Chapter 13: The St. Dymphna's Auditions

St. Dymphna's Academy for Girls looked even worse in person. The ominous gothic architecture I'd seen in Yui's presentation was now looming over us, casting long, skeletal shadows in the late afternoon sun. The rusted gates groaned open with a sound that cliché horror movies would kill for. The air was thick with the smell of decay, damp stone, and a faint, cloying scent of old perfume.

"Spooky," Joshua whispered, his eyes wide with excitement, not fear. "The spiritual energy here is off the charts! It's like a paranormal all-you-can-eat buffet."

"I'm going to be sick," I muttered, clutching the bag of 'Emergency Introduction and De-escalation' talismans I had spent the morning creating. I felt less like a producer and more like a UN peacekeeper about to walk into a warzone.

Yui, ever the professional, was already setting up her equipment at the base of the crumbling front steps. She had a ghost meter, an EMF reader, and a tablet for taking notes. "Okay, based on preliminary readings, the highest concentration of residual psychic energy is in the old auditorium. I suggest we start there. Let's call it the 'audition hall'."

"You can call it whatever you want," I said, pulling my hoodie tighter. "It's still a nexus of profound sadness and unresolved spiritual turmoil."

"Potato, po-tah-to," Joshua chirped, leading the way through the decaying main doors.

The inside of the school was a masterpiece of dereliction. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing through boarded-up windows. Lockers stood open like silent, rusted mouths. A thick layer of dust covered everything, preserving the school's final moments like a grimy time capsule. The silence was heavy and profound, broken only by the sound of our footsteps and Joshua's humming of the Phantom Idols' debut single.

The auditorium was at the end of a long, dark hallway. The double doors were massive and ornate, but one was hanging off its hinges. As we pushed our way inside, the scene before us made me stop in my tracks.

The auditorium was huge, with rows of dusty velvet seats and a grand, cobweb-draped stage. And it was not empty.

Dozens of spectral figures drifted through the space. Most were faint, little more than transparent after-images of former students, re-enacting their final, mundane moments. But a few were much more… distinct. They were solid, vibrant, and they all turned to look at us as we entered. The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

"Showtime," Joshua whispered excitedly. Yui was already furiously taking notes on her tablet.

Before Joshua could launch into his insane recruitment pitch, a figure detached herself from the shadows of the stage and floated towards us. She was dressed in a pristine, old-fashioned school uniform, her hair in a tight, severe bun. She held a spectral clipboard and radiated an aura of terrifying authority.

"This is a restricted area," she announced, her voice echoing slightly, crisp and clear. "Hall passes are required. Loitering is strictly forbidden. State your business, or I shall be forced to issue you all with detention."

Joshua stepped forward, a brilliant, idiotic smile on his face. "Greetings! My name is Joshua, and this is my associate Amy. We're producers, and we're here to offer you a once-in-an-afterlife opportunity!"

The ghost of the class president - for that is what she had to be - just stared at him, her expression unchanging. "Detention. For unauthorized assembly and frankly, an absurd fashion sense."

Suddenly, another ghost zipped past her, a flash of neon pink and bleached blonde hair. She was wearing a modified, shortened version of the school uniform, with leg warmers and about fifty plastic bracelets on her arms. She skidded to a stop in front of Joshua, striking a pose.

"OMG, for real-sies?" she asked, her voice a relic of 90s slang. "Like, an idol? That is, like, totally radical! I'm Mika! Are you, like, a talent scout? This place is a major drag. All she," she gestured at the class president, "ever wants to do is practice student council speeches. As if!"

"That is enough, Mika," the class president, who introduced herself as Reiko, said sternly. "Your use of improper slang is a violation of the school's code of conduct."

Before they could start a full-blown spectral argument, a third figure emerged, and this one was different. She was dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket covered in spectral band patches. Her hair was a vibrant, ectoplasmic purple mohawk, and she was holding a transparent, shimmering electric guitar. She didn't float; she stomped, her spectral combat boots making no sound on the dusty floor.

"Idols?" she sneered, her voice a low growl. "You want to turn this haunted dump into some sparkly pop-star factory? That's the least punk-rock thing I've ever heard." She strummed a chord on her guitar, and a wave of pure sonic angst washed over us. My teeth buzzed. "Name's Nana. I died in a mosh pit at a punk show in '86. I'm not interested in your bubblegum garbage."

This was going well. We had a ghostly tyrant, a valley girl from the past, and a punk rock poltergeist. Joshua's dream girl group was shaping up to be a logistical and stylistic nightmare.

"Now, now, let's hear everyone out!" Joshua said, ever the chaotic mediator. He turned to the rest of the assembled spirits. "Who wants to be a star?!"

A few of the fainter ghosts drifted forward, looking curious. One, a shy-looking ghost with glasses who was clutching a spectral book, whispered, "Does being a star involve… public speaking?" This was Shiori, the librarian ghost.

"It does!" Joshua confirmed.

Shiori the librarian immediately faded back into the crowd, shaking her head.

The 'auditions', as Joshua called them, were one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Reiko, the class president, performed her 'talent' which was reciting the entire school rulebook from memory in a powerful, commanding monotone. It was impressive, in a deeply terrifying way.

Mika, the gyaru, performed a flawless, high-energy Para Para dance routine to a song that apparently only she could hear. It involved a lot of synchronized hand movements and cheerful whooping.

Nana, the punk ghost, just plugged her spectral guitar into a spectral amp that seemed to be powered by pure rage and blasted us with a three-chord punk anthem about anarchy and the failures of the education system. The force of it made the chandeliers rattle.

It was a mess. Their styles clashed more violently than stripes and plaid. Their personalities were polar opposites. There was no way they could ever function as a group.

"They're perfect!" Joshua declared once the 'auditions' were over.

"They are the furthest thing from perfect, Joshua!" I hissed, pulling him aside. "Reiko wants to enforce rules, Mika wants to party like it's 1999, and Nana wants to smash the system! This isn't a group, it's a sociological experiment doomed to fail!"

"It's called creative tension!" he argued. "Think of the dynamics! The 'strict leader', the 'bubbly comic relief', and the 'rebellious rocker'! We just need one more to round out the group. A quiet, mysterious one!" He scanned the remaining ghosts and his eyes landed on Shiori, the librarian ghost, who was trying to hide behind a curtain. "Her!"

Before I could stop him, he was striding over to Shiori. I didn't hear what he said to her, but it involved a lot of wild gesturing and pointing. To my utter astonishment, she slowly nodded and drifted forward to join the other three.

Reiko, Mika, and Nana all looked at each other, then at Shiori, then at us. They looked less like a newly formed idol group and more like four strangers who had just been told they were the last survivors of an apocalypse and had to repopulate the earth.

"So," Nana growled, crossing her spectral arms. "What's the name of this stupid band you want us to be in?"

Joshua beamed, puffing out his chest. "I'm glad you asked! We've been workshopping a few ideas. Get ready for your new identity as… the Ghoul-axy Idols!"

A collective groan echoed through the haunted auditorium. My own groan was the loudest. I buried my face in my hands. This wasn't just a bad idea anymore. It was a five-ghost pile-up, and I was about to be buried under the wreckage.