The Opening

By Tim McWhorter

Nick Fallon knows failure all too well. His string of collapsed business ventures make for a resume from hell. This time, however, things will be different. The Chamberlain Theater itself is different.

Yet, tragedy strikes before the first hammer can swing on the renovation, hanging a dark cloud over the old theater. Nick hopes an o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manta Press
• Release date: Feb 20, 2025
• ISBN: 9781958370230

Tim McWhorter

Tim McWhorter was born under a waning crescent moon, and while he has no idea what the significance is, he thinks it sounds really cool to say. A graduate of Otterbein College with a BA in Creative Writing, he is the author of the novella Shadows Remain, the suspense-thrillers, Bone White, and its sequel, Blackened, and a collection of short stories titled Swallowing The Worm and Other Stories. He lives the suburban life just outside of Columbus, OH, with his wife, a handful of children and a few obligatory 'family' pets that have somehow become solely his responsibility. He is currently hard at work on another thriller with just enough horror to keep you up at night. He is available for conversation through Twitter (@Tim_McWhorter), Facebook (www.facebook.com/pages/Tim-Mcwhorter-author) or his website (www.timmcwhorter.com).

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Acrowd had gathered.

Some were tourists in town for only a week, soaking up as much sand and surf as they could before returning to the concrete jungle for another year. Residents of Angler Bay filled in the gaps. Familiar and pained faces stared up at him—eager to do something—poised to stop what could never be undone. If not, the next few moments were certain to be horrific. Moments they would never forget, the images burnt into their brains. Maybe it was the acrid fumes keeping their feet rooted in place. Fear of getting caught in the fray. He only hoped they kept their distance.

Don’t do it, Floyd! one of them shouted.

It’s not worth it! cried another.

He heard the pleas and ignored them.

He raised the red gas can above his head and drained every drop before tossing it aside. The container clanged end over end down the concrete steps, coming to a stop on the sidewalk.

He coughed as fuel streamed down his face. It stung his eyes. The fumes constricted his throat. He choked on the lack of fresh air. His lungs burned. Breathing became a struggle as he reached into his pocket for the second half of the equation.

He pulled out the lighter, a scuffed black Zippo he’d had since Korea.

Somebody get help!

Somebody call Helen!

He held the lighter down and away from his body. He didn’t want to see it. Doing so might bring back memories, obstacles he’d overcome in the past. The dented and paint-chipped lid, having once saved him from the point of a bayonet, might cause him to second guess.

The pleas kept coming.

Somebody, please! Do something!

He turned his back to the crowd and looked upon the doors of The Chamberlain Theater. His theater. A steel chain snaked through the long, gothic-styled handles. The two ends converged at a padlock and sealed the entrance. Taped to the glass, a sheet of white paper. The bank’s letterhead, as much as the chains, barred him from entering the premises. He’d owned the theater for over forty years. A lifetime. He remembered the day they installed the heavy, custom-built wood doors leading to the auditorium. The morning the marquee sign arrived, polished and majestic, strapped to the back of a flatbed truck. From that day forward, The Chamberlain Theater was no longer an afterthought, sought only when rain had washed out the summer sun and surf. It became the anchor of the town center.

At least the bank couldn’t have those memories. He’d be taking them to hell with him.

Gasoline dripped from his nose, his chin. It pooled at his feet.

Pleasant memories became harder to come by as time had worn on. Thanks in part to an economy in the toilet and bills that never stopped coming, even after the customers had. He’d spent countless afternoons in his office, brainstorming ways to bring in more business. He’d failed at every turn. And when the bank’s patience had reached an end, they’d foreclosed and taken the only thing he’d ever had in the world. The bastards in their ostentatious suits may as well have filled the gas can and placed it in his hands.

He wiped his face with his shoulder and coughed into it.

An hour ago, he’d kissed his wife’s cheek while she slept beneath the roof he could no longer provide. He was too proud, too ashamed to see his failure reflected in her root beer-barreled eyes. He’d fed the cat, scratched behind her ears the way she liked, then quietly closed the door behind him.

Losing the theater wasn’t the only reason he stood outside its walls, soaked to the bone with gasoline. There was that other thing. Good or bad, he’d done what he’d done. Would most certainly do it again. If he could, he’d drag the entire building down to hell with him. Then they would never discover its secrets. Nobody would find out what he’d done. The mistakes he’d made.

He raised the lighter to his chin.

The chorus of pleas swelled, the crowd sensing the end was near. His name filled the crisp morning air. And as a lone brave soul, unable to stand idle any longer, charged up the steps, Floyd Cropper took one last stagnant breath.

