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by W. K.
Rated: E · Fiction · Ghost · #2035807
Young Aiden meets old.
The Projectionist


At 47:23 into the film, something happened to Aiden Maniere. He felt the creepy feeling that someone was looking at him. The back of his neck tingled, his head tilted right and his shoulders shot up in a shudder as the feeling shot down his spine, making his entire body tremble.

         Craning his neck to the left and right, he scanned the theater. He turned his attention up the back wall to the small square opening of the projector room, There he is! Aiden slipped out of his seat leaving his popcorn behind, hoping the projectionist would think he had just gone to the rest room.

         Aiden found his way to a side door off the main lobby, opening it he discovered a darkened stairwell leading to the projector room. Slowly slide stepping up the outer edges of the aged wooden steps to minimize the creaking; he crested the top of the stairs where a closed door came into view. The floorboards cracked underneath his weight as his face winced tight toward the tip of his nose against the heart wrenching thought of discovery.

         Flickering blue light seeped from every side of the door as Aiden reached for the peeling brass of the doorknob. As the cold metal met his sweaty palm, he inched the egg shaped door handle to the right and slowly pushed open the door, thick with years of paint.

         Clickity-clack! Clickity-clack! Clikity clack! Aiden could see the film slapping uncontrolled against the projector frame and an old man seated in the chair. Looking down, he could see his own shirt moving against his pounding heart. Slipping across the floor, Aiden stood next to the man, "Please, stop looking at me!" He commanded. The only answer he received was from the nameplate across the man's chest.

         Aiden.





         



© Copyright 2015 W. K. (93chevy at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2035807