Not in the position of ever owning Phantom of the Opera. But we do own Giselle Leroux, the supposed witness to the Story of the Phantom.
The Witness
By: The Phanatics
Have you ever read the story of The Phantom of the Opera? Have you ever known of its origins besides of what the Persian had left behind and of how I even found the story? Well, there was a true witness to the story of this infamous 'ghost'. Who am I? I am Giselle Leroux, sister of the author, Gaston Leroux. How was I the witness? I was an ace reporter in the L' Echo de Paris along with my brother before he took the course in his writing career. When he was thinking of a story to write about may be ten years ago, I was on my way to Paris yet again for a story and while I readied on the night of 1901, I remember him asking me, "If I find a good story for the paper, why not help me find a story that I can write?" Think that he was simply joking, I laughed, saying, "Dearest Gaston, I doubt that there is anything interesting about the story that I'm going to Paris for." He knew what I was going for though: I was going to investigate the Opera House there to find clues about there being a supposed 'Opera Ghost' there and to see whether it was true or merely a joke caused by adolescents. When I first took the job, I had no clue that I was in for the most threatening story of my career…or life for this matter.
I had traveled to the city many a times to get the stories that made me famous, but this time, my brother was given the credit to have the story come out. Yes, most of what happened in the story was true…but he left so many of the events out and placed in the thoughts of his mind that he thought would make the story…more of a mystery that was really just a deadly triangle. And as I look at those notes, I feel like the ambitious twenty one year old reporter I used to be before the story that nearly killed me. Mt adventure started for me when I was entering Paris for the millionth time and I was eager to start, but I first had to see the new managers, M. Firman and M. Andre. They were quite nerve reeking, as I remember and they were just so…frightening if you could say so yourself. Andre was a short skinny man with grey hair as was Firman with his grey hair only he was slightly taller than his co-manager. "Understand that this is quite a dangerous task that you are taking on, you do know that Mademoiselle?" asked Firman as he puffed on a ghastly cigarette. I rolled my eye; after hearing something like 'this is a dangerous task that you are taking on,' it gets quite annoying and you know that it is just something more than it's made out to be. Back then, I thought that it was alright to pretend to listen and such and then take the fame and glory of discovering the truth and facts of an old legend. Was I such a naïve child back then? As I had my room showed to me by Madame Giry, I had felt a strange sense of someone watching me. And when one gets those feelings, that means to keep up you're guard…who knows what could happen? And speaking of that…I had never expected to meet Joseph Buqeut, one of the stage managers of the Opera House. He was burly, a drunk and quite the whore monger that he was just from one look in this thirsty dark eyes.
"This is the new dancer?" he asked as he tried to touch my black hair with his greasy hand. Luckily for me, it was smacked away by Madame Giry, bless her heart. "She is one Ma'am Giselle Leroux, ace reporter of the L' Echo de Paris she is just here to and I repeat, to find out the mystery of our Ghost." He looked at me with his empty, yet again I say, thirsty eyes. They seemed to have had a mind of their own and that was what truly terrified me about this man; that he would try and take advantage of me if I was asleep or anything for that matter. "I should warn you," he said to me, "He has a magical lasso that he uses to harm the ballet tarts around here." He then held me to the wall with his strong hands and whispered deadly into my ear, "And if he doesn't get you first, my sweet…I'll be sure to have you understand what it will be like with me." He tried to place his slimly lips against mine, had Madame Giry not been there to smack him away from me, I would've been raped by this…monster, I smacked him across the face after that. This was the last time I had ever seen him before I found him hanging with the 'magical lasso around his neck. I could only feel bad that he was killed that cold heartedly, but then again, he did try to rape me so there wasn't much that I could have done anyway. As the coroner took the body away that night, I started my work with the title: Is it the Ghost? It had chimed in my head as the perfect title, and as a writer, I have to write what comes to my mind quickly when it comes to my job or otherwise in the next hour I forget what I wanted to write or call it.
That night, as I sat in my room, writing my thoughts down in my journal, I heard a voice coming from the other room, saying, 'Christine you must love me,' I looked through the peep hole in my wall that I had discovered earlier in the evening and took a look through the hole. There, I saw a beautiful girl with blonde hair who looked about two years younger than me. It had occurred to me that she had played 'Margarita' in that night's showing of Foust. But the voice, I was sure that it was a man's, had no body, it was as if there was a real life ghost inside the room, and I felt the fear well up inside me. I grabbed my journal and had written down the entire conversation, from the time I had heard it, to the time that the Vicomte Raoul de Changy had barged in, but there wasn't a soul there. That night, I tried to fall asleep, but as I did, I kept hearing voices. It was only one in the morning when I woke up and saw the most terrifying sight of my life: a pair of yellow eyes that had the word death written all over them. At first I tried to stare them down as I had done in the past many times with my brother, but they had won in the end and I knew that they were the eyes of the Ghost and I screamed my head off and turned on my gas lamp as quickly as I could only to find the eyes gone. The only thing that was left was a note with a wax skull as red as blood. I picked it up with fear quivering in my soul and thought it was a joke until I read its content:
Dear Mademoiselle Leroux,
In such events as to your arrival at my Opera, I have noticed you to be a reporter looking for answers about me, The Opera Ghost. I must have you know that there are some rules as to dwell here and such and one would be not to go looking for answers as to what I am and where I am at these times such as night. If you are guessing who killed the stage hand, Joseph Buqeut, you have been correct all along like La Sorelli, little Jammes, and young Meg Giry. But the death of him was merely just a warning…to you. If you had seen tonight's show, you must've met Ms. Christine Daae, daughter of the Swedish violinist. Indeed she made the angels of Heaven at sorrow for her voice was more divine than that of an angel.
As to this, I had noticed that you, Mademoiselle, were eves dropping on my private conversation with Ms. Daae and ask you not to make an attempt to look through that peep hole of yours again at all, savvy? The last person who had dared to invade on my affairs with Christine Daae had almost suffered quite painfully, that person being La Carlotta. If you make an attempt to interfere with me and Ms. Daae again, Mademoiselle Leroux, there will be a disaster beyond your imagination that could end you. I hope you do understand these terms, for it would be a shame of me to harm a young woman like yourself that has the potential of a writer. I bid you good evening.
Signed,
'O.G'
With the letter clenched in my fist, I ran to my closet tore to retrieve my dagger. For the rest of the night, I had the dagger in my hand, waiting to pounce on the owner of the yellow eyes.
A/N: We hope you like this chapter.