He closed his eyes.

It’s my turn now…

He spun the flint.

ACT 1

CHAPTER ONE

Nick popped a blue Xanax and let it dissolve on his tongue.

It was opening night at The Chamberlain Theater. Finally. The smell of fresh buttered popcorn hung in the air. Money was being exchanged for tickets. And moviegoers were filtering into its remodeled lobby in numbers like the theater hadn’t seen in years.

In his father’s words, Nick should be as happy as a tornado in a trailer park.

Yet, his father was no longer around, and the tornado of which he so often spoke currently spun its way through Nick’s stomach. The curtain wasn’t due to raise for another hour, and already, his undershirt clung to him like a clammy second skin. The night was almost too important. The stage, too big. His mind looped through the list of businesses he’d built, then watched fail. The whimsical do-it-yourself frozen yogurt shop he’d called Fro-Yo-Self. The video store / pizza shop where patrons could order a pizza, then search for a DVD while they waited. Seems he was always chasing new takes on old ideas. Would this 4D movie theater be the one to elevate him above the title of failed entrepreneur? Or, because it was the biggest, costliest venture yet, would The Chamberlain Theater serve as the crown jewel atop an already hulking coronet of failures?

Nick popped another Xanax for good measure.

He took a deep breath and tried to quell the tornado. At least he’d made the right choice with the music he piped into the lobby. Epic film scores not only seemed fitting, but they always calmed his mood. The growing crowd was in good spirits, everyone talking and laughing. There were no fires to put out. All were things going in his favor.

So far, so good.

Deep breaths.

And don’t look in Amber’s direction, Nick told himself. All his progress toward putting himself at ease might disappear. The box office had only been open fifteen minutes, and already she’d needed help with the register twice, despite claiming extensive experience with that particular model in her interview. She’ll get it, he assured himself. She had to, and not simply because he dreaded the hiring process. Replacing Amber at this point would be difficult. Like any community, Angler Bay was full of teens in need of a seasonal job, but it seemed few of them wanted to work at The Chamberlain. The fact he’d only received a handful of applications told him most were steering clear of the place. With a building this old, rumors of hauntings were inevitable. The previous owner torching himself on the front steps only added more fuel to an already growing fire. No pun intended.

Nick sucked it up and glanced Amber’s way. When their eyes met, he gave her a thumbs up, hoping to get one in return. When he did, the tension in his shoulders eased a bit more.

Looking good, Nick.

Nick’s heart dropped into his queasy stomach.

Shit. So much for good energy.

The voice had come from behind him, but Nick knew to whom it belonged. If there had been any question at all, the meaty hand clamped onto his shoulder was a dead giveaway.

Nick turned, ducked out of the grasp, and reached to shake the man’s large hand. Mayor Blackwood.

The mayor of Angler Bay wasn’t particularly tall, but at six-foot two, he towered over Nick. The man also had a good hundred pounds on him. Whoever said no man was an island unto himself had never met Jonas Blackwood. The guy was his own damn continent, with an ego to match. His hand devoured Nick’s the way a great white devours a baby seal.

Glad you could make it. Sweat trickled down the back of Nick’s neck as he watched the mayor take in the new lobby: the fresh crimson paint on the walls; the shiny mirrored glass of the new concession counter; the gold floor-length drapes creating the illusion of window coverings, even though they cloaked nothing but drywall behind them.

Ain’t no way I’d miss opening night. The mayor had a wicked twinkle in his glassy eyes. His cheeks were red. His sloppy smile spoke of merriment and Tanqueray. He’d most likely come from a four-course dinner he was so famous around town for: a steak and three gin and tonics. Hell, I feel like she’s as much my baby as yours.

And there it was.

Nick bristled before mustering a semi-cordial smile. Well, it was your hands that pulled the strings, Mayor. Wouldn’t be much of an opening night without all your help.

Ever since he purchased The Chamberlain, the mayor hadn’t let him forget it was his doing that made it happen. It was the mayor who pressured the bank to hold the theater’s previous owner to terms, to stop allowing him more time on his payments. It was the mayor who wanted to see the theater make money for the town, and not the other way around. Nick sometimes wondered if he’d always feel indebted to the guy, no matter how long he owned the theater. Only upside was it provided another shoulder for the guilt about the way it had all gone down.

Poor old bastard.

Nick shrugged it off. He wasn't letting the mayor, nor the ghost of the theater’s previous owner, get under his skin tonight. Not on opening night. He had enough on his plate. And it wasn’t like he was responsible for the livelihood of the town’s four thousand residents. That was the mayor’s cross to bear.

