Welcome back! A huge thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! I didn't expect so many people to stop by on the first chapter, so I am very grateful for the response! I've finished a lot of chapters already, so for time being I'm going to try to update once a week. Now, onward to Chapter 2!
Chapter 2: The Gothenburg Ghost
Christine phoned Mr. Richard the next morning, impatient to begin planning his promised summer camp. There was no time to lose if they were going to put something together by the end of the summer. In fact, Mr. Richard wondered whether it was too ambitious an undertaking.
"Perhaps we wait until next year, Christine," he said over the phone.
They'd already spent hours debating which show to perform. There was the question of sets and costumes. Productions at the Royal Garnet Theater were never overly dazzling, but a lot of work went in behind the scenes. If they waited until next year, they could start planning earlier, but Christine refused to abandon ship.
"It can be simple," she insisted. "This year could just be a test run."
"That's fine by me, but at this rate I don't even know whether we have time to get rights for a show," the logical Mr. Richard countered. He couldn't risk a lawsuit with his slim budget.
"Then we'll have to write our own show."
The words tumbled out of Christine's mouth the moment the foolish plan popped into her mind. Mr. Richard laughed on the other side of the phone call.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes," Christine said stubbornly.
"Alright. You're in charge. If that's what you want, my theater is yours."
Mr. Richard shook his head on the other side of the phone. Christine was just like her father. Once a Daae set their mind to something, they were a force to be reckoned with, but luckily, they only used their powers for good.
By the time Mr. Richard called Christine with an update on enrollment, word of the summer camp had spread like wildfire through the small town of Gothenburg.
"Hi, Christine. I've got some good news and some bad news," he said. "The good news is we have nearly forty children signed up. The bad news is...we have nearly forty children signed up."
Christine gasped. How was she supposed to manage forty children by herself?
"Don't worry. I'll find someone to help you out," Mr. Richard assured her, but could he follow through on the promise? He'd already contacted his regular actors, but everyone had day jobs since the Royal Garnet was a community theater. Even Mr. Richard himself would be too busy doing paperwork and planning the theater's upcoming season alone.
"Worst case scenario, I can help you out part-time," he said sympathetically. "I'm going to ask the parents if anyone would be interested in volunteering."
"Good idea," Christine replied, but all hope was lost. Parents enrolled children in summer camps to get them out of the house. No parent would volunteer to babysit forty children for free.
So this was why the camp had been cancelled during her childhood. Christine had been starry-eyed at the chance to inspire the next generation of actors, and she'd naively accepted the challenge without considering the weight of the responsibility. Summer camp was turning into a burden, but Christine refused to dwell on the negatives. Mr. Richard would make it happen.
Instead, Christine refocused her attention to her campaign which had been neglected more than she cared to admit while she'd been planning the summer camp. There was a whole section of town she hadn't reached, the northern section farthest away from the busy town center, where the lots became bigger and the houses more secluded by woods.
Bigger lots meant more walking, less talking. The page on Christine's clipboard was only half filled with names, and she was already exhausted.
When Christine stopped in front of the old Leroux place, however, the mundanity of her task was unexpectedly interrupted. The bungalow had been abandoned for as long as she or anyone else in Gothenburg could remember. The yard and garden had always been overgrown with weeds and vines; the glass of the windows, cracked; and the paint of the trim, faded and chipped. Local lore said a ghost haunted the dilapidated house, and though no one claimed to believe the fable, everyone shivered when they hustled past the shady property.
Though the house was steeped in legend, today's new generation of kids wouldn't know the sheer terror of the old Leroux place. For years, the house had remained vacant, but someone had swept away the layers of dust and cobwebs from the exterior, and the front yard was missing the battered "FOR SALE" sign that had once been bright red but Christine could only recall being a faded pink.
From an open window, the calming strains of piano music floated over the summer breeze. Christine listened in awe. Surely, such a fantastic musician would be interested in her cause! She opened the creaking gate of the splintered picket fence and crept up the front path. As the haunting melodies beckoned her forward, Christine forgot her usual sense of precaution around this house. She knocked on the front door without fear.
The volume of the music grew louder, but was it because of the pieces's dynamic markings? Or the player's desire to drown her out and pretend she wasn't there? When no one answered her knock, Christine gave another polite rap, this time louder than before. The music halted in the middle of the phrase, sending a shiver down Christine's back. The unresolved tension would make any listener unsettled.
Still, no one answered. Had the ghostly music been a figment of her imagination? Christine glanced around the front yard, searching for signs of life, but she resisted the urge to peer into a window. On the off chance someone was there, she didn't want to be a creep.
Just as Christine turned to leave, the music restarted. No, it was definitely not her imagination. The music was haunting, but it was too real. Someone was in there, and Christine was dying to speak to the mysterious pianist, even if she did nothing more than introduce herself and welcome them to Gothenburg. The pianist couldn't be from around here since locals avoided the old Leroux place out of superstition, if not out of fear.
Christine knocked on the door for the third and final time.
There was a jarring, discordant smash of notes followed by the slam of the fall-board being forced over the keys. Curses were muttered under breath like wind murmuring through the trees.
The door whipped open, revealing a tall, skeletal man dressed head to toe in black, including a mask covering his entire face, except for his scowling mouth and blazing eyes. Before Christine could recover from her muteness, the masked man noticed the clipboard in her hand.
"Thank you, but I am not interested," he said with feigned politeness. He moved to shut the door.
"Wait!" Christine exclaimed. The masked man let out a long sigh and reopened the door. "You're a really good pianist," she added, hoping to butter him up, but he was unimpressed by her flattery.
"Thank you. If that will be all, I should get back to my practicing," he said curtly. Christine stuck her foot in the doorway to prevent him from shutting the door.
"I really think you might be interested," she said, but the masked man cut her off before she could begin her spiel.
"Listen, lady." He brought his masked face toward Christine with restrained rage searing behind his eyes. "I don't know who you think you are, and frankly I don't care. Can't you take a hint? I'm not interested in buying whatever you're trying to sell me. I'm not interested in signing whatever you want me to sign. I'm. Not. Interested! Now stay off my property," he snarled. His long bony finger sharply poked Christine's shoulder, upsetting her balance.
Christine stood paralyzed in fear, but the force of the door slam yanked her from her stunned state. She tumbled backward off the porch as she scrambled to get away. She bolted down the weed covered path and slammed the gate behind her with a loud rattle.
The masked man was more frightening than any ghost supposedly haunting the house. How was it possible for someone to be so rude? Sure, she'd been a bit pushy. Okay, she'd been a lot pushy. But really? That's how the man wanted to enter this small town?
Christine threw a nasty glare over her shoulder as she sulked away from the property. If that was the man's attitude toward joining a new community, she wasn't going out of her way to be welcoming. It was as simple as that. Christine hoped she'd never cross paths with the masked man again, but of course, in a town as small as Gothenburg, that was unfeasible.
Oi you already know where this is going ;)