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Retribution

by Elliot Richard Dorfman © 2008

It was a dreary and cold autumn day as the crowd silently watched the charred body of Esther Wentworth being removed from the burnt down little community theatre of Ridgeville, New York. The circumstances leading to her death would never be known. But even if it had, few people would believe it.

Perhaps her fate was sealed when she excitedly came running home to her parents after auditioning for the acting group when she was thirteen.

"I'm the youngest actress ever accepted into the group," she proudly told them."My friends dared me to try out, never thinking I would actually make it. You had to see the expression on their faces when they heard the news."

Once in the group, Esther's life revolved around acting. So it wasn't a surprise to anyone when she decided to travel all the way to New York and study histrionics at the famous American Academy of Dramatic Arts near the Broadway theatrical district.

" We hope you'll remember us when you become a famous," the members of the community theatre told her.

Esther worked hard at the academy. She became a proficient actress at the end of the two-year course. Working as a waitress in a dingy dinner on eighth avenue to support herself while waiting for her big break, Esther met Grant, a handsome musician with long black hair. Infatuated with him, she moved into his Greenwich Village flat.

"I'll succeed soon," she optimistically thought, but after achieving no positive results after numerous tryouts, depression set in.

"Don't give up," Grant advised. "There's a lot of competition out there. Only the ones with determination and drive will eventually succeed in the business."

What buffered her disappointment was her passionate relationship with Grant. Then one night after returning home from a late shift, she found her lover gone. There was a letter explaining that he had been offered some important gigs in San Francisco and was planning to stay there for a while.

"He'll be back," she naively thought. "In the meantime, all I need to keep me going is to get one role, no matter how small. At least it will be the beginning of a professional career."

But it never happened. Lonely and disgusted after a year, Esther returned to Ridgewood.

"No more acting," she thought to herself once back home, and enrolled in the local college as an English major.

"Hi, Esther," someone called out to her in the student lounge. It was

Joe Wentworth. She had known him in highschool. He was cute and had a good sense of humor. "Glad you're back in Ridgeville."

They became close, and soon he was constantly at her side, always buying her little gifts.

Both had a lot in common, and Esther found him comforting. When they graduated and became teachers four years later, she acquiesced and married him.

The couple were very dedicated to their profession, and were well liked in the high school they taught in. The Wentworth's did a lot of social entertaining during the year, and traveled during their summer vacation. Unfortunately, they had no children, although there didn't seem to be any physical reason for this.

"I'm being punished," Joe once heard his wife mumble.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh, forget it," she answered, and changed the subject.

During those years, Esther refused to get involved in dramatics. People were surprised, especially with her background.

"I've lost interest. Perhaps some day I'll change my mind," she commented.

That finally happened when Joe passed away shortly after they retired after teaching for thirty-one years. Having too much time on her hands, and to ward off depression, Esther rejoined the community theatre.

The place had seen better times and was about to close, but Esther came up with all kind of innovative ideas that saved it . . . When the position of artistic director eventually became available, she was unanimously chosen by the group to fill the position.

One Saturday morning in late August, Esther discovered an old hand written play called Foul Deeds at a church bazar. Thumbing through the old yellow pages, she felt this amateur thriller had a lot of merit. According to the address printed on the back, the playwright, Janet Morgan lived about forty-five minutes away by car.

"This play would be perfect for our Halloween presentation," she thought. "It's time that the group does something original."

Esther purchased the play, then decided to take a drive and see if the author still lived at that address.

When she arrived at the house, new white siding was being put on it. A young woman with a baby carriage was watching them from the side door. Esther walked over to her "I'm sorry to bother you, but could you tell me if Janet Morgan lives here?"

"Not anymore," responded the woman. "I found a few of her things in a corner of the attic when I moved here a few weeks ago. I donated them to the church bazar. That's about all I can tell you, Sorry."

A neighbor who had been listening to the conversation walked over to Esther. From her appearance, she must have been hitting 80, but she was still full of energy.

"I remember Janet Morgan. A pretty eighteen year old teenager, but kind of stuck up and nasty. There was something strange about her. Her family lived here until 1991."

"In what way was she strange?" asked Esther.

"There were rumors that Janet practiced the art of black magic and belonged to a cult that met on the outskirts of town. In any case, she and her parents were killed when their car lost control and struck a high tension wire." The old woman stopped. "Say, why you are so interested in her?"

"Well, "answered Esther, "I just bought Janet Morgan's play in the church bazar and I think it would be nice to present it at The Ridgeville community theatre."

"But I told you there was something evil about her. If I were you, I'd get rid of anything she wrote. Mark my words, if you ignore what I'm saying, you're in for a lot of trouble."

" Gee, she was only eighteen," Esther pondered. " The same age as . . . "

"The same age as who?" asked the curious old gossip.

Deep in thought, the director of the Ridgewood Community theatre didn't respond but got into her car and left.

That night Esther had a dream of an accusing hand pointing at her while some eerie sounding voice shouted to stay away from the play. When Esther awake, she assumed the nightmare was induced by the old woman's warning.

