March 2, 2025 • 19 mins
Angela DeMusa’s dream residency at a theater upstate becomes a nightmare when the previous owners continue having their creative differences from beyond the grave.
Written by Izzie Cava
Narrated by Izzie Cava
Composed by Simon Jones
Logo Design by Dana Gee
Instagram: @epilogue_audio
TikTok: @epilogue_audio
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Welcome to Epilogue, where I tell you folktales and legends and fabricate my own counterpart
(00:10):
from those root yarns.
I am that campfire tale you heard as a child that still gives you chills, but you can call
me Uzi Kaba.
Theater is an undying tradition that has shaped filmed entertainment into what it is today.
For most, it is the first introduction to the power and privilege of performance.
(00:34):
In ancient times, theater was how history was kept alive, how gods were made great,
and how warnings were passed down to generations untold.
But sometimes, it isn't the stories that warn us away from indecency.
Sometimes, it's the theater itself.
Almost all of the theaters on Broadway can boast of ghostly activity on those storied
stages, but one ghost outshines them all.
(00:56):
David Belasco, the Bishop of Broadway.
He opened the Belasco Theater, formerly the Storveston Theater, in 1907, a masterpiece
of architecture from George Keister, who designed the space to evoke a temple, including Tiffany
chandeliers and ceilings, as well as murals by renowned Ashcan school artist Everett Shin
on the walls.
This theater, the sixth oldest still operating on Broadway, was declared a national landmark
(01:20):
in 1987, and these elements were lovingly restored or taken to various museums to continue
being admired by American audiences.
Belasco built himself a ten-room penthouse duplex above the theater, continuing his ecclesiastical
motif with a living room designed like a gothic church, complete with a stained glass dome
and a telephone booth he would use as a confessional at his parties.
(01:43):
And those parties were well-loved and well-attended, for Belasco was a giant on Broadway.
He was an actor, a writer, a manager, a producer, a dramatist, and a director.
He was considered a man of the century, and innovated some of the technology that would
become the basis for the light boards still used in theaters today.
David Belasco died at 77 in 1931 after a long battle with illness, but he never left the
(02:07):
theater he so loved.
Fortunately, Belasco's ghost is little more than a lovable nuisance.
People have reported seeing a priest in the private box during rehearsals on an opening
night, where if the performance went well he would shake people's hands backstage,
but if it didn't, Belasco would moan and ransack the dressing rooms and make sure his
review was the first that the actors knew.
(02:28):
They reported seeing him in the mirror while they were in the makeup chair, or passing
in the hallway on their way to the stage.
Even the parties never ceased, for there have been multiple reports of people hearing the
disused elevator going up to his penthouse, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet,
muffled laughter, and jazz above them.
But whenever they opened the penthouse to scatter the trespassers, it was empty.
(02:50):
A temple of dust, undisturbed by the echoes of revelry.
But David Belasco is not alone in his haunting.
He's joined by a much different apparition.
She's called the Blue Lady, and when she appears on the steps leading up to the stage,
she does so surrounded by an aura that has been described as an icy blue mist.
She's not as vocal and as active as Belasco is, but she certainly has made her presence
(03:13):
known throughout the years.
Unlike Belasco, the Blue Lady was not a lauded practitioner of the theatrical arts, but rather
she was likely a rising starlet who fell down the elevator shaft that leads up to the penthouse.
David Belasco and the Blue Lady have seen it all, including both Marlon Brando and Al Pacino's
theatrical debuts in 1946 and 1969 respectively.
(03:35):
Though there have been reports of them in recent years, they remained backstage, so
to speak, for the years following the 1971 production of Oh Calcutta, which featured nudity.
The offense has since worn off, with actors in more recent productions still celebrating
Belasco's birthday with a cake and referencing the ghost in their production's opening safety
brief.
(03:56):
Every night, the crew still shouts, good night Mr. Belasco, into the empty theater before
shutting off the lights, though perhaps that theater will never be empty for as long as
it stands.
And now for our epilogue.
Not every dramatist in New York City makes it to Broadway.
In fact, most don't.
Angela de Moussa is one of the many creatives that make up the lifeblood of the city, an
(04:20):
aging hopeful with dreams taller than the Empire State Building.
In spite of her efforts, monumental as they were, the city is not as kind to artists as
it once was.
She was never able to do more than self-produce a couple of black box flops or help her friends
accomplish their own basement revelries.
Her big break came when she was awarded the prestigious Morgan Playwriting Fellowship.
