The only reason Hanna had even dare step foot into the abandoned theatre was a challenge by her classmates.
"If you do it, then we'll let you be our friend." - An in-between peer initiation ritual, or at least that's what Hanna thought. She'd hope she'd be right.
"Looks exactly like a sort of old cinema (if one ignores the slight here-and-there discrepancies), what's so special about this anyway?" - Hanna thought.
But before she could take notice, in an abrupt manner, the entrance door had closed. The sound of the shut iron door reverberated in echo. Girlish giggles transpired from the other side.
"G-Guys? That's not funny."
Her peers took delight in her cries - "We'll come by tomorrow Hanna!"
"T-Tomorrow?" - She thought - "But I can't! My mother- My family, they'll-!" - But her protests were to no avail, the girls appeared to already have fled, leaving their mockery and taunts carved behind.
Hanna closed in on the now closed door. She pushed. Yet (despite her colleagues' flight) it appeared something beyond her strength remained, forcing the door still from the other side - "N-no... way..."
She yelled for help. Banged her bare tiny fists on the hard metal door, using no more than her raw will. It hurt but the fear did mostest. She'd avoided hopelessness, but her efforts had not shown themselves other than useless. Her yelps would not reach a soul. Without them, the theatre was now loudly silent.
Reason told her brain - she could inert and die or procure her way out. What other options had she, really? Hanna had to find a hole she could slip her way out from. Any would do. For that, she had to explore the unexplored. In her situation, the stage at a distance, clouded in darkness.
Step. Step. Step. Alee she goes, precautiously.
And so the lights turned on.
It was sudden, the stage was dark no more. On it, although hard to make out, there stood a figure, an old woman. A lady crooked by her age. One would not exaggerate to suggest she was as old as the theatre itself. A relique. Her dress parodied that of a singer or an actress. And what a contrast it was. The shiny gallant dress attempted to cover the woman's flaccid aged skin, but a (thin, yet perceivable) layer of fat flooded over the dress's borders through her face and hands.
The old lady made motion, opened her arms to the unperceived sky but the large ceiling blocked her greetings.
Soon, her sight aimed at the rows and rows of empty seats where no audience was.
She opened her mouth.
Voice came out. Sound. More specifically a music. A tune. A loud shrieking tune. Was that... Opera? No, it would be best defined as an attempt at opera.
Hanna could only stand in shock as the ghastly figure of the aged woman melodically wailed. Howls of high and low notes flung around. She could feel her skin crawl at every vibration. Hanna could not decide if there was any imminent threat, but that scared her even more.
The lyrics were as suit;
"The Night In Gale, thou hast called,
it answered thee, with an unforeseen cry.
Shouldest thee have what thou wished,
O willeth it answer thy voice,
blessed be thee, although unsung.
The saddening tale,
of The Night In Gale."
It was terribly out of tune. Calling it unharmonious would be flattering.
Upon finishing her untuned yells, the old woman bowed. Ringing lingered in Hanna's ears. Ringing that absurdified to question the veridity of the mirage she'd faced.
None the less, the public clapped. She did not.
Public? Where? Nowhere.
As did confirm her very eyes, indeed, the seats were empty. Thus the light turned off. The show was no more.
The old lady was barely (if not at all) visible without the spotlight. Hanna stared at that spot for so long she'd felt atrophy if remained halted. The macabre was in the way, she could not move.
But logic spoke to her soul, and she shook off delusions.
That was a person, no questions further.
Therefore, she gradually advanced towards the (presumed) place the decrepit old woman stood. As flight nor fight were available, she would talk. Or try to. Hanna was young and she was old. She could flee if came to be. But heavens, it was dark.
After-search, on the emptied stage, there stood no traces of the old lady's aura.
Loudful echoes responded.
"Is anyone there?!" - Hanna recried.
The spotlight lighted, blinding sight. She could not see forwards. Only white.
"S-stop it! It isn't funny!"
To break silence were the displeased boos booed from the unsightable audience sat on their now unseeable chairs.
"H-help me! Don't just stand there!" - The booing crescendoed.
Amidst that, air unsufficed Hanna. She found herself unable to breathe.
However, her breath (or rather lack of) was not of an emotional causation. Oxygen just could not reach Hanna's lungs. For that, it had to pass firstly by Hanna's shut throat. Shut by external causes.
To-moment, her (blinded) eyes were as functional as her trachea.
In layman's term, she was being choked.
At a loss, she swung her arms at no one and nothing.
Despair set in. There were no escape routes. She'd soonly die and she knew that.
Her life would've been as short as her breath.
"H-Help me." - She uttered. Or spoke. Or thought. She could not tell anymore.
Nor would she ever tell.
She heard her knees dropping to the floor but felt nothing.
Alas, the light had vanished and came the darkness. Soothing.
Lady's and gentleman, the end of Hanna's.
The curtains descended on the stage.
The act had ended.
Praised had the public with their claps.