Note: This is the beginning of "Reflections of a Mistress - a ghost story" by Wayne Erreca. It is a two-act drama play. This will give you a taste of its story. ______________________________________________________ REFLECTIONS OF A MISTRESS A Ghost Story ~ A Play ~ By Wayne Erreca Reflections of a Mistress, a two-act play, located in Northern Michigan, on the shores of Torch Lake, and Old Mission Peninsula, near West Grand Traverse Bay. It opens in the year of 1959. Jim and Fern Bryant have purchased the old Stickney mansion and have renovated it into a restaurant, calling it the Bowers Harbor Inn. Shortly after their grand opening, odd events begin appearing to their hired help, and customers. Perceiving them to be supernatural activities, a friend of the owners, contacts a Chicago magazine The Great Lakes Paranormal Society, inviting them to investigate. Thirty-five year old Brian Haththorn, a journalist, and authority on poltergeist phenomena, is assigned to investigate. CAST Francis Wellington Brian Haththorn Marybeth Hazelworth Genevive Stickney Charles F. Stickney Act One, Scene One [Stage setting is sparse. Light design creates a film noir affect and scene transitions seamless.] The stage is black. The sound of an approaching car is heard, coming to a stop. The engine is idling and then turned off. The lights raise slowly on Brian Haththorn, a handsome young man, attired in grey slacks, white long-sleeved shirt under a loosely fit coat, and wearing a fedora. He’s standing at a public telephone, as he begins to dial. A telephone rings at the opposite end of the stage from where he stands, with a light slowly bringing the phone in view. Entering to answer it is an attractive middle-aged woman, her name is, Francis Wellington, wearing an extravagant summer dress. She calmly lifts the receiver to her ear. FRANCIS Hello? BRIAN Hello, can I speak with, Marybeth Hazelworth, please? FRANCIS I’m sorry; there is no one here by that name. BRIAN I’m Brian Haththorn, a journalist from Chicago; I was told she could be reached at this number. FRANCIS Whoever told you that are mistaken, this is the Wellington residence; it’s been my home for over a decade. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you, good day. BRIAN Wait a second! I’ve checked county records and Marybeth Hazelworth is listed as the legal owner of your house. You know that, don’t you? FRANCIS Yes, but why is this any concern of yours? BRIAN It’s important that I find her. Would it be an imposition if I stopped by, Mrs. Wellington? I’d like to ask a few questions about her and also about a Mr. Charles F. Stickney. FRANCIS Francis Stickney? BRIAN Yeah, you know him? FRANCIS No, I don’t, but why are you looking for Ms Hazelworth? BRIAN I’m an investigator for The Great Lakes Paranormal Society magazine. I’m up here doing an article on paranormal activities at the Bowers Harbor Inn. Marybeth’s connected to it somehow and that’s why I need to talk to her. FRANCIS Why do you need to talk to me then? BRIAN Because you live in her house and I think you know where I can find her. FRANCIS I’ve told you I don’t know her? BRIAN I recently spoke with David Bernstein, a mail carrier, who delivered letters to your address between 1945 and 1953, from Laura Dillingham to Marybeth Hazelworth. Do you find that strange? I do. You were living there during that time, weren’t you? (Silence.) Are you still there, Mrs. Wellington? FRANCIS Yes. What did you say your name was? BRIAN Brian Haththorn. FRANCIS Mr. Haththorn, this is very unusual, but I can see you within the hour. Do you need directions to my home? BRIAN No, I’ve got your address. FRANCIS How will I know you’re who you say you are? BRIAN I have credentials and I’m wearing a tan Fedora. FRANCIS All right, I’ll see you shortly then. Goodbye. BRIAN Yeah, see you then. Lights dim on Francis and Brian, as she hangs up receiver, then goes to black. Within moments, sounds of an approaching car are heard. Lights rise on him as he stands knocking on her front door, with lights soon rising on Francis Wellington as she crosses to greet him. FRANCIS Hello, Mr. Haththorn. I’m Francis Wellington; you said you had credentials to show me. (He pulls his driver license from his wallet.) BRIAN Sure, here’s my driver’s license, and if you want to see my union card I’ve got that to. FRANCIS No, this will do. Thank you. Please come in and follow me to the living room, we can talk in there. (There are two chairs at a small table. She motions him to sit, as he looks around the room.) BRIAN Nice home you got here, I love the oriental carpet, must have cost a fortune, right? FRANCIS It was a present from my husband and knowing him it was very expensive. BRIAN See, I knew that; I’ve got an eye for things like that. Hey, who painted the portrait of you over the fireplace? Stunning, it’s got a lot of class. FRANCIS Thank you, it was my late husband, just before he passed away. BRIAN Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. FRANCIS Would you please sit down? I made coffee, do you care for some? BRIAN Sure, I’ll have it black, please. FRANCIS Excuse me while I go to the kitchen; make yourself comfortable, I’ll only be a minute. (She exits, as he stands looking out the window.) BRIAN It’s been a long time since getting out of Chicago, Mrs. Wellington. It’s my first trip up here. It sure is quiet; I like that, no honking horns or busy streets. And everywhere you look