This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon The Phantom of the Opera novel by Gaston Leroux. Any resemblance to real persons or places is strictly coincidental. This story, and all original content, belongs to the author, © 2005.

Legacy of an Opera Ghost
By Orianna-2000

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Originally part of the 2nd Morbid Story Contest, this unusual story holds a bit of mystery, drama, and suspense. This version is revised and expanded, so even if you've read the original contest entry, you should enjoy it.

To those who are interested, I'm told that the name Eshana means "Searcher" in Hindi.

My undying gratitude goes to Gondola for her incredible beta job. (Due to a miscommunication, I previously thought that Phantomy Cookies did the beta work on this story, but the credit actually belongs to Gondola. My apologies for the mixup.)


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Jean-Pierre held the flashlight high to illuminate the cellar. The white light revealed a small area of ancient stonework and hid a great deal in shadows. Beyond what he could see, the vaults stretched on in empty blackness, with nothing but crumbling pillars, hidden crevices, and secret stairwells before him. He shivered, unnerved by the damp atmosphere. The place seemed old; he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them.

"We are almost to the fifth cellar," he said, his voice echoing disconcertingly. "Stick close to me – if you get lost in here, no one will ever find you."

Beside him, Eshana checked a hand-drawn map. Even if pressed, she would never admit to having the same odd feelings as Jean-Pierre, though for now her excitement overwhelmed any fears she might have. For years she'd dreamed of exploring the underworld of the Paris Opera but never thought it might actually be possible. Making friends with someone in France who owned an inspector's license had paid off.

She had met Jean-Pierre soon after arriving in Paris, while reading Gaston Leroux's "The Phantom of the Opera" in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. He soon offered to give her a tour of the Palais Garnier. When she confessed her infatuation with the classic story, and her desire to find proof of Erik's existence, he'd admitted to being one of the many workers who regularly inspected the lower cellars. With only a touch of hesitancy, Jean-Pierre agreed to bring her down here as his "assistant", officially to help inspect the underground lake's retaining walls, which protected the foundation from the water. Unofficially, Eshana would be allowed the chance of a lifetime – to search for evidence of the infamous Opera Ghost.

Together they descended a flight of stairs which curved into utter darkness. Only their labored breathing broached the thick silence as they carefully maneuvered the decaying old steps.

"This is it," Jean-Pierre said when they reached the bottom. "The lowest cellar. Now we just have to find the lake."

"And the house," Eshana added. "I can't believe that no one's ever found it before."

Jean-Pierre scrunched up his handsome face. "You really think the Opera is going to let a bunch of crazy 'phans' down here to search? Any real proof was probably hidden or destroyed a century ago. Besides, if anyone did find evidence, the Opera House would have to admit that a deformed recluse was able to control them for years, milking out of them thousands of francs and the best box in the house."

"Which reminds me..." Eshana began carefully.

"No! There is no way they will allow you to tear up the walls of Box Five or the manager's office, looking for a secret passage," he declared. "You have no idea what it took just to get permission to bring you down with me. If they had seen your Phantom t-shirt, I would have been fired." Jean-Pierre snorted, then muttered, "All of this effort for a fictional character who may or may not have been inspired by someone in real life."

Eshana glared at him through the dark. "Erik existed – don't ever say otherwise!"

"You are obsessed! You know this, do you not? It's like you Americans and your Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster –"

"– Loch Ness is in Scotland," she pointed out quite reasonably. "Now, shouldn't we be looking for the lake?"

Jean-Pierre shook his head and continued on.

It didn't take long for them to find the entrance to the underground lake; the murmur of gently lapping water led them straight to it. Jean-Pierre aimed the flashlight toward the sound, showing a narrow archway cut into the wall. A flight of carved stairs led down to the water's surface and continued for several feet until the murky water obscured them.

"This is outright peculiar, if you ask me. Why would they need stairs under the water?" he asked.

Eshana looked at him with surprise. "I thought you were the expert here. Don't you know? Normally when they inspect the foundation and retaining walls, they drain the lake."

"But of course," he answered quickly. "That is why this looks so strange to me. I have only ever seen it when the water is lowest. Now, where is the boat?"

They quickly found the aluminum canoe and lowered it into the water. Each had brought a life vest and a spelunking helmet, which they now put on. Jean-Pierre held the boat steady while Eshana climbed inside, then handed her the backpacks to stow away. He left an extra flashlight shining on the edge of the stairs, so that he would easily find the way back. The batteries would last several hours, and he didn't relish the idea of getting lost in this place.

