The Phantom's Kiss

By Sarah Lang

Chapter 1

I am a monster. You deny this, I'm sure, but I am. You take a small glance at my face, and you'll agree. Take a mere glimpse of my hideous appearance and you'll shun me, just as everyone else. I was abandoned at that orphanage and been there ever since I was born. I have never seen the inside of a school, and I've scarcely been outside. The reason? – do I need one? The last time I was seen without a mask on – oh, it was truly horrible. But if I can recall correctly, he just kept backing up, farther and farther. He didn't even feel the boards on the window resisting him. He just fell, about five stories. But his screams still float around in my mind; all their screams do; though he was the only person, whom, I felt, deserved it. My face is distorted, and I was brought to that miserable child's prison, by an appalled mother, who hated the only child she had, and couldn't bear to look at him any longer than she had to. The orphanage was run by a woman who was supposedly a friend of my mother. Although when I was first brought here, my first memory was this old attic in which I am typing this miserable life story on a dusty typewriter.

The room is large and small at the same time. It has many broken relicts like cracked mirrors, bashed up dressers, broken down chairs with sheets draped over it; there're manikins who've been torn up, rocking chairs with only one leg and other old and broken items. Not to mention the hundreds of boxes that I still have not bothered opening. There are books, yes – lots of books, I've read them all. All of the old Edgar Allan Poe stories with torn and coloured on pages, the aged Guy de Maupassant novels, but my favourite, the Gaston Leroux copy of Le Fantôme De l'Opéra. I felt as if Leroux really knew how I felt. The way the Phantom hid from the world, just as I did in this room with boarded up windows; that had a few cracks so I could see the beautiful world outside, but it couldn't see me. The ladder, which was the only way up to the attic, was up here, so no one can get in, even if they did get through the padlocked door below. I had almost no communication with the outside world at all. I often heard people below me, fighting usually; a man and woman's quarrel. I often recognized the woman's voice as that of Madame Stella's, the Mistress of the house. From those disagreements, and rare small talk, I began to learn.

I had to teach myself to read, write, count and play the repaired piano that occupies the corner, the first sanctuary I had to hide behind. Sometimes at night, if I'm quiet, I can play a few songs that I composed myself. I had never seen a piece of music before.

I spoke before of a mask, - yes – one time, Madame Stella, the "friend" of my mother, well; she was having a party of some sort down on normal level or main floor. She had come up the staircases, to the fifth floor – the attic – she was the only person with the key to the door. Madame Stella was somewhat smart at the time; she had made it so the ladder to get up would slide down the trapdoor when I opened it (I was rather weak from staying in the dark all the time, and not eating good food,) she was able to get up that way. She had come to give me the only meal I got everyday. The meal consisted of two small pieces of bread, and an extremely thin stew. But she also gave me something else, and what she gave was the first gift I had ever received. She gave me a mask that covered the entire face except for the mouth. As I took it with trebling hands, an excited smile spread across my face as I gazed at the white mask then looked at Madame Stella; her face was just as ghostly white. I wasn't able to speak, the gift was so indescribable to me, it meant so much, and all I could do was goggle at the wonderful present. She must have understood, with a slight nod she left.

"Wait," I spoke in a small and meek voice; (I never had anyone to talk to,) but it was too late, she was gone. I heard the door close and the padlock clamp shut; the ladder still down. I was looking at the trapdoor, wanting to say "Thank You," but didn't. I returned my gaze to the mask again; it seemed to pierce through the darkness of night. It was – in my opinion – the most beautiful thing my weary eyes had ever fallen upon. My fingers ran over the picture craved into it, it appeared to be a skull. My smile remained, it was the first time I had ever smiled. The mask filled my soul with an unusual happiness that echoed in the hollow emptiness of my lonely spirit. Then I decided to put it on, hide my ugliness from the world. Well, I didn't know I was revolting at the time, I just figured I was a bit abnormal. I mean, why else would I be kept in an attic, away from everyone else? I would guess I was about thirteen, I can't be sure; I had no recollection of the time or date.

I guess around thirteen because that's when I found out about him. He was Madame Stella's only son; he was about six years younger than me. And he was a prat! I know because once I had the mask, I journeyed, for the first time, out of my attic. I had to be careful dismantling the doorknob to escape my dusty prison, but once it was completely unhinged with the screwdriver I found; I was free. I took the entire doorknob out and I was free to roam the building. Then I replaced the handle so it looked completely undisturbed, and I slid the screwdriver under the door, so I could reach it if I needed to. But of course I only did this at night; a while after Madame Stella had brought me my food. She always said it was midnight and everyone in the building was sleeping at the time. So I crept down the staircase, trying to take in all of the scents, all the flowery wallpaper, all the antiques lining the walls, and the thick maroon carpet on top of the wooden floors. The second and third floors were almost identical. Both were narrow and long, as long as my attic. There were about five doors on each side of the hallway, behind which were the sleeping children. The only light in the hall was the moonlight coming through the window by the staircase and at the other end of the corridor.

I wandered down the two floors and stood in the middle of the landing, craving the experience that was both new and odd to me. A wrinkle of a grin rippled under my mask. My mouth slightly hung open in astonishment. Ever inch of my body tingled with excitement and was numb of anticipation. With every cool breath I took my heart fluttered like the moths that flap urgently in my hands as I set them free when they accidentally enter my prison.

The place had a unique smell that I had never experienced before; it smelt of wood, not dust, of faint roses, not mould, and as I got closer to the main floor, a sweet aroma hit me. It smelt delicious; I could basically taste it on my tongue, the sensational scent called to me. I reached the main floor in what seemed to be a lengthy time, fantasized by the alien sceneries. I looked around slightly and took a sharp right turn, and travelled down a small hallway. I wanted to know what the mouth-watering perfume was, so I kept going down the corridor until the cologne was so strong coming from the door that stood right beside me. I took one last great whiff of the air and without thought I opened the door.

