"Three people are in the main theater," the Captain said. "Send them away."
       Yeah, yeah, I'm going, I'm going, I thought. It's always me who has to go. I didn't really mind the way he said it. It makes the Captain feel good to boss me around -- to pretend he's still the manager of the movie theater. But, honestly, no one else could go. I'm the only one who can still pass for the living.
       There's only five of us to choose from, after all. Me, and the Captain -- that's not his real name, by the way, I just call him that because he was my supervisor. He was burned some, and got hit on the head with falling plaster, so his face is all smashed. There's little Heather Sampson, but she's only six, and pretty much all charred up. We also have Bobby Holguin and Melissa Caruthers, who were in the projection booth, making out, when the smoke got them. They look OK, but they're both naked. We don't notice anymore, but they also glow, a sort of translucent fading in and out, obviously ghosts.
       I still look more-or-less normal, as long as I don't turn around. Smoke inhalation got me first, and I collapsed face down. My face and uniform are virtually untouched, just a little smoky. My whole backside is a blackened mess, though.
       So, like I said, it's always me who has to go roust out some poor bums or runaway kids looking for a warm spot to sleep. I flash a little light around, like a flashlight, make myself visible from the shadows, and tell them to move on. They rarely argue -- I think some part of them gets spooked, even if they don't know I'm dead.
       So, in a way, I'm still the security guard, even though there is hardly anything left to secure. The theater's been closed over thirty years now, the seats and fixtures pulled out a decade ago. On quiet nights, I swear I can hear the termites chomping the place down around us.
       We never intended to spend our eternity haunting an abandoned movie theater. The Captain and I stay here because of Heather. From the minute we both ran back into the burning building, Heather has been our responsibility. The heavenly lights have come for her several times, but she won't go -- she says she's too ugly to be an angel. We tell her the Captain looks much worse, with his smashed head and all, but she saw the firemen throwing up when they found her body. We tell her she won't look like that in heaven, but she says we don't know for sure, which is unfortunately true.
       Bobby and Melissa won't leave because they're in love. They want to go through the lights together, but the voices never call for both of them at the same time. They won't go if they can't be together for all eternity. It's really kind of sweet, in a stupid sort of way.
       We all get along the best we can. In the beginning, Bobby and Melissa would find scraps of curtains or chair upholstery to cover themselves, but as the building got cleaned out, they couldn't find material anymore, and eventually gave up. They pretend they're married, since they were engaged when it happened. Heather pretends to be their little girl, and they play house. You can get used to anything I guess, even the sight of a nude teenage girl with flowing blond hair sitting on the crumbling staircase, crooning half-remembered lullabies to a small, blackened skeleton rocking in her lap. It is definitely the stuff of ghost stories, though.
       The heavenly lights have come for each of us, at one time or another. Every so often, the Captain and I point out to each other that there is no reason for both of us to stay. The next time the lights call one of us, he should move on. The other one always agrees, yet the pretty lights have come, called to us, and gone away many times over the years, and we're still here.
       As I came down the aisle, I saw candlelight glowing in the main theater, near where the screen used to be, and three shadows sitting in a circle on the filthy floor, holding hands. They'd placed camping lanterns a little farther out, making a nice circle of light -- protection from the boogie men, like me.
       A séance. Those were always fun. We hadn't had a séance in years. And easy, too. Thump a few boards, howl at the right time, and you can have hysterical teenagers screaming and running all over the place.
       And you don't have to get visible to do it. I haven't said anything to the others, but it's getting harder to make myself visible to the living. Making things move has gotten harder, too. One of these days, I suspect we will just fade quietly away. I guess that's what happens to ghosts.
       Something was different with this one. I couldn't see their faces well, but enough to tell the people seated on the floor were not teenagers, or even young adults. One woman was older, all dressed up gypsy-like, obviously the medium. A man and a woman, both in their late thirties, sat with her. They wore regular street clothes and looked awkward as they held hands and chanted.
       The Captain was wrong, for once. I'd have to rub his disfigured face in it when I got a chance. He said three people; there were four. As the medium muttered, swayed, and moaned, another much older woman in a nice red dress suit stood outside of the group, gazing passively at the show. The heavy lines on her tired face made deep shadows in the flickering light.
       Obviously, this crowd would not be scared off with a few noises. I moved closer, keeping my back to the wall, and began gearing up to make myself visible. I was almost to the edge of the lantern circle when the woman in red looked up and right at me. Her face seemed to light up, and she walked straight toward me.
       "Jim," she said, then stopped, probably at my shocked expression. No one's called me by that name in a long, long time.
       "Jimmy," she said again, more softly, "It's me, Sarah. Do you remember me?" I stared. Could this elderly, sickly woman be my sweet Sarah? Then she smiled, and I recognized her, and loved and grieved for her all over again. It had been a very, very long time.
       "Sarah," I sighed, and moved forward to hold her. Then I remembered not all of me is presentable, and held up my hands, "Stay there. Please. I don't think it would be good for you to touch me."
       I tried to sound wise in a ghostly way, since I didn't want to say the real reason. Bobby tells me my super well-done ribcage sticks out in back, ruining his taste for rack of lamb for all eternity. There's also charred chunks of vertebrae visible in places. I maneuvered a little further into the shadows.