(04:40):
The program had been inactive for years, but it was one of the most sought-after fellowships
the moment it opened.
The Morgan Fellowships grant allowed Angela to hire actors and crew, rent all the equipment
she could need, and cover transportation upstate to produce Angela's original play.
Angela was thrilled.
Before the ink had even dried on the contracts, Angela and her team were on her way upstate
(05:00):
to the old Morgan Theater.
In spite of the decay of neglect, the theater was beautiful.
Its grand proscenium drew the eye up to a ceiling that was once painted with a golden
mural of twin gods drawing astrological chariots around a dusty chandelier.
There were cracked moldings on the walls that went right down to the floor, where the torn
red velvet of the seats almost matched that of the sweeping moth-eaten curtain that covered
(05:22):
the stage.
Angela pulled back that curtain to reveal a backstage that looked like it had been fled
in a hurry.
Trash, pieces of old sets, long-disused props and pages from a past production littered the
dark corners offstage.
And dark they were, for none of the lights in the grid above had any power.
Most of the light fixtures were rusted beyond hope, and some of them didn't even have bulbs.
(05:45):
Except for the ghost light, which was already on when they walked in.
A ghost light, also called an equity light, is a single bulb on a stand that is left on
when all the other lights are shut off to ensure the safety of the cast and crew as
they exit the theater.
Angela wasn't sure who had turned it on for their arrival, but surely it couldn't have
been on all those years when the theater was closed.
Either way, the shining beacons spread around, and while the crew set about working their
(06:08):
technical magic, Angela started to clear away the rubble of production's past.
When ten o'clock rolled around, the crew was released according to their union contracts,
but Angela stayed behind to prepare the space for the next day's rehearsal.
The ghost light shone all the while, a white light that comforted Angela a great deal that
late at night.
As she was sewing the torn velvet seats, the ghost light changed.
(06:31):
It turned blue.
It was an ice blue, pale blue like eyes.
Angela looked up and jumped, startled by the change, but she also found it delightful.
How marvelous, she said.
I've never seen that happen at any other theater.
The ghost light seemed to pulse in response, then stopped.
Angela assumed that was some sort of interruption to the power flow and kept right on chatting.
(06:54):
I just don't understand it.
This little light works fine, but the electricians were huffing and puffing over the power and
wires all day.
I just don't know why they're in such a foul mood.
The light pulsed again.
In Angela's mind, the mind of a creative, it almost matched the rhythm of laughter.
Even she could tell that was a far-fetched thought, and decided it must be exhaustion
(07:17):
setting in.
She left her work for the night, returned the next day, excited to fill the space with
drama and passion.
And that is precisely what she and her cast did.
While the crew continued their work above them, Angela's company put her masterpiece
on its feet.
Angela had previously devised a feminist piece in a workshop with her friends, a work that
was billed as an anthology of American horrors, fresh takes on the illnesses of the patriarchy,
(07:41):
capitalism, environmental decay, sexism, all through the perspective of discarded birth
control packaging.
Angela envisioned the work shocking the audience into taking action by employing every legal
obscenity she could think of on the stage.
Just when she was choreographing a particularly lewd scene, something creaked above her and
one of the rented lights came crashing down, right where Angela had been standing a moment
(08:03):
before.
The actors screamed and scattered, away from the twisted metal and the broken glass.
Angela looked up to see which of the electricians had dropped the light, but there was no one
nearby.
Rehearsal was halted as the crew went to check the bolts on all the remaining fixtures in
the air, but they were all securely fastened, as they insisted the fallen light had been.
(08:24):
Though they had no reason to suspect any other mishaps would occur, something in the air
had changed, and the space no longer felt safe for creation.
When they left that evening, Angela returned the ghost light to the center of the stage
and decided to stay behind to continue the cosmetic efforts to the theater.
The master electrician found her and apologized again for what had happened, but Angela was
not in the business of holding grudges, so she forgave him immediately, and even threw
(08:48):
in a little quip about how the marvelous color-changing ghost light could replace the fixture if needed.
He looked at her strangely, then squinted at the white light.
But, miss, he said, that type of bulb doesn't have the ability to change color.
Angela laughed, thinking it to be some sort of joke she didn't understand.
He laughed, and she began repainting the walls.
(09:09):
Sure enough, the ghost light changed color again.
It snapped into a deep red, fast enough to make Angela jump.
See?
She said to herself.
