The lights went out and for one brief moment I was swallowed by darkness. My eyes adjusted as the ads started to play on the screen before me. I stretched out in my seat, crossed my arms and sighed. I love watching movies alone, especially if the theater is at least partially empty, and this one was almost completely so. In fact, everything was perfect for the moment and I was drifting off with my typical suspension of disbelief when suddenly I realized that someone had joined me in the back aisle and I nearly jumped out of my skin!

My view of him was hazy in the night-scene light beaming down from the screen. He wore a business suit and sat quietly, as if he had been there for quite some time already, though I was certain he was a new arrival. His elbow was braced on the arm rest and his chin rested in the palm of his hand. He seemed lost in the show, as if he was a great fan of the performers, or perhaps a movie critic. I don’t know why I was so startled. I must have missed his entrance. Oddly enough, I also missed his exit. The lights came on, the man was gone, and I had the strangest feeling that I had just spent the past three hours watching a movie with a ghost.

There seems to be an unspoken law that theaters must have a ghost. It’s hard to imagine that so many people could be packed into one place without leaving remnants of energy behind, but I suppose it’s more likely that you’ll find cast and crew lingering after death. This is understandable when one considers the mental and emotional energy that goes into each performance—that energy must be very attractive to ghosts, particularly those who survived on the same kind of energy when they were alive.

And rumors of theater hauntings have been circulating for many, many years. In fact, according to the College of the Siskiyous Theater Department website, (California) during the time of William Shakespeare, candles were left burning in the theater long after a performance ended in order to keep the ghosts of previous performances off the stage. Is this a metaphor? An urban legend? Or is there a story behind this superstitious behavior? Did someone actually spot the ghost of a former stage actor wandering about? Or perhaps Christopher Marlowe was seen checking in on his contemporaries after his death! Regardless of the origin of this particular behavior, to this day, a light is left burning in theaters long after the performers have left the stage, and this light is called a “ghost light.”

The Shakespeare topic reminds me of The Avon Theater in Decatur, Illinois. The Avon’s name was suggested by a theater fan in 1916 as a way to entice theater goers with a reminder of the great Elizabethan playwright. The Avon is said to be very haunted! Troy Taylor of Ghosts of the Prairie fame has done numerous investigations in this theater and reports on these investigations in great detail at The Avon’s website. The Avon was recently remodeled. Is it possible that the disruptions brought these spirits out of the darkness? Perhaps this is why so many theaters are believed to be haunted—with every new show comes a new set of furniture and stage decorations. Theaters, it seems, are in a constant state of upheaval.

Shakespeare may attract the ghosts of past performers in England, but there are others who haunt the British theaters, as well. According to Lancashire England’s The Blackpool Gazette, a group of ghost hunters recently spent the night at the Grand Theatre, which boasts both a suicidal theater fan and a dedicated former manager that paces the floors, leaving the scent of pipe smoke behind him. Blackpool’s Grand Theatre has a long history of paranormal sightings, as does another English theater, Nottinghamshire's Little Theater in Raeford, which is haunted by a man in black evening attire. It’s difficult to say exactly who this man might be, but one thing is certain: He loves to whistle. There’s something about that image that appeals to me—a man in black, whistling a snappy tune, strolling through the halls after the lights have all gone out. All but the ghost light, of course.  

I’ve often wondered if the man who sat beside me in the darkened theater that night was, well, real. He just seemed so…odd. His sudden appearance--and equally sudden disappearance—left me feeling rather unsettled. Perhaps he was simply a man running late for the show, and in a hurry to get home, but then again, it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that anyone with an intense love of the theater would return to that place after death. I love old movies and once considered a degree in film theory. I am equally in love with the peaceful anonymity of a darkened theater. I can imagine how wonderful it would be to return after death to watch one more show, compare it to the classics, critique the directing, and admire some unknown actor’s outstanding performance. Perhaps some day I will be the ghost perched in the aisle seat watching carefully in the dark, sneaking out before the credits to leave a trail of lavender-scented perfume and the sound of clicking heels echoing down an empty hall.