Summary: Christine, moved by the morbidity and agitation that produces to everybody, decides to look for the Phantom of the Opera personally.
~~~OOO~~~
Ghosts are not real, I told to myself.
Everything that had happened that afternoon in rehearsal must have been done by a prankster who could find anything better to do.
The chours girl at the opera had warned me of the wiles of some pervert who was dedicated to extortion the managers; or at least that's what they thought. Apparently, the mysterious man haunts the opera house as a perfect ghost, giving wrathful speeches about the changes he deems appopriate and, occasionally, showing up to the terrify the stagehands, dancers, practically everyone he can.
A young and fearful ballet dancer had described to me the presence of that being which she had seen on two occasions: tall and wearing a black suit, a big cloak hanging from his shoulders, giving him the appearance of an angel as he moved through the wooden planks of the stagehands. But in what more precision she put was in the description of his face! It was apparently non-existent. The workers said he wore a white mask like bone, leaving only his chin and eyes exposed, yellow eyes that if you to looked deeply into you could see the depths of hell.
A shiver ran through my body. Ghosts don't exist. All of this must be a joke.
"Someone who is dedicated to stealing from the managers," I mumbled again while I took deep breaths and continued search in the empty corridors of the opera. I knew that if I got caught up in these late hours I would probably be harshly scrutinized, but my curiosity wouldn't let me sleep peacefully until I had at least taken a look.
I found myself wandering with silent steps on the stage, finding the curtain that had almost fallen on us was still crumpled on the floor. By the time it had collapsed the women had screamed by the shock of the clash of the rigging against the ground, and the men had stood looking for what produced that, not knowing where. Rehearsals had been quickly completed, giving us some free time, while the managers and the orchestra leader hurried out of the room.
It was so strange...
After coming down from the high wooden planks, I made my way down the old corridors, where the oldest set pieces were kept.
The wind howled outside, managing to create an atmosphere somewhat more tense than it trully was.
I listened carefully, trying to perceive the slightest sounds of the ghost and meet him personally. The darkness surrounded me, and, although I didn't feel safe without any light around me, I need several seconds to distinguish objects in the distance, It was better being in the dark, though; I would not risk being discovered.
After several minutes peeking from room to room away from the most dismal, afraid to be swallowed by the shadows, I began to doubt whether what I was doing was worth it. I had proposed to myself to see what being it was that everyone ran away from, but a part of my conscience scolded me for following such absurd games, while the other enjoyed the exploration, overexcited in case I could actually find it.
As I was crossing some corridors with colorful and dusty cloths thrown on the walls without any kind of order, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps. Startled, I stopped abruptly, trying to discover where they came from and where they were heading. My breaths heavy in my lungs, I paid more attention, stopping any noise that distracted me.
Those steps came from the right and were rapidly approaching me.
My heart started beating irregularly through my veins. I forced myself to release the air I had held, feeling like I was dizzy for forcing myself to restrain him.
With fast steps, I threw my body between one of the darker cloths and the wall, noticing how the cold penetrated the cloth of my dress, making me shudder.
A breath from that approaching man made me jump and, almost automatically, I placed my hand over my mouth, trying to calm my breathing as soon as possible.
My hyperactive mind began to imagine different scenarios of why the ghost would be here, assuming it was him. What if he was real and scared people? What if he was someone good, just condemned? It was not as if I knew too much about specters and, I must admit, I still doubted if all of that was true.
A second collision and a hoarse growl from the one I was waiting for made me decide to pull my head a little to see where it was. Looking from side to side I perceived a bright light closer and closer, in addition to the beginning of a sardonic laugh and those steps I began to know so well.
All this came from Joseph Buquet.
We'd had certain problems with the man —thanks to the great attention that he put to the dancing girls and to the young women of the chorus—, but under a couple of threats on the part of Madame Giry, he had begun to disappear from the stage and to focus only on the movement of curtains and backgrounds.
Hiding my head again behind the cloth I was praying to heaven for him to pass by and not stop there. I had never liked his presence and it would be worse than meeting the devil himself.
"Come on, Phantom!" he cried out suddenly, startling me. "Face yourself back to me, you coward!" he continued in a hoarse voice.
He has also seen it, I thought, lowering my hand from my face and leaning against the wall in my back. If it's true that it exists... it shouldn't make him angry. Although this rule should apply to all people in general.
The light that came from him passed quickly in front of me, leaving me in total darkness upon his departure.
I heard, already far from my position, his laughter, and then he began to hum a song. He was most likely drunk.
Leaving carefully from where I was hiding, I took the skirts of my dress and, with my heart still beating at a ferocious pace, I ran through the intersecting corridors of the opera, trying to get away from the stagehand as much as possible.
I returned to the stage again, climbing on it to hide behind the open curtains on the right side. My legs gave in to the distance I had just run, forcing me to sit there and try to tame my breathing again.
I could feel the cheeks and the skin on my body burning.
I grabbed my legs against my chest and told myself to go back to bed and maybe ask more tomorrow about this being and why Buquet was at the opera at such hours of the night. I had to think of a way they wouldn't suspect that I was walking at night, too, though.
After my agitation subsided, I put my hands on the floor, brushed off my skirts, and stood, ready to reach the rooms once and for all.
I gently touched the red curtain, enjoying the lush fabric beneath my fingers. (Note: stage curtains are sensitive to oils on hands, so she would likely not touch them)
With a smile, I turned my face to the middle of the stage only to find someone with a black cloak descending on a rope to the wooden floor, his feet hitting the boards without making a sound.
My hand shot out into my mouth, covering a sudden scream that threatened to come out. Would this night have no end?