"Let us go," he said. Expertly he guided the boat into the depths of the underground cavern, making sure to keep the wall within view of the area dimly lit by their helmets. It would be too easy to get disoriented in the dark, with no landmarks in sight. Stories always circulated of students or tourists who had vanished without a trace in the vicinity of the Palais Garnier, only for their bodies to be discovered years later when the lake was drained. No one could guess what killed them.

"Did you see that?" Jean-Pierre whispered, pointing to an obscure ripple in the water, barely discernible at the edge of their sphere of light.

"Don't you dare try to scare me," she warned softly, acutely reminded of the pranks her older brother use to pull. But she saw the water move as well, and a harsh shiver ran down her spine. "What do you suppose it is?"

He shrugged. "There are all sorts of rumors about giant creatures living in the sewers: pet crocodiles, squid or sharks which swam up La Manche, that is, what you would call the English Channel. Who knows what is down here?"

She pulled out a flashlight and aimed it at the water. Nothing showed beneath the blackness of it. Suddenly, a long, pale shape broke the surface, inviting all kinds of imaginative speculation – the body of a shark? The tentacle of an albino squid? Her breath caught, but she didn't scream.

Jean-Pierre chuckled and glanced back at her. "It is probably just a fish. Most lakes have fish, you know. These are without color because there is no light down here. They are probably blind, too. Might be worth something to the zoological society if we caught one."

"Let's just keep going, if you don't mind." She relaxed a bit, but kept the flashlight on in addition to her headlamp. As they moved along, she swept the light across the surface of the water, then aimed it at the retaining walls. Surely they would find some evidence of a secret door or passage. One didn't live beneath an opera house for decades without leaving proof behind!

"What I would like to know," Jean-Pierre murmured, "Is why, if this door to the Phantom's house exists, have not any of the other workers found it? After all, they do drain the lake regularly to inspect the foundations. You would think that something like a door, no matter how cleverly disguised, would eventually be noticed. Does this fall under your conspiracy theory?"

Eshana rolled her eyes with impatience. "Why do you think I wanted to search now, when the lake is still filled? It wouldn't have been practical for Erik to drain the lake every time he wanted access to his own house! The entrance has to be above the highest waterline, which means it could easily have been overlooked by inspectors who probably only pay close attention to the areas which are normally underwater."

Eventually, the faintest light began to filter into the cavern and their passage came to a junction. From the right, a current flowed, nudging the boat toward the darker channel. When Eshana shined her light to the left, she could see a narrow, treacherous pathway leading right down to the edge of the water – and to a dock. Her heart began to pound. "Is this it?"

"This?" Jean-Pierre set the oars down and shook his head. "We are too close to civilization here. The river feeds the lake from that direction, so that path likely leads up to the Rue Scribe. It does not look very safe though – see all the corrosion? I would not advise exploring it. We will let the current push us for a bit here, save our energy."

They rested quietly as the water propelled the boat away from the dim light and deeper into the eerie underground lair. The oars made a constant gargling as he rowed, the only sound. After a while, the creepy feeling that Jean-Pierre had felt back in the cellars returned. He didn't say anything to Eshana, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone watched their progress. He didn't believe in ghosts, but something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Makes you wonder if the legends of mythology have a basis in reality, does it not? I mean, this seems like we are on the River Styx, on our way to Hades," he whispered.

"Now who believes the stories might be real?" she retorted gently, though she understood the sentiment. One could very well imagine that only death waited at the end of this unending lake of night.

---

"You know what might break the tension a bit?" Eshana said quietly.

"If you say music, I shall throttle you! The last thing we need right now is Michael Crawford singing to bring down the chandelier. That laugh of his is unnerving."

Eshana sighed. "It'd set the mood. And I bet the acoustics down here are to die for."

He glanced back at her. "Is this not creepy enough? You need more?"

That's when they both heard the music.

Very faint and distant, the strains of a magnificent voice echoed around them.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Eshana whispered, her voice quivering. "You set this up ahead of time, didn't you? Left a tape-recorder down here, set to play when we got close? Very funny!"

Jean-Pierre listened for a minute, then shook his head. "I did not set this up. I almost wish I had, just for your reaction. You are frightened, no?"

"Of course not," she lied, not sure what to think or hope. "Do you suppose it's them rehearsing, upstairs in the Opera?"

"No..." he replied. "They don't actually give operas here anymore. Only ballets, from what I understand."

