THE LAST BALLAD - Show Bible Part 2

The Green Room Script

Backstage, 1970s. Where Audrey keeps vigil.

INT. THE GREEN ROOM - TIMELESS

A backstage dressing room preserved in amber. The vanity mirror's half-lit bulbs cast uneven pools of light. AUDREY sits at the vanity, her back to the entering guests. She's looking at a photograph. The RECORD PLAYER on the side table turns slowly - the needle hasn't dropped yet.

Guests enter. The ROADIE holds the curtain for them, nods, and disappears.

Audrey doesn't acknowledge them. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable. Then:

[CUE: The record player arm lifts by itself, drops the needle. A scratchy recording begins: HANK WILLIAMS humming a melody. No words. Just humming. The melody is the one Jesse played in Act 1 - the unfinished song.]

Audrey closes her eyes. Listens. Then speaks - not to the guests. To the room. To memory.

AUDREY

(quiet, remembering)

He used to sit right there.

She gestures to the worn couch without turning around.

AUDREY

That couch. Before every show. He'd hold the guitar across his lap like he was cradling a sick child. Not playing. Just holding it. And I'd say, "Hank, baby, you ready?" And he'd say -

(she turns now, sees the guests for the first time)

- he'd always say the same thing.

(beat)

"The song's not done yet, Audrey. I can hear it but I can't find the end."

She stands. Moves through the room. The guests are now part of her space - she moves around them like they're furniture. She touches the costume rack, the whiskey bottle, the ashtray.

AUDREY

You know what killed him? It wasn't the pills. Wasn't the whiskey. Wasn't even the road, though Lord knows the road didn't help.

She picks up the half-drunk bottle of Wild Turkey. Looks at it.

AUDREY

It was the deal.

She sets the bottle down. Turns to the vanity mirror. Traces the faded red lipstick words with her finger: YOU CAN'T OUTRUN A SONG.

AUDREY

The last night - before the highway took him - he sat right where you're standing and wrote that. In my lipstick. My good lipstick.

(almost a laugh, almost a sob)

And I said, "Hank, don't get in that car." And he looked at me with those eyes - those blue eyes that could see right through a song and come out the other side - and he said:

(beat)

"The song's waiting for me in Canton, Audrey. And a song won't wait."

[CUE: The record player SKIPS. The same line of melody repeats. And repeats. Stuck in a groove.]

AUDREY

(pointing at the player)

Hear that? He's trying to finish it. Been trying for seventy years. Starts the melody, gets to the fourth verse, and -

(the record skips again)

- nothing. Every time. Like the words are right there behind glass and he can't break through.

She picks up a photograph from the vanity. Shows it to the nearest guest. It's two people - a man and a woman - but the man's face is scratched out.

AUDREY

This place takes things from people. Not the obvious things. Not money or time. It takes the part of you that makes the music. And what's left -

(she looks at the photograph)

- what's left just keeps playing.

She sets the photo face-down. Straightens up.

AUDREY

(to the group, direct now)

I tried to save him. I want you to know that. I wasn't the villain they made me. I loved him more than the music loved him. But the music won. The music always wins in this building.

[CUE: From somewhere behind the wall, barely audible - SINGING. A man's voice. Humming the melody. Closer than before.]

Audrey freezes. Her composure cracks for the first time.

AUDREY

(whisper)

He's close tonight.

She looks at the guests. Chooses one - the one who has been most attentive, most still, most emotionally present. She extends her hand to that person.

AUDREY

Come with me. Just for a moment. There's something you need to see.

[This is the 1-ON-1 SELECTION. She leads the chosen guest behind the costume rack, through a curtain, into the hidden alcove. The rest of the group explores the room freely - opening drawers, reading letters, examining photographs.]

After 2 minutes, the chosen guest returns. Audrey follows. She addresses the full group one final time.

AUDREY

When you get back to the bar - and you will get back - look for the man in the white suit. He'll be at the end of the bar. Quiet type. Tips well.

(beat)

Buy him a whiskey. He's earned it. He's been paying for it longer than any of us.

[CUE: The record player arm lifts, returns to its cradle. Silence. The bulbs flicker once.]

The ROADIE appears at the doorway. Nods to the group. Time to move.

TRANSITION TO NEXT ROOM

The Midnight Opry Script

A radio station still broadcasting to no one. Until now.

INT. THE MIDNIGHT OPRY RADIO STATION - 1955 (OR IS IT?)

The broadcast booth glows amber. MIDNIGHT MIKE is mid-broadcast as guests enter, headphones around his neck, leaning into the chrome microphone. The reel-to-reel turns. The ON-AIR sign burns red. A clock on the wall reads 11:55 PM. It always reads 11:55 PM.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(golden radio voice, mid-sentence as guests enter)

- and that was a special request from a listener calling in from, well, they didn't say where exactly. Said they were "between places." Don't that beat all.

He notices the guests. His face lights up - genuine, hungry, a man who hasn't had company in decades.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

Oh. Oh my. Visitors. We don't get many of those. Come on in, come on in. Mind the wires. Pull up a chair - anywhere that doesn't have a record on it.

(to the microphone)

Ladies and gentlemen, this is WLHW, the Midnight Opry, and I do believe we have a live studio audience for the first time in -

(thinks, genuinely confused)

What year is it? Can somebody tell me what year it is?

He lets them answer. Whatever they say, his reaction is the same: a small, bewildered pause.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

That can't be right. I just played Hank's new single yesterday. The one that hasn't come out yet.

He reaches to the shelf behind him. Pulls out a vinyl record. Shows it to the group. The label reads: HANK WILLIAMS - "THE LAST VERSE" - UNRELEASED.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

This came in the mail. No return address. Just a note that said "PLAY AT MIDNIGHT." So I played it at midnight, because that's what you do when the music tells you to do something - you do it. And that's when things got -

(he looks at the reel-to-reel)

- strange.