Well, shit. I appreciate that, Nick. With a wink and a grin, revealing teeth that were no stranger to fine cigars, the mayor took his leave. He sauntered over to the concessions counter and began taking stock of the offerings.

Nick wiped his hand on his pants leg, all too happy to be rid of the mayor. The guy could eat his weight in popcorn and candy for all Nick cared. As long as it kept him out of his hair.

Fanning air into his collar, he scanned the room’s growing population.

From across the lobby, he once again checked Amber’s status. The line at the ticket counter had all but disappeared. When the young woman smiled and gave another thumbs up, he weaved his way through the crowd.

Hey, Mr. Fallon! Amber chirped when he approached. What’s up?

Nick pulled a crumpled paper towel from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead. Manny come through, yet?

The engineer had worked for Nick since the day he’d closed on The Chamberlain. Not only was Manny the first employee he’d brought onboard, but Manny had helped oversee the engineering involved in transforming the old, lackluster theater into a high-tech movie house. He was smart, knew his way around electronics, and was one of the few people Nick had counted on throughout the theater’s makeover. Manny had never failed to show up for work, had never let him down, unlike most of the contractors he’d hired. So, the fact he hadn’t seen him yet that evening was one of the things contributing to Nick’s opening night anxiety.

Nope. Amber scanned the lobby. No, sir, I haven't.

Nick checked his watch for the third time in what could have only been ten minutes. Well, if you see him before I do, please tell him I’m looking for him.

Will do. Amber smiled and feigned a salute. Then her smile disappeared. "Oh. Speaking of looking for someone, that reporter came in a few minutes ago. You know, from The Standard?"

The perspiration under Nick’s collar turned cold.

Nori Park gently closed the heavy wooden door behind her.

Being an investigative reporter in a town where little needed investigating, she found excitement in her job where she could. Tonight, that meant being the first to check out the new theater with the troubled past, which was about as interesting as things got in the sleepy coastal town of Angler Bay.

After college, she’d shot for the big city. Like most in her field, the prospects of pulling back the curtain on political corruption, corporate espionage, and organized crime stoked her ambition. Ultimately, she’d fallen short, landing at a small-town newspaper along the North Carolina coast. Despite the lack of any real excitement to report, the trade-off wasn’t without its benefits: down time at the beach. She’d even taken a handful of surfing lessons last summer. Angler Bay wasn’t a terrible place for a kid from the gritty streets of Seoul, South Korea, to end up.

The auditorium greeted her with the combined scents of fresh paint, newly stretched vinyl, and the slightest hint of old smoke hovering above it all. Other than the smoke, everything smelled new, looked new. Everything had a shine. She’d been to the old theater once before, a disastrous first date three years back. The Chamberlain had been run down, but still possessed a quaintness and character despite its peeling paint and soda-stained carpeting. A historic place where one could almost feel its history. It was said Eisenhower had once attended a function at The Chamberlain, had sat in that very room.

But never in seats like these, she observed.

Nori ran her hand along one of the slick seat backs. These seats were plush, clean, and word had it, high-tech. They were nothing like the creaky, velvet-covered antiques she remembered being so uncomfortable.

She grabbed an end seat in the back row and tried it out. The cushion gave, cradling her butt. She leaned back, her head against the cushioned rest. The back seemed a little too upright, and the armrests a little thin. Otherwise, the new seats would make for a fairly enjoyable movie-watching experience.

Don’t get too comfortable, she told herself. You’re here to work, remember?

Nori rose to her feet. After pulling an iPad from her bag, she slung the satchel over her shoulder. She started down the sloping center aisle toward the giant silver screen down front, taking inventory of her surroundings. Row after row of the red and black seats spread out in curved lines. Overhead, various black boxes hung from the ceiling. They weren’t speakers. Those were easy to spot, hanging along the front and edges of the large room. The black boxes had pipes and thin tubes running between them. She raised the iPad and snapped a few photos.

Interesting.

CHAPTER TWO

S eriously? Nick lacked the skill needed to keep disappointment from his voice. "Amber, I asked you to let me know the moment she arrived."

Amber met his chagrin with a pained expression.

He instantly felt bad. The tension in his set jaw lifted. He took a deep breath.

Okay, so. She got here a few minutes ago? he continued. "Can you define a few minutes?"

I don’t know, she shrugged. Ten? Maybe twenty?

Nick took a deep breath. Fuckin’ hell! He urged the Xanax to quit screwing around and kick in already.