The man was tall, taller than I could ever imagine. I couldn't see him from the front; he was completely ignoring my presence. He was distracted, pulling on the rope he had come down and hitting the set still lying at his side.
That person must have been the Phantom of the Opera. However, he had no spectral form or seemed anything like what he was supposed to be.
With an agile movement, he reached down and took something in his hands, rising firmly as he observed what he had caught.
I took a step closer to where he stood with curiosity, wanting to know if he was simply a madman or just some other worker with strange pleasures. I pulled my hand away from my mouth and tried to see his face, wishing he would turn around. I held the curtain tightly between my hands, hiding my body so he would not see me in case he moved. But, to my regret, I was so excited after first glimpsing what I had been looking at so impetuously that I didn't notice the ropes that were at my feet, causing me to stumble and catch the attention of the man.
He quickly turned his head, letting me see part of his white mask.
An unconscious part of my mind took over at that moment, deducing that this couldn't be good. With all my forces renewed, I let go of the curtains that had protected me and I jumped down the steps of the stage, starting to run again to the rooms where we lived, afraid to have bothered or upset him. After all, human or ghost, I was clearly someone weak before him.
The only thing that came to my ears was the sound of my breathing and my swift steps against the tiles, as if I were running from the gates of hell.
Turning my head back, I could see the man following me; his long legs hastening to reach where I was without giving me time to flee, his steps impossibly silent.
For him it seemed like a cheerful walk.
I could hear the blood of my body pounding against my veins at a frantic pace.
I turned my head forward again, crying inside to get there as soon as possible.
It was like a nightmare, the same as I had had when I was a child. Someone was chasing me and no matter how I ran I would never leave him behind. But... my father always told me to confront what he was trying to escape, so with decision, I stopped my feet and cringed slightly in case I felt that being touch me. I didn't care if it was a ghost or a person; I shouldn't run away like that.
Leaning, I turned slowly, hoping to see the man but, to my disappointment, he was gone. I searched around, feeling relieved and somewhat disappointed at the time for letting him disappear.
The darkness hung over my body, leaving me feeling cold despite how hot I was. I put a hand on my chest, and with a sigh I turned again, exhausted from all the emotions I had felt in a single night.
To my regret, that did not end there. After turning to return to the road, the man in a perfect black suit was in front of me. I thought my heart would stop and, as a reflex, I pressed my hand harder on it. My eyes were at the height of his red vest and his black tie, forcing me to lift my face if I wanted to look at him.
I slowly raised it, afraid to look at that face they had described or find hell in his eyes.
He wore the white mask which shone in darkness, but without a doubt what most impressed me were his eyes; a pair of glowing eyes brighter than copper.
The wolfish smile that decorated his lips made me shiver.
"You shouldn't be here at these hours," he said suddenly, his voice low and melodious.
Blinking several times, I nodded to his comment, not wishing to lower my guard. He couldn't be a ghost, he mustn't be. He was so... so *human*, with a cruel smile on his face and an almost mocking air about him.
He tilted his head to one side and looked me up and down.
I took a step back, and his smile spread. My breathing was still heavy and the hand over my heart had begun to dig in its nails.
Taking it away from there, I placed my arm at my side, prepared in case I had to defend myself.
But he just laughed.
"You should calm down," he crooned, beginning to move around me with his long legs. "The race is over." I followed his movements with my body, not giving him the upper hand. "You're Christine Daaé, aren't you?" I shook my head quickly. The saliva in my mouth had become thick and I doubted if I could speak clearly. "Well," he laughed again, "don't you have any words?" He leaned over me, making me feel like the prey of an animal that has long been caged and hungry.
I decided not to answer such an absurd question. He was amused, or so it seemed to me.
"Do you know who I am, my dear?" he continued in an almost playful tone.
Setting my shoulders and gently rinsing my throat, I answered:
"No."
He blinked several times and shifted against the cloak he wore.
"You're not a good liar, Christine," he said as he brought his mask to my face, giving me an itchy feeling in my hands that would only disappear if I moved that barrier to meet the man himself. But the sensible thing wasn't to make him angry. "I am the eyes and ears of this place," he continued, ignorant of all my denied intentions. "Here they call me the Phantom of the Opera," he laughed proudly again.
All I did was nod, wanting him to stay away from my figure as much as possible.
Turning his head to one side, he placed his long hand in front of my face, with a soft pale pink cloth between his fingers.
I was stunned, how did he have that?
"You left this on stage, my dear," he purred, rubbing the handkerchief, waiting for me to pick it up. His skin was so white... almost as much as his mask.
Carefully, I stretched out my arm so I could take it. He dropped the cloth before it brushed his skin.
"Th-thank you," I stammered, embarrassed. Why was he doing this?
Placing himself again in front of me at his full height, without saying anything and his expression suddenly frozen, he made a quick move that made smoke appear, and he vanished.
I let out a cry, which I had kept inside since before I had begun to chase after him. I put my handkerchief close to my mouth, trying to recover. What the hell had just happened?
I looked around for any hint of his presence, failing miserably. I then ahead as the smoke dissipated.
This man wasn't a ghost, and I would find out what his secret was. After all, he hadn't attacked me, as some women swore they had been.
The best thing would be that what happened tonight would be forgotten. I didn't want the seriousness of that specter they feared to be mocked by my unkindness; after all, he'd bothered to bring me the hanky I had lost without realizing it
~~~OOO~~~
Thank you very much to SymphonyinA for the wonderful help with the translation! It's truly a great person.
I will try to translate more, but I have limited time with school.
And I hope all of you can give me a few reviews if you liked.
Greetings and thank you!