I knew he was kidding.
Angela carried on painting, taking no notice that the light made strange shadows, as if
the beam was interrupted by a darkness whose source was also the ghost light.
(09:29):
The shadows moved and flickered like firelight.
When they brushed over the wall Angela had been painting, she watched them curiously,
searching her limited technical knowledge for a way of rationalizing the shadows.
They seemed to make strange shapes, swirling in and out of existence, some eldritch dance
she could swear she'd seen before.
(09:50):
When it dawned on her with a sinking roar, she was watching her play rehearsals, played
out in those bloody shadows.
But it was a grotesque mockery of what she'd done.
Each shocking act made downright monstrous in the vindictive red light.
Terrified, Angela ran to the back of the theater and tried the door, but it was locked.
She had the key, of course, but it no longer fit the lock.
(10:13):
The shadows flickered faster and advanced through the audience.
Just when they were about to wash over her, they dissipated into that pretty blue light,
which took the nightmares with it as it illuminated the empty theater.
She tried the door again, and it popped open, as if it had never been locked at all.
Angela turned back to the theater and thanked the blue light.
(10:36):
She knew it was a silly gesture, but somehow it felt right.
The next day, the previous day's scare had worn off and the actors were refreshed and
ready.
But Angela was not.
As Angela watched the run, those horrible shadows played across her mind, filling her
vision with red and making her frightened of her own drama.
It was no longer fun and exciting to shock her audience.
(10:57):
In fact, sitting in the front row of the theater, she felt her eyes fill with tears and her
throat fill with bile.
She stopped the rehearsal and began revising the scenes, promising the actors to take this
drama more seriously and giving it the respect it was due.
The actors were outraged.
Not only had they rehearsed the original version, they were excited about it, they believed
(11:18):
in it, and they wanted a director who would believe in it too.
As the argument crescendoed, the front door opened and the head of the fellowship, Peggy
Morgan, walked into the auditorium.
Peggy asked Angela for updates about the progress of the show and the condition of the theater,
and Angela confessed to certain creative disagreements and technical difficulties.
Fortunately, Peggy had been in the business long enough to know that was to be expected.
(11:41):
Then Peggy made a little quip about the ghosts and turned to go.
What do you mean by that?
Angela asked.
Only that sometimes the ghosts like to meet the cast is all.
Before the theater closed, there were stories.
I won't bore you with them.
Angela begged her to do just that, and Peggy obliged.
The Morgan Theater was founded in 1942 by Scarlett and Amelia Morgan, a playwright and
(12:05):
an actress who were sisters.
Angela wrote her plays under a male pseudonym, thinking it would give her an advantage when
being considered for production.
But in that time, the world was inhaling, and there was no compassion to be spared for
the theater.
Amelia solved the issue of finances by marrying Stuart Ponch, a wealthy man who had made his
fortune in imports and exports.
(12:26):
He sponsored their theater and opened their productions, but Stuart was a conservative
gentleman, more so than he let on in his courtship in Amelia.
Scarlett's plays grew more radical in their support of civil liberties.
Stuart began implementing restrictions and threatened to cut funds unless the plays were
censored to his liking.
Scarlett loathed Stuart and his restrictions, and on the night she refused to comply, Stuart
(12:48):
strangled her to death.
Amelia was too late to stop him.
She could only catch Scarlett's body as it fell.
Stuart insisted that Amelia leave her and go on.
The show was starting, and he had already funded that performance.
Amelia began this particular work by entering with a heavy candelabra.
Before she went on that night, she bludgeoned Stuart to death with a candelabra and played
(13:09):
the whole show with his blood dripping from her fingertips.
Amelia left the theater to their youngest sister, Molly, before fleeing into the night,
never to return.
The theater closed when Molly became too old to care for it, and her daughter Peggy reopened
it with his fellowship.
Angela's submission reminded Peggy of something her Aunt Scarlett might have written, so Peggy
awarded her the honor of carrying on the theater's legacy.
(13:33):
Peggy evanced her ghost story by plucking an old photograph off the back wall, where
a row of dusty pictures had been hanging all along.
It was a color photograph from the 1950s of Stuart Paunch and the Morgan sisters.
Stuart's fine suit sported a blood-red pocket square, and Scarlett wore a beautiful sapphire
dress, a pale blue garment that made her brilliant eyes all the more striking.
(13:57):
Angela squinted at the photograph, recognizing where she'd seen these colors.
The ghost light had taken on these shades to comfort and chastise.
