleaning toilets, Harry Ruhl loved it. It gave him a feeling of accomplishment, of seeing a job through to its end. With fabrics and draperies and carpets you couldn't really see where you had cleaned. But you could with tile. You could with porcelain. You could with mirrors and marble and metal. You could wipe them and rub them until they sparkled and shone so brightly you could see your face in them, not blurred and indistinct, but sharp and clear. You grinned and the face in that smooth surface grinned back at you as if to say good job , something that Abe hardly ever said, even though Harry knew he did do a good job, because if he didn't he wouldn't be working there at the Venetian Theatre.
    Harry liked the Venetian Theatre just as much as Abe did, but in a different way. The theatre scared Harry sometimes, especially after the stories Abe told. And now this guy getting his head cut off by the fire curtain . . .
    Harry tried to drive the thought out of his mind and think about the good times he had at the theatre when he was a kid, when the theatre was showing movies, and his dad took him on a Saturday night. The theatre, even before it had been refurbished, had always been a magic place to Harry, with its marble walls and rails, the mosaics and bas-reliefs all over the lobby ceilings, and especially the sky ceiling inside the theatre itself. Sometimes when the movie was boring he would lean back and look up at the stars and the clouds rolling by, and pretend that he was outside.
    It wasn't hard for Harry to pretend. Even though his mind wasn't quick, he had a vivid imagination, as his 11th grade English teacher, Miss Tyson, had put it. Too vivid. Sometimes he wished he was just dull all around so that he could stop thinking about and believing in ghosts and all. Not that he had ever seen any, but doggone it, this theatre could be plain scary, especially at night. That was another reason he didn't mind cleaning the rest rooms. There was nothing scary about rest rooms, as long as they didn't have showers. Showers were scary because of that Psycho movie he saw on TV. But just rest