VRROOOOOOMMM! Dale started his car’s engine. The car was a very old one and constantly needed repairs, but nonetheless, he was pleased with its performance. Ultimately, it was always there for him when he needed it. It never broke down despite its lack of almost everything a car needs, but that’s why Dale loved it. He was convinced that no other vehicle could do for him what his did. He was thinking about this with a smile on his face as he backed out of his driveway. Soon, he was on the freeway going 95km/h and approaching his destination. His destination was the location of his day job. Well, more of a night job actually. Dale worked at an Opera House, which was about ten minutes from his own house. The short commute was very convenient, but he didn’t appreciate the timing of his shift. He was the janitor of the Opera House, and his shift started when the last performance ended. That time was at 11:00PM. Also, because the Opera House was so large, he wouldn’t get home until 2:00, sometimes 3:00 in the morning. Still, the pay was decent and he enjoyed being able to have the day to himself, so he continued working his night shift at the Opera House.


Dale pulled up a long driveway and passed the welcome sign which read “House of Falters”. That was the name of the Opera House where he worked. Unlike most Opera Houses, it hadn’t been given the name, it had earned it. The real name of the Opera House was the House of Farris. Mark Farris had been the founder of this Opera House, and his wife, Tanya, had been the lead opera singer. The house had stood for over 100 years, and was still as popular as it was years ago. That being said, some reasons for its popularity were different.

After Tanya’s death in 1949, the House began to find new Opera singers, but none of them seemed to have the quality that Tanya did. For example; after Tanya’s death, during every performance at the Opera House , the lead opera singer would always suddenly falter in the middle of the song. Sometimes, it was caused by a chill that went down their spine and made them stutter. Others would just suddenly freeze entirely and not move for a few seconds. Their body’s would turn rigid and their faces would freeze with fear. However, once the immobility that had overtaken their body’s had passed, they could not seem to remember why they had stopped singing in the first place. Since this was happening during every performance, the Opera House earned the name the House of Falters. Despite the eerie happenings, Dale was not phased, and he continued working at the Opera House. The one thing that did creep him out was the number of janitors which had worked there before him. There had been at least seven different janitors that had used to work there, and oddly enough, they all quit soon after they had started. Their reasons were unknown to Dale, but when he saw a job opportunity at the Opera House, he snapped it up. He was not overly concerned with why all the janitors before him had quit so soon after being hired, but the thought was always in the back of his mind.


Dale entered the Opera House. There was a series of hallways that encircled the amphitheatre, which was where the performances were held. The last performance had ended about ten minutes earlier and aside from the remaining few singers, costume personnel, and audience, the house was essentially deserted. Dale turned right down a long hallway after entering the house. He then proceeded to turn left and open a grand set of doors. He entered the amphitheatre. It was a grand room featuring over a thousand seats, and decorated with beautiful lights and even a chandelier! On all four sides of the room were doors that led to the individual wings, as well as a door that led to a side exit in the west and east wings. The smell of worn leather crept into Dale’s nostrils. The chairs of the amphitheatre definitely needed replacing. Dale walked past all the rows of seats and turned right directly in front of the stage. He came upon a much smaller door than the last. He had arrived at his destination.

Dale pulled his keychain out of his pocket. He then searched for the correct key. He unlocked the door, and with a creak, he opened it. The janitor’s closet was dark. Dale flipped the light switch, and the small room was illuminated. The janitor’s closet was an old break room, that was used by the staff and performers before the house was renovated in 1954, (five years after Tanya’s death). A newer, larger break room was created to accommodate the ever growing staff at the House of Falters. Dale put his coat on the back of a chair. He grabbed his mop, filled his bucket with soapy water, and left the closet. The Opera House was completely deserted now, and Dale wasted no time getting to work. He liked to get things done. He began with the amphitheatre, cleaning the floor, stage, under the chairs, and anything else that needed a scrub. He then proceeded to the west wing hallways of the house.