She nearly dropped the photograph in shock.
Shaking, Angela thanked Peggy again for this opportunity and dismissed the actors for the
day.
That night, she sent a mass email from her hotel room, telling the cast that they would
(14:17):
be rehearsing the original production of the show in an alternate space until the end of
the week.
The cast took their unhappy victory and ran with it.
Her vision was nearly restored to its former glory, every bit as salacious as Angela hoped
it would be.
But there was still the stench of mutiny hanging about the cast, for her changeability had
them worried, almost as much as the rehearsals not happening in the performance space did.
(14:40):
Angela fed Peggy and the cast a line about technical issues, and she fed the crew a line
about the cast needing privacy to rehearse.
Opening night fell upon them, and she could no longer delay her return to the Morgan Theater.
She was tempted to flee back to the stinking comfort of the city, but this was the closest
she had come to a break in all her years as an artist.
(15:01):
She imagined her name on a marquee, touring around the country with her fellows, spearheading
the change she championed on stage.
The thought was tantalizing, and she decided that the show would go on, ghosts and all.
The ghosts were quiet for the dress rehearsal, and the generalized anxiety of having critics
and producers take their reserved seats pushed those shadows even further from Angela's
(15:23):
eyes.
She went on to deliver the pre-show announcements to the ecstatic roars of the largest audience
she had ever seen.
There was one empty seat in the very front row.
It wasn't that strange for there to be empty seats at sold-out shows, but it was strange
that her eye was drawn to it, and it seemed occupied by a shadow.
But she pushed on, and bid the audience to enjoy the show.
(15:45):
The play began without a hitch.
The audience was laughing at the appropriate moments, gasping at others, punctuating their
rapt attention with flinching and groaning.
Just when the first costume element was shed, all the lights in the venue went out.
A few of the audience members screamed, shocked by the sudden blackout.
The actors froze, unsure how to proceed.
(16:06):
Angela was privy to the harried radio calls from the technicians.
The lights were all powered on, yet none of them were responding.
There was no technical reason for this blackout.
The desperate stage managers could only scream-whisper into their radios and shrug, while the actors
remained in their unseen vignette.
The shock of the blackout wore off, and the audience began to whisper amongst themselves,
(16:28):
unsure how long to wait before applauding, debating if this was some sort of unfinished
ending that was in itself a commentary on finality.
When offstage, the ghost light sank into its pale blue and shone brightly enough to illuminate
every corner of the stage.
In spite of its brightness, Angela observed that no one was squinting to protect their
(16:49):
eyes.
Her eyes found that empty seat again, right in front, and in the blue light she could
almost see the stately features, the ghost expensive but outdated suit with a red pocket
square.
But she did not need the ghost light to see its eyes, which were pinpricks of red, cutting
through the blue, searing into her actors.
(17:11):
The ghost of sewer punch raised its hand and all the lights came back on, all of them a
sickly red that washed out the blue light entirely.
But then beside her, more of an aura than a shadow, Scarlett Morgan raised her hand
and fought him for control of the theater, wresting the lights from his power and restoring
them to their original design.
Stuart Yuse would influence he had in the shadows to twist his nightmares out across
(17:34):
the walls, drawing the horrors ever closer to the stage.
But his nightmares, however poignant, never reached the actors, for it seemed that there
was a blue edge to every single shadow the moment it touched the stage, a protection
of sorts from one playwright to the next.
Angela swore up and down to every word of that encounter, but she always faltered on
(17:54):
one detail, for even she could never be sure of what she saw in the other wing.
It was a white light, a true ghost, wisps of dust catching on the lights to make the
features of a woman identical to Scarlett only older, Amelia.
But of that she was never sure.
Though the stage was carpeted in petals when the curtain was drawn, it was not enough to
(18:15):
save the show from the critics.
They found the lighting to be compelling and mystical, but they grew tired of the show
relying on shock, and found its attempted activism confusing and frankly, exhausting.
So when the show finished its four week run at the Morgan Theater, it closed.
The actors and crew returned to New York, but Angela did not.
She remains at the Morgan Theater to this day, responsible for its maintenance and preservation,
(18:40):
deciding that year's programming and running the fellowship in Peggy's name.
And every night before she leaves, she brings the ghost light to center stage and wishes
Scarlett a good night.
That's the end of today's tale.
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed telling it.
Please remember to like, share, and tell all your friends.
Join me next time for more fabricated folktales on Epilogue.
