Dreamrail

Tuesday afternoon at the Cineplex is much like a pierogi bar in Tijuana; there are likely to be few patrons. This particular winter day I left work early and went to see White Noise. It’s a scary movie, probably more spooky than a thriller, more chills than terror, but definitely a scary little tale. I arrived during the previews, looked around and took a seat right in the middle. The choice was mine; I appeared to be alone.

The movie had a quality that made it seem real, or at least like the action could really happen. I became totally engrossed just as I heard the door open in the back of the theatre. I turned to see a friendly usher checking in on my crowd of one. He didn’t wave, nod or say a word; he simply closed the door and went away.

It happened again about half way through the film. As could be expected, he picked the wrong time. I tried not turn, but my attention was lost. I looked back. He looked my way, glanced down, released the door and left once more.

At the height of the film, the scariest part, I sat entranced. I love this stuff. Just as the real danger was about to appear, I heard that door once again. I didn’t turn back, not wanting to miss a thing. I stared straight to the screen and ignored the young man. A chill crept my spine; I kept waiting to hear something to complete the event: the door should be closing.

Stay with White Noise, I told myself. Don’t give in. The action in front, but a feeling behind me, now seeming right at my back, tugged at my ear, daring me to turn and see. The imagined tug turned very real. A hand settled gently on my right shoulder that I could actually feel.

The music, the sounds of ghosts, screams from the stars grew louder each moment. My eyes I had closed with the touch of the hand. I needed to look, but I couldn’t bear to turn. The movie now was all but gone for me; I really should have left right then.

“Son,” a voice said. “What you’re seeing is real.”

I tightened my shoulders; he fastened his grip. At last I opened my eyes just a bit, and slyly looked to my right. I could see the long fingers, pale and thin. I closed my eyes again.

I heard the door one last time, and out of reflex spun to see. The young man, the usher looked around, not really seeming to notice me. He let the door close and left. I saw again I was alone, but this time stood and went to that door. I walked on out as the credits rolled.

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The End