He puts the record on the turntable. Lowers the needle. The melody plays - the unfinished song. More complete than in the Green Room. We hear three verses clearly now, lyrics and all. But at the fourth verse, the record SKIPS and POPS, distorting into static.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

It does that every single time. Gets right to the end and - whoosh. Like the song doesn't want to be finished. Or can't be. I've tried cleaning it, different needles, different turntables. Same spot every time.

He leans in, dropping the radio voice for something more personal.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(conspiratorial)

Now here's the part I haven't told anyone. Because there hasn't been anyone to tell. Last week - or was it last year? Time moves funny in here - I picked up a signal. Dead frequency. 1953 AM. And there was a voice. Real clear. Saying the same thing over and over:

(he drops his voice)

"The last verse is in the bar. The last verse is in the bar."

He lets that land. Then brightens suddenly - the showman's mask back on.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

But hey - this is a radio station, not a funeral home. Who wants to make a request?

He takes song requests from the group. For every song mentioned, he has a story. If someone says a Hank Williams song, he pauses, looks at the booth window - the dark highway projected beyond it - and says:

MIDNIGHT MIKE

Interesting choice. That's one of His. You know what I've noticed? Every time I play one of His songs in this booth, the reel-to-reel records something I didn't say. Like the machine's got a mind of its own. Or a memory.

[CUE: One of the ROTARY PHONES on the wall RINGS. Loud, mechanical, insistent.]

Mike stares at it. The showman's mask falls off.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(quietly, to himself)

That phone.

(to the group)

That phone rings every night. Same time. I stopped answering a while back. Because the voice on the other end -

It rings again. Louder.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

Would one of you answer it? Please. I need to know if I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing.

[A guest picks up the phone. PRE-RECORDED AUDIO plays through the handset - intimate, close-mic'd, unmistakable:]

"Can you hear me? This is Waylon. Don't tell the others. I've been trying to reach someone on the outside. I'm still on the bus. I can't get off the bus. There's an 8-track - it has the last verse on it. But you have to play it backwards. Can you remember that? Play it backwards. And whatever you do..."

(static crackles)

"...don't let the song end."

The line goes dead. The guest hangs up.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(watching the guest's face)

What'd they say?

He listens to whatever the guest shares (or doesn't). Then:

MIDNIGHT MIKE

That's what I hear too. Every night. A man who says he can't get off a bus. A man who's been driving for fifty years and the road won't end. And he thinks the answer is in a song.

(he puts his headphones on, adjusts the dial)

Hold on - I'm picking something up.

[CUE: Through the booth's speakers - the sound of a CAR ENGINE. Rain on a windshield. A man HUMMING in the back seat. Peaceful. Oblivious. Then - the humming stops. The engine continues. The rain continues. But the voice is gone.]

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(removing the headphones slowly)

That's how it always ends. That drive. January first, 1953. Knoxville to Canton. Someone should have checked on him sooner.

He's quiet for a moment. The longest he's been quiet. Then he reaches under the desk and pulls out a crate of vinyl records.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

Before you go - take a record. Any one. Don't look at the label until you're back in the bar. Trust me on this. The right one will find you.

Guests each select a record from the crate. Each label contains a different clue - fragment of lyrics, a date, a name, a frequency number. They are pieces of the larger puzzle.

MIDNIGHT MIKE

(back on-mic, the mask returning, but sadder now)

This is WLHW, the Midnight Opry, broadcasting on a frequency that shouldn't exist. If you can hear this... you're closer to the truth than you think. Now get out of here. You've got a few more stops before the song comes back around.

The ROADIE appears. Mike waves as they leave, then turns back to his microphone, alone again, and begins talking to an audience that isn't there.

TRANSITION TO NEXT ROOM

The Lost Highway Script

Rain-soaked alley. The car. The driver who never stopped driving.

EXT. THE LOST HIGHWAY - RAIN-SOAKED ALLEY - NIGHT / 1953

Cold hits first. The temperature drops 15 degrees as guests step through the door. Then the mist - fine, cold, constant - settling on skin and hair. The soundscape wraps around them: rain on asphalt, distant tires on wet road, a faint radio signal cutting in and out. Neon signs flicker overhead. "LOST HIGHWAY" in red. "ONE WAY" in blue. "NO EXIT" in amber, stuttering.

And there, against the far wall, embedded in the brick as if it drove through from the other side: the front half of a POWDER-BLUE 1952 CADILLAC. Its headlights are on, cutting two white beams through the mist. The AM radio plays static, punctuated by fragments of a broadcast.

THE DRIVER stands beside it. Coat damp. Hat low. One hand on the hood. He's been here before. He's always here.

He doesn't greet the guests. He speaks to the car.

THE DRIVER

(quiet, almost to himself)

This is the car.

He runs his hand along the fender.

THE DRIVER

1952 Cadillac. Powder blue. I drove this car from Knoxville to Oak Hill on New Year's Day.

(he turns to the guests for the first time)

I was seventeen years old. They hired me to drive because Mr. Williams - Hank - wasn't in any condition to drive himself. Bad back. Too many pills. Too much whiskey. But that was just Hank. Everybody knew Hank like that.

He moves to the driver's side door. Opens it. The interior light comes on - dim, amber, like a memory of light.

THE DRIVER

He got in the back. Right there. Had his guitar case. Had a notebook in his coat pocket. Had a bottle. And he had this look on his face I didn't understand at seventeen but I understand now.

(beat)

It was the look of a man who knows the song's almost done.

He closes the door gently. Walks around to the rear window. The back seat is visible - a wool blanket, a bottle, and behind glass, a notebook with a page of handwritten lyrics. The last lines are smeared, illegible.

THE DRIVER

He was quiet the whole drive. I thought he was sleeping. The heater was on. The rain was steady. I had the radio low - the Opry was on, playing some song I don't remember. And Hank was in the back, and I thought he was sleeping.

(his voice breaks for the first time)

He wasn't sleeping.

Silence except for rain.

THE DRIVER

I pulled into a filling station outside Oak Hill, West Virginia. Three in the morning, maybe four. I needed gas. The attendant came out - old fella, plaid shirt - and he looked in the back window and he said...

(the Driver stares at his own hands)

"Mister, that man's been gone for hours."

