I walked the silent corridors of the opera house. My footsteps made no sound upon the floor. A giggle escaped from one of the doorways as I passed, and I paused, ducking into the shadows. One of the ballet rats, no doubt. Concealing myself in the shadows, I waited for her to emerge. With no sightings in months, the fear of the Opera Ghost had somewhat relinquished its hold on the opera staff.
Time I had a little fun.
The door opened. Three little ballerinas scurried out, leaving the door ajar. They walked past my hiding place, and I slammed the door shut behind them. They gasped and whirled around, their frightened gazes searching the hallway. I laughed, throwing my voice so it seemed to come from all around them.
They screamed as my form seemed to materialize out of thin air. I laughed again as the three girls trembled. Then, I disappeared in a blink, leaving them wondering if it had just been their imagination.
The story of the ghost's return had already begun to circulate. Naturally, it had been blown way out of proportion. According to the current version, I had tried to strangle one of them with my Punjab lasso. If only they knew how much they were helping me with their little exaggerations!
I was walking by the managers' office when I heard them discussing the upcoming gala. I stopped just outside the door.
"You think we should have her sing at the gala? But she hasn't sung since-" Moncharmin was fuming.
"Yes, I know, Armand, but don't you think it would draw in a lot of people?" Richard said.
"But would she even want to come back?" Moncharmin argued. "I mean, after everything that happended last time, I don't know if she'd ever want to set foot on that stage again!"
I turned away and stormed down the hall. How dare they even consider bringing that toad Carlotta back to my opera house!
I could only hope that she had not recovered form the shame of her famous croak!
"Where did this come from? I thought our phantom was dead!" Moncharmin exclaimed. I smiled. He had found my note. Richard rushed over to his partner's desk and snatched the paper out of Moncharmin's hands. Frowning, he read my messy red scrawl.
"Who exactly does he think he is? And why does he disapprove of our choice of lead soprano?" he seethed. The man's face was turning quite comically red. "We can't give in to his insane demand!" Richard said, slamming the paper down on the desk.
"Our mysterious informant seemed quite sure that the ghost was dead and gone," Moncharmin muttered. Good old Daroga, of course he had written to them to assure everyone that I was, in fact, gone. If only he wasn't so sadly misinformed!
"Never again will we cave to that madman! We're the managers of this opera house! To hell with his warnings!"
I turned and stalked down the hallway. "We'll see about that," I said to myself.
The prima donna was here. I had not seen her, but I had certainly heard her. She sounded... softer. Less cocky than before. Nervous. She ought to be I thought, after everything that happened before. She warmed up, and I have to admit that the diva's voice was almost pleasant. Apparently during her time away from the opera house she had learned how to sing properly. Still, I could not allow the managers to get away with this.
I climbed the catwalks above the stage. The prima donna was center stage, about to begin rehearsing her aria. Deftly, I sliced one of the ropes. A counterweight came swinging down, barely missing the diva. Ballerinas screamed. Stagehands rushed to halt the heavy pendulum. I melted away into the shadows, pleased with my work.