Welcome to Epilogue, where I tell you folktales and legends and fabricate my own counterpart
(00:10):
from those root yarns.
I am that campfire tale you heard as a child that still gives you chills, but you can call
me Uzi Kaba.
Theater is an undying tradition that has shaped filmed entertainment into what it is today.
For most, it is the first introduction to the power and privilege of performance.
(00:34):
In ancient times, theater was how history was kept alive, how gods were made great,
and how warnings were passed down to generations untold.
But sometimes, it isn't the stories that warn us away from indecency.
Sometimes, it's the theater itself.
Almost all of the theaters on Broadway can boast of ghostly activity on those storied
stages, but one ghost outshines them all.
(00:56):
David Belasco, the Bishop of Broadway.
He opened the Belasco Theater, formerly the Storveston Theater, in 1907, a masterpiece
of architecture from George Keister, who designed the space to evoke a temple, including Tiffany
chandeliers and ceilings, as well as murals by renowned Ashcan school artist Everett Shin
on the walls.
This theater, the sixth oldest still operating on Broadway, was declared a national landmark
(01:20):
in 1987, and these elements were lovingly restored or taken to various museums to continue
being admired by American audiences.
Belasco built himself a ten-room penthouse duplex above the theater, continuing his ecclesiastical
motif with a living room designed like a gothic church, complete with a stained glass dome
and a telephone booth he would use as a confessional at his parties.
(01:43):
And those parties were well-loved and well-attended, for Belasco was a giant on Broadway.
He was an actor, a writer, a manager, a producer, a dramatist, and a director.
He was considered a man of the century, and innovated some of the technology that would
become the basis for the light boards still used in theaters today.
David Belasco died at 77 in 1931 after a long battle with illness, but he never left the
(02:07):
theater he so loved.
Fortunately, Belasco's ghost is little more than a lovable nuisance.
People have reported seeing a priest in the private box during rehearsals on an opening
night, where if the performance went well he would shake people's hands backstage,
but if it didn't, Belasco would moan and ransack the dressing rooms and make sure his
review was the first that the actors knew.
(02:28):
They reported seeing him in the mirror while they were in the makeup chair, or passing
in the hallway on their way to the stage.
Even the parties never ceased, for there have been multiple reports of people hearing the
disused elevator going up to his penthouse, followed by the sounds of shuffling feet,
muffled laughter, and jazz above them.
But whenever they opened the penthouse to scatter the trespassers, it was empty.
(02:50):
A temple of dust, undisturbed by the echoes of revelry.
But David Belasco is not alone in his haunting.
He's joined by a much different apparition.
She's called the Blue Lady, and when she appears on the steps leading up to the stage,
she does so surrounded by an aura that has been described as an icy blue mist.
She's not as vocal and as active as Belasco is, but she certainly has made her presence
(03:13):
known throughout the years.
Unlike Belasco, the Blue Lady was not a lauded practitioner of the theatrical arts, but rather
she was likely a rising starlet who fell down the elevator shaft that leads up to the penthouse.
David Belasco and the Blue Lady have seen it all, including both Marlon Brando and Al Pacino's
theatrical debuts in 1946 and 1969 respectively.
(03:35):
Though there have been reports of them in recent years, they remained backstage, so
to speak, for the years following the 1971 production of Oh Calcutta, which featured nudity.
The offense has since worn off, with actors in more recent productions still celebrating
Belasco's birthday with a cake and referencing the ghost in their production's opening safety
brief.
(03:56):
Every night, the crew still shouts, good night Mr. Belasco, into the empty theater before
shutting off the lights, though perhaps that theater will never be empty for as long as
it stands.
And now for our epilogue.
Not every dramatist in New York City makes it to Broadway.
In fact, most don't.
Angela de Moussa is one of the many creatives that make up the lifeblood of the city, an
(04:20):
aging hopeful with dreams taller than the Empire State Building.
In spite of her efforts, monumental as they were, the city is not as kind to artists as
it once was.
She was never able to do more than self-produce a couple of black box flops or help her friends
accomplish their own basement revelries.
Her big break came when she was awarded the prestigious Morgan Playwriting Fellowship.
(04:40):
The program had been inactive for years, but it was one of the most sought-after fellowships
the moment it opened.
The Morgan Fellowships grant allowed Angela to hire actors and crew, rent all the equipment
she could need, and cover transportation upstate to produce Angela's original play.
Angela was thrilled.