Once he was in the west wing of the Opera House, he began cleaning the individual rooms that he came across, quickly and efficiently. He was really looking forward to getting home and sleeping. After all, with this late shift and a 4 year old child to take care of, he didn’t get that much sleep. Thankfully for him, though, his wife and child were visiting his sister-in-law and he had the whole weekend to himself, which made him even more excited. Eventually, in the north wing, his disinfectant spray ran out.
“Oh, great.” Dale mumbled sarcastically.
He made his way back to the janitor’s closet through the north wing doors and into the amphitheatre.
“Disinfectant spray... disinfectant spray,” Dale repeated to himself as he searched.
Suddenly, something made Dale stop. A confused expression creeped onto his face as he listened. He didn’t even know quite what he was listening for, he just knew he heard something. It sounded like,
“Opera?” said Dale aloud to himself.
That’s odd. The building closed about an hour ago, and nobody but me should be left.
That last thought brought a small sense of fear into his body, but Dale would not give into it until he saw what was in the amphitheatre for himself. After all, he was a stubborn man when it came to things such as this.

He abandoned what he was doing, and immediately reentered the amphitheatre. He looked around the room, and saw nothing.
“Hello?” he asked in a voice a little louder than he would usually talk.
“Hello, hello, hello?” his voice echoed throughout the empty room.
No response. Dale looked around nervously.
That was weird, thought Dale, I could have sworn I heard something...
Dale took one more nervous glance around the room, went back into the janitor’s closet, grabbed the disinfectant spray and went back to the north wing to continue on his work. He would pick up in the same spot where he ran out of spray the first time.

Once Dale had worked his way to the east wing, the fear that he had experienced earlier had almost completely escaped him. Dale was in the manager’s room in the east wing of the Opera House dusting the manager’s desk, when suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. Not just an ordinary chill that you’d receive from a gust of wind, or a cold night. Instead, this chill felt more like a set of fingers creeping up his spine. Icy cold fingers with a touch like a thousand little legs scampering against his skin. Again, he stopped working and listened. He heard something faint, but he couldn’t quite make it out. It began to get slightly louder in his ears, gradually growing to an audible whisper.
“Pssphssspshpshhhhhsp” the whispering hushed quickly.
Then, it began to get louder.
“Pssphssspshhhhhsps”
Dale dropped his things and grabbed his head. It felt as though the whispering was actually inside his head. Like it was coming from him.
“Pssphssspshhhhhsps” the whispering continued. Dale didn’t know what to do. He was beginning to panic.
Dale tried to ignore the whispering, thinking it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him. But, it was too loud, and it wouldn’t stop. Then, suddenly; a voice...
“Pssphssspshhhhspsspppshhhsppshss, RUN!” shouted a voice in an urgent tone. Then, without warning, all was silent. Dale couldn’t believe it. He listened for the whispering again, but it was gone without a trace. The voice was gone as well. Unlike the lady-like voice that Dale had thought he had heard earlier singing the opera, this voice had been deeper and more gruff, like a man’s voice. Even more disturbing was the fact that Dale was almost 90 percent certain that the voice had just warned him to run.
Run away from where? thought Dale. Or from what?

Dale quickly finished cleaning the manager’s room. He almost ran back to the janitor’s closet, shut the door fast and leaned on the old table to gather his thoughts.
Ok, Dale, ok. Let’s think rationally here. Other than you, the Opera House is empty. It’s just you and the silent walls. There was no opera singing, no whispering, and no creepy voice. It was all in your head.
Dale continued to breathe heavily. He was just about ready to get back to work when he heard it again. Unmistakable this time. Opera. He went back into the amphitheatre, holding his cleaning equipment like weapons, and looked around nervously. Again, no one was there. Just when Dale began to think he had officially lost it, he noticed something. The microphone used for singers at centre stage was on the microphone stand, and it was plugged into the wall.
Was that plugged in when I got here? Dale asked himself.
He could not remember. Dale climbed onto the stage and walked up toward the microphone stand. He tapped the microphone, and it made a loud bang that filled the room. Dale jumped a little, but then realised it was just the speakers around the room bringing out the sound of the microphone being tapped.
Why would someone have left this on? Dale asked himself.
Suddenly, Dale’s eyes went wide as he realised;
They wouldn’t have.