there’s a lake. What do you call the one outside your window? (She enters, carrying a tray holding a pot of coffee and two cups.) FRANCIS It’s Torch Lake. The Indians called it Place of the Torches, but you’re not here for anthropological lessons, are you, Mr. Haththorn? (She hands him his coffee and sits.) BRIAN No, but I’m a real sucker for a good story. Thanks, it’s nice and hot. (They both sit.) FRANCIS Before we begin, I have one condition; please don’t ask any questions regarding Mr. Charles Stickney. BRIAN Sure, not a problem, I’ve got other things to ask. FRANCIS So, what is it you want to know? BRIAN What happened to Marybeth’s letters? FRANCIS I sent them back to the post office. Apparently, the woman sending them wasn’t aware she no longer lived here. BRIAN Don’t you find it odd that it took her eight years to figure that out? That’s a lot of wasted postage. FRANCIS I can’t speak for her, Mr. Haththorn. BRIAN All right, that’ll be easy enough to follow up on with, Mr. Bernstein. FRANCIS Are you implying I’m not telling you the truth? BRIAN I’ve been an investigator for a long time and you’d be amazed how many people can stretch a story. So, do you have a long term lease here, or do you pay, month to month? FRANCIS I don’t think that’s any of your business. BRIAN Why not? FRANCIS If you did your homework you would know I had a long-term lease and only last year I extended it another five years. BRIAN Actually, it wasn’t last year, but only seven months ago, I believe in mid-December. Does that sound right? FRANCIS What else do you know about me? BRIAN You’ve been living here since 1940 and after the first snowfall hits the ground each year you fly to Carmel, California, where you’ve had a home there since 1947. What else would you like to know, Mrs. Wellington? FRANCIS I’m not sure I’m impressed or outraged. BRIAN While you think it over, I have a gut feeling you know where she is. What troubles me most is why you’re not telling me. Does that make sense to you? FRANCIS Why don’t you ask your therapist, Mr. Haththorn? BRIAN I like that. (Laughs) The reason I want to talk to her is because a poltergeist is haunting that restaurant. You know what a poltergeist is, don’t you? FRANCIS It’s a ghost and I happen not to believe in them and you still haven’t explained why she has anything to do with me? BRIAN Not a single thing, she’s just the owner, right? Here’s something for you to chew on, my magazine was contacted by an anonymous friend of the restaurant owners after unusual sightings were being reported there. FRANCIS Ghosts, I presume? BRIAN No, just one ghost, and this is where it gets interesting. There’s an elevator that was going up and down, up and down without anybody on board, and their customers were seeing a woman’s reflection in a bathroom mirror. Have you ever heard of what happened to Mrs. Genevive Stickney? FRANCIS No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me. BRIAN This next part gets a little hairy. Sometime during the mid-1930’s Genevive was found hanging from a rope in the elevator shaft, dead, from an apparent suicide. FRANCIS Excuse me, why are you telling me this? BRIAN I thought I already told you why. Did you forget? FRANCIS I’ve already said I don’t know her and if you don’t have anything else to say, I would appreciate our ending this conversation. BRIAN I do have something else, I’d like for you to take a look at this photo. One of their waitresses shot it after seeing it written in blood on the bathroom mirror. (He hands her a small photo.) FRANCIS I’ve had enough, Mr. Haththorn. (She hands it back to him) Our conservation is over; I’ll see you to the door. (Francis stands.) BRIAN We were just getting started! FRANCIS I would appreciate your not contacting me again. Do you understand? BRIAN Sure, but before I go, I’d like to say something? (He stands.) FRANCIS I think you’ve said enough. (She starts moving to the front door as he holds up the photo to her.) BRIAN Mrs. Wellington, I’m an authority on paranormal phenomena, and that name on the mirror is Marybeth Hazelworth, and you just saw it, plain as day. A ghost did that! FRANCIS The waitress could have been disingenuous, creating a hoax for her own amusement. BRIAN Sure, that’s possible, but why her name? Why not Betsy Lou or Margie Ray? Come on, you know as well as I do, that’s not how it happened, which leads me back to you. FRANCIS I don’t have to believe any of this, Mr. Haththorn, would you please follow me to the door? BRIAN I think you do, and I sense there’s something you’re trying to forget. Whatever it is, I know it’s reaching out to you, and I think you know why. I’ve encountered things like this before, many times, and this does involve you to some degree, Mrs. Wellington. This is no coincidence you’re living in the house of Marybeth Hazelworth, and you’re saying you don’t know who we’re talking about? Come on, I’m not stupid. Well, sometimes I am. Are you positive you don’t know where Marybeth is? FRANCIS No. BRIAN All right, I can see you’ve made up your mind. Listen; if you do happen to come by Marybeth, could you please have her call me at this number? (Hands her his card) You have a beautiful home here and thanks for the coffee, it was good. That’s pretty much all I have to say. Goodbye, Mrs. Wellington, I know where the door’s at. (He walks past her to the door.) FRANCIS Mr. Haththorn? (He stops, turning to her.) BRIAN Yeah? FRANCIS