Renfield and The Ghost of The Theatre

Renfield and The Ghost of The Theatre


Renfield R. Renfield had bought himself a small theatre in West London.

He always thought it would be neat to be the owner of a theatre.

He would rent out the space to small theatre companies who wanted to put on live stage productions.


But Renfield had heard that a ghost haunted the theatre and would sometimes come on stage during live performances.


The reason the theatre had opened and closed so often.


"Looks like I'll have to call a ghost hunter to rid the theatre of this ghost," Renfield remarked to Amadeus Emanon as the two stood in front of the stage.


"I suppose," Amadeus replied as he chewed on some raspberry flavoured candied ectoplasm.


Suddenly a weeping could be heard coming from behind the stage curtains.


"Open the curtains, Matt," Renfield called out to one of the stage hands.


The curtains opened and a ghostly figure could be seen weeping on stage.


"Please don't call a ghost hunter," the ghost wept, "I am the ghost of Sir Allan Falteringham a promising thespian who died when I tripped over an electric cord and fell off the stage
hitting my head prior to giving the greatest performance and recital of my career. Please don't hire a ghost hunter to rid this theatre of me  until you've heard my performance."


"You have five minutes," Renfield looked at the cuckoo clock on the wall.


The ghost of Sir Allan Falteringham began his recital,


"Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day,
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lava-tree.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
and have buttered scones for tea.



I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars."



"That's the worst recital of the Monty Python Lumberjack Song I've ever heard," Renfield grumbled and reached for his phone, "I'm calling a ghost hunter."



"Oh please," the ghost of Sir Allan Falteringham wept, "it sounds so much better if I have a chorus behind me. If you could find me a nice chorus of ghosts to back me up..."


"Your five minutes are up," Renfield said as a cuckoo bird came flying out of the cuckoo clock on the wall and landed on the theatre floor.


Renfield dialed the ghost hunter's number.


Sir Allan Falteringham's nights on the stage were over.



-A vampire novel chapter
 written by Christopher
 Friday January 23rd
 2015.





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