Boo!

Chapter 1: Home, Sweet Home.

"Kurt Hummel?"

"Speaking"

"Mr. Hummel, this is Dale Andrews from Richard Zanders office. Please hold for Mr. Zanders."

Kurt stopped breathing. His knuckles froze around the Blackberry at his ear. This was the call, this was it!

"Kurt, congratulations, you're our Cole Porter!"

Shock sent Kurt's brain on vacation. Richard's voice echoed in his empty skull.

"Kurt?"

"You heard me sing, right?" Kurt clapped his hand over his own mouth. Oh, God! He hadn't really said that, had he?

Richard's laugh boomed through the cell phone. "Believe me, Kurt, Porter didn't exactly sound like Johnny Cash!" Richard continued before Kurt could even think of a reply. "Rehearsals start in two weeks. Dale will give you all the details. See you at the theatre."

Kurt hit the end call icon, his thumb on automatic pilot, his mind like cotton candy. Thank God, Dale was sending him a confirmation email, because he hadn't heard a word she said! He crossed the littered living room he shared with two other hopeful actors. He didn't make his customary grimace as he steered his way around running shoes, and backpacks, and empty beer cans. He didn't even see them. He stared out the window, and saw nothing. He felt nothing. He should be excited. He had wanted this moment for forever. He had worked and studied and auditioned at a thousand casting calls over the last year. A solid year of "Sorry, you're not what we're looking for", and now, finally, Richard Zanders was giving him a chance.

Kurt laid his forehead against the window pane, and closed his eyes. His heart was beating so hard, he could feel it throbbing in his ears. Richard's words were playing on repeat in his head. "Kurt, congratulations, you're our Cole Porter. Kurt, congratulations, you're our… Kurt, congratulations, you're..."

He opened his eyes and focused on the phone still clutched tight in his hand. He scrolled through his contact list. He hit the call icon and paced impatiently as the phone rang.

"Hummel Tires"

"Dad."

"Kurt, buddy, how are you?"

"Dad" Tears bubbled up in Kurt's eyes, and his throat closed up.

"Kurt, what's wrong? Kurt?"

"Dad, I got it." Kurt whispered the words.

"What?"

"I got the lead!" Kurt screamed into the phone.

Standing in his garage in Lima, Ohio, Burt Hummel yelled in response. "YESSSS!"

Kurt laughed and wiped his eyes. Now, he could feel. Now, it was real.

Three weeks later, walking to rehearsal, Kurt watched as a man smoking a cigar and wearing an undershirt that had seen better days, taped a sign to the front window of a brownstone.

ROOM TO LET

Kurt stopped dead. He climbed the front steps of the brownstone, and coughed discretely. "Excuse me."

Mr. Stained T-shirt looked Kurt over, and grunted. "Actor?"

Kurt nodded.

The super puffed on his cigar. "Got a job?"

"Yes." Kurt tried for a charming smile.

"O.K. You can take a look." The man waved Kurt through the front door. "Just one room; and it's small."

The super unlocked the door, and stood aside for Kurt to enter. The man definitely had a talent for understatement. The room was not just small; it was practically microscopic, even by Manhattan standards. The kitchen was closet size and he could barely turn around in the washroom. "What's the rent?"

"Look, kid, I'll give you a break. I'll take $200 off my regular rate."

Since this man in no way resembled Santa Claus, Kurt thought it prudent to ask, "Why?"

The super shrugged. "This room has had three tenants in the last five months. I'm tired of the aggravation."

Kurt looked around the empty room again. "What's the problem?"

"People are morons; that's the problem." The super took a drag on his cigar. "The last two actually tried to tell me that the room was haunted."

Kurt smirked. "Ghosts?"

The super grinned at the disbelief in Kurt's voice. "What did I tell you? Idiots!"

Kurt scanned the room; it didn't take long. It was probably the smallest room Kurt had been in, ever. And now it was home. He smiled at the other man. "Let's hope the ghost likes actors."