Uncle Phid's Closet Read online

shaking. "Now who are you?" I demanded.

  Slowly a little girl crawled out from the clothes rack and sat on the floor in front of me. "I'm Emily, and I'm seven!" She declared holding up seven fingers.

  "How'd you get in here?" I asked.

  "Up the back stairs you silly goose; here, I'll show you." She jumped up, grabbed my hand, and dragged me over into the back corner. It was dark back there.

  She opened a door and I could see an old worn wooden stairway leading down into the dark. Way down below I could see a light and an older gentleman bent over a desk.

  "Who's that?" I asked.

  "That's old Thurber, he takes care of the theater" she whispered.

  "Is he your dad?"

  "Yeah" she whispered and quietly closed the door.

  We played in the closet for over an hour before I heard a sharp whistle.

  She stopped suddenly and told me she had to go. "Promise you won't tell anybody that you saw me up here?"

  "Why?"

  "’Cause I'm not supposed to be up here" she pleaded.

  I thought about it, but we had fun in here and I didn't want her to get in trouble.

  "OK..." Just then I heard the door open.

  "Jerry?" Aunty Belle called. "Are you in here?"

  "Yes Aunty Belle, coming." I turned around to say goodbye, but Emily had disappeared. I pursed my lips in concentration and decided not to tell Aunty Belle about Emily.

  "Well, who are you supposed to be, George Washington?" she beamed at me as I walked up to the door.

  "How'd you guess?" I asked wonderingly.

  "Don't forget to hang the costume back up where you found it, it's time for lunch." She left the door open and I heard her going back down the hallway to the stairs.

  I took the wig off and sat it on its stand making sure to put the dust cover over it. I had to stand on tippy toes to put the coat and hanger back on the rack. One more look around, but there was no sign of Emily. I closed the door and hurried down the stairs to lunch.

  As the door slowly closed behind him a small face peered out from between the racks of clothes. A ghostly tear dropped from her face as another sharp whistle told her she better hurry, daddy would be mad if she didn't come when he called.

  I would meet Emily in the closet many times over that summer, mostly in the early afternoon or on rainy days. We had lots of fun up in that closet but I never saw her around outside; one day I asked her why.

  "I can't go outside, I might fall in the river" she told me sadly.

  "Don't you have to go outside to go home?" Then a thought came to me, "Where do you live?"

  "I live here in the theater with my daddy, he works downstairs. We stay away from the river" she replied stubbornly.

  I thought she was mad at me, then she brightened and decided to play ballerina; I picked out a small clown outfit that was still way to big. We had a lot of fun with those old costumes.

  It was late in the afternoon one day when Aunty Belle stuck her head in the door and told me it was time to come downstairs for supper. I told her I'd be right there and listened as she went down the hall to the stairs.

  Emily was hiding behind the costume rack still wearing the ballerina outfit when a sharp whistle came; she had to go too. "See you tomorrow?" I asked.

  "No, can't, it's my birthday." She ran over and gave me a hug then disappeared in the back of the closet. Out of curiosity I followed her as she went through the door and watched her scramble down the stairs. At the bottom I could see her father waiting for her. Hope she doesn't get into any trouble for being up here.

  I kept watching as she reached the bottom of the stairs and happily rushed into his arms. He picked her up and held her tightly before looking up and waving to me. Then the light went out.

  "Jerry?" Uncle Phid called from the door, "Are you still in here?"

  "Nothing" I replied, startled. "Just playing with the cool costumes" I replied as best I could; quickly closing the door and walking back up front.

  "Ummm?" He asked, but I didn't say anything; I'd promised Emily.

  He tussled my hair and we went downstairs for supper.

  The next day was Friday the 8th of August; it was Emily’s birthday and the last day before I had to go home. It was raining so I stayed inside and hung around with Aunty Belle.

  "Aunty Belle?" I asked her, "When can I go downstairs and see what Uncle Phid is doing?"

  She gave me an odd look, "I thought you'd be on your way upstairs to the costume closet."

  "Don't feel like it today" I replied glumly.

  "Well" she replied with a hug, "there's more in that closet than just the costumes you know? Come along, I'll show you what else is in there."

  Upstairs she opened up a big 5 drawer file cabinet set in the corner behind the door. I'd tried to open the drawers but it had been locked. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked it. With a heave she pulled the top drawer open, it was full of folders. She deftly scanned through the contents before moving down to the next drawer. Most of the drawers contained invoices, orders, and finance information from when the theater was in operation.

  Finally she reached the bottom drawer, "Ah here they are" as she opened the first folder. She took the folder from the drawer and placed on top of the desk. Inside the folder were pictures and newspaper clippings, each dated and with a list of the cast.

  "These are the most recent clippings; further back is where the newer ones are." She reached further into the drawer and pulled up some old newspapers, "These are from around the time that the theater closed down back in 1929; Phid and your father were young boys back then.

  "How come you know so much about this Aunty Belle?" I asked.

  "Well Jerry, my mother was one of the actresses that used to perform on that very stage until the economy crashed and the theater folded."

  Aunty Belle left me to look through the folder while she went to start supper. Later on I went back downstairs and sat on the couch by myself. I felt like crying but it would only upset Aunty Belle.

  "My word" Aunty Belle said, "you look like you've lost your best friend." But try as she might I wouldn't talk about it. The next morning they took me back home, school would be starting next Monday.

  After taking Jerry back home, Aunty Belle wondered what it was that had made Jerry so sad. He was usually such a happy child, she thought, so full of life and imagination. He usually spent a lot of time playing up in the old costume closet on the third floor. Maybe there was something wrong with the costumes? Maybe she should check.

  Concerned, she climbed the stairs up to the third floor and opened the door to the closet and looked around. No, things looked as they last remembered; racks of costumes against the back wall, two dressing tables, one on each side of the double wide window. Jerry had always been so good about hanging the costumes back up they had let him play up here by himself whenever he wanted.

  Absently she sat at the nearest dressing table and stared at her reflection in the dusty mirror. The face staring back at him bore a marked resemblance to dearly departed mother. Absently she ran a finger over her reflection in the mirror.

  “Hmm, must remember to clean up here more often” as she stifled a sneeze.

  Spread out on the dressing table before her was an old newspaper dated August 9, 1929. Aunty Belle remembered that was the year that the theater had closed down a few months after the collapse of the stock market.

  Absently she scanned down the page until he came to the Obits and the cartoons. Half way through the obituaries she found the listing for Herbert Thurber's little daughter Emily. She remembered old Thurber, he was the stage manager for George Martin, the owner of the theater. Mr. Martin had left Herbert in charge of the theater while he went off in search of financial backing to keep the theater running. No one ever knew what happened to Mr. Martin as he never came back.

  After Mr. Martin disappeared Herbert Thurber, and his daughter Emily, moved into an apartment in the back of the theater. It was such a shame th
at she had drowned in the river out behind the theater on her eighth birthday.

  "That's so tragic" she thought scanning further down the column. Equally tragic that Herbert Thurber also drowned that day trying to save his little girl. “Why that’s yesterday’s date” she realized, “could that be what upset Jerry so?”

  Still bewildered, Aunty Belle folded up the papers from the dressing table and put them back in the file drawer. With a start she thought she heard something; almost like there was someone else in the room with her. Aunty Belle stood still but heard nothing more. With one more look around she closed the door and headed down the hallway to the stairs.

  From the empty room behind Aunty Belle never heard the soft giggles of a small seven year old girl in a pink ballerina costume dancing with the dust motes and twirling through the sunlight streaming in through the dusty window.

  The End