Please don’t go. BRIAN Why the change of mind? FRANCIS I know where you can find Marybeth Hazelworth. BRIAN Where? Do you have her phone number? FRANCIS There is no need for that. BRIAN Why not? FRANCIS If I reveal her to you, do I have your word you will keep her existence in complete confidence? BRIAN Sure. So, where do I find her? FRANCIS You’re the first person seeing her in the flesh since 1924. I’m Marybeth Hazelworth. BRIAN Say again? FRANCIS I’m the person you’re looking for, Mr. Haththorn. BRIAN Do you mind if I sit down? (She nods and remains standing, while he sits down, pulling a notepad and pen from his coat pocket.) [From here on, he will be taking notes down as she speaks.] Why the charade? FRANCIS Let’s just say it’s made my life more peaceful. So, now that you’ve found me, what now? BRIAN First things first, what am I suppose to call you? FRANCIS Mrs. Wellington will do. BRIAN All right, Mrs. Wellington, there’s something you need to know, I’m a professional ghost hunter. I know that must sound strange to you, but I really am a ghost hunter. I’ve kicked ghosts out of places from New Jersey to San Francisco, and I won’t be satisfied until Genevive Stickney’s ghost is out of there. I need for you to tell me who you are and why she’s reaching out to you. Can you do that for me? FRANCIS Yes. I was Genevive’s personal nurse 38 years ago and I lived in their mansion with them, for several years. I left from my employment there in 1924, and returned to New York. That’s pretty much all I can say. It was a long time ago. BRIAN Mrs. Wellington, do you realize what Genevive is? She’s a restless spirit looking for resolve and that’s why she’s haunting the place. It’s impossible for me to free a ghost without first finding its source of unrest. And there’s only one person that holds the key to that and that’s you. You say you don’t believe in ghosts, I say you do. I’ve felt her spirit and she’s strong and angry, and I know why you didn’t let me walk out of your house just now because you’ve felt her too. Now take another look at this photo; how does it make you feel? FRANCIS I’m frightened. BRIAN Yeah, she’s reaching out to you, and I saw the fear in your eyes. Here’s another photo I want you to see. There’s no date or name on it. (He takes another photo from his coat, handing it to her. She is especially interested in it.) FRANCIS Where did you find this? BRIAN It was in Genevive’s bedroom behind a wainscot panel. However it got there is anyone’s guess. Do you have any idea who this might be? FRANCIS Yes, it’s me, when I was twenty-three. BRIAN You’re kidding! It doesn’t look like you. Why the disparity? FRANCIS In 1939, when my husband and I were vacationing in Southern France, I experienced a tragic accident. My husband and I were driving over a bridge on the Orb River and as we were looking up at the St. Nazaire Cathedral, our Delahaye blew a tire, causing us to swerve into an oncoming truck. After multiple cosmetic surgeries, my reflection in the mirror was only a stranger to me. BRIAN Whoever did your face did a great job. You’d never know it by looking at you. I’m serious. It’s beautiful. Where did you have it done, Switzerland? FRANCIS Yes, that’s very knowledgeable of you. BRIAN No, it’s just a good guess. When was the photo taken? (She holds the photo, staring down at it.) FRANCIS I’ve never seen this image, but I remember where it was taken. It was in New York City in 1921. BRIAN So, you’re a New Yorker? FRANCIS Yes. BRIAN What were you doing there? (As she tells her story, Brian writes in his notebook.) FRANCIS I was looking for a new job that would take me away from New York. One morning, my neighbor handed me a newspaper with a red circle around a nursing ad in Michigan. I called the number, and made an appointment for an interview. The following morning, after breakfast, I jumped on a trolley to the Biltmore Hotel. Once there, I took an elevator to its twelfth floor, where an older gentleman sat outside a suite. He had me fill out papers, then took a quick snapshot of me with his Rollei camera, and then ushered me thru its door. BRIAN Who interviewed you? FRANCIS It was Mr. Charles F. Stickney. BRIAN Wait a minute; I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about him. FRANCIS We’ll make an allowance, just this once. BRIAN Ok, it’s your story; why was he there? FRANCIS He was conducting interviews for a nurse. BRIAN It was for his wife, right? FRANCIS Yes. BRIAN So what happened then? [At this point, when Francis describes Marybeth’s movements, the actress portraying Marybeth Hazelworth enters. She is twenty-three years old, wearing a dark dress, and hat.] FRANCIS I walked into the room noticing a chair to my right and quickly sat down. I soon heard footsteps from the outside corridor and the door knob turning. BRIAN Excuse me, Mrs. Wellington, do you think you could talk just a little slower. My shorthand’s quicker than my mind. FRANCIS Yes, I’ll try. When the door opened, Mr. Stickney walked into the room, as he studied papers in a vanilla folder that he was holding, and then he turned to me, saying: ______________________________________________________ Note: If you would like to receive the entire script of "Reflections of a Mistress - a ghost story", please contact Wayne Erreca at werreca@hotmail.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Jun 2013 10:17:58 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015