He looks at his hands like they belong to someone else.

THE DRIVER

Hours. I drove for hours with a dead man in the back seat and I didn't know. I was responsible for him. I was supposed to get him to Canton. To the show. And I drove right past every sign because I thought the quiet meant he was resting.

He sits on the wet ground beside the Cadillac, his back against the tire. The rain mists down on him. He doesn't flinch. He's used to it.

THE DRIVER

I've been coming back to this spot every night. Looking for him. People tell me he's dead. They've been telling me for seventy years. But I can still hear him humming in the back seat. Right through the glass. Same melody. Over and over. And I keep thinking - if I'd just checked on him sooner. If I'd just turned around and said, "Mr. Williams, you okay back there?" Maybe the song would've ended different.

[CUE: The car RADIO crackles to life. Through the static - the melody. Three verses, clear and devastating. A man's voice singing about the Lost Highway, about the price, about the deal. Then the fourth verse begins and - the radio cuts to STATIC. Dead air.]

THE DRIVER

(standing, urgent now)

There. Right there. That's where it stops. Every time. He gets to the end and the road runs out.

The neon signs FLICKER. The "NO EXIT" sign goes dark. In its place, a door that wasn't there before materializes in the brick wall - backlit, a seam of warm amber light around its edges.

THE DRIVER

(looking at the door)

I can't go through there. I've tried. It won't let me through. I think it's because I'm -

(he can't say it)

- I think I'm part of the drive now. Part of the road.

(to the guests)

But you're not. Not yet.

He reaches into his coat. Pulls out a folded piece of paper. Holds it out to the nearest guest.

THE DRIVER

I found this in the car. In his coat pocket. Under the notebook. It's a piece of the song - the part I could read before the rain smeared the rest. Take it. Please.

(quieter)

And if you find him in there - in the bar - tell him his driver's still waiting. Tell him the car's running. Tell him I'll get him to Canton this time. I swear I will.

The ROADIE appears at the illuminated door. The Driver sinks back against the Cadillac and watches them leave with the eyes of a man who has watched everyone leave.

TRANSITION TO NEXT ROOM

The Rolling Curse Script

Waylon's tour bus. The road that never ends.

INT. WAYLON'S TOUR BUS - 1977 / INFINITY

The bus interior is claustrophobic and warm after the cold of the alley. Bench seats with cracked vinyl. A kitchenette littered with empty bourbon bottles. Curtained bunks above. The smell of old leather, cigarette smoke (scent machine), and road. The floor VIBRATES - the bus is "moving." Engine sounds hum beneath. Through the darkened windows: nothing. Just black. The road has no scenery.

No performer is visible when guests enter. The space feels occupied and empty simultaneously. Personal effects are everywhere - a leather jacket draped over a seat, sunglasses on the table, guitar picks scattered, a set list with one title circled: "THE LAST VERSE."

[CUE: The 8-TRACK PLAYER clicks on. A modified recording plays - "Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way" but with ALTERED LYRICS:]

I saw him at the bar that night
Where the neon meets the rain
He said "Son, the music gives you everything
And then it takes it back again"

The 8-track loops. Same verse. Over and over. Guests explore. On the table, in plain sight: a LETTER. Handwritten on hotel stationery. It reads:

"Jessi - Something happened at Lost Highway. I can't explain it. I saw Hank. Not in a dream. Not a hallucination. At the bar. He was sitting there like he'd never left. Same white suit. Same whiskey. And he looked at me and said, 'Don't play here. Don't make the same deal I made.'

I thought it was the cocaine talking. But I went back the next night. He was there again. Same seat. Same drink. And this time he handed me something. A piece of paper with lyrics on it. The last verse of a song he never finished.

Jessi, I swear to God, the paper was warm. Like someone had just been holding it. Like it was alive.

I put it in my guitar case and I haven't opened it since. I'm afraid of what happens if I read it. I'm afraid of what happens if I sing it.

I love you. I'm sorry about all of it. I'm trying to get home. But the bus keeps driving and I can't make it stop.

- W."

Guests absorb the letter. The 8-track continues to loop. Then:

[CUE: The lights DIM to near-darkness. The engine sound DEEPENS, LOUDER, as if the bus is accelerating. The vibration increases.]

A VOICE from behind the curtained bunk area. Low, gravel, intimate. WAYLON'S SHADOW is there - a silhouette backlit behind the curtain. We see the outline of a man sitting on the bunk. Maybe a hat. Maybe not. The curtain moves but doesn't open.

WAYLON'S SHADOW

(from behind the curtain, low)

You shouldn't be on this bus.

Silence. The 8-track stops.

WAYLON'S SHADOW

I spent fifteen years trying to get off it. Every morning I wake up and we're somewhere new. Austin. Tulsa. Bakersfield. But it's never today. It's always that night. The night I walked into Lost Highway and saw a dead man drinking whiskey like he had all the time in the world.

The curtain moves again. A HAND appears - just a hand, reaching out of the dark. It holds a GUITAR PICK.

WAYLON'S SHADOW

He tried to warn me. Hank did. He said the building takes what it wants and gives back what you can't refuse. He said the deal isn't about dying - it's about never being able to stop playing.

(the hand extends the pick further)

Take this back to the bar. Give it to whoever's on the stage. The pick knows the melody. It's been holding it for fifty years.

A guest takes the pick from the hand. The hand withdraws behind the curtain.

WAYLON'S SHADOW

One more thing. The song doesn't end in the words. It ends in what happens after you sing them. Hank figured that out too late. Don't make it too late.

[CUE: The bus LURCHES - a hard vibration through the floor, like hitting a pothole or slamming brakes. Lights GO OUT. Complete darkness for 3 seconds.]

[CUE: Lights return - dim amber. The bunk curtain is now open. The bunk is empty. Just a crumpled blanket and a pair of sunglasses. The bus has "stopped." Engine off. Silence.]

A door at the far end of the bus clicks open. Light from the corridor beyond. The ROADIE stands there. The ride is over.