Any idea where she might be now? He looked around the lobby, fearing the worst. Had the reporter grown tired of waiting for him and left? He’d lose a golden opportunity if she had. He was counting on the publicity an article in the local newspaper would generate. He searched the growing throng of gatherers. He didn’t see the reporter anywhere. And there were few places she could hide.

A dull ache sprouted behind his eyes.

Maybe, Amber said, eyes glued to the floor, she’s checking out the auditorium?

Shit.

Nick spun on his heels. Shit! Shit! Shit! He considered reminding Amber of his number one rule for the evening: no one was to enter the auditorium before it was time. But it was too late for reminders.

With the wooden doors closed behind him, the auditorium’s calm silenced the chaos of the lobby.

Nick allowed himself a moment. He closed his eyes, willing away the headache scratching and clawing its way to life behind them. He took a deep breath, counted to five, and let it out. Opening his eyes, he took a few steps down the sloping center aisle.

At first glance, he saw no signs of Ms. Nori Park. For the reporter to help spread the word about the new and improved Chamberlain Theater, a good impression on his part was a must. Not being available to greet her upon arrival was not a step in that direction.

He scanned the rows of newly installed red vinyl seats, an exciting and integral addition to the auditorium’s landscape. Their ability to rock, toss, and cajole the moviegoer at precise moments was a crucial component of the 4D experience. He could hardly wait for someone to try them. Someone other than himself, Manny, and the crew that installed them.

It didn’t appear that someone would be Ms. Park. As far as Nick could tell, she wasn’t seated among them. The aisles leading down to the front of the auditorium were just as empty. Perhaps the reporter hadn’t come this way after all.

He took a painstakingly deep breath and let it out.

It was only the weight of his opening night responsibilies that kept Nick from grabbing one of the seats, kicking back, and drowning himself in a sea of memories. It was times like this, when he was alone in the auditorium, he missed his parents most. His father, especially. He couldn’t begin to count how many Sunday afternoons he and his father had spent enveloped in the magical world of a darkened movie theater, popcorn in one hand, soda in the other. Some dads were football guys. Some lived to share their love of music. His was a certified, true blue movie buff. If he were honest, when the opportunity to own his own movie theater arose, the prospect appealed as much to the son in him as the entrepreneur. He only wished his father was around to see it. The 4D experience would have knocked his multi-colored socks off.

Nick chuckled and looked to the ceiling rafters. Miss ya, Pop.

He was about to walk back up the aisle and return to the lobby when a last glance around stopped him. A flash of movement down front caused him to take a double take. Were his eyes screwing with him? Was that? He chuckled. It was. In the front row, an ass in black slacks rose into the air. He started making his way down the center aisle.

When he reached the bottom and came upon the rest of what he assumed was the reporter, Nick cleared his throat. Miss Park?

A head popped up where the ass had been. The owner of both bolted upright, her long russet ponytail swinging through the air. The woman displayed all the grace of a child-thief caught stealing cigarettes from her mother’s purse.

Mr. uh, Fallon. Hi. She reached out her hand, then just as quickly, pulled it back, as if the action was out of sequence. With an awkward grin, she bent and retrieved her satchel from beside her feet. Only when the canvas bag was slung over her shoulder did she once again offer her hand.

We finally meet. Nick took her hand and gently shook it. But, please, call me Nick.

The reporter smiled, nodded.

Okay, Nick, she said, already enjoying an expeditious recovery. But only if you call me Nori. Miss Park is a reminder I am still unmarried; thus my mother is still without grandchildren. It’s hard enough keeping her voice out of my head. I sometimes worry it’s stuck there.

Nick smiled. Understood.

First impressions being what they were, the supposedly tough reporter seemed nothing like the mayor had described. His nickname of ball-buster didn’t fit the bill. In fact, she seemed rather nice. Her smile appeared genuine, lending a look of pleasant courteousness to her handsome face. A face some might even consider ‘alluring’--

Whoa, Nick urged. Slow down, cowboy.

Taking a step back, he erased all intimate thoughts from his mind. Having not had a date in over a year didn’t help. First things first, though. He spread his arms wide.

So, what do you think of the new and improved Chamberlain Theater? I see you’re familiarizing yourself with our state-of-the-art, fully interactive seats.

Oh. Nori tugged at her ear. Yeah, sorry.

Nick smiled on the inside. Tugging her ear was something his grandmother used to do. And just like that, he decided he liked this Nori Park.

Not at all, he said. Please, have a look around.

Even as he suggested it, Nick realized there wasn’t much to see. Unless you dug deep under its slick façade, The Chamberlain looked much like any other movie theater. Except for the seats. To the untrained eye, they appeared bulkier and sat higher than standard seats.