The first rehearsal of Foul Deeds was held on a nasty, rainy evening, but all of the cast members were on time. They sat in a semi circle, ready to begin the cold reading. Suddenly, bugs began to appear all over the stage. There were all sizes, slimy and disgusting. The women began screaming as the vermin began to crawl on anyone insight. The men tried to brush them off, but more insects appeared, replacing the ones that had fallen off. Panicking, and bumping into each other, everyone ran out of the building. The rehearsal was ruined. Next morning, the theatre was fumigated, although there were no longer any insects to be found.

Again, the weather on the night of the rescheduled rehearsal was bad. The rain came pouring down as the wind whipped through the trees. Esther arrived early to set up. She tried to turn on the lights, but they wouldn't go on.

"More bad luck," she said out loud.

"You haven't seen anything yet if you insist on doing my play," replied a voice from the darkened auditorium.

"Who's here?" called out the startled director.

A figure of a young woman appeared from the center aisle, glowing in a blueish green light. There was a scowl on her face.

"Give you one guess, " the specter ironically said in clear, strong voice.

"I don't know," replied Esther, trying to keep her voice steady.

" I'm the spirit of Janet Morgan," replied the angry ghost. " I want you to understand that my play is sort of an autobiography. I wrote it to entertain a group of my friends No one else!"

"An Autobiography?" said Esther, "But this play deals with people savagely being killed by members of an occult group."

"No kidding?" replied the apparition, sarcastically. " Well, now that you know the truth, will you drop the play?"

Esther shook her head. " No. It's a good play and I'm going to do it." Then she got all her courage together. "Anyway, you're dead, so you can't stop me from doing it. You're nothing but some harmless vapor!"

The phantom laughed. "How naive you are! Remember the last rehearsal? I was the one who brought in those creepy crawlers to give you a sample of my powers. I advise you to drop my play or prepare for the worst."

There was a bright flash and the auditorium was empty. A few seconds later, the auditorium lights went on.

Esther thought for a moment. "That wasn't real," she rationalized, taking out the scripts for the reading, "Just some kind of illusion my imagination created."

A few minutes later, the thirteen brave actors walked in from the storm.

There were no more unusual circumstances for the rest of the month. Esther was glad that she had not given in to her overactive imagination. But then things started turning for the worst. During the start of an October rehearsal, the entire cast got a rash on their cheeks. Everyone, that is, except Esther, who watched in horror. Within twenty minutes, the red patches spread across their face. They began gasping for breath. As panic ensued, they all exited out from the theatre. Once outside, the rash instantly vanished.

The county board of health came over the next day to check out the theatre. Nothing conducive to cause such a reaction was found. Still, the poor actors who had been afflicted would not go back into the theatre.

Esther was furious. She knew that it was this deleterious ghost that was causing all the trouble. Walking about the empty theatre, she called out to the phantom. "You don't scare me. I'll get a priest to cleanse this theatre and return your spirit back to hell where it belongs."

The phantom reappeared before her. "How stupid you are. That's an old wife's tale. It won't work. Wake up and smell the coffee. I will never let you present my play."

"Are you challenging me, Janet? Evil is never the final victor. I will present your play, even if I do it as a reading of it myself."

In defiance, Esther turned her back on the ghost and walked to the exit doors, but they wouldn't budge.

"And just who are you to talk about evil?" said the phantom behind her. "Didn't you secretly give birth to a daughter in New York then immediately abandon her in some crummy orphanage without ever telling anyone?"

Esther turned in shock, "How did you know I did that?"

"You learn many things after you die, Mother!"

"Mother? Are you telling me that . . . "

"Yes, that I am, or should say was, your daughter."

"You have no idea how often I regretted what I did."

"If it bothered you that much, why didn't you try and find me? There were ways to do it. I was raised by a couple who lacked any love or compassion. The only people I ever knew who cared about me were the members of my so-called evil cult."

Esther began to sob.

"Oh, give me a break. Stop with your alligator tears. Don't expect to get any compassion from me. What you deserve is retribution." The spirit thought for a moment. " Tell me, do you enjoy barbecues?"

"Barbecues, what does that have to do with what we're talking about?"

Suddenly, There was a loud crackling sound. In an instant a fire began spreading throughout the theatre. Ether pushed and banged on the exit doors with all of her force.

"Please, mercy, Janet," the petrified woman screamed out. But the ghost only laughed and then vanished, leaving Esther to her inevitable doom.

Elliot Richard Dorfman taught in the New York City School System for more than three decades, as well as giving private vocal and piano lessons. He founded Suma Play Productions, Inc., and was artistic director of the American Youth Repertory Company, Off Broadway. After retiring, he moved with his family from the borough of Brooklyn to Johnstown, New York. Among his successful former students are American tenor, Daniel Rodriguez, and character actress, Kelly Wolf. Mr. Dorfman, a former member of the NY Dramatist Guild and Associated Music teachers League, has appeared and written for radio and television. His plays (dramas and musicals) have been presented on the professional stage, schools and centers. Mr. Dorfman's recent short stories have or will be published in Delivered Magazine (four stories), Twisted Dreams Magazine (two stories), Bewildering Stories Magazine (three stories), Golden Visions Magazine (four stories), Black Petals Magazine , Blood Moon Rising Magazine , Perpetual Magazine, Static Movement Magazine , NVH Magazine, The Tiny Globule Magazine. Poems have appeared in Falling Star Magazine, Orange Room Review, and Golden Visions Magazine.