TRANSITION BACK TO BAR - CORRIDOR (CHANGED)

Act III The Final Song

Everyone returns. The song has been waiting.

INT. LOST HIGHWAY HONKY-TONK - LATER

Guests re-enter the bar through the corridor, which has changed. The neon is dimmer. The walls are older. By the time they step back into the honky-tonk, the space has aged. The lighting is lower, warmer, amber-soaked. The whiskey bottles look older. The photos on the wall seem different - more faces, none of them recognizable.

CORA is behind the bar. She looks tired - not physically, but temporally. Like decades have passed in the hour the guests were gone.

JESSE is on stage. He's changed too. He's wearing a vintage Western shirt that wasn't there in Act 1 - pearl snaps, embroidered yoke. He holds the guitar differently now, more carefully, like it's something ancient and fragile.

HANK'S GHOST is at his bar stool. But he's more present now. More visible. His humming is audible across the room.

THE DRIVER sits in a booth, still damp. Staring at his untouched whiskey.

Cora pours a round. Slides drinks to returning guests without them ordering.

CORA

(quiet, knowing)

On the house. You've earned it.

(she looks at their faces)

You've seen it now. What this place is. What it does to people.

Jesse begins to play. Softly at first. The melody. THE melody - the one that's been haunting every room. But now, for the first time, it's being played as a complete song. Three full verses. Every fragment the guests heard in the rooms assembled into one coherent, devastating piece of music.

The lyrics tell the story: a man who walked the Lost Highway, who made a deal for one more song, who traded his life for a melody that would outlive him. The first verse is about the deal. The second is about the drive. The third is about the bar - this bar - and the ghosts who can't leave it.

Jesse plays with increasing emotion. His voice breaks on certain lines. He's not acting - or he's acting so well it doesn't matter. The song is possessing him, and everyone in the room can feel it.

He reaches the point where the fourth verse should begin.

He stops.

His hands hover over the strings. He looks at the audience. Then at the bar - at HANK'S GHOST, who has slowly risen from his stool.

JESSE

(raw, honest)

I can hear it. The last verse. It's right there. Like it's been inside this guitar the whole time, waiting for tonight.

(he shakes his head)

But I can't do it alone. It's not mine to finish.

HANK'S GHOST walks from the bar to the stage. Slowly. Each step deliberate, heavy with decades of waiting. He stands next to Jesse. Doesn't take the guitar. Doesn't take the microphone. He stands there. And he hums. The melody of the fourth verse - just the melody. No words. The words need to come from somewhere else.

[CUE: The JUKEBOX clicks on. But instead of a song, it plays a HEARTBEAT. Steady, deep, resonant. The building's pulse.]

CORA steps out from behind the bar. She stands in the middle of the room.

CORA

(to the room, the most important speech in the show)

For seventy years, this bar has held onto them. The music keeps them here. The song keeps them playing. Every night, the same melody. Every night, the same three verses. Every night, the same silence where the fourth should be.

(she looks at the guests)

If someone finishes the verse, the song is done. And when the song's done -

(she looks at Hank, at the Driver, at the space where Waylon's presence lingers)

- they're free. The road ends. The car stops. The bus pulls over. And they get to rest.

She pauses. The heartbeat from the jukebox continues.

CORA

But the music goes with them. This place goes quiet. No more songs you can't explain. No more voices on dead frequencies. No more legends sitting at the bar after midnight.

(beat)

Or - we let the song stay unfinished. And they stay. And the music never dies.

(she steps back)

It's not my choice. It never was.

Jesse plays the melody again, building. Hank hums. The fourth verse approaches.

This is the AUDIENCE CHOICE MOMENT. Some guests will have fragments - lyrics from the mirror, from records, from the car, from the Driver's note. Some will have the guitar pick. Some will have nothing but the melody in their heads.

ENDING A - THE VERSE IS SUNG:

If one or more guests offer words - even fragments, even wrong words - Jesse CATCHES them. He weaves whatever is offered into the melody, completing the verse in real time. It doesn't matter if it's imperfect. The music takes what's given and makes it work.

The completed song fills the room. Four verses. The final verse is about letting go. About accepting that the greatest songs are the ones that end. About walking off the Lost Highway and into silence, and being grateful for it.

As the last note rings:

[CUE: ALL LIGHTS OUT. Complete darkness. The jukebox heartbeat STOPS. Three full seconds of absolute silence - the loudest silence any of them have ever heard.]

[CUE: A single SPOTLIGHT fades up on the bar stool where Hank sat. It's empty. A glass of whiskey remains. Full. Untouched. A wisp of cigarette smoke rises from a nowhere-ashtray and dissipates.]

The main lights fade up slowly. The bar looks normal again. Modern. The aging has reversed. The photos on the walls are the ones from before. The jukebox is dark and silent.

Cora is behind the bar. She's smiling. And crying. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and picks up a glass to polish. Like it's any other night.

ENDING B - SILENCE:

If no one offers words - if the room holds its breath and doesn't speak - Jesse slowly lets the melody fade. He shakes his head.

JESSE

(quiet, not judging)

Maybe next time.

He sets the guitar down. Hank's Ghost returns to his stool. Picks up his whiskey. Drinks. Goes back to humming.

The jukebox CLICKS - "Lost Highway" by Hank Williams plays. The bar lights come up normally. Nothing has changed. The haunting continues.

CORA

(to the room, warm, knowing)

Same time next week. He'll try again. He always does.

[NOTE: Both endings are valid. Ending A is cathartic, redemptive, final. Ending B is haunting, unresolved, and means the ghosts are still trapped - which is actually the ending the show is about. Ending B is more thematically honest: the audience chose the music over the people who made it. Most nights, enough guests will have fragments and the energy to offer them. But the nights when no one sings? Those are the nights that prove the show's thesis.]

