August 5, 2026

Drama Club’s Haunted Auditorium Tour Turns Too Real

Drama Club’s Haunted Auditorium Tour Turns Too Real

What was meant as a tongue-in-cheek fall fundraiser quickly became spine-tingling reality when Memorial High’s Drama Club launched its “Haunted Auditorium Tour.” Props included flickering lanterns, scripted ghost stories, and actors in spectral costumes–until the stage lights themselves began to flicker independently, and a disembodied voice whispered, “Encore?” through the intercom.

Patrons–mostly freshmen seeking extra credit–navigated the aisles by candlelight while volunteer “ghost guides” recited tales of a 1923 Maverick mascot rumored to still roam the rafters. The authentic-looking set-pieces rattled, trap doors creaked open without cues, and one student reported a phantom in the back row handing out “Boo-tiful” flowers.

The club’s director, Ms. Donnelly, initially hailed it as “immersive theatre,” until the local news crew captured footage of an empty swing gliding across the stage and a headless choir singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” in reverse. Maintenance crews were called, but declared the auditorium “entirely serviced–structurally sound, but emotionally haunted.”

By the final showing, attendance soared–despite warnings that “real ghosts not guaranteed.” Ticket proceeds will fund next year’s musical, though the club is now debating whether to remove the trap doors–or embrace them. One cast member, wiping sweat and spectral ectoplasm, admitted, “We just wanted a fun scare. Now it’s a legit haunting.”

Whether the spirits stay on beyond Halloween, no one knows. But for one eerie season, Memorial High’s auditorium became the only school theatre where the applause came from beyond the grave. And sometimes, they still whisper, “Encore?”

Annabelle Bransford

Hi, I’m Annabelle Bransford, Memorial High School’s unofficial satirist-in-residence and proud founder of The Daily Detention—a publication so edgy it’s been banned twice and resurrected three times, like a sassy phoenix with a flair for detention slips. I write satire because someone has to hold the line between cafeteria chaos and gym class tyranny. Whether I’m exposing the secret emotional feud between our Algebra teacher and Euclid, or investigating why the pep rally feels like an ancient ritual sacrifice, I try to speak truth to hallway power. Sure, I’ve been called “disruptive,” but mostly by people who wear lanyards unironically. My work has been read by at least two janitors, my entire AP English class, and one substitute teacher who thought it was a cry for help. I consider that range. When I’m not sharpening my wit, I’m dodging group projects, winning banned book club trivia, or mentoring the school's AI Isn’t Funny Club (membership: just me and 17 bots I’ve emotionally manipulated). I’m also a National Merit Semi-Finalist, certified eye-roller at Student Government meetings, and the only girl in school who’s been accused of “weaponizing irony.” My goals? Keep writing, keep laughing, and one day publish a satirical exposé called Yearbook Superlatives and Other Lies. If you want something sugarcoated, try the bake sale. If you want the truth with a punchline, I’m your girl. I've landed a sweet job at Bohiney Magazine, so don't bother me. EMAIL: annabelle@bohiney.com

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