Frankie and the Fluttering Curtain

The curtain gave a little flutter, then wrapped itself around the watering can like a sleepy scarf.

Frankie stared at it. “That’s not where the curtain goes.”

The tiny theater sat inside an old garden greenhouse, between a pot of sleepy mint and a shelf of clay flowerpots. Its stage was a wooden crate turned on its side. Its seats were upside-down seed trays with cushions made from folded handkerchiefs. And tonight, every little ghost in the greenhouse had come to see a puppet show.

Frankie had made the puppets himself. There was a brave turnip, a tap-dancing beetle, and a queen who wore a crown made from a bottle cap. Frankie was supposed to open the curtain, bow, and let the show begin.

“Places, everyone!” called Della, who was helping with the lights. She pointed her flashlight at the stage. “The audience is ready.”

The ghosts settled into their seats. A ghost named Midge held a paper program upside down. Fennel sat with his hands folded, though one hand had accidentally passed through the seat. Bix leaned forward so far that his round head nearly rolled off his shoulders.

Frankie tugged the curtain’s edge. It slipped off the watering can and floated toward a tall fern.

“Come back here,” he whispered.

The curtain curled around the fern’s fronds. Frankie untangled it, but the fabric looped around a puppet box. He freed it again. This time it drifted over a pair of rubber boots and covered them like a tiny tent.

“Perhaps it wants to be a boot,” said Midge.

“No,” Frankie said. “It wants to be a curtain. I think.”

The greenhouse door stood open to let in the cool evening air. Every so often, a breeze slipped through. The curtain lifted, wandered across the room, and landed somewhere new.

Ghosts could hold things when they concentrated, but the breeze tugged the loose curtain right out of Frankie’s grasp. He tried tying one corner to the stage. The knot slid loose and the curtain flapped over the brave turnip’s face.

The audience waited kindly. The turnip waited bravely, though it could not see a thing.

Frankie looked at the stage, the plants, and the door. The show was ready. The curtain was not.

Frankie gathered up the curtain and carried it back to the stage. He stretched it across the little wooden rod. For one hopeful moment, it hung straight.

Then a breeze slipped through the open greenhouse door.

Whooosh! The curtain billowed toward the door, lifted off the rod, and wrapped itself around a stack of empty flowerpots. One pot wore it like a hat. Another had a curtain sleeve.

Bix gave a quiet clap. “Excellent hats!”

Frankie hurried to rescue the fabric. “Thank you, pots, but the show needs that.” He tugged gently. The curtain came free, only to curl around a tomato stake.

He paused. The breeze came again. The curtain always lifted toward the open door. When the air went still, it drooped. When the breeze came through, it sailed in the same direction, as if it were trying to leave for a walk.

Frankie watched carefully. Then he looked at Della.

“I know what to do,” he said. “We need to keep the bottom corners still while you close the door. Then I can put the curtain back on its rod.”

Della nodded. “I can do that.”

Frankie turned to the audience. “Could you hold the lower corners for me? Just gently, like you’re holding a sleepy kitten.”

The little ghosts rose from their seed-tray seats. Midge and Fennel each took a corner. Bix and two more ghosts held the other side. They focused on keeping the cloth steady and took their places around the stage, stepping between the fern and the flowerpots.

“Ready?” Frankie asked.

“Ready,” they answered.

Della crossed the greenhouse and pulled the door closed. The breeze stopped. The curtain settled in the audience’s hands instead of sailing toward the flowerpots.

Frankie guided the fabric back across the rod. He smoothed one fold, then another. Della checked that the door was snug. The ghosts let go, and the curtain stayed right where it belonged.

Frankie stepped beside the stage. “Thank you, everyone.”

He caught the curtain’s two edges and pulled them apart.

Whoooosh!

The curtain opened with a soft, dramatic sweep. The brave turnip stood ready. The beetle tapped its tiny puppet feet. The bottle-cap queen lifted her crown.

At last, the show was ready, and Frankie folded forward in an enormous bow, his head bobbing as if it might keep going without him.

The turnip’s adventure began with a very important question: where had the queen’s missing crown gone?

“It’s on your head,” said the beetle, tapping one of its puppet feet.

The queen felt around her hat. “Well, that was easy.”

The little ghosts giggled. Even the audience’s cushions seemed to bounce a bit as everyone laughed. Frankie moved the puppets across the stage, giving the turnip a deep voice and the beetle a squeaky one. Della made the flashlight beam follow the action, careful not to aim it at the audience’s eyes.

In the final scene, the beetle taught the turnip a dance. The turnip wobbled left, wobbled right, and spun around so slowly that the queen had time to finish a whole speech before it stopped.

“Bravo!” called Midge.

The ghosts clapped, and the puppets bowed. Frankie came out from behind the stage and bowed too. His head stayed in place this time.

Afterward, the audience helped put the puppets back in their box. Midge folded the handkerchief cushions. Fennel stacked the seed trays, taking care not to leave his hands behind inside them. Della set the flashlight on the shelf.

Frankie stood beside the curtain. It hung neatly on its rod now, with no watering-can scarf, no flowerpot hat, and no fern tangled in its folds.

“That was a good show,” said Bix. “Especially the turnip’s slow spin.”

“The turnip practiced all afternoon,” Frankie said. “It was very dizzy.”

The little ghosts made their way toward the greenhouse door. They moved quietly past the mint and the flowerpots, still talking in small, happy voices. Della opened the door, and the night air slipped in without hurrying anything.

Frankie looked back at the stage. The curtain made a small, peaceful ripple. He left it open just a crack, so the greenhouse could breathe quietly through the night. Then he followed his friends outside, while the puppets rested in their box and the empty theater grew still.