Haunded's Theatre

Part 1

On a moribund street in a nondescript town somewhere in England, the front doors of a ramshackle theatre are rattling with the wind.

It is a cold, grey day in Godby. A tall and bulbous man jumps heavily over a puddle and squeezes himself down the side alley to get to the stage door of Haunded’s Theatre. He is Harold Haunded, co-owner with his twin brother, Gerald. They run the place with no aplomb and much bluster.

Gerald is already at work in their shared office at the back, desperately hunting for pennies they can save to keep the place going.

Harold, out of breath having hauled himself through the narrow back corridors of the theatre, arrives at his side of the shared desk and slaps down a newspaper in front of his brother. “Look at this Gerald, look! What about Tilly?”. He points at a couple of column inches on the second page of the Godby & District Mercury.

“Miss Tilly Lancaster returned to Godby from France this week, after getting lost several months ago, while on a tour with the Gregious Girls in Paris. She reappeared at Dover, claiming that she had lost her memory, after the Mayor’s wife, who had gone to the south of France to join her husband on his extended holiday, spotted her in a night club in Nice…”

“I hear she does titty work, now, Harold, we’re not that kind of place.”

Harold sighs heavily at his brother. “I’m afraid, Gerald, we’re going to have to BE that kind of place. Titties! That’s where the money is.”

Gerald looks down at his books and agrees that they must do something different.

“Does it have to be titties, though, Harold? We’re better than that, surely?”

“Gerald,” says Harold, “titties are our only weapon against the damned talkies!”

The twins have been in this theatre since they were born. Their father owned it and for most of their lives it flourished, when theatres and booze were the only entertainment to be had in Godby. It used to be one of three theatres in the bedraggled town, but in the last couple of years, the other two have given up as theatres, becoming cinemas, and now that the talkies are here, they are full most nights. Haunded’s Theatre is losing all its custom to the flicks.

They can’t compete. The cinemas are getting new films in every month, many of them from America. Haunded’s stars haven’t been refreshed in years and are getting old and stale. They have recycled and recycled their acts down the years until now there is nothing left that is original.

“Maybe we can give them the threat of a titty,” ponders Gerald, “without actual titty. I don’t want Haunded’s to be known as an actual titty place. It’s beneath us, Harold.”

“Well, since showing films is also beneath you, I’d say titties is all we’ve got to get the bums back on seats.”

Gerald sighs, and looks despondently at the piles of bills and accounts on his desk. “Threat of titty. At most. Do you hear Harold?”

_____

That was part 1 of Haunded’s Theatre, a short story, in tiny episodes.

Most of (or all, if possible) the illustrations for this story will be drawn and/or painted in the real world.