Dale backed up slowly and turned to go back to the janitor’s closet when suddenly, he felt something move behind him. He didn’t want to turn around, but he couldn’t help it. He turned around slowly and saw that the microphone was now on the ground next to the stand. He picked it up, and turned it over in his hand. Suddenly, the microphone stand flew towards the door that led to the side exit in the west wing. It hit the door just under where the exit sign was, as if something or someone was telling him to get out. That was all the incentive Dale needed. Freaking out on the inside, and showing it on his face, he ran into the janitor’s closet. He began to breathe rapidly, for fear was now coursing through his body. He grabbed his coat, and ran out of the Opera House. Oddly enough, the only thought Dale could process was;
I hope my car works now more than ever.
Thankfully for him, it did. As Dale pulled onto the freeway, he looked in his rearview mirror. He saw the dark outline of the House of Falters in front of the full moon. Now that Dale had a profound belief in ghosts, the seemingly “normal” house looked creepier than ever.

Epilogue

Knock, knock, knock. “Come in!” yelled the manager of the House of Farris. The door opened, and the stage director walked into the manager’s office. “Whatcha workin’ on, boss?” he asked.
“Well, I was thinking of creating an Opera play that celebrates the origins of the house.” said the manager, “I’ve run into a problem, though.” “What’s that?” asked the stage director. “I’m right in the middle of the part where Mark Farris first comes in, but he has a singing part.” “Yes, and?” the stage director pried. “From what I know, Mark Farris wasn’t even a big talker, never mind a singer!” “I’m not sure I understand, sir.” “Well, apparently, Mark Farris preferred whispering to talking. He thought it was a safer way of communication with someone than openly speaking, and he thought whispering was a great tool for creating fear in a person.” “But I heard Mark Farris was a nice guy.” “Don’t ask me what his motives would have been if he’d wanted to make someone afraid of something. I’m not an expert, you know. Anyways, what brings you here?”
“Oh, yes! A message came for you.” “Who’s it from?” asked the manager, as he took the envelope from the stage director’s hands.

“The janitor“ replied the stage director, looking at the envelope. “Ughhh, that lousy good-for-nothing. He hasn’t showed up for work in over a week! He won’t answer my calls, and the last night he did show up, the upper levels of the Opera House weren’t even touched by a mop! If I had half a mind, I’d fire him” said the manager in a disappointed tone. “What I don’t understand is why he mailed the letter.” said the stage director, “I thought he only lived, like, ten, fifteen minutes away.” “He mailed it?” asked the stage director, perplexed, “Why would he do that?” The stage director just shrugged. As he tore open the envelope, took out the letter and began to open it, a look of despair fell over the manager’s face.

“What is it, sir?” asked the stage director. “He quit!” replied the manager, “It’s a resignation letter!” “No way!” said the stage director, “Isn’t that the seventh janitor that’s quit, now?” “The eighth.” corrected the manager. “And I have no idea where we’re ‘gonna get a new one.” “What’s the reason he gave for his resignation?” asked the stage director curiously. “It doesn’t say.” replied the manager, setting the letter down with a sigh. “Well, no time to worry about it now. The first performance is going to start soon. Let’s go” he suggested to the stage director.

As the manager got up to leave with the stage director, a confused expression crept onto his face. “Did you just laugh at something?” he asked. “No, why?” replied the stage director.
“I.... never mind.” said the manager. As he closed the door to his office, the manager thought he saw out of the corner of his eye, a woman smiling in triumph behind his desk. But as he reopened the door, he found nothing there. I must be losing it. he thought as he walked with the stage director to the amphitheater.
The End