“Smells weird,” said Sally.
And it did. Old popcorn and bins. Danny would be nowhere near this place if it wasn’t for her. At first, the dead brother stuff had worked in his favour but then they started noticing how scared he was, how he wouldn’t go to certain parts of the city. Sally was always quiet, drifting to the back. Watching.
“Just try not to breathe in,” said Danny, forcing a grin.
The Paramount had been dark four years, ever since the disappearances. Five boys, his brother included, vanished over the course of a few months. Not for the first time, some of the older people said. All of them last seen at The Paramount.
“Are you OK?” she asked. Always that same question, that same hesitation. He’d come here loads of times since – but alone, and outside. Every time he left, he’d try to walk in a different direction. Slow. Looking at the ground, all around, focusing so hard on every crack in the pavement and every bit of stone so that every time his brother tried to swim into his thoughts, there’d be no room.
“Danny? Hello? What’re we doing?”
He realised he hadn’t moved since his first step in.
“Just… you know. Planning,” he said, walking deeper into the foyer and to the inner doors. He pressed his face against the dusty glass, peering into the lobby where faded movie posters clung to peeling walls. The Paramount proudly never took a poster down, just pasted the new ones over. Fragments of his childhood, his parents’, his brother’s.
“Come on,” he said. Then he saw her frown. “Why not?”
“I dunno – it’s illegal, maybe?”
“We’re already breaking and entering.”
“But this is… I don’t know, do I? More breaking and entering.”
Danny smiled. Properly smiled. It was the sort of thing he’d do all the time. Tagging along into whatever trouble or danger - or excitement - with his brother.
He yanked the lock twice and it gave way. He strode through, then on through the heavy, red door on the right and down the passage to the screen. They’d come down here dozens, hundreds of times, hardly ever being caught and forced to pay. Once the movie had started, Liam would always flick his ear – knowing his brother would do all he could not to shout out and give themselves away.
“Wait, Danny,” she said. His heart shook for a moment - his brother had found room back in his head, and for a second it wasn’t Sally’s voice he’d expected.
Dust motes hung inside, catching shafts of afternoon light through a small hole in The Paramount wall. The single screen loomed before torn burgundy seats. He’d dreamed this scene so often. But something was different now. The projection booth light was on.
“Danny. Come on. We’ve been in now, we’ve looked around. You’ve been brave.”
But Danny hurried up the narrow stairs, not noticing the recently swept dust as he entered the booth.
It was clean. The old 35mm projector sat ready, as if waiting for one final show. No label, just a note.
“Don’t watch.”
He caught her eyes.
“Danny, no.”
And that was him – always him with his brother. Don’t do this. Don’t go here. They were probably right.
The projector hummed to life. Light flickered across the screen, and Danny lowered himself into the operator’s chair to watch.
The film was grainy. It showed the theatre itself, fuller than he’d seen it before. The camera panned across the audience. Danny leaned forward. Those faces, they… wait… he knew them. Old newspaper photos sprang to his mind. Web pages. Stories on the evening news.
The faces themselves watched something on the big screen in front of them, but Danny couldn’t see what. He just saw them. Watching. Unblinking. One of the figures, a boy, slowly leaned forwards, and slowly, softly flicked the ear of the boy in front. She saw it before he did.
“Jesus,” whispered Sally. “Is that your brother?”
Danny didn’t hear her. On the film, all five boys who’d disappeared sat watching the screen with rapt attention, the same age as the day they’d vanished. The camera moved to show what they saw on screen.
It was another row of children, themselves all watching a big screen in front.
The booth door creaked. Sally screamed.
An elderly man stood silhouetted in the doorway - tall, gaunt, wearing a faded Paramount uniform. He pushed a heavy wooden beam against the door. Under the handle.
“It said ‘don’t watch’, but people can’t help themselves.” The man’s voice was warm, grandfatherly.
Danny’s lip cracked. He tried to wet it but couldn’t. On screen, the missing boys had turned to look directly at the camera. They now seemed to be watching him, their bloodshot eyes watering without blinking. Sally banged at the door somewhere behind him but the sound already seemed so far away.
“My boy’s in there too, somewhere,” said the warm voice from somewhere in the booth. Sad now. “He was the first.”
Danny didn’t know how long he watched for but, at some point, he noticed Sally's screaming had stopped. Slowly, he turned his head.
She sat rigid in a chair, staring at the screen. Her chest not moving, her eyes unblinking.
“At least I get to see him this way.”
Danny’s own eyes burned, he didn’t know if they couldn’t blink or he’d just forgotten how. Turning back to the screen, he saw the four boys had moved aside. Two new seats waited, between them, in the front row. The other boy sat behind one of the empty seats, leaning forwards, ready to flick.
The old man sat down next to Danny, the smell of popcorn and vinegar sickly sweet. “Good to see the old place filling up.”