Then I began to notice how dark and empty it was. The red velvet curtains were open and the stage was pitch-black.

‘Hello?’ I called out.

My voice echoed. No answer. Not even a nun in the place.

When you go to boarding school, you’re never alone. There’s always a million people around, even when you don’t want them there – like when you’re washing your Wonder Woman G-string in the laundry-room sink. Everywhere you turn, there’s another dope in a green-plaid uniform. So, when there’s no one around, it gets a little creepy.

I found myself tiptoeing down the soft-carpet aisle to the stage, looking cautiously from side to side. Suddenly I stopped. I’d heard something. I froze and listened hard. Sssssss. A soft hissing sound. I spun around; it sounded like it was coming from behind me. I waited a beat, then decided it was probably the radiator. The old-ass St Mary’s radiators are always hissing and banging. No big deal. I kept walking down the aisle, focusing on trying to remember which Shakespearean cross-dressing play we’d watched on this stage last year.

Then I heard it again. Louder this time. SSSSS. A hiss – no, wait. Not a hiss. The sound came again, echoing to the three-story ceiling of the empty theater, and that’s when I realized: it was a word.

‘Iceee …’

No way. Not possible. Don’t be a dumbass. That is NOT a ghost. It’s just your overactive, horror-movie-stimulated, slightly tobacco-addicted subconscious being a little bitch and playing tricks on you. Thinking quickly, I tried to remind myself what my freshman psych teacher told us about your mind creating imaginary scenarios when you’re scared, but all I could remember was that Greek dude who clawed his eyeballs out after he accidentally hooked up with his mom, and that was NOT comforting.

‘Ice …’

Okay, that is DEFINITELY a word! I was sure of it. And it had come from the balcony above me because clearly the Iceman, who always kept his skates on the ground when he was alive, could fly now. Because he was a ghost. He was a ghost, and he was after me. I sprinted down the aisle, my heart racing, goosebumps prickling under my plaid skort. Shit – wait – what was I doing, running towards the stage? Once I got there, I’d be trapped! Was there some kind of trapdoor in the stage I could use? No, don’t go through the trapdoor! The trapdoor leads to the Iceman’s underground lair! Wait, does the Iceman have an underground lair? Is the Iceman like the Phantom of the Opera? Is he gonna force me to sing really high-pitched duets with him? No way am I getting out of this alive!

Then the hiss, which had become a whisper, which had become a word, became a sentence: ‘The Ice … man … COMETH!’