Before the ink had even dried on the contracts, Angela and her team were on her way upstate
(05:00):
to the old Morgan Theater.
In spite of the decay of neglect, the theater was beautiful.
Its grand proscenium drew the eye up to a ceiling that was once painted with a golden
mural of twin gods drawing astrological chariots around a dusty chandelier.
There were cracked moldings on the walls that went right down to the floor, where the torn
red velvet of the seats almost matched that of the sweeping moth-eaten curtain that covered
(05:22):
the stage.
Angela pulled back that curtain to reveal a backstage that looked like it had been fled
in a hurry.
Trash, pieces of old sets, long-disused props and pages from a past production littered the
dark corners offstage.
And dark they were, for none of the lights in the grid above had any power.
Most of the light fixtures were rusted beyond hope, and some of them didn't even have bulbs.
(05:45):
Except for the ghost light, which was already on when they walked in.
A ghost light, also called an equity light, is a single bulb on a stand that is left on
when all the other lights are shut off to ensure the safety of the cast and crew as
they exit the theater.
Angela wasn't sure who had turned it on for their arrival, but surely it couldn't have
been on all those years when the theater was closed.
Either way, the shining beacons spread around, and while the crew set about working their
(06:08):
technical magic, Angela started to clear away the rubble of production's past.
When ten o'clock rolled around, the crew was released according to their union contracts,
but Angela stayed behind to prepare the space for the next day's rehearsal.
The ghost light shone all the while, a white light that comforted Angela a great deal that
late at night.
As she was sewing the torn velvet seats, the ghost light changed.
(06:31):
It turned blue.
It was an ice blue, pale blue like eyes.
Angela looked up and jumped, startled by the change, but she also found it delightful.
How marvelous, she said.
I've never seen that happen at any other theater.
The ghost light seemed to pulse in response, then stopped.
Angela assumed that was some sort of interruption to the power flow and kept right on chatting.
(06:54):
I just don't understand it.
This little light works fine, but the electricians were huffing and puffing over the power and
wires all day.
I just don't know why they're in such a foul mood.
The light pulsed again.
In Angela's mind, the mind of a creative, it almost matched the rhythm of laughter.
Even she could tell that was a far-fetched thought, and decided it must be exhaustion
(07:17):
setting in.
She left her work for the night, returned the next day, excited to fill the space with
drama and passion.
And that is precisely what she and her cast did.
While the crew continued their work above them, Angela's company put her masterpiece
on its feet.
Angela had previously devised a feminist piece in a workshop with her friends, a work that
was billed as an anthology of American horrors, fresh takes on the illnesses of the patriarchy,
(07:41):
capitalism, environmental decay, sexism, all through the perspective of discarded birth
control packaging.
Angela envisioned the work shocking the audience into taking action by employing every legal
obscenity she could think of on the stage.
Just when she was choreographing a particularly lewd scene, something creaked above her and
one of the rented lights came crashing down, right where Angela had been standing a moment
(08:03):
before.
The actors screamed and scattered, away from the twisted metal and the broken glass.
Angela looked up to see which of the electricians had dropped the light, but there was no one
nearby.
Rehearsal was halted as the crew went to check the bolts on all the remaining fixtures in
the air, but they were all securely fastened, as they insisted the fallen light had been.
(08:24):
Though they had no reason to suspect any other mishaps would occur, something in the air
had changed, and the space no longer felt safe for creation.
When they left that evening, Angela returned the ghost light to the center of the stage
and decided to stay behind to continue the cosmetic efforts to the theater.
The master electrician found her and apologized again for what had happened, but Angela was
not in the business of holding grudges, so she forgave him immediately, and even threw
(08:48):
in a little quip about how the marvelous color-changing ghost light could replace the fixture if needed.
He looked at her strangely, then squinted at the white light.
But, miss, he said, that type of bulb doesn't have the ability to change color.
Angela laughed, thinking it to be some sort of joke she didn't understand.
He laughed, and she began repainting the walls.
(09:09):
Sure enough, the ghost light changed color again.
It snapped into a deep red, fast enough to make Angela jump.
See?
She said to herself.
I knew he was kidding.
Angela carried on painting, taking no notice that the light made strange shadows, as if
the beam was interrupted by a darkness whose source was also the ghost light.
(09:29):
The shadows moved and flickered like firelight.
When they brushed over the wall Angela had been painting, she watched them curiously,
searching her limited technical knowledge for a way of rationalizing the shadows.
