The Phantom of the High School Theater

Chapter 1

There was a general ignoring of him. The students of the school knew he was there, but believed him to be a ghost. He tried very much to prove this, as it allowed him to wander his school whenever and wherever he pleased. Tastefully, he never entered the girls' restroom, but the entire building was his. He was the Phantom.

Nobody ever tried to find his lair out of fearful respect. He loved what he did. He oversaw the performing arts especially. He loved the performing arts because they were simply breathtaking. His favorite performing art was their musical theater. It drew him like a magnet._

A tall, loud girl was singing a song for the upcoming play. Well murdering would be a correct word as well as singing. She was a good singer, but she had an ego that told her that she knew better than any songwriter. As such, the song was reaching notes that no other soprano would even risk. They would have told her to use the actual score, but they had nobody to replace her. The play was a strange one that nobody had ever seen before they decided to try it and they never gave the soprano an understudy.

Suddenly three cat's-eye marbles fell from the shadowy sky. They all fell on Theresa, the soprano.

"That's it!" Theresa exclaimed, "That stupid Phantom doesn't know good music! I quit!"

"Theresa, please don't go," a quiet girl with dark hair, in the corner of the room, pleaded, "you're the only person who can sing this song."

"I'll bet that you're thrilled that this happened! You probably whispered to him to do it! You are practically a ghost; he probably likes you around, Christine!"

So saying, the soprano stormed off.

"Well, now we have no play and the tickets have been sold!" moaned Mr. Jacobs, the director.

"Christine can sing it."

The Voice saying this was not visible, but, then, a rose painted black fell in front of the director.

"Is the Voice telling the truth?" the desperate director asked the girl, "Do you know the music?"

"I learned it a while ago, but I don't think I can sing as well as Theresa," she replied.

"You're the only person that we have."

The poor girl was pulled onstage and told to sing the score. She did and it was beautiful. She sang the song as written, which was much better than the improvisations that Theresa had created. Many people admired Christine for what she had done, and among them was her brother figure named Jonathan Lock. In the corner of the room, was a chair left unoccupied, Chair 101. It was the chair that the Voice claimed as its own

Later, Christine was playing in her dressing room when a flood of people were pounding on the door. Each had a bouquet of roses for, which in politeness she took. Suddenly a loud bang was heard in the nearby hall, and the mob left to investigate. When Christine turned around, she saw a boy her age putting a black rose into her empty vase.

Seeing her, he turned to flee from the room. She cried to him, "Wait!"

He froze as if turned to stone. She took a good look at him. He had brown hair and green eyes. His clothing was much like the costume of the demon that her character fell in love with in the play. It was a tuxedo suit that consisted of many patches, dizzying and beautiful to see. She looked at his face again to look at it much more closely. Over his forehead to his chin was a face of papier-mâché that looked sp realistic at first glance that she hadn't noticed it at first glance. It was obviously a fake when she focused on it carefully. While it looked real, the sides were too even to belong to any person and his eyes were in it too deep for it to be a real face.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I am many people that you know of, but let's just leave it at me being your friend. You might call me a bit of a legend, but I am mostly a playwright and a contributor to your performing," he replied, and she would have bet money that he was smiling beneath that mask that had a roguish grin on it eternally.

"You're the Phantom!"

"…And the voice. I'm also your teacher. I wrote the play as well. Come with me; I will to show you the true magic of this theater!" he cheered the last bit. He seemed so pleased with the idea, that she took his hand as he led her to the true heart of the theater.

"Why me?" she asked him as they walked.

"Because you're you and I like that. You are different from the rest of the group. You also sing beautifully, even if you are afraid to admit it."

"What's under your mask?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"A face," he replied with a less confident tone, "My masks are the faces that I present to the world. I consider this mask my true face more than the one I have underneath it. We're here."

She saw him open a door which led to a place where dreams and worlds were created.