At the end of Macbeth, Macduff kills Macbeth offstage. When Macduff returns to the stage, he carries out Macbeth's head on a stick. The prop crew made a plaster version of our Macbeth's head. It's my job to hand Macduff the head every night. The thing looks too much like Alan, our Macbeth, for my tastes. They have the same crooked nose, and their hair falls in the same golden pattern. Its eyes stare at me with the intensity of a person, and the head's sculptor copied the marble pattern of Alan's emerald corneas exactly.
Alan doesn't like the head either. He says it captures his spiritual essence too well. He insists that the head must be shrouded whenever he is in the room. Alan believes in a lot of bullshit, like breaking mirrors causes seven years of bad luck, knocking on wood stops a jinx, and astrology actually means something. There's a rumor going around the cast and crew that he is so worried about luck and spirituality because a demon cursed him. I almost believe it. Whenever Alan is around me, I always feel something watching me, even if he isn't looking at me.
On the last night of the show, I approach the prop table, but I don't see the head. I continue to search, but I find nothing. I rush to the wings, where I usually hand Macduff the prop.
"I can't find the head," I say.
"There are only six lines until I go on," Macduff whispers.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
As we search, I hear the other actors attempting to improvise Shakespeare.
"Here," says a voice in the dark, handing Macduff the head.
Macduff's actor sprints onto the stage, the stick in his hands.
After the curtain call, Macduff, holding the head, which looks bloodier than ever, enters the men's dressing room with our director.
"Alan didn't show up for the curtain call," says our director. "Where is he?"
On the ground, next to the sink, I see it. A plaster head covered in golden string.
