There’s this old theatre near my house. Very decrepit, rusting, sagging with age. I don’t think it’s been open for nearly 40 years. I never thought much of it - there are a lot of abandoned buildings in the part of town I live in. At least I didn’t - until it happened. One day, I was driving past the theatre when I noticed it. The rust and decay had been cleared away. The theatre bore a fresh new coat of jaunty red paint. The marquee was lit up with lights so bright they nearly blinded me, and bore the words: THE GREAT SHOW - 8:00 PM.
I was surprised, to be sure. I had driven past that theatre nearly every day, and I hadn’t seen even a hint of any sort of restoration. Did someone do this all in one night? It was unlikely, but that seemed like the only plausible explanation. While I was surprised, I wasn’t considering attending the show. I’ve never liked the theatre, not even a bit. I wasn’t planning to give it any more thought.
I hadn’t given it any more thought until one of my coworkers went up to me one day on my lunch break. “Hey!” he said. I was surprised. I had barely spoken to this guy before. I don’t even think I knew his name. “Um, hi?” I asked, a little confused. “Have you seen that play? At the theatre?” “No. Why?” I responded. “You definitely should go. It was a life-changing experience. Every part of it was completely perfect.” He was acting weird, but the rave review had piqued my interest. “What’s it about?”
He froze. I could see the smile fall off his face. “Um…” He said. I was starting to get a little nervous. I wondered if he was playing a joke of sorts on me, but I didn’t think so. I could see him frantically searching the crevasses of his mind, looking for an answer. “I don’t really remember.” He admitted, after a minute. “But I did enjoy it a lot. That’s all you need to know.” Then he walked off.
I had to pass the theatre to get home from work. It looked the same as before, but this time I got a bad feeling about it. Things continued on for a couple days. It seemed like everyone I met was singing the praises of this show. When I went online, I found hundreds of reviews, all saying that the play was “Life-Changing” and “Revolutionary”. Yet I couldn’t find anything saying what the play was actually about. Not anywhere. It was never mentioned in the reviews, and anyone who I asked in real life couldn’t remember.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this was tame compared with what was to come. The next thing I noticed was changes in my coworkers. It started with the first guy who had approached me. I noticed he became paler - his eyes were reddening, and his hair started to grey and even fall out in some spots. He was at his desk, but he barely seemed to be working. He was just tapping on the keyboard, absent-mindedly. I looked over his shoulder, and it seemed like he was just typing nonsense - a slurry of random characters and punctuation marks.
I tried to approach him. “Hello?” I called. The typing stopped. Slowly, he began to swivel his office chair around to face me. From up close, I could see how much worse he had become. The bald spots on his head, which had previously seemed to have fallen out on their own, were now evidently torn off - I could see the scars. “Yes?” He rasped, in a low, husky voice. “Have you seen it?” I hadn’t heard him speak much, but I knew that this voice wasn’t his own. I lost my nerve. I just ran back to my cubicle.
I found him again that night. I was driving past the theatre when I saw him, shambling towards the entrance like some sort of reanimated corpse. I stopped the car and watched him closely. He walked on and on until he reached the entrance. He stopped at the front door. It swung open for him. I was immediately taken by surprise. Instead of seeing a theatre lobby, I saw nothing but a cheap, grease-stained carpet floor shrouded by a thick fog. That was when he turned around and saw me.
I panicked. The fog began to leak from the theatre, and encompassed my car quickly. It happened so fast I barely had time to react. I looked outside, and saw that I was no longer in my neighbourhood. I was in an endless parking lot. I tried to start my car, but it wouldn’t work. The gas levels were normal, so it couldn’t be that. I had no choice but to get out and start walking. It felt like I had been walking for ages across the eternal rows of empty parking spots when I finally saw something in the distance. It was the theatre.
It looked even worse than when it was abandoned. The roof was close to caving in - the marquee was slanted at an unsafe angle. Most of the bulbs were burnt out, and the few that weren’t sent a shower of sparks onto the asphalt. The last thing I wanted was to go in - but I didn’t know what else to do. Hesitantly, I walked inside.
It somehow looked even more dilapidated on the inside. Rotting wood pillars reached to the ceiling. A greasy carpet like the one I had seen through the door went from wall to wall. A few bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light upon the building. I saw something in the corner - an old ticket booth. To my surprise, the station was manned by an ancient, rusty robot, attached to the stand.
It sprang to life the moment I went up to it. It was in the shape of a normal human, and was wearing a decaying usher’s uniform. The name tag was too worn to make out anything. In a rusty, metallic, inhuman voice it screeched - “TICKETS. NO ADMISSION.” An iron hand shot out from somewhere, holding a single ticket. I took it from the automaton’s hand as quickly as possible, lest it try to grab me. As soon as the ticket left its hand, it slumped back into its original position.
At this point, I was scared out of my mind. But I felt like I had to press onwards - like an invisible being was forcing me to do it. I walked slowly into the door with the sign that bore the words “THEATRE”. The theatre looked like the rest of the place - old, rotting, and falling apart. My ticket held the words, “A3”. I went to the front row, and there it was. It was difficult to find, because the metal nameplates on the chairs were almost rusted beyond decipherability, but I made it. I sat down. The curtains slowly drew open.
It was nearly two hours later when I emerged from the theatre back into the real world, a changed man. I know my fate - I have seen what happens to those who indulge in it. But, my god, the play was good. It was perfect - in every unimaginable way. It showed me everything - all of it. All that there is and all that there ever will be. I saw it all. So, why am I telling you this? Consider it something of a review. I know that you might feel apprehensive towards it - I did too. But you must see it. You must.