Disclaimer: Since this book is public domain, everyone owns to some extent it. Though I still credit good ol' Leroux with the basic idea of it all.
A/N: Here's my first story based on The Phantom of the Opera. It's mostly inspired by the original novel. I'm basically trying to re-write the novel as if the Opera Ghost wrote it... and that 'he' was a 'she'. If somebody likes the premise and wants to help improve it, I would be honored to have them be a beta.
People often introduce themselves with some basic trivia about themselves. I, though usually one to defy convention, shall do just that. What can one learn from a few simple facts? Many interesting things! Oh dear, I appear to be rambling…
Well, then. Here we go:
I am known to one and all as The Opera Ghost.
I take great pride in my unique maniacal laugh.
My favorite game is most definitely 'Annoy-The-Managers'
Ah ha! That's where our little story begins. On the day old Mr. Poligny retired. His two replacements made the game especially fun, because (as the old saying goes) 'the more the merrier'! Even the weather seemed on my side the night I first set eyes on them.
Not that thunderstorms aren't easy to come by…
Kind old Mr. Poligny notified me of his retirement months in advance. He even sent me an invitation to the going-away party. Though I planned to attend, I officially declined. Being a still living 'ghost' is much harder work than it sounds.
I woke up extra early that evening.
One of the few qualities I share with nasty creatures called hu- that is, qualities I share with other people- is a love for dressing up fashionably. Even though people rarely see me I still take great pride in my appearance.
Whenever a ballerina catches the slightest glimpse of me, she immediately runs off to tell her fellow performers. It's really quite fun to spy on their conversations.
I planned to make at least one visible appearance that night, and dressed accordingly.
Instead of my everyday Sweeping Black Cloak, I wore my special occasion one. It's got lovely dark red trim around the edges, while my usual cape is plain black. I bought this 'special occasion cloak' with some of the money Mr. Poligny paid me. So, however indirectly, he bought it for me. Wearing it to his party seemed a kind tribute.
And the mask I wore that night was also red. Pseudo-Oriental red silk, decorated with beads that fondly reminded me of drops of blood.
Red is my favorite color. It's the prettiest color you see when somebody's skull goes 'splat!' on the pavement. The first happy memory in my pathetic excuse for a childhood involved the color.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I smiled at how well the mask hid my face. With strange sadness I wondered what my smile looks like. Only the eyes were visible beneath one of my masks. Because of my hideous deformity, I had a fear of seeing my own face.
Throughout my entire life, only one person didn't flee at the sight of it.
Forcing that foolish thought from my mind, I blew out nearly all the candles in my apartment. The only flame I kept lit was in a lantern I carried with me. One of the few things I truly fear is my house burning down.
Humming a half-forgotten song, I left my apartment. While some people have a porch outside their front door, I have a dock.
I live, as you've probably gathered, beneath the opera house. Part of the sewers system runs through the cellars. More than ten years ago, I decided that building a house on the shore of the Sewer-Lake sounded like a pretty neat idea. Since then I've realized that only I think that sort of thing. Ah, well. You can't win 'em all.
Though having a sewer where you front yard should be is considered eccentric, it still keeps away any unwanted visitors.
It's very tedious work, dragging a proper-sized rowboat into the deepest cellars of the opera house (I would know). Very few people know I exist and none of them have the patience for such a feat.
And I can say 'I own a lovely little lake-side cottage' without actually lying.
Ah, well… back to the story of the party. I got into my nice little rowboat and rowed across the nasty smelling river. Once I'd crossed it, I attached the rowboat to another dock with a nice little lock system I'd made myself. Only I know the right number of clockwise turns and clicks, so nobody can steal my rowboat while I'm away.
I quite like inventing things.
Through the secret hallways I went, resisting the urge to hum a cheerful tune. I liked to appear out of seemingly nowhere. On the bottom of my shoes I'd tied felt over-shoes, to muffle the 'clickety-clackety' sound the soles made against the floor. It makes sneaking up on people much easier, you know.
Soon enough I arrived at a doorway. Through it laid a nice little staircase that leads to another secret hall. Every time I see one of my winding metal staircases, I mentally commend myself for such a clever design. Those things hardly take any space and they're quite sturdy!
I strolled through the little passageway, still carrying my nice little lantern. Only I know about the secret hallways, so there's no reason to add any wall-lamps. After a few minutes of walking I found the proper door. That hallway had many doors, each marked with a dot of colorful paint and a number. Only I know the meanings of the colors, a clever code that might take hours upon hours to explain.
Before I opened the door, I checked all my little traps. I've invented all sorts of entertaining ways to make sure I know if any nasty tricksters managed to get into my secret passageways. Thankfully, none of the traps were triggered in the last day (I'd checked yesterday morning on my way to bed).
And so, with a cheery grin, I opened the door and walked up the spiral staircase. I could hear the faint sound of leisurely conversation through the trap door above me. That meant everyone was still sober.
Oh, dear.
Appearing to clear-headed people wasn't as fun as showing up when half of them are too smashed to walk properly. My pocket-watch said 9:30. That's not too early in the evening.
I'll just wait here until ten, I thought to myself as I sat down at the top of my staircase.
Setting my lamp down, I admired the little room. It had a secret window (that looks like a pretty little painting from the outside). I could switch my own mask-face with that of the picture girl, if I pleased. Such a thing made people jump sometimes.
Little games like… they're fun as can be!
But that evening I waited quietly. 'Tickety-tockety' went my pocket-watchie as minutes went by and by… ten o'clock went and came. A few people were giggling drunkenly, but most of the people sounded too clear-minded.
Oh, the sadness of this. At 10:45 nobody will be thinking- or walking- straightly, said I to myself! Waiting for the game to begin filled my sweet little heart with gloom.
So, I sang a song to cheer myself up.
The sound of the chatter in the party room died away at the harmonious sound of my contralto voice. My lovely voice is the one thing about me that doesn't appall every single worthless living thing.
I've got the face of the most hideous demon and the voice of the sweetest angel…
Oh dear. The distraction of my singing probably stopped the flowing of intoxicating drinks (both stronger brandies and weaker wines). I ended the song halfway through it's many lovely verses. After a moment, the sound of chitchatting voices returned.
My Ugly-Face smiled darkly beneath my Pretty-Face. Many years of living in the opera house caused a strange interest in symbolism. The Ugly-Face symbolizes what I'm thinking inside my kindly heart, while my Pretty-Face gives away nothing.
This 'system' helps me hide tears from anyone who sees me.
Suddenly, I noticed that the sound of low conversation had grown into the wildness of drunken singing and giggly innuendoes of drunkenness. Time for the fun!
Secretly beaming with glee, I untied the felt mufflers wrapped around my shoes. The ominous click-clack of shoes always made 'em jump!
I ran through a mental checklist: now-noisy shoes ready, sweeping cape secured, hair tied back, hat on right, all my keys properly secured on my necklace, dress spotless (bloodstains aren't always stylish), mask carefully adjusted to hide face completely… Everything ready!
'Twas show time.
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