The Spirits of Groundlings Theatre: Tales from the Shadows

I am not alone in this place. My companions, though unseen by most, are many, and they too have their stories, their scars, and their eternal roles within these walls. Groundlings Theatre holds more than the echoes of performances, it cradles the restless, the forgotten, and the tormented. We are always here, waiting, watching.

Among us the headmaster, of the school that once thrived here. His presence dominates, a lingering shadow that has outlasted time itself. I see him clearly, just as he was in life, a cruel man, twisted in spirit long before his body withered. He was a tyrant, ruling over the school with his iron fist and sharp cane, together with a dark heart. His wife lived under the same roof, but it was his mistress who held the real power, taking care of the children he claimed to "educate." She stays here too, though her reasons are different. She remains to tend to the spirit children, those orphans who died under his care, still trapped in their fears, hiding in the cellar, afraid to come into the light.

The children... they never left. They remain just as I do, their small faces peeking out from behind the stone walls when they think no one is watching. They are quiet, skittish, but they find solace in music, drawn to it like moths to flame. Their fear of him persists even now, so much time later. They scatter when he arrives, and yet, like all of us, they are bound here. Their sadness clings to the air, an unending whisper of what was taken from them.

He relishes his power. His cane, once a symbol of his authority, still strikes fear. There have been times when I’ve watched investigators, those curious souls who come seeking proof of the paranormal, feeling the sting of his wrath. He taunts them, his energy swirling in malevolence. His laughter echoes in the dim light, sharp and cutting. He thrives on their fear, just as he thrived on the fear of the children long ago.

For us, this is our eternity. Seemingly we are trapped here, in these roles, in this place where time doesn’t exist, where moments loop endlessly. The Old Benny has him and he will always stalk these halls, perhaps afraid of what lies next for him. The children will always cower in the shadows. We will always wait... perhaps for the one who will finally break the cycle, or maybe just for the next curious soul who dares to step in and feel his wrath.

Yet, there is beauty here, too. Groundlings Theatre has witnessed the resilience of the human spirit, the power of creativity that still flows through the building, as performances breathe life into the stage night after night. That energy sustains us, reminds us of what was, and what could have been. In the music, the laughter, the applause... for a brief moment, we can almost forget. Almost.