They seemed to make strange shapes, swirling in and out of existence, some eldritch dance
she could swear she'd seen before.
(09:50):
When it dawned on her with a sinking roar, she was watching her play rehearsals, played
out in those bloody shadows.
But it was a grotesque mockery of what she'd done.
Each shocking act made downright monstrous in the vindictive red light.
Terrified, Angela ran to the back of the theater and tried the door, but it was locked.
She had the key, of course, but it no longer fit the lock.
(10:13):
The shadows flickered faster and advanced through the audience.
Just when they were about to wash over her, they dissipated into that pretty blue light,
which took the nightmares with it as it illuminated the empty theater.
She tried the door again, and it popped open, as if it had never been locked at all.
Angela turned back to the theater and thanked the blue light.
(10:36):
She knew it was a silly gesture, but somehow it felt right.
The next day, the previous day's scare had worn off and the actors were refreshed and
ready.
But Angela was not.
As Angela watched the run, those horrible shadows played across her mind, filling her
vision with red and making her frightened of her own drama.
It was no longer fun and exciting to shock her audience.
(10:57):
In fact, sitting in the front row of the theater, she felt her eyes fill with tears and her
throat fill with bile.
She stopped the rehearsal and began revising the scenes, promising the actors to take this
drama more seriously and giving it the respect it was due.
The actors were outraged.
Not only had they rehearsed the original version, they were excited about it, they believed
(11:18):
in it, and they wanted a director who would believe in it too.
As the argument crescendoed, the front door opened and the head of the fellowship, Peggy
Morgan, walked into the auditorium.
Peggy asked Angela for updates about the progress of the show and the condition of the theater,
and Angela confessed to certain creative disagreements and technical difficulties.
Fortunately, Peggy had been in the business long enough to know that was to be expected.
(11:41):
Then Peggy made a little quip about the ghosts and turned to go.
What do you mean by that?
Angela asked.
Only that sometimes the ghosts like to meet the cast is all.
Before the theater closed, there were stories.
I won't bore you with them.
Angela begged her to do just that, and Peggy obliged.
The Morgan Theater was founded in 1942 by Scarlett and Amelia Morgan, a playwright and
(12:05):
an actress who were sisters.
Angela wrote her plays under a male pseudonym, thinking it would give her an advantage when
being considered for production.
But in that time, the world was inhaling, and there was no compassion to be spared for
the theater.
Amelia solved the issue of finances by marrying Stuart Ponch, a wealthy man who had made his
fortune in imports and exports.
(12:26):
He sponsored their theater and opened their productions, but Stuart was a conservative
gentleman, more so than he let on in his courtship in Amelia.
Scarlett's plays grew more radical in their support of civil liberties.
Stuart began implementing restrictions and threatened to cut funds unless the plays were
censored to his liking.
Scarlett loathed Stuart and his restrictions, and on the night she refused to comply, Stuart
(12:48):
strangled her to death.
Amelia was too late to stop him.
She could only catch Scarlett's body as it fell.
Stuart insisted that Amelia leave her and go on.
The show was starting, and he had already funded that performance.
Amelia began this particular work by entering with a heavy candelabra.
Before she went on that night, she bludgeoned Stuart to death with a candelabra and played
(13:09):
the whole show with his blood dripping from her fingertips.
Amelia left the theater to their youngest sister, Molly, before fleeing into the night,
never to return.
The theater closed when Molly became too old to care for it, and her daughter Peggy reopened
it with his fellowship.
Angela's submission reminded Peggy of something her Aunt Scarlett might have written, so Peggy
awarded her the honor of carrying on the theater's legacy.
(13:33):
Peggy evanced her ghost story by plucking an old photograph off the back wall, where
a row of dusty pictures had been hanging all along.
It was a color photograph from the 1950s of Stuart Paunch and the Morgan sisters.
Stuart's fine suit sported a blood-red pocket square, and Scarlett wore a beautiful sapphire
dress, a pale blue garment that made her brilliant eyes all the more striking.
(13:57):
Angela squinted at the photograph, recognizing where she'd seen these colors.
The ghost light had taken on these shades to comfort and chastise.
She nearly dropped the photograph in shock.
Shaking, Angela thanked Peggy again for this opportunity and dismissed the actors for the
day.
That night, she sent a mass email from her hotel room, telling the cast that they would
(14:17):
be rehearsing the original production of the show in an alternate space until the end of
the week.
