10/27/2025
The Heart of the Opera House
When I first stepped into the Island Falls Opera House, it didn’t feel abandoned, it felt asleep.
Most people saw a worn-out building, empty for twenty years. They saw sagging beams, cracked plaster, and dust where music used to live. I saw something else, a pulse. Faint, maybe, but still there.
It never struck me as eerie. Not once. There was something deeper about it, something I can only call mystical. The place had a presence, like it had been waiting for someone who could still hear what others had stopped listening for.
The cellar drew me in first. Maybe it’s strange, but I always feel grounded down there. I’ll stand quietly, touch the old wooden supports, and it’s like I can feel the whole building breathing. The wood is cool and smooth in some spots, rough in others, solid, scarred, alive. Sometimes I catch myself staring, studying every joint, every nail, every mark left by hands that were here a hundred years before mine. In those moments, I don’t feel like I’m inside the Opera House, I feel like I am part of it.
The attic has a different kind of pull. It’s still and bright, the air thick with dust and sunlight. When the wind moves through the cracks, it hums softly, and I swear I can almost hear the faint echoes of old applause or laughter drifting somewhere in the beams. Peaceful, but powerful, like standing inside a memory.
People have asked me why I’d live here, of all places. Why bring life back to something that so many had already given up on? The truth is, I don’t know how not to. This building waited twenty years for someone to care. Somehow, that someone ended up being me.
It’s strange, but sometimes I think the Opera House remembers me, too. When the light hits just right, or a board creaks in a familiar way, it feels like a quiet acknowledgment, a thank you, maybe, from something far older than me.
I’ve come to realize it isn’t haunted by ghosts. It’s haunted by history. By living here, breathing, fixing, listening, I’m not disturbing it. I’m helping it remember.
After so many years of silence, the Opera House finally has a heartbeat again. That heartbeat is mine…