       Sarah must have mellowed over the years, because she actually stopped when I asked her to. "Okay," she said softly, "For now. Jim, it's wonderful to see you. I've come... I've come to take you home."
       I was still drinking in the sight of her and barely heard her words. Oddly, the other séance participants ignored us and continued chanting along with the medium. Now I recognized them. "Oh, my God. Is that Kevin? And Linda?" They were ten and twelve when I died. Sarah smiled and nodded. Ice filled my stomach. "What about Caitlyn? Is she..."
       Sarah laughed. "She's fine, and still as atheistic as ever. She just couldn't bring herself to be here, to be part of ..." she waved her hand, "all this superstition. Kevin doesn't believe, either, but I'm so glad he came. You can be proud of all our children, Jim. They may think this is nonsense, but were willing to do it anyway ...for me."
       For you? Don't you mean for me? No. Oh, no. The ice in my stomach froze up again. "Sarah," I whispered, "They can't see either of us, can they?"
        Sarah shrugged. "Cancer," she said simply. Now I wanted to hold her so much it was agony. She continued, "I had a good life, and chemotherapy bought me the time to say goodbye, and to arrange this -- to bring me here, to you.
        "I knew you were here," she went on. "I could always, I don't know, just feel you. And now, we can go home, or wherever, together. I've seen that light that everyone talks about, and we can go through it. I'm sure it will come again."
       "It will. It always comes back," I reassured her, but also shook my head. "I can't go," I said, and started to explain about Heather. Without warning, Sarah stepped forward and grabbed my hand.
       I jumped and pulled back, then looked down at my hand, the left hand. The ring finger had always been black and burned, where my wedding band had melted into the skin. Now it was whole again, ring and all. There was even dirt under my fingernail.
       Sarah squeezed my hand. "I see you the way you were, the way you should be seen, the way you will be seen. Come with me."
       Of course, I couldn't see my back, but I glanced down at the backs of my legs. They were once again covered by khaki uniform pants, all tan and clean and pressed just so, the way Sarah liked to do it, tapering down to the heel of black shined shoes. Still looking down, I stammered, "There are others..."
       Sarah looked up and nodded to the wall behind me. I turned and saw them. That's when I realized they probably always lurked in the shadows, watching during my "visitations." It was, after all, the only time they could see real, living people.
       The Captain was his old self, prim business suit and all, down to his fussy little mustache. The difference was that he was smiling, grinning ear to ear, something I never saw the whole time I worked for him. It was actually kind of scary.
       Except, I knew why he was grinning. In front of him danced the prettiest little girl in the universe. She danced, whirled and skipped in circles down the littered aisle, laughing and waving. Angels didn't sing as sweet, or with as much joy. She looked nothing like I'd imagined, as if that mattered a horse's tail. She had short curly hair and wore summer shorts and sneakers. That made sense for a kid at the movies on a Saturday afternoon, but somehow I'd always imagined her in a little frilly dress, ready for Sunday school.
       Bobbie and Melissa looked so pleased to have clothes on; I doubt if they noticed they were dressed in identical T-shirts and jeans. Their faces were different too, younger, spiffier, like school photos. I wondered how many hours, no, days and weeks, Sarah spent memorizing photos of a little girl and two teenagers she'd never met, on the slim chance that some good might come of it.
       Sarah held all of us, together, and in turns. Then we all watched as the séance ended. Kevin, Linda, and the gypsy lady had blown out the candles, got up rather stiffly off the floor, and were gathering up the lanterns and flashlights, unaware of the happiness all around them.
       "I don't want them to go yet." Heather pouted. "I want them to see me! To see me like this! I can make them see me, can't I?"
       Melissa became her mother again. She knelt down. "Heather, honey, don't. They need to go on, now. Let them go. My, my, you are sure are pretty, though." Heather grinned and danced around again.
       Our daughter Linda was crying, hard. She clung to Kevin and sobbed into a red scarf, like the one Sarah was wearing now.
       Sarah clutched my arm. "I want to go with them."
       I held her close to me, and away from them. "No. Stay with me. Always." I murmured, and we grieved together as we watched our children proceed solemnly up the aisle.
       The somber group filed out the side door of the ruined building. We listened to the finality of hammer blows as Kevin nailed rotten boards back into place over the door, watched the dust motes drift down from the ceiling at the vibrations.
       Then, there was silence. I wondered whether Sarah had only succeeded in trapping herself along with us, when damn if a whole group of heavenly lights didn't show up, glowing together in full glory from the empty wall where the movie screen had been. Celestial music surrounded us, Bach, I think. Heather bounced around, hugging each of us over and over. Melissa asked me which of us the lights were for, but I didn't answer. She would figure it out for herself.
       Nothing is certain in this life or the next. The Captain and I shook hands, and I formally gave him my resignation. Then we broke down and hugged, and soon were hugging all around. Heather started crying, and we had to promise we would stay with her until she found her grandmother, which seemed a fair promise.
       It was time to go. We all joined hands in a line, and let my beloved Sarah be the one to lead us into the light, to take us, finally, all the way home.