The Dark Between Notes

Text 1: The Last Cue, by Rowan Ellery

An original short story extract.

Mara stood in the wings with one hand on the curtain rope. Beyond it, the village hall held its breath. She had practised the opening alone so often that the first note seemed to belong to someone else. The stage manager lifted two fingers.

Then the lights went out.

A click. A pause. Another click, somewhere behind the scenery. Mara tightened her grip. The darkness pressed close; even the painted castle had vanished. She could hear the stage manager breathing, then nothing. The silence lengthened until the rope began to burn against her palm.

From the hall came a faint, uneven tapping. Mara leaned towards the curtain. One tap, then two, then a scatter of them. She pictured someone trying to leave, chairs scraping in the dark. The stage manager's hand found her shoulder. Neither of them moved.

Then a voice in the audience hummed her opening note. Another joined it, then another, until the hall was carrying the tune together. Mara let the rope slide through her fingers. When the emergency lights flickered on, she stepped out and played. The tapping had not been a way out. It had been the audience keeping time.