They both sat in silence. The eerie music surrounded them and almost seemed to come from beneath the water. They could not help but listen, transfixed by the haunting melody which wove itself between them. It seduced and bewildered, promised and betrayed. They might have listened for hours – days, even. Only a sudden splash of water broke the trance.

"The siren!" Eshana cried.

Jean-Pierre frantically took up the oars again and began rowing with haste. "This was a bad idea. We should never have come down here." And yet he didn't take them back the way they came, but headed further into the subterranean world.

---

At long last, Eshana's flashlight picked up something unusual – a narrow ledge along the edge of the foundation. They had almost passed it; the only reason she saw it at all was because she happened to turn her head just as they drew even with it. The path had been ingeniously designed so as to remain invisible, except at the perfect angle. If one didn't know it existed, it could easily be overlooked.

"Look," Jean-Pierre said in disbelief. "See the way the stone juts out, right there? Just enough space for a small boat to fit!"

He maneuvered their canoe into the space, then cautiously stood. His flashlight highlighted a rusted metal ring set into the crumbling stonework, placed perfectly to moor a boat. "Might as well." He shrugged, and threaded a rope through the ring so that the canoe wouldn't drift away.

"Are you coming?" He stepped onto the rock shelf and held a hand out to Eshana.

She stared at him, then blinked out of her reverie. The fact they had found something overwhelmed her senses. She didn't know what to think, but she certainly wouldn't let this Frenchman do all of the investigating while she sat in the boat listening to ghostly music.

Jean-Pierre led the way, testing the ledge carefully to be sure it would hold their weight. It looked stable enough, but over the decades, water could have easily corroded the solid stone so that it might crumble beneath their feet. When the way seemed firm, he allowed Eshana to follow him down. Together they walked several meters before the path ended abruptly. "Well, that's it. I didn't see anything, did you?"

"It's a hidden doorway!" Eshana protested stubbornly. "You didn't think we'd just find it right off the bat, did you? Shine your light along the wall here. Erik was probably quite tall, so the keyhole could be at a strange height."

With a sigh, he obeyed. Together they made their way back toward the dock, searching the stone face intently for any sign of a hidden door.

"You know," Jean-Pierre said. "As ingenious as this Erik supposedly was, do you really think a couple of amateur sleuths like us are going to stumble upon his house? The man took great pains to hide all evidence of his existence. He probably sealed up the whole place before he died, so no one could ever find him."

A shiver ran down Eshana's spine. "Do you think we'll find his skeleton, then? We should know it's his if he has the gold ring Christine promised to return."

"And if we find the body just lying around, then obviously she didn't come back to bury him, now did she?"

Eshana stopped.

"Didn't think of that, did you?" He chuckled.

"No..." she answered. "Look!"

Her light caught the edge of a cleft in the stone. It could have been a natural crack or distortion caused by centuries of water damage or natural erosion. But that wouldn't explain the tiny grooves leading into the cavity. Scratches like that could only have been caused by regular, repetitive motion, such as sliding a key into a lock.

"We found it," she said with excitement. "Erik gave Christine two keys: one for the Rue Scribe gate, and one for the secret entrance to his house."

"Yes, well, someone didn't lock this very securely," Jean-Pierre stated. He wiggled a thin piece of metal within the stone cleft, and all of a sudden it clicked. The massive stone door slid aside with an almost indiscernible rumble.

Their lights shined upon an antique wood door, set with a frosted glass window and a brass knob.

"Merde!" Jean-Pierre said a few choice French words, his jaw unhinged.

Eshana just breathed. Her heart beat so quickly she thought she might faint. Incredulity swept over her. Before her companion could stop her, she stepped forward and opened the door.

It swung inward with a loud, rusty squeak. Warm air filtered out. Unable to breathe, she stepped into the foyer. An old-fashioned sconce lit the entryway with flickering candlelight. Beneath her feet lay a faded Persian rug. She stumbled forward, eyes wide. Ahead – more rooms, with more lights! The first open door led to a music room and library, the walls filled with row after row of books, the leather spines splintered with age. A massive piano took up more than half the space, oddly free of dust. In the far corner, two wingback chairs sat in front of a cheerfully crackling fire.

Jean-Pierre didn't have to look at Eshana to know she'd gone pale. She turned around slowly, her eyes rounded. "Do you know... what this means?" she stammered. "The candles, the fire, no dust – someone lives here!"

He nodded. "That does explain a lot. Where are you going?"

"To finish exploring! Don't you want to know who lives here?"

