Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @benmacnair.

Ghost Light

Ralph stood in the nearly empty theatre, the smell of stale popcorn filling the air. His heart raced. Today was the last showing of the film that had once been his pride and joy. His fingers brushed against the film reel, memories flashing through his mind. The late nights spent editing, the laughter shared over bad takes, and now, it was all about to end. He had poured his soul into this project, and now it felt like he was losing a part of himself.

Sandra walked in, her smile lighting up the dim space. She had always been his muse. Every shot, every angle, he had imagined how she would react. Now, here she was, wearing that vintage dress that made his heart skip. “Hey, Ralph! Ready for the big show?” Her voice was like a warm hug. He wanted to tell her how much this meant to him, how he wished it could go on forever. Instead, he chuckled nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be!”

The lights dimmed, and the opening credits rolled. Ralph felt a mix of excitement and dread. Each frame flickered on the screen, and he watched Sandra’s reactions. The way her eyes sparkled during the funny parts, how she gasped at the tense moments. It was everything he had hoped for. But then, as the plot thickened, a realization hit him. This was it. When the credits rolled, it would all be over.

What if no one cared? What if the world moved on and forgot about it? He could picture it now. A quiet theatre, empty seats, and a sad little poster on the wall. “The Last Picture Show: Remember Us?” What a joke! He glanced at Sandra. She was laughing, genuinely laughing, and that made him feel better. He caught her eye, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

Then, the film hit a snag. The projector started sputtering. Panic surged through him. “No, no, no!” He rushed to the back, praying he could fix it in time. His hands trembled as he worked, thoughts racing. What if this was the end? What if they didn’t get to finish? He could hear Sandra’s laughter from the front. He needed to get this right.

Finally, the film was back on track. Relief washed over him. He returned to his seat, just in time to see Sandra’s face illuminated by the screen. The connection between them felt electric. He wanted to tell her everything—how she inspired him, how he wished they could make films together forever. But the moment was fleeting. The film was nearing the end.

As the final scene played out, Ralph’s heart sank. The characters shared a bittersweet goodbye. It mirrored his own feelings. What was he going to do without this? But then, he stole a glance at Sandra. Her eyes were glistening, not from sadness, but from joy. She turned to him, a huge grin on her face. “That was amazing, Ralph! You did it!”

The credits rolled, and the theatre erupted in applause. Ralph felt a rush of pride. It wasn’t just a film. It was a journey, a connection. He took a breath, looking at Sandra. “What do you think? Want to work on something new together?” Her eyes lit up. “Absolutely! Let’s make even more magic.” And just like that, Ralph knew this wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.

Only A Business Decision

The rain was coming down in sheets. A successful businessman known for his sharp suits and sharper deals, gripped the wheel of his expensive sedan. He was late. Terribly late. His biggest deal of the year hung in the balance. 

He sped through the downpour, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. Then, a flash of movement. Something darted out in front of him – a person, a shadow in the gloom. Brakes screeched, tires squealed, and the world seemed to slow. 

There was a sickening thud. He slammed on the brakes, his heart leaping into his throat. He’d hit someone. 

He cautiously got out of the car, the rain washing over him, making his expensive suit dark and damp. The street was deserted, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of rain on the pavement. He found the figure lying still in the puddle beside his car. 

Fear clawed at him. He wasn’t a violent man. He had a family. His meticulously built life felt as though it was crumbling around him. He approached the figure cautiously, his breath hitching in his throat. The person was still, unmoving. 

Panic tightened its grip. He knew he had to call for help. But a strange thought crossed his mind. He looked around, the empty street stretching before him, shrouded in rain and darkness. No witnesses. 

He could drive away. No one would know. The thought, a horrifying whisper, was a stark contrast to the responsible, upstanding citizen he presented to the world. The image of the body, lifeless in the street, haunted him. His mind raced, creating scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. 

He looked at his watch again. His meeting. His deal. His future. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Then, the person coughed. A weak, rasping sound. 

Relief washed over him, so intense it was almost painful. He knelt beside the figure, his heart still pounding. He checked for a pulse. A weak but steady pulse. He should call for help, and yet he hesitated again. What if this pedestrian was part of some elaborate scheme? What if this was a trap? 

His phone felt heavy in his hand. He was certain he’d made a terrible mistake, but he didn’t know if he was wrong to call the police. Calling the ambulance seemed a little less risky. Yet, he still hesitated. He was trapped in a terrible, moral conflict. The rain kept falling, relentless, a mirror to the storm raging inside him. He had to make a choice. A choice that would determine the rest of his life. 

The Commercial Spirit

In the heart of a bustling city, there stood an old shopping mall called Willow Plaza. While it used to be the favorite place for families, over the years, it had fallen into disrepair. Many stores closed, and fewer people came to visit. But one gloomy evening, as rain poured heavily outside, curiosity drew Sarah to the mall. She had heard stories about strange happenings there, but she wanted to see for herself. 

As Sarah entered, the automatic doors creaked open. The dim lights flickered above her, creating eerie shadows on the walls. She walked past abandoned stores, their windows clouded with dust. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty halls. A chill ran down her spine, but she pushed through, determined to explore. 

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. At the far end of the mall, she saw a figure, dark and shadowy, slip into a store. Curious and slightly afraid, she approached the store, the letters spelling “Mystic Curios” barely visible. With a hesitant push, the door swung open, squeaking loudly. Inside, the air smelled of old wood and something sweet yet rotten. 

To her surprise, the walls were lined with odd trinkets—ancient dolls, dusty books, and jars filled with strange liquids. As she stepped further in, the atmosphere changed; it felt heavy and suffocating. That’s when she heard a whisper, low and sinister. “Get out…”

Startled, Sarah turned to leave, but the door slammed shut. Heart racing, she pounded on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The lights flickered, and shadows danced along the walls. In the corner of the room, the dark figure appeared again, its form now clearer. It was a malevolent spirit, a guardian of the mall’s secrets, angered by intruders. 

“Why do you disturb my slumber? ” it hissed, its voice echoing in the confined space. Sarah trembled, feeling the weight of fear crush her. 

“I-I just wanted to see,” she stammered, desperate to explain. 

The spirit paused, its glowing eyes locking onto hers. “You seek what was lost, but some things remain buried for a reason. ”

With a flick of its wrist, the ground beneath Sarah shimmered, revealing glimpses of past memories—happy families, laughter, and joy. Then, just as quickly, they faded into darkness. The spirit sighed, “This place remembers. ”

In that moment, Sarah understood. This mall was more than just a building; it held memories and sorrow. With a newfound respect, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry. ”

The spirit faded, and the door swung open softly. As Sarah stepped outside, the rain had stopped, and a new dawn approached. Willow Plaza would always have its secrets, but now, she would carry its story with her—a tale of what once was.