In the quiet town of Eldergrove, where the trees whispered secrets and the wind carried forgotten voices, there was a legend that few dared to speak of. It began with the old abandoned theater on the edge of town, its peeling paint and broken windows standing as a monument to something long buried. Most people called it "The Hollow Stage," though no one could remember who first gave it that name. Every year, on the night of the autumn equinox, a strange light would flicker in the upper windows of the theater. Locals claimed it was just the wind through the cracks, but others swore they saw shadows moving behind the curtains. The stories varied—some said it was the ghost of a lost actor, others believed it was a portal to another world. No one knew for sure, but the tale had been passed down through generations, always ending with a warning: "Don’t go near the theater after dark." Lila, a young woman who had recently moved to Eldergrove, found herself drawn to the legend. She was an artist, fascinated by the eerie beauty of forgotten places. One evening, as the sky turned a deep violet and the air grew thick with the scent of damp earth, she decided to visit the theater. Her flashlight trembled in her hand as she approached the rusted gate, which creaked open without a sound. Inside, the silence was oppressive. Dust motes swirled in the beams of her flashlight, illuminating faded posters of plays long forgotten. The stage itself was covered in a thin layer of cobwebs, and the seats were lined up like waiting ghosts. Lila felt a chill crawl up her spine, but she pressed on, drawn by an inexplicable pull. She climbed the creaking stairs to the balcony, where the light from the upper windows seemed to pulse faintly. As she stepped closer, the air around her grew colder, and the whispers began. They weren’t loud, just soft murmurs, like a memory trying to be remembered. Lila froze, heart pounding, as the shadows behind the curtain shifted ever so slightly. Suddenly, the light went out. The darkness swallowed her whole, and for a moment, she was certain she was alone. Then, a voice—soft, almost melodic—spoke from the shadows. “You shouldn’t have come.” Lila spun around, but there was no one there. The whisper echoed again, this time closer. She backed away slowly, her breath shallow, until she reached the stairs. As she descended, the whispers grew louder, forming words she couldn’t quite understand. When she finally stumbled out of the theater, the sky had cleared, and the stars glowed cold and distant above. The next day, Lila told no one about what she had seen. But the following week, she found a small note tucked inside her sketchbook. It was written in elegant, looping script: *“You are not the first. You will not be the last.”* She tried to ignore it, but the feeling of being watched never left her. Strange things began to happen—her drawings would shift when she wasn’t looking, and the whispers returned at night, now more distinct. One morning, she discovered a new poster on the theater’s wall, though she had never seen it before. It depicted a lone figure standing on the stage, their face obscured, with the words *“The Show Must Go On”* printed beneath. Lila visited the theater again, this time with a group of friends. They laughed nervously as they explored the empty space, but the atmosphere was heavy, almost suffocating. As they reached the stage, the lights flickered, and the whispers returned. This time, they spoke clearly. “You are part of the story now.” No one could explain what happened next. When the group emerged, they were changed, though none could say how. Some claimed they had seen something in the mirror that wasn’t there, while others swore they had heard a play being performed in the empty building. But the most unsettling thing was the fact that none of them remembered exactly what had occurred. Lila never returned to the theater, but she kept the note. She wondered if the legend was real, or if it was just a story people told to make sense of the unknown. And as the years passed, the whispers continued, echoing through the empty halls, waiting for the next curious soul to step into the light.