The cast took their unhappy victory and ran with it.
Her vision was nearly restored to its former glory, every bit as salacious as Angela hoped
it would be.
But there was still the stench of mutiny hanging about the cast, for her changeability had
them worried, almost as much as the rehearsals not happening in the performance space did.
(14:40):
Angela fed Peggy and the cast a line about technical issues, and she fed the crew a line
about the cast needing privacy to rehearse.
Opening night fell upon them, and she could no longer delay her return to the Morgan Theater.
She was tempted to flee back to the stinking comfort of the city, but this was the closest
she had come to a break in all her years as an artist.
(15:01):
She imagined her name on a marquee, touring around the country with her fellows, spearheading
the change she championed on stage.
The thought was tantalizing, and she decided that the show would go on, ghosts and all.
The ghosts were quiet for the dress rehearsal, and the generalized anxiety of having critics
and producers take their reserved seats pushed those shadows even further from Angela's
(15:23):
eyes.
She went on to deliver the pre-show announcements to the ecstatic roars of the largest audience
she had ever seen.
There was one empty seat in the very front row.
It wasn't that strange for there to be empty seats at sold-out shows, but it was strange
that her eye was drawn to it, and it seemed occupied by a shadow.
But she pushed on, and bid the audience to enjoy the show.
(15:45):
The play began without a hitch.
The audience was laughing at the appropriate moments, gasping at others, punctuating their
rapt attention with flinching and groaning.
Just when the first costume element was shed, all the lights in the venue went out.
A few of the audience members screamed, shocked by the sudden blackout.
The actors froze, unsure how to proceed.
(16:06):
Angela was privy to the harried radio calls from the technicians.
The lights were all powered on, yet none of them were responding.
There was no technical reason for this blackout.
The desperate stage managers could only scream-whisper into their radios and shrug, while the actors
remained in their unseen vignette.
The shock of the blackout wore off, and the audience began to whisper amongst themselves,
(16:28):
unsure how long to wait before applauding, debating if this was some sort of unfinished
ending that was in itself a commentary on finality.
When offstage, the ghost light sank into its pale blue and shone brightly enough to illuminate
every corner of the stage.
In spite of its brightness, Angela observed that no one was squinting to protect their
(16:49):
eyes.
Her eyes found that empty seat again, right in front, and in the blue light she could
almost see the stately features, the ghost expensive but outdated suit with a red pocket
square.
But she did not need the ghost light to see its eyes, which were pinpricks of red, cutting
through the blue, searing into her actors.
(17:11):
The ghost of sewer punch raised its hand and all the lights came back on, all of them a
sickly red that washed out the blue light entirely.
But then beside her, more of an aura than a shadow, Scarlett Morgan raised her hand
and fought him for control of the theater, wresting the lights from his power and restoring
them to their original design.
Stuart Yuse would influence he had in the shadows to twist his nightmares out across
(17:34):
the walls, drawing the horrors ever closer to the stage.
But his nightmares, however poignant, never reached the actors, for it seemed that there
was a blue edge to every single shadow the moment it touched the stage, a protection
of sorts from one playwright to the next.
Angela swore up and down to every word of that encounter, but she always faltered on
(17:54):
one detail, for even she could never be sure of what she saw in the other wing.
It was a white light, a true ghost, wisps of dust catching on the lights to make the
features of a woman identical to Scarlett only older, Amelia.
But of that she was never sure.
Though the stage was carpeted in petals when the curtain was drawn, it was not enough to
(18:15):
save the show from the critics.
They found the lighting to be compelling and mystical, but they grew tired of the show
relying on shock, and found its attempted activism confusing and frankly, exhausting.
So when the show finished its four week run at the Morgan Theater, it closed.
The actors and crew returned to New York, but Angela did not.
She remains at the Morgan Theater to this day, responsible for its maintenance and preservation,
(18:40):
deciding that year's programming and running the fellowship in Peggy's name.
And every night before she leaves, she brings the ghost light to center stage and wishes
Scarlett a good night.
That's the end of today's tale.
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed telling it.
Please remember to like, share, and tell all your friends.
Join me next time for more fabricated folktales on Epilogue.
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang
Ding dong! Join your culture consultants, Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang, on an unforgettable journey into the beating heart of CULTURE. Alongside sizzling special guests, they GET INTO the hottest pop-culture moments of the day and the formative cultural experiences that turned them into Culturistas. Produced by the Big Money Players Network and iHeartRadio.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com