The Storage Space didn’t even care when it felt slithers again. If, and only if, it had cared enough to feel anything, it would have welcomed those slithers.
But it was an altogether more elegant ghost, that Shakespearean actor Edward, that was, at present, hogging center stage. Not that elegance was…now…any less tiresome than slithers. The Storage Space would have yawned over the excruciating tedium of it all if only a building could yawn. Better yet, it would have ended the excruciating tedium of it all…without any absurd theatrics such as pistols held to the forehead it didn’t have, a simple wrecking ball would do…if only a building could commit suicide. Or commit, or do, anything. Anything at all.
That fiend!
Edward the Ghost. Was that the best Shakespearean descriptive he could muster when reliving, yet again, his rival for her affections shoving Edward off a catwalk to his death? No longer even caring enough to exert any effort to ignore him, the Storage Space was surprised to learn that Edward not only blamed his rival for his own death but also blamed him for hers..for which, in fact, Edward himself was responsible.
Her… What was her full name? Playbills pirouetted through the Storage Space’s memory: Charlotte Amelia Booth.
Slither. Who cares?
Indeed, agreed the Storage Space though, of course, the ghost of Le Grand Rat didn’t hear it.
Slither, slither, slither.
What was Irwin up to? the Storage Space wondered idly.
Then, against its will, it found itself concentrating on the most detestable creature of all, Karen.
