i dont own shit
—-
Paris, 1919
The bells tolled in the distance, nothing but a bleak building stood in front of them. Cars passed honking their horns and people passed by, not giving the "Public Auction Today" banner a second glance. Kids ran up ramps leading into the building, and their parents watched, unaware of history the stood upon. A car pulled up and a man was escorted out of it, placed in a wheelchair as his legs didnt seem to work any longer. A blanket given to him for the cold.
He was taken inside of the Of the burnt building. An auctioneers voice met his ears nearly immediately. "Sold. Your number, sir? Thank you. Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen." The man was wheeled around debris and cobwebs that littered the area. "A poster from this house's production of Hannibal by Chalumeau." They interned a room to see many men bidding on items. The poster currently on display.
As the men debated prices and negotiated, the impaired man looked around. Memories clouded his eyes. "Eight once. Selling twice. Sold!" A gavel being hit against a counter echoed around the room. Two men picked up the large standing poster and took it away and the auctioneer started the next item. "Lot 664, a wooden pistol and three human skulls, from the 1831 production of Robert le diable by Meyerbeer." The wheeled man doesn't listen as the auctioneer rambles of history. His skin prickles as he feels a woman's stare on him, he turns. A woman, old, red hair and a plump body. He'd know her anywhere. He also knew exactly why she was there. For the same reason he was.
They stared at each other for a second before the man looked back to the auctioneer, waiting. "Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen. A papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ." A young man walks around presenting the item. "Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theater, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen."
"Showing here." The young man holding the monkey announces. He clicks the box and a melody chimes around the room. The cymbals, though not perfectly aligned, play anyway. A soft clicking as they meet entrances the listener. "May i commence at 15 francs?" The stout auctioneer says, interrupting the music box as it still plays. A man raises his hand, then the wheeled man, offering 20, then the woman. "Madame Weasley, 25. Thank you, madame. Twenty-five i am bid. Do i hear 30?" The young woman standing beside the wheeled man raises her hand.
"35?" The auctioneer asks. Madame Weasley glances at the wheeled man, a soft, tired smile graces her face. She turns to the auctioneer and shakes her head. "Selling at 30 francs, then. Thirty once, 30 twice." The gavel shakes the air as it meets wood. A sigh let out from the wheeled man as it does. "Sold for 30 francs to Mr. Harry Potter. Thank you, sir." The music box is handed to him and he grapples for it. Madame Weasley watches him closely.
A collectors piece indeed
Every detail
Exactly as she said
Will you still play
When all the rest of us are dead?
A tear leaves the wheeled mans eyes. Before he can get too lost in memories the auctioneers voice cuts in, "Lot 666, then. A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. A mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts off it for the new electric light." The wheeled man was turned to face the rear of the room. Madame Weasley turned around with the rest, albeit more slowly.
"Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago, with a little, illumination. Gentlemen!"
As the sheet was dramatically pulled off, The chords of an organ could be heard playing in the minds of some people in the room The lights lit up instantly and men in the stands above hoisted the chandelier up with rope. Birds started, flapped away through holes that still littered the roof. Dust blowing around, as if the spirit of the phantom had been disturbed.
The area seemed to sweep together as if it was coming back to life, the color returned and the chandelier seemed to beam in its refound glory. The leaves and muck surrounding the seats were blown away and statues returned to their original state. The room seemed to glow again, old memories sprang back to the forefront of minds, and the start of a tragedy, begins.