A/N: This is my first phantom story, so I hope it doesn't turn out completely horrible.I'd love to hear critisism and/or praise in the form of reviews!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to POTO.
"Moose!"
At sound of the high squealed voice, he shifted a bit in his "sleep," carefully opening one eye to cast a glance at the small pouting form of the girl, who was now holding the folds of his sweater in her tiny fists. Unable to resist the shadow of a smile forming upon his face, he caught her eye and she pulled harder on his arm.
"Moose!"
The man sat straight up with a groan, regarding his daughter with an expression she would recognize all to well as his "stern" face, despite the slight twinkle in his warm grey eyes. "Bed," he said in the most commanding tone he could summon. "Now." Apparently, his authoritative tone left much to be desired, for the girl gazed up at her father with wide brown eyes and hesitantly shook her head in blatant refusal. His eyebrow lifted as he regarded her disobedience.
"Moose?" Her voice asked quietly, pleadingly. Unable to withstand the innocent charms of his one-and-only, he knelt down to gently hoist the tiny girl into his arms and carried her over to her room.
"Music," he corrected her for what probably was the fifteenth time since she had learned the word. A moment later he sighed. "You win, my darling angel. I shall give you your music, and then you will close your eyes and sleep!" He placed her under the soft down comforter of her bed and offered her an intense stare, which (not to his surprise) she returned. "Deal?"
He didn't miss the eager nodding of her head as her long brown curls bounced up and down with the movement. He retreated from her room only to return moments later with the instrument. Seconds later the little girl had closed her eyes and was humming softly to the dulcet melody he produced with the stringed violin.
He almost hadn't even heard her soft voice when she spoke up quietly, as if whispering a secret. "Is sad?"
He finished the song, letting the last note linger until silence eventually consumed it. Placing the instrument back in its case with delicate care, he dimmed the lights and turned to his daughter slowly. "No, darling. The memories are sad." He smiled sadly at her confused and obviously uncomprehending expression, and quietly bid her good night.
It was only a few moments later when the sound of a ringing telephone and the deafening cries of her father awakened the young girl from her peaceful slumber.
"--stine? This is the part where one goes through the door. Although I can see why you find it appealing. The wood is very...woody."
The young brunette broke her focus to stare confused at the red-headed boy, whose green eyes glittered with amusement. She opened her mouth only to shut it again. The boy quirked an eyebrow and gestured to the large wooden door. "You drifted off again. I found myself entering the auditorium without my extremely lovely yet irritatingly dim friend. Where has your mind wandered now, Chrissy?"
The girl's pale features twisted into a grimace. "I hate when you call me that," she replied simply, focusing her wide brown eyes onto the door in front of her. Rolling her eyes at her friend's impatient cough, she picked at a piece of lint on her black pants.
"Okay, that's enough! It's a rehearsal, Christine! For a high school play! You aren't performing at a grand opera house. You're dancing in a local school production that'll probably reduce a classic opera to a fumbling heap of cliché garbage." The freckled red-head shook his head with disdain.
"Nice to see how much faith you have in the cast, Liam." Despite her best efforts, Christine Daaé couldn't resist the smile that spread on her pretty face. Once again, her long-time friend managed to vanquish her fears and ease her tensions with his gentle humor. Happily taking his hand, she walked with him into the enormous auditorium of Middletown's Willoughby Academy. Expectedly, many members of the cast were already scattered among the stage and long rows of seats, chatting eagerly while a select few intently read through the script book for the private high school's latest production.
Brown eyes scanning the scene, Christine couldn't help but listen to Liam's words echo in her head. ...Fumbling heap of cliché garbage. One of the leaders of the music department raised his voice slightly to get attention. Even as the short and meek instructor raised his hands about, trying desperately to command order among the talkative students, they proceeded to pay him no heed. The girls, it seemed, found much more entertainment in flirtatiously giggling with the boys, who were eager to pay them the attention they wanted. Only the seniors and a few of the quiet underclassmen graciously gave the man attention.