To my horror, I saw I had just walked in on Madame Stella baking a treat for her son; they both froze and turned to stare at me. I had never seen Madame Stella in proper lighting before, (she had always greeted me with a lantern to give me my meal,) but now I saw her standing in front of an oven, holding a sheet of the treats. She had a type of thin, golden hair that was drawn back in a loose bun, she was still in her daywear apparently, a large green dress with white stars and trim that barely touched the floor. Draped over that was a white apron, and her hands were covered with oven mitts which had little blue flowers sewn on them. Her face was filled with colour at first, rosy cheeks shattered to pasty white, and her smile drained with it.

Her son, on the other hand, was sitting on his knees at the large table in the middle of the room; he was in a long cream coloured nightshirt that went past his knees. He, unlike his mother, had thin, light white-blonde hair that was somewhat long and slightly messy, as if he had just woken up, and his face was covered in freckles that emphasized his hazel eyes. His hands were outstretched to take the steaming treats from the hot baking sheet.

"Oh my," Madame Stella's voice was shaky; she dropped the sheet of treats, which made everyone jump and she suddenly made her way over to me. But her son resented this; he quickly jumped out of his seat and started asking questions: "Who is he? I've never seen him before. Why is he wearing that stupid mask? Are we being robbed?" But Madame Stella just ignored him. She snatched my arm that hung lamely by my side, her grip was tight and powerful as she pulled me out of the room quickly and led me back up the staircase; her son following close by, still asking questions. But Madame Stella continued to overlook her son's company and started her own conversation with me.

"Why did you leave? Didn't I tell you, you have to stay up there?" she snapped. I shook my head and tried to pull free but she neglected to release my arm and just sped up the stairs as her son fell quiet to listen into the discussion, "Well?" she continued, "Didn't I? Answer me." I looked far back into my memories, but she had never told me such a thing, she rarely spoke to me at all.

But at that time her son took his finger and jabbed it sharply into my back. My sudden outburst of pain must have awakened a few of the occupants of the nearby rooms, because doors began to creak open and heads popped out. Many stares, whispers and pointed fingers occurred. But Madame Stella continued to ignore it all as we were neared the fourth floor; I could tell because of the lack in the sweet aroma. By now nearly all of the residents of the building were following us. We were almost to the door now, but I didn't want to go back, not yet, the world was right here, and I had just begun to live and experience it! But Madame Stella went on to unlock the door, opened it and threw me in; I hit the wall covered in flowery wallpaper across from the door and turned to Madame Stella, "Think you're pretty smart, do you? Wanted to see the world now that you've got that?" she jabbed a finger at my mask, "Well, for your information, that was not a passport to get out to us." She took a second to look around and saw all the other curious children clogging the hallway around her, watching, wanting to know who the masked person was. "But now -," turning back to me, she spoke in a fake sweet voice; unlike the bitter and cruel one before, "–now since you saw us, it's time we see you!" she lunged forward and grabbed the mask off my face. All I did was gasp.

There were several screams and many cries of terror. I stared in wide-eyed fear as the crowd turned away and shouted and yelled at me. Someone even took a vase from a nearby antique table, threw it over the crowd and just above my ducking head; it shattered, getting my back wet with warm water and withered flowers. I looked into the eyes of some of the people in the front who hadn't turned away, and I saw fear, a complete fear and disgust of my face. "No," I told myself, painfully. It couldn't be happening, why did they hate me so? I could feel a tear swelling in my eye.

"You can come out anytime, now since they've seen who you really are," Madame Stella announced, smiling a devilish grin. There were many shouts of "NO!" and with that I snatched the mask from the brutal woman's hands, ran to the ladder and began to climb. Madame Stella was still smiling the wicked smile as she slammed the door shut.

I got to the top of the ladder and folded it up to close the trapdoor, but before I shut it completely, I heard what Madame Stella was saying to the crowd of sickened, terrified, and sobbing children, "Now, I'm locking this door, it is to stay locked. If I catch any of you up here trying to get in, it'd'll no dinner for a week. You are all to forget about this, no one is to come up here, and he won't be down anytime soon, I can assure you that. Now, off to bed." There were several sniffs from the crowd and mutters, but all was drained away by the sound of all the feet going down the wood scented stairs.

I pulled the trapdoor up quickly. Wiping a few tears away from my eyes, I turned around, walked past quite a few sheet covered chairs, walked over to my broken down bed and took a seat. I looked around at my boarded up windows, it was still well into the night. I could tell; there were no golden rays of sunshine beaming through the cracks in the boards, only gleaming moonbeams. I thought thoroughly of the reactions of the bystanders that saw my face. No one, except Madame Stella, had seen my face before. Was I that hideous? What kind of beast am I to make so many children, so many, scream in such a way? I had apparently been wrong in thinking that Madame Stella was a kind caring woman. Instead, she was a cruel and foul beast with a rotten heart. I was surprised that the merciless brute hadn't poisoned my food if she hated me so much. Heaving a heavy sigh of exasperation, shame, and confusion, I threw myself on to my old deflated pillows. Then I looked at the mask in my hand, there was no hint of a grin to be found on my "hideous" expression. This mask used to make me smile; it slightly filled my empty heart with a tint of happiness. But now – nothing. I supposed it was just tiredness. I gently put it on the dusty table next to my bed. Gazing up at the ceiling of my prison, I didn't want to try and sort out my thoughts of disarray, and slowly, very slowly drifted off to sleep of merciless nightmares that made my body shake in shame.