END OF SHOW

Post-Show Protocol

Yondr pouches are unlocked at a station near the exit after the finale. Guests are free to take photos of the bar (but the immersive rooms are sealed off).
The bar stays open. Cora continues to serve drinks. Jesse may play a few more songs - his own, this time. The Driver is gone. Audrey is gone. Mike is gone.
Hank's Ghost (Ending A: gone / Ending B: still at the bar). If Ending B, guests can approach him. He won't speak. But if they buy him a whiskey, he'll nod. And he might slide them something from his pocket - a final clue, different every night.
Conversation is the content now. Groups compare notes. "Did you answer the phone?" "What did Audrey tell you?" "Did you read the letter?" The post-show conversation IS the fifth act.

1-on-1 Encounters

The moments that make it worth it. Every guest gets at least one.

In Sleep No More, maybe 5% of guests got a private encounter. In Then She Fell, every guest got several. We're between: every guest gets at least one, some get two. The Roadies track which guests have been selected and ensure no one leaves without a private moment.

1. Audrey's Confession (Green Room)

Duration: 2 minutes • Location: Hidden alcove behind costume rack

Audrey takes the guest's hand. Leads them behind the costume rack, through a curtain, into a space barely large enough for two. A single candle. A mirror. She's close - uncomfortably close.

She picks up a photograph from a shelf. Presses it into the guest's hand. It shows Hank and Audrey, young, happy, before the road took everything.

"That was the last good night. Before the deal. Before the highway. He wrote me a song that night - not for the records, just for me. And I've been trying to hear it again ever since."

She takes a ring from her finger. Slides it onto the guest's finger.

"Keep this. It was his. He left it on the bar the night he died. Cora kept it for seventy years. I kept it for longer than that."

She leans in. Whispers directly into the guest's ear:

"The last verse isn't in the words. It's in the silence after the last note. Remember that."

She opens the curtain. Releases the guest back to the group. The ring stays.

What the guest leaves with: A ring (costume jewelry, part of the show's merch/experience). A photograph (printed prop). A whispered secret that only they heard.

2. The Phone Call (Midnight Opry)

Duration: 90 seconds • Location: At the rotary phone bank

Not a traditional pull-aside - this happens in front of the group, but the experience is individual. Only the person holding the phone hears the voice. Pre-recorded audio through the handset:

"Can you hear me? This is Waylon. I've been trying to reach someone on the outside. I'm still on the bus. I can't get off the bus. There's an 8-track - it has the last verse on it. But you have to play it backwards. Can you remember that? Play it backwards. And whatever you do... don't let the song end."

What the guest leaves with: Information no one else has (unless they share it). A mission. The feeling of being personally addressed by a legend.

3. The Cadillac (Lost Highway)

Duration: 90 seconds • Location: At the car

A guest drawn to peer in the Cadillac's rear window sees the back seat - blanket, bottle, notebook. A STROBE FLASHES for a split second: the silhouette of a man in the back seat. There and gone.

An actor dressed as a 1950s EMT appears from behind the car. Calm. Clinical.

"I was the one who called it in. Three in the morning. Oak Hill station. White male, approximately thirty. We found a notebook in his coat. Most of the pages were fine. But the last one - "

The EMT hands the guest a folded piece of paper. It contains partial lyrics to the final verse - the most complete fragment in the show.

"We couldn't save him. But maybe you can save the song."

The EMT disappears behind the car.

What the guest leaves with: The most critical puzzle piece - the closest thing to the actual final verse anyone gets. A folded paper they'll clutch for the rest of the night.

4. The Bunk (Tour Bus)

Duration: 2 minutes • Location: At the curtained bunk

The most physical encounter. A guest feels the seat next to them DEPRESS (pneumatic effect or cast member) as if someone sat down. The bunk curtain moves. A hand beckons.

The guest approaches. The curtain parts slightly. WAYLON'S SHADOW is visible - close, real, breathing. He takes the guest's hand. Presses a guitar pick into their palm. Holds their hand closed around it.

"You can hear it, can't you? The ending? It's in your head right now. You just don't know it yet. When you get back to the bar - when the singer asks for the verse - you'll know what to sing."

He releases their hand. The curtain closes.

What the guest leaves with: A guitar pick (branded merch they keep). The physical memory of a hand holding theirs in the dark. Permission to participate in the finale.

1-on-1 Rotation Across the Run

To drive repeat visits, the 1-on-1 encounters have 3 variants each, rotated weekly. The structure stays the same but the content changes - Audrey tells a different story, the phone call reveals different information, the EMT gives a different lyric fragment. Over 3 visits, a dedicated guest would experience every variant.

Sound Design

Sound is 60% of immersion. The ear believes before the eye does.

The Unfinished Song

The most important sound element. An original composition written for the show - three verses and a melody for the fourth, but no lyrics for the final verse. It must sound like an undiscovered Hank Williams song: simple chord progression (I-IV-V), traditional country structure (AABA), lyrics that feel timeless and lived-in. It plays in fragments throughout the experience, building toward the complete version in Act 3.

Green Room: Humming only, on scratchy vinyl. Just the melody. Ghostly.
Midnight Opry: Three verses with lyrics, cleaner recording, but skips at the fourth verse. Guests hear the story for the first time.
Lost Highway: Three verses through AM car radio - warm, distorted, intimate. Cuts to static at the fourth.
Tour Bus: Modified melody on 8-track with altered lyrics (Waylon's version of the story).
Act 3: Jesse performs the complete three verses live, acoustic, stripped down. The fourth verse is silence - or whatever the audience gives him.

Room Soundscapes

Space	Ambient Sound	dB Target	System
Main Bar	Live music, jukebox, bar ambiance, crowd murmur (pre-show). Controlled jukebox cues during show.	75–85	PA system + rigged jukebox
Corridor	Transition from bar muffle → silence → distant static → growing radio signal	40–55	Distributed speakers along corridor
Green Room	Record player (practical), humming through walls, occasional creak/settle, cigarette hiss	55–65	Record player + hidden speakers
Midnight Opry	DJ broadcast (live), turntable (practical), reel-to-reel hum, phone ring, car/highway transmissions	60–70	Broadcast booth PA + phone audio system
Lost Highway	Constant rain, distant tires on wet road, wind, AM radio from Cadillac, neon hum	55–65	Surround speakers + car radio
Tour Bus	Engine rumble (sub-bass), road noise, 8-track player, seat vibration, curtain rustle	50–60	Sub-woofer under floor + 8-track + overhead speakers

Critical Sound Cues

The Jukebox Click: Mechanical relay click + arm movement. Plays on its own 3 times during the show. Must sound real, not digital.
The Heartbeat: Deep, sub-bass heartbeat (45 Hz). Plays through the jukebox's speakers during the finale. Guests should feel it in their chest.
The Blackout Silence: The most important sound cue is the absence of sound. After the final note of Ending A, absolute silence for 3 full seconds. No HVAC, no hum, no bleed. This requires a "silence switch" that kills all ambient systems simultaneously.

