Scary & Freaky stories: The Paranormal World

A Shadowland Afflicted

A Shadowland Afflicted

Ghosts of movies past haunt the projectionist of a fabled Atlanta theater closing its doors for good. Written by Nick Zegarac.

Blewey Huett was an old time projectionist still working eight days a week inside the cramped backroom overlooking the upper balconies of Atlanta's luxurious Loew's Grand downtown Theatre. He was a diehard movie lover; a man enamored with those flickering images on celluloid that passed through his fingers en route to the giant projector's wheel.

To those who only knew him from work, it must have seemed a very lonely life. But Blewey - short for 'Bernard, Wilson' - knew that only in movies did life itself become a palpable eternity. Only on film could he live, then relive, another life time - so many, in fact - until even the most tangible elements of his own seemed pallid by direct comparison.

"Time to lock up," said Fredric Regal, the proprietor of the Grand.

Only this time, he meant it for good. Over the last decade the cavernous movie palace had lost a lot of money. It was no longer the profitable venue it had once been, just like the movies themselves. A seemingly indestructible and uniquely American cornerstone had been brought to heel at the will of its own government and through fickle audience tastes. At one time, at least these had been easy enough for Hollywood's dream merchants to gauge.

But by 1978 the moguls had gone. There was a genuine sense of fear creeping into the industry and a very real understanding that the glory days were regrettably behind them. This was probably just as well. For, had the Mayers, the Selznicks and the Lemmles of yesteryear lived to see this day they might have wept more than their usual quota of glycerin tears.

It was not lost on Blewey Huett that, like the Grand herself, he had strangely become a relic from another time while still living in his own. But now that painful moment had arrived. It was time to declare them both legally dead.

"I'll lock up, Fred" said Blewey, "I just want to run a reel before I go. Just one more for old time's sake."

"If you played it for her, I suppose you could play it for me," joked Fred with a smile, misquoting one of Blewey's favorite lines.

But the old projectionist had already become whimsically sad.

"I'll be in the office," said Fred, "See me on your way out for your pay. I'll leave you to your memories."

Blewey waited until the doors to the auditorium had closed behind his boss. What he had to say required no audience. And Fred wouldn't understand his sentiment anyway. For forty years the Loew's Grand had simply been a paycheck to him. But to Blewey Huett...well...it was part of who he was. This had been his home. She had been his life. Not all of it, perhaps, but a good enough chunk that deserved so much more than just turning out the house lights and twisting the key into the stage door exit's padlock.

"You're a grand old girl," Blewey quietly whispered, gently running his fingers across the faded red top cushion of the seat nearest him.

He stood there for a moment, his heart sinking as he took in this spectacular view for the very last time. The faux marble trim of the proscenium and elegantly framed Roman columns towering on either side of the screen had worn badly these last few years. The red velvety sheen of the presentation curtain was dated and dingy, what with no money to have it taken out and properly cleaned or better still, replaced as they had been by MGM from royal blue with gold trim in 1955.

Those were the days when studios owned theatres. Or was it the other way around? The days when the business of making movies had been artistic rather than beholding solely to the bottom line. Before HUAC, the suburbs, and television had chipped away at the venerable star system. Before the Consent Decrees. Before.