"And risk having them come home while we are snooping around?" He shook his head. "No, I am leaving now. You, on the other hand, are not."

Eshana stared at him, uncomprehending. She didn't even blink when he pulled out a gun.

Jean-Pierre smirked deeply. "On the slim chance that we actually found the place, I had originally planned to let you explore to your heart's content. Or at least until you died of hunger or thirst. But I cannot just seal you inside now that we know someone still haunts this place. Even though it is probably a vagrant, you might just be rescued." He shrugged, the firelight casting his face into a harsh plane of shadows.

"You're... not an inspector," she realized too late. Rapidly she glanced around, but saw nothing with which to defend herself. Keep him distracted, then, she decided. Cautiously she asked, "So, then, who are you?"

"Ah, if only you knew! You would have been even more of a giggling fool than you were when we first met. My family has supported the Opera for generations. Perhaps you've even heard of me? Viscount Jean-Pierre Philippe de Chagny, at your service."

He chuckled and bowed, then continued. "You see, the stories are true. But with one vital detail missing – when Christine came back to bury Erik, she found him alive. Grandfather Raoul never saw her again. Imagine the disgrace! Already he had caused a scandal by marrying an entertainer, and Count Philippe's death shrouded the whole affair in ignominy. Imagine the gossip when the new de Chagny bride disappeared just weeks after their honeymoon!"

Eshana's mind staggered at the revelation. Being a devout believer in the rightness of a relationship between Erik and Christine, she couldn't help but smile at this news. "She went back to Erik?"

"No!" Jean-Pierre's face went dark. "That monster kidnapped her. He forced her to stay underground with him, here in this very house. He made her write a letter to Raoul, saying that she had changed her mind, that she loved the Phantom of the Opera, but it was all lies! Our family name never fully recovered from this outrage.

He turned from her and curled his fists in rage. "When my great-grandfather married again and had children, he told them the story and made them promise to pass the truth along from one generation to the next. For more than one hundred and twenty years the legend has endured. The Chagnys keep the truth concealed to preserve our honor. We couldn't stop that damned book from being published, but we do what we can to discredit the story."

The gun clicked as he unlocked the safety. "That includes doing away with 'phans' who get too curious for their own good," he sneered. "The underground lake holds a lot of secrets... it can hold one more."

Eshana made a tiny sound of protest. To die would be bad enough, but to be killed now, in Erik's house, without being able to tell anyone what she had discovered! She looked around again, desperate to find anything to use as a weapon. Jean-Pierre motioned with the gun, forcing her to step toward him. She obeyed. Suddenly she gasped as a shadow moved behind him.

"Trying to make me think there is something behind me? Not very imaginative, but I respect your effort. Let me guess... the Phant– "

The shadow fell onto the wall beside him, and he looked first to the side in confusion, then belatedly turned to the source. Before he could completely turn around, something caught about his throat. He struggled, his face turning purple. His gun went off with a deafening bang! and Eshana fainted.

---

She woke to find herself lying in the boat. A mighty splash sounded nearby and rocked the light canoe. With a gasp of memory, she sat up. A dim shaft of light from the house came though the open door and she could barely see the outline of a man on the stone ledge. Ripples on the lake's surface indicated something heavy had just fallen into the water. The strange man wiped his hands together, then turned to the dock. He paused, seeing Eshana sitting up. They stared at each other for a moment then he stepped deliberately toward her. When he passed through the shaft of light, it illuminated a face curiously free of expression.

A mask! He wore a mask which covered all but his mouth and jaw. In the dark, his eyes glimmered a pale gold.

"Erik..." she whispered, feeling as if she might faint again.

He stopped at the edge of the boat and sighed. In a soft, cultured accent he said, "Not exactly, Mademoiselle. My great-grandfather died during the Great War. As you can see, I have inherited quite a lot from him." The man gestured to his hidden face. "Now, you have done me a great favor by luring de Chagny into my grasp – his family has haunted mine for more than a century. I do regret that I must repay it with unkindness..."

Skillfully, he began to sing. He had a beautiful voice – light and alluring. The soothing tone of it forced Eshana to relax. She drifted into a light sleep, aided by the gentle sway of the water.

The man in the mask waited until his voice coaxed the girl into a deep slumber, then he plucked the oars from the boat with remorse. After setting them on the dock, he leaned forward again and gave the canoe a shove. He watched from his doorway as the boat slowly drifted into the everlasting blind night, another victim of the nameless, eternal Opera Ghost.

Silently he cursed Leroux for printing his great-grandfather's story.