Sensory Design

What the body remembers after the mind forgets the story.

Vesper's principle: Design for how people feel, not just what they see. Every room engages at least 3 senses beyond sight and sound.

Room-by-Room Sensory Map

Main Bar

👁

Sight

Warm neon, whiskey wall glow, dim stage lighting

👂

Sound

Live music, jukebox, conversation, glass clink

👃

Smell

Bourbon, old wood, leather

👄

Taste

Real cocktails, real whiskey

✋

Touch

Worn bar wood, cold glass, warm room

Green Room

👁

Sight

Flickering vanity lights, dim amber, photographs

👂

Sound

Scratchy vinyl, humming through walls

👃

Smell

Old perfume, cigarette smoke (scent machine), Wild Turkey

✋

Touch

Velvet costumes, worn leather couch, paper letters

🌡

Temp

Warm, close, intimate

The Lost Highway

👁

Sight

Flickering neon, headlight beams through mist, wet surfaces

👂

Sound

Rain, tires, wind, AM radio static

👃

Smell

Wet concrete, petrichor (scent machine), exhaust hint

✋

Touch

Cold mist on skin and hair, wet surfaces, cold metal car

🌡

Temp

15°F colder than rest of venue. Shock of cold.

Tour Bus

👁

Sight

Dim, claustrophobic, backlit silhouette, personal objects

👂

Sound

Engine sub-bass, 8-track, road noise, voice from dark

👃

Smell

Leather, cigarette smoke, old upholstery, bourbon

✋

Touch

Vibrating seats (haptic), cracked vinyl, guitar pick in palm

🌡

Temp

Warm after the cold alley. Relief. Claustrophobia.

Scent Delivery

Commercial scent machines (ScentAir or similar) installed in each space. Scent changes are the most subliminal sensory cue - guests don't consciously register the shift but their brains do. The transition from bar (bourbon + wood) to corridor (nothing) to Green Room (perfume + smoke) to Lost Highway (rain + concrete) to Tour Bus (leather + smoke) is a complete olfactory journey.

Mystery Architecture

What's solvable. What isn't. What drives you back.

The Layers

The mystery operates on 3 layers. Each layer requires more visits to uncover.

Layer 1 - The Story (Discoverable in 1 visit)

Hank Williams made a deal with the building. His ghost is trapped. The unfinished song is the key.
Waylon Jennings saw Hank's ghost and was partially consumed by the building.
The Driver (Charles Carr) is trapped in the night Hank died.
Audrey tried to save Hank and failed.
The song needs a final verse to break the curse.

Layer 2 - The Clues (Requires 2–3 visits)

The vinyl record labels from the Midnight Opry contain puzzle pieces. Each guest gets a different record. Comparing labels reveals coordinates, dates, and fragments that connect.
The letter on the Tour Bus mentions a guitar case with the final verse inside. The guitar case exists in the Lost Highway room (the Cadillac's trunk). It's locked. The combination is hidden across three rooms.
The broadcast log in the Midnight Opry has entries from impossible dates - future dates. One entry corresponds to tonight.
The photographs in the Green Room, when examined closely, show the same bar in different decades - but Cora appears in every one.
Hank's notebook in the Cadillac's back seat contains three legible verses. The fourth page is torn out - but the impressions of the pen strokes are visible if you hold it at the right angle (UV light from the headlights at a specific moment).

Layer 3 - The Truth (Requires 4+ visits or community collaboration)

Cora is not just the bartender. She's the building. The Lost Highway itself, given human form. She doesn't guard the ghosts - she IS the trap. Her warmth, her care, her "on the house" drinks - that's how the building feeds.
The deal isn't between Hank and the Devil. It's between any musician and their audience. The building is a metaphor for fame. The ghosts aren't trapped by magic - they're trapped by the fact that we won't let them rest.
The final verse of the song already exists. It's been playing backwards on the 8-track on the Tour Bus the entire time (as Waylon's phone call hints). If a guest records the 8-track audio (they can't - phones are locked) and plays it backwards, they'd hear the complete verse. Over enough visits, a guest will REMEMBER the 8-track audio well enough to reconstruct it.

Fan Community Design

Like Sleep No More's wiki community, we design for fan collaboration:

Every vinyl record label is unique. There are 52 different labels in rotation (one year's worth of weekly variants). Collecting all 52 reveals a complete document.
The 1-on-1 encounters have 3 variants each, rotated weekly. Each variant reveals different information.
Hank's Ghost gives different items on different Ending B nights. There are 7 variants (one for each day of the week).
Once a month, a "special broadcast" night occurs where Midnight Mike receives a new transmission that hasn't been heard before. These are ARG-style narrative drops.

Technical Requirements

What it takes to make ghosts real.