Christine took a seat near the back as Liam waved goodbye and joined a group of seniors behind the stage who were in charge of set decorations. After several long moments, the student body began to silence and watch the man, Mr. Donovan, expectedly. "I m-must remind you all, once again, that the first five minutes of rehearsals are to be dedicated to a q-quiet contemplation of one's s-script." Taking a moment to push his spectacles further behind his ears, Mr. Donovan continued. "Now, if y-you will please give you're attention to your directors, Mr. Firmin and Mr. Andre." Only a dull murmur among the students commenced as two middle-aged men stepped on the first few steps of the stage to address the student body.
"Thank you, Mr. Donovan," Mr. Firmin began with a nod. "We hope those of you in the first Act have at least begun to memorize some of your lines, for this production will be moving quite quickly as the spring approaches. We must also remind you all that rehearsals are not a time for socializing if it does not involve the development of the production. Most of you should know that Madame Butterfly is indeed a tragic opera, and you must all take this seriously in order for its fulfillment to be achieved. With that said, we will begin blocking the first act."
The rest of the rehearsals over the next few weeks went more or less smoothly, with a few exceptions. A haughty red-headed senior by the name of Carlotta, who played the lead role Cho-Cho San, held a fair amount of talent despite her self-absorbed personality. For some reason, the directors tolerated the diva and all her whining and screeching orders, and tended to overly praise the girl's rather overdone singing voice. Though to Christine, however, it was quite obvious why. Carlotta's family donated a generous amount of money to the school (and the school's musical productions) each year.
Christine, on the other hand, enjoyed being just another background dancer as she listened to the diva rant and rave to the directors while those around her rolled their eyes and sighed. Not far away, several members of the choir halted their practice to send a few glares toward the raging diva, before the instructor ordered them to begin singing once again.
An almost wistful expression came upon Christine's face as she watched the school's choir. In general, their voices blended extremely well, but there were a handful of members who seemed to lack any interest in the music. They were the few who would goof off during practice and not bother to learn the lyrics for songs. It bothered her that people would commit themselves to doing something that they had no passion doing.What was the point? Still, Christine enjoyed listening while she did homework in the halls for a few hours until her aunt would pick her up.
Then again, simply listening to them seemed to send her into some state of nostalgia. Perhaps it had to do with her own lack of involvement in music. She had been so close to auditioning. She had practiced the piece of music, had sung in front of her aunt and Liam, and arrived to the school.
She had run out less than ten minutes after they arrived. To her relief, her Aunt Annette had not asked questions; she simply gave an understanding and sad nod before driving home.
It had not been just nerves. Here she was, seventeen years old with a naturally pretty voice, but untrained. She remembered watching and listening to all of the other talented students review their scales and prepare their voices with drinks or drops or organize their already perfect resumes, including their previous performances and vocal training.
Here she was, seventeen years old, with the voice of an angel (according to her now deceased father), and she had fled the room. Was it just nerves? To anyone else but her, the situation may have seemed to occur due to nerves.
Her voice was special to her. Very, very rarely, she would sing quietly to herself in her room, where she would try to imagine her father's voice singing along with her.She hardly ever let her voice be heard by anyone else.It had been a long time since she'd last sang, and she no longer had the passion for it.No, she would not sing in any musicals, or join the choir. Her muse died the moment her father did.
Christine seemed to be so engrossed in her thoughts, she barely registered what was going on around her when a loud rustle followed by a crashing noise and screams that reverberated throughout the room.
"It's the ghost!"
Christine heard Liam's voice yell from somewhere offstage, where it received fake gasps and snickers.
Meanwhile, Carlotta's screeching howl echoed throughout the auditorium. It seemed that one of the backdrops had fallen upon the diva. But, despite her high-pitched screeches, she did not seemed injured.
"Miss Guidicelli, please, it was simply an accident," Mr. Andre stammered out nervously. "These things..."
"No...no! That's been the fifth incident to happen to me since we've started. 'These things' don't just...happen! Someone's out to kill me!"
"Chill out, Car. Just 'cause you got splattered with paint that one time or ate that weird pastry doesn't mean--"
"Shut up, James!" Carlotta snapped at her boyfriend, who had joined her on stage. She turned her angry glare back to the directors. "Someone's doing this! I don't know who. Probably some stupid immature freshman who can't take reject--"
"Carefully, Carlotta. Don't piss off the ghost!" Liam called out from stage right, causing Christine to finally smile at the rather amusing situation.
