A NIGHT at the theatre conjures warm images of
plush wine seats, cosy chatter, and when the
lights fall and the curtains draw back, sheer escapism.
But take away the excitement and warmth of an audience, a beautiful set and a cast of talented entertainers and what is left? A pitch black, coldly beautiful and very large, empty, echoing, 100-yearold building standing on a site used as a performance space for centuries.
After paranormal investigators claimed Wakefield
Theatre is jampacked with wandering spirits, the idea for an all-night
vigil has always been in our minds.
So off I trotted to be met by theatre manager Paul Mellin in the foyer
after work this week, my
pyjamas, teddy bear, camera and toothbrush in my overnight bag.
After a quick wander
round to get my bearings for when the house lights are shut off, I tried
to find a comfortable spot to set up camp.
I quickly discovered there was nowhere at all that didn’t have scary corners or freaky passages for beasties to be hiding in.
So instead, I ended up curling up on one of the stalls seats, and sat and waited.
Paul, thankfully, stayed with me for a bit, and I babbled onto him about stupid, mundane things for a while, before approaching the subject of ghosts with him.
And then I really wished I hadn’t asked. Tallying up with what visiting mediums and investigators have claimed, ushers have spotted a Victorian lady in a blue velvet dress who haunts the upper circle, rumoured to have plunged to her death from the balcony.
Workmen have claimed to have seen both she and
a tall man in a top hat who knocks around in the stalls, and there is
an alleged presence in the left hand of the circle, so spooky that most
staff refuse to go up there alone.
General manager Murray Edwardsclaims the furniture in the bar moves around overnight and most staff members have some kind of story to tell. So when the lights shut off, I nearly had some kind of nervous breakdown. Paul left me to it, so there I was.Alone in the totally empty dark theatre with nothing but a raggy teddy and a torch for protection.
But as the night drew on, I ended up, well, really bored. I mean, once you’ve got over the fright factor, the place is actually quite peaceful.
I was reading by torchlight curled up at the bottom of the stalls in a corner when I felt something sharp and bitterly cold, pass through my legs likes a really strong breeze, and heavy shadow fall across my book. My breathing became shallow and I felt as if my heartbeat was bouncing off the walls.
I tried to leap to my feet but my legs were so weighted and icy feeling that I felt like I literally couldn’t move. My breath clouded in the air as I swung the torch down the row of empty seats in front of me. Nothing. I managed to get up, legs shaking but couldn’t bring myself to look around me. Instead I bolted for the foyer.
The halls still had on their emergency low lights, so I sank against the wall and briefly considered calling for back-up.
Then I decided I was being daft, I hadn’t actually seen anything concrete, so I wandered up to the circle and leant over the balcony from the safety of 20 feet up. Casting the thin beam of light over the stalls back and forth until I was satisfied there were no ghosties, I turned round and my torchlight caught something in the left side of the row of seats next to me. I stopped still, bit down hard on my lip, and raised the torch again
The best way to describe it was like the kind of static you get when you turn off the TV, like some kind of buzzing particles. Although it could well have been the dust flecks in the torch light in retrospect. Either way, I just wanted to get out of there, so legged it back into the hallway and briefly considered rebelliously lighting up under the no smoking sign.
I sank down on the steps and checked the time. It was approaching the early hours of the morning and it was looking like getting any kind of sleep was to be an impossible task.
The bar was right by me and I began to convince myself I could hear dragging noises from inside. Admitting defeat I went back to the foyer and curled up on the floor and waited for the comfort of dawn
. As soon as the first bird tweeted, I was out of there. Mr Mellin let me out and we had a good look round under the saftey of the lights.
“That’s funny”, he said as we went into the bar, “I could have sworn thoses beer mats weren’t stacked up like that”.
Time for a sharp exit.