System	Specification	Est. Cost
Show Control	QLab 5 Pro (or equivalent). All sound, lighting, and effects cues triggered from central booth. Wireless cue triggers for cast.	$15K
Jukebox Rig	Vintage Wurlitzer shell with hidden digital audio system + DMX-controlled mechanical arm. Remote trigger via show control. Coin mechanism disabled.	$12K
Sound System	Distributed speaker system: Main bar PA, individual room zones (4), corridor line array, sub-woofer under tour bus floor, phone audio system (4 handsets), car radio speaker. QSC or d&b audiotechnik.	$45K
Lighting	ETC or similar DMX control. Main bar: practical neon + theatrical wash. Each room: individual lighting rig with flicker effects, blackout capability, strobe (Lost Highway car reveal). UV lighting (Cadillac notebook). LED neon signage (custom).	$35K
Rain System	Custom overhead misting system for Lost Highway room. Recirculating pump, drainage pan (4" depth), waterproof flooring, condensate management. Fine mist nozzles for atmospheric effect without soaking guests.	$25K
Cadillac Set Piece	Partial 1952 Cadillac body (front half, driver's door, rear window/seat visible). Custom fabrication on structural mount. Working 6V headlights, AM radio speaker, interior light. Back seat dressing behind glass.	$40K
Tour Bus Build	Full interior replica: bench seating, bunks with curtains, kitchenette area. Haptic motors under seats (3 zones). Practical 8-track player shell with hidden audio. Pneumatic seat depress for 1-on-1.	$30K
Scent System	ScentAir (or equivalent) commercial scent machines: 5 zones (bar, Green Room, Midnight Opry, Lost Highway, Tour Bus). Custom scent blends. HVAC integration to prevent cross-contamination.	$8K
HVAC / Climate	Dedicated AC units for Lost Highway room (15°F temperature differential). Isolation from adjacent spaces. Dehumidification for rain system room.	$20K
Yondr System	Yondr commercial phone-locking pouches. 100 units (40 per wave + spares + replacements). Locking/unlocking stations at entrance and exit.	$5K/yr
Practical Props	Working record player, reel-to-reel tape machine, rotary phones (4), 8-track player shell. Vintage furniture, costume pieces, fabricated documents/letters/photos. Whiskey bottles (real), ashtray rigs.	$15K
Safety Systems	Emergency lighting in all rooms. Fire suppression (wet system in rain room, dry elsewhere). ADA accessibility paths. Security cameras in all immersive spaces (monitored from booth). Panic buttons for cast.	$20K

Total Immersive Tech Budget: ~$270K (included in the $1.2M "Technology & Immersive Systems" line item in the pitch deck capital stack, with remaining allocation covering installation labor, contingency, spares, and acoustic treatment).

Acoustic Treatment Plan

Sound isolation between rooms is critical. Guests in the Green Room must not hear the rain from The Lost Highway. The Tour Bus engine rumble cannot bleed into the Midnight Opry's dead-silent radio booth. The bar's live music must be inaudible on Floor 2.

Floor/ceiling isolation: Resilient channel + double-layer drywall between Ground Floor and Floor 2. Minimum STC 55 rating. Bar's bass frequencies are the primary concern - sub-bass from the stage PA travels through structure.
Room-to-room isolation: Each immersive room on Floor 2 gets independent stud walls with acoustic insulation (Roxul Safe'n'Sound or equivalent). Double-wall construction where possible. Target STC 50 between adjacent rooms.
Corridor masking: The perimeter corridor between rooms uses active sound masking - ambient environmental audio that both sets mood and covers sound bleed from adjacent rooms during transitions.
HVAC noise: The dedicated AC units for The Lost Highway room (15°F differential) and the rain system pump on Floor 3 both require vibration isolation mounts and duct silencers. Rain system pump should be in a soundproofed mechanical closet.
The Silence Switch: The most important sound cue in the show is complete silence before a ghost appears. This requires all HVAC, pumps, and ambient systems to have instantaneous mute capability triggered from show control. Budget for whisper-quiet HVAC units in rooms where the Silence Switch is deployed.

Operational Staffing (Per Show Night)

Total staff required per show night: 25–30 people. This exceeds the 15-person cast count because show operations require substantial support crew:

Cast: 15 performers (7 principals + 4 Roadies + 4 "regulars"/understudies)
Tech crew: 3 (show control operator, lighting board op, sound engineer)
Bar staff: 4–5 (2 bartenders, 1–2 servers, 1 barback)
FOH/Guest services: 2–3 (host, Yondr station, security)
Stage management: 1 (stage manager calling cues, monitoring all rooms)
Maintenance: 1 (rain system, prop reset between waves, consumable replacement)

On non-show nights (Mon–Wed), bar operates with lean staff: 2 bartenders, 1 server, 1 barback, 1 live musician, 1 manager = 6 people.

Technical Contingency Plans

Avalon's law: every effect that can fail will fail. The show must survive any single system failure without the audience knowing something went wrong. Every technical element has a live-performance fallback.

System	Failure Mode	Live Fallback
Rain System	Pump failure, clogged nozzles, water supply interruption	The Lost Highway room works without rain. The Driver's monologue carries the scene. Backup: cast member carries a dripping umbrella and shakes water from a wet coat - audience still feels the sensory cue. Mist machine as secondary wet effect.
Jukebox Mechanism	Hidden door jam, mechanical arm failure, audio dropout	Cora walks to the jukebox, taps it twice (in character), and manually triggers the door from a concealed switch. If the door fully fails, Cora leads guests through the "STAFF ONLY" door instead - "Tonight the highway's taking a detour." Audio backup: Bluetooth speaker concealed in jukebox shell.
Cadillac Headlights / Radio	6V electrical failure, bulb burnout	The Driver carries a flashlight (period-appropriate). He shines it into the car: "The battery died same night he did." AM radio backed by hidden Bluetooth speaker in dashboard cavity.
Haptic Motors (Tour Bus)	Motor burnout, controller failure	Sub-bass speaker under floor provides vibration substitute. Engine sound design alone sells the movement at 80% effectiveness. Cast member stamps foot rhythmically during scene - reads as the bus hitting potholes.
Scent System	Cartridge depletion, diffuser malfunction	Practical scent sources in every room as backup: open bourbon bottle (bar), lit incense (Green Room), spray bottle mist (Lost Highway), leather jacket draped on warm lamp (Tour Bus). Cast trained to deploy practical scents if machine fails.
QLab / Show Control	Computer crash, software freeze	Hot-standby laptop with identical QLab session. 15-second switchover. Stage manager has manual override for all lighting zones via backup DMX controller. Sound operator has independent audio playback capability. Worst case: the show runs on manual cues, like every play did for 400 years.
Yondr Pouches	Locking mechanism failure, pouch shortage	Spare pouches at 150% capacity (60 per wave). If system-wide failure: honor system with a narrative wrapper. Cora: "The building doesn't like phones. Last person who took a photo in here? The phone screen cracked by itself." Social pressure + atmosphere does 90% of the work.
Temperature Control	AC unit failure in Lost Highway room	Portable CO2 chiller as emergency backup. If unavailable, the Driver's entrance monologue sells the cold: cast member's breath is visible (dry ice in a hidden tray). Audience imagination fills the gap if the story is strong enough.
Phone Audio (Rotary Phones)	Handset wire break, audio player failure	Midnight Mike improvises the phone call live: picks up the other end of the line and speaks into it, audience hears him directly. "Hello? Is someone on the line? Waylon? That you?" Turns technical failure into the best version of the scene.