"Enough!" Mr. Firmin demanded. "If I hear about this wretched ghost one more time during rehearsals..."
"I...don't...care if it is a ghost or a goblin or one of your horrible chorus members who's doing this to me!" Carlotta screeched, tears welling up in her eyes. "If this happens one more time...I'm gone."
The managers didn't waste any time working to convince Carlotta the event was simply an accident while the rest of rehearsals more or less resumed. Once in a while Liam or his senior friends made reference to the infamous Theatre Ghost, the urban legend of Willoughby's Academy.
Was it real? Was there actually a ghost haunting the halls of the century old high school? No one knew, but rumors were always flying. Christine, herself, found the entire idea absolute rubbish, but she enjoyed listening to the stories (much of which her friend Liam passed around).
"The Ghost!" He had exclaimed, eagerly, after one of the (particularly untalented) members of the school's orchestra was found in an abandoned wing and arrived to practice with a disheveled appearance to announce his resignation. "I was wondering how long it'd take for him to weed out those idiotic freshman who have about as much talent as a dead cat. I wonder what took him so long."
Christine did have to admit the string of odd occurrences and mysterious rumored "sightings" over the past three years were strange. Of course, there wasn't any actual evidence that proved someone else was playing these jokes and frightening students. It may just very well be the crazed ramblings of high school students desperate for attention.
"Liam, you don't really believe that there's ghost wandering around our school, right?" She had asked her friend.
Liam paused, scratching his forehead. "Our school's as old as our great-great-grandmothers, Christine. Who knows what this place used to be before it became a school. Hell, maybe it was here first, and he's just angry that we're living in his home!"
"I think you're crazy."
That conversation had occurred nearly a year ago. Even now, as she sat against a wall in the hallway hours after rehearsal awaiting her aunt, the entire legend sounded preposterous to Christine. Yes, there were rumors of mysterious happenings in the vast auditorium, backstage, and even within the hallways of the high school during early morning hours or after school. But to think a ghost was roaming around the halls, frightening students into quitting orchestra and dropping paint cans and backdrops on the musical diva?
She snapped out of her reverie when a loud crashing sound from somewhere in the auditorium echoed through the halls. Hadn't everyone already gone home? Cautiously, Christine put her books aside and approached the door, warily peering inside the darkened room. She was sure the clanging noise had come from the auditorium, possibly a fallen prop or set piece, but she wasn't exactly willing to skip in the pitch black room to find out the exact cause.
She was just about to turn away when she heard a distinct swishing sound from somewhere further in the room.
Her instincts caused her hand to reach for the light dimmer, which she turned on and illuminated the room with soft light.
"Hello?" She whispered rather softly, glancing back and forth as her nerves got the best of her. "Is someone..." She stopped. "This is stupid," she muttered turning. But just as she did, she spotted the cause of the sound she had heard seconds ago. Near the stage, a lone music stand had toppled over and on the floor lay scattered sheets of paper, presumably the script.
Odd. Hesitating for a moment, Christine walked to the stage and knelt to pick up the scattered sheets of music, which she found her eyes drawn to despite herself. She recognized the song from one that she had heard Carlotta practicing the last rehearsal, rather dreadfully. With a sigh, she gathered up the rest of the papers, absentmindedly humming the melody of the song.
She stopped mid-line as she felt herself being lost in the soft melody, the abrupt halt cutting through the silence of the auditorium. The music sheets were already placed back upon the music stand. What was she still doing here? She stared down at her hands, which she realized only now had been shaking. It had been a while since she had last let herself get lost in a melody. It made her feel as if...
Not liking the loss of control over her emotions, Christine stood up and quickly headed toward the exit, dimming the lights off as she left breathlessly.
If she had turned around, her innocent brown eyes would have met the fiery gaze that watched her fleeting steps with such frightening intensity.
A/N: Does it work? Does it have a serious case of suck? Let me know!
