A man with pale skin, white hair, and piercing blue eyes stood in front of the theatre, a sleek black umbrella resting lightly in his hand. He wore a sharp black suit, immaculate despite the drizzle, and stared at the glowing banner above the doors as though lost in his own thoughts.
Passersby stole glances at him, curiosity rippling through the crowd waiting to get inside.
A mischievous child tugged at his mother's sleeve and whispered far too loudly, "Mom, is that a dead person?"
The woman gasped, clamping her hand over her son's mouth. Her eyes darted to the man just as his fist tightened, trembling. With forced calm, she pulled her child along and hurried away, leaving the stranger grinning faintly in amusement.
He tilted his head back toward the banner.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"The ticket counter. Check."
The man slipped into line, ignoring the stares around him. When it was the mother and son's turn to buy tickets, he slid ahead, plucking one as if it already belonged to him.
"The food counter. Awesome."
His pale lips curled in delight as he grabbed a tub of standard popcorn without paying.
The boy burst into tears. "Mom! That man stole my popcorn!"
"Ours are coming, son," the woman soothed, glaring sideways at the thief.
"The lounge. Comfortable, relaxing." The man dropped into a seat next to them, chewing noisily. The mother's jaw tightened.
"The sound room. Yeahhh!" he shouted suddenly, sending a ripple of discomfort across the staff.
People whispered. Some laughed nervously. Others shifted uneasily.
The stranger moved again, slipping silently through the wide double doors into the auditorium. The mother's hand tightened around her son's wrist as her eyes followed him.
"He followed us here too…" she whispered.
The pale man strolled to the very back row. His grin stretched unnaturally wide as he whispered, "Auditorium," while holding a black case at his side. Something about it pulsed with restrained danger—like it could explode at any second.
Just as he stood to rise—
"Sir, you're being too loud."
A female staff member appeared at his side, startling him.
"Don't mess around. This is my theatre," Jaci said sharply from a few rows down, his voice cutting across the hush.
The stranger froze, caught off guard.
"Sir, do you want my handshake?" a well-built man sitting near the mother and son asked bluntly, his tone more threat than offer.
The pale man blinked, his grin faltering. Reality seemed to catch up to him.
"…Ah," he muttered, bowing his head quickly. "Sorry. Please, enjoy the film." He backed toward the exit.
Then he popped his head back in with a nervous smile. "Really sorry. Free popcorn and drinks for everyone, on me. Bye!"
The audience stared, baffled.
"This man has lost his mind," the mother whispered, shaking her head as she turned back to the glowing screen.
Moments later, ushers quietly appeared, placing a tray in front of her: premium buttered popcorn, neatly paired with chilled juice. Around the hall, every audience member was served.
The pale man's disturbance had been smoothed over by the theatre's owner's generosity. But still, something about him lingered in the minds of everyone who had seen him.
After settling back into the sound room, Jaci nodded apologetically to the staff.
"I… I'm really sorry," he said softly, hands on the console, adjusting the volume.
One of the staff muttered under her breath, her tone sharp but tired:"Just… shut yourself in already. Stop taking our souls every day."
Jaci chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… I'll try."
But before he could even relax, the ground shook violently.
Rumble… rumble…
The entire theatre trembled. Lights flickered. Props toppled. The audience screamed in panic as the building groaned like it was about to collapse.
Jaci's eyes scanned the chaos. Everyone was running toward the exits—but then his gaze locked on the auditorium.
A small child was struggling to pull his mother from her seat, frozen in fear. Panic twisted the boy's face as fragments of the ceiling began to fall around them.
Without hesitation, Jaci bolted toward them.
"Get out of the way!" the female staff shouted, grabbing his arm. "You can't—!"
"I don't care!" Jaci yelled, wrenching free. "I can't leave them!"
The world tilted as he charged into the auditorium. Chairs toppled, lighting rigs crashed, and the entire ceiling seemed to shatter above him. Dust filled the air, choking and blinding.
He reached the mother and child, dragging them toward the exit. She gasped in terror, but the boy clung to him tightly, crying.
"Almost there…" Jaci muttered, but then—
A deafening crack echoed as fragments from the upper floors rained down. A massive beam pinned him in place. He reached out for them one last time, struggling against the weight.
"Go…! Run…!" he shouted.
The mother and child scrambled away, terrified, leaving him trapped.
The staff's voice echoed faintly through the chaos:"Jaci! No!"
But it was too late. The ceiling collapsed entirely. Dust, rubble, and darkness swallowed him whole.
Silence followed. The theatre—miraculously—stood intact. The audience and staff were safe, but Jaci… was gone.
…
When Jaci opened his eyes, he was lying on the carpet of the theatre lobby. Everything was still intact—the chairs, the curtains, the ticket counter—exactly as he remembered. Not a single crack. Not a single broken lightbulb.
"…I survived?" His voice trembled, but no answer came.
Cautiously, he checked every corner. The bathroom tiles were untouched. The ticket booth glass reflected his bewildered face. Everything was fine. Completely fine.
He laughed shakily. "Guess… I was dreaming? Or maybe I fainted."
But when he pulled back the curtains to peek outside the glass doors, his chest froze.
Beyond the theatre doors, there was no city. No traffic lights. No night sky. Just endless black, like ink stretching forever.
"What… is this?" Jaci whispered.
His knees felt weak. To distract himself, he wandered to the projection room, wheeled out one of his old reels—Shrek, his comfort movie—and set it spinning. The sound of familiar dialogue and laughter filled the empty hall.
The warmth of the film lulled him. At some point, exhaustion overtook him, and Jaci drifted into deep sleep in one of the theatre seats, a smile lingering on his lips.
But he wasn't alone.
From the shadowed aisle, a figure stepped forward, silent and watchful. Its outline blurred, almost human but not quite. It stopped just behind Jaci, head tilting curiously as though studying him.
The reel kept spinning. The screen flickered green with an ogre's grin.And behind him, something in the dark leaned closer