The Golden Rule: If a technical element fails, the cast member in that room owns the save. They are empowered to improvise, acknowledge ("Ghosts don't run on batteries"), or absorb the failure into the narrative. Stage manager communicates failures to cast via concealed earpieces. The audience should never see a technician. They should see a ghost doing something unexpected.

Post-Show Decompression Design

Vesper's principle: The show doesn't end at the blackout. It ends when the guest stops thinking about it. The 30 minutes after the finale are as designed as the 150 minutes before it.

Yondr Unlock Station: Positioned at the exit corridor, not in the bar. Guests walk 15 feet from the finale space to the unlock point. This creates a physical buffer - a decompression lock. The corridor is lit differently than during the show (warm gold, not red), signaling: you're returning to the present.
The Reunion Bar: Guests re-enter the main bar, which is now fully lit and "normal." Cora is back behind the bar, pouring drinks. Jesse may play a few of his own songs - acoustic, gentle, no show cues. The jukebox plays real records. The atmosphere says: this is just a bar again. The contrast with what they just experienced amplifies the memory.
Conversation Catalysts: Bar napkins are printed with questions: "Did you answer the phone?" / "What did she whisper?" / "Did the bus stop for you?" / "What color was your chip?" Groups naturally compare notes. The napkins give permission to talk about what happened and discover what they missed.
Merch + Takeaway Station: Near the exit, a small display. Vinyl variants of the show's music. The ring, the guitar pick, and the lyric fragment are already in guests' pockets - they're branded souvenirs they didn't realize they were collecting. Additional merch: branded whiskey glasses, show poster, "LOST HIGHWAY" enamel pin, limited-run 7" of the unfinished song (3 verses, 4th side is silent groove).
The Last Touch: As guests leave through the Printer's Alley door, a host says one line: "Same time next week. He'll try again." - whether the ending was A or B. The last thing the guest hears reinforces the loop, the return-visit design, and the mythology. They leave feeling like the story is still happening without them.

Cast & Crew

The people who bring the ghosts to life.

Cast (Per Show Night)

Role	Actor Type	Key Skills	Notes
Cora	Lead Actor	Improv, real bartending, emotional range, stamina	On stage for full 2.5 hrs. Must hold a room solo. Real bartending license required.
Jesse	Singer-Songwriter / Actor	Live guitar, original songs, acting, channeling	Must be a genuine musician. Rotating cast of 2–3 Jesses for variety.
The Driver	Actor	Physical theatre, monologue delivery, emotional vulnerability	Young-presenting. Gets wet every show (mist pass). Practical cold-weather considerations.
Audrey	Actor	Intimacy, scene work, 1-on-1 comfort, period authenticity	Must be comfortable with close physical proximity in 1-on-1 encounters.
Midnight Mike	Actor / Improv	Radio voice, improv with audience, turntable operation, comedy + pathos	Most improvisational role. Must riff with different groups every night.
Waylon's Shadow	Actor	Voice work, physical presence, intimidation, tenderness	Mostly unseen. Voice and hands only. Must convey humanity from behind a curtain.
Hank's Ghost	Actor	Stillness, presence, silent acting, humming in tune	No dialogue. All physicality. Must be invisible in Act 1 and magnetic in Act 3.
EMT	Supporting Actor	Brief scene, clinical delivery	1-on-1 only. Also serves as a Roadie during transitions.
Roadies (x2)	Stage Managers / Actors	Group management, subtle character, transition guidance	In "neutral" costume but in-world. Also handle safety monitoring.
Regulars (x2)	Background Actors	Natural bar behavior, subtle reactions to show events	In bar during Act 1 only. Help sell the reality of the space.
Musicians (x2)	Session Musicians	Live country/roots music, ability to follow show cues	Support Jesse on stage. May appear in immersive rooms for special performances.

Total cast per show: 12 actors + 3 musicians = 15 performers.

Double-cast key roles (Cora, Jesse, Mike) for 4-night weeks and vacation coverage. Total company: ~22 performers.

Crew (Per Show Night)

Role	Responsibility
Stage Manager	Calls all cues from the booth. Monitors cast via cameras. Manages show timing.
Sound Operator	Runs QLab. Manages live mic for Jesse, DJ booth, phone system, room audio.
Lighting Operator	Runs lighting cues. Manages practical effects (neon, flickering, blackouts).
House Manager	Manages check-in, Yondr pouches, group sorting, front-of-house operations.
Bar Staff (x3)	Two bartenders + one barback. Cora handles show bar duties; two additional for volume.

Rehearsal & Training

4-week rehearsal period. Week 1: Table work, character development, mythology. Week 2: Staging in the space, tech integration. Week 3: Run-throughs with internal audience. Week 4: Preview performances with public audience (reduced price).
Improv training: Cora and Mike undergo 2 additional weeks of improv-specific training, including audience interaction scenarios, off-script recovery, and handling difficult/drunk/confused guests.
Intimacy coordination: All 1-on-1 encounters choreographed with a certified intimacy coordinator. Clear consent boundaries established. Cast empowered to modify encounters in real time.
Safety training: All cast trained in emergency procedures, crowd management, and de-escalation. Panic buttons in every room connected to stage manager booth.