Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Gaston Leroux estate, nor do I pretend to be. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: Well, then. That little bout of writer's block turned into a very unexpected hiatus, didn't it? Please forgive me for how long this chapter has taken to come out. Real life isn't lenient in terms of free time. This chapter is somewhat less light-hearted than the past ones have been, don't ask me why. I started writing with a particular theme in mind and this is what came out instead. I don't have the heart to rewrite it, though, cute little devil that it is. Nevertheless, please read, review, and enjoy!

Jammes

Despite the common belief that a ballet girl who had spotted the Ghost would gush for weeks about her experience, Gabrielle and Pauline did no such thing. In fact, the days following their encounter with the Ghost consisted of rather tense silence and secrecy. Try as the other girls might to get a good story out of them, the two little rats wouldn't indulge their comrades regardless of how they were badgered. The other girls couldn't believe it; all that Gabrielle and Pauline had ever wanted was to meet the Opera Ghost. Now that they had, their peculiar silence was terribly shocking and uncharacteristic.

Unbeknownst to their fellows, Gabrielle and Pauline had promised each other that their true story would stay their own, and at Gabrielle's request, no make believe stories would be told in its place. Pauline had found it most irritating that Gabrielle had asked this of her; how could one be expected not to say a peep about such a grand adventure, especially when it meant instant popularity, and then not be allowed even to dream one up instead? Yet Gabrielle had insisted: It was to be their secret what the Ghost really looked like, and though she complained at first, Pauline complied.

So thereafter, when they mentioned in passing that they had met the Ghost and the torrent of questions from their peers came, the girls merely shrugged and said "It's indescribable." To Pauline's immense relief, this did not hinder their growing popularity-- it helped it. The other girls goaded them relentlessly for their tale, but the two never complied. In the other girls' eyes, this meant that the experience had either been too traumatizing to describe, or that the girls were simply holding out in order to prolong the shock of the story. Either way, Gabrielle and Pauline were followed around endlessly, becoming over-night stars of the dressing room without ever saying a word of their encounter with the Opera Ghost.

Jammes, never one to pass up a good horror story, was one of the relentless questioners. However, after almost a week of straight silence from Gabrielle and Pauline, she began to lose interest. Instead of pestering them with questions whenever they walked into the room, Jammes started to ignore them and went about her business. Within another week, the rest of the girls began to lose interest as well, giving the two little rats up as a lost cause. Soon, however, the girls started to become anxious, waiting on pins and needles for the next Ghost sighting to occur. If something new didn't happen soon, they were sure that they would die of boredom.

It was inevitable that one of them would bump into their favorite Phantom sooner or later.

It just so happened that Jammes was in the right place at the right time when the inevitable occurred.

It had been a tense week, what with the girls snooping around every corner, peering into every nook and cranny in search of the Ghost, hoping to find him in order to be the triumphant rat who came back to the dressing room with a fresh tale to tell. It almost seemed that they had a contest going on amongst themselves. In any case, each girl wanted to be the victor, and the endless sneaking, lurking, and waiting was a tremendous strain on all of them.

Which is why it was almost humorous when Jammes found the Ghost, quite on accident, the way she did.

Well, maybe humorous was the wrong word for it....

She had been wandering the corridors alone, as she had taken to doing over the last few days, looking searchingly into every dark corner she could find with blind hope. So far, all her prying and searching had remained fruitless, for she had yet to find any trace of the Ghost. Her aggravation mounting, she wandered from corner to corner, corridor to corridor, hunting for something she knew she probably wouldn't be able to see even if it walked up and poked her in the side.

Hence the reason for her shock and terror when just the very thing happened.

Screaming in surprised panic, Jammes whirled around in a frantic circle, her eyes darting about in fear. There was nothing there. Nothing that she could see, anyway.

"Wonderful," she whispered to herself. "Now you're imagining things."

"No, not quite imagining, little Jammes."

The fear she'd kept at bay for the past few seconds suddenly exploded in a rush of breath as she gasped and whirled about once more. Still nothing there. She glanced about warily.

"Who's there?" She asked the empty corridor.

"Why, the one you've been searching for so earnestly, of course," the voice replied to her right.

Jammes looked about. "The Opera Ghost?" She asked, ridiculously.

"Indeed," he replied. "Are you happy you've found me? Or should I say, that I've found you?"

Jammes swallowed. "Yes, I suppose that would be more correct. And yes, I suppose I am rather happy you've found me." That last part was a lie. Now that he was here, Jammes suddenly wished he would leave. She didn't like knowing he was there, but not being able to see him.

"You are happy? I suppose you have every right to be. Goodness knows, you'll be very popular and envied once you return back to the rest of the rats. I know you've all been bored to the point of desperation for the past few weeks due to my lack of appearance. You'll have to forgive my absence. You see, I have more pressing matters to attend to than humoring silly ballet girls."

Jammes noticed that as he spoke, his voice seemed to be circling her, and she imagined that if he were visible he would probably look very much like a wolf circling a helpless sheep. She also noticed that his voice held a kind of suppressed iciness, and she could sense that he wasn't in a good humor at all. She wondered briefly what had transpired in order to make him angry.

"Monsieur le fantome," she began shakily, "If any of us girls have done anything to offend you, I offer my most sincere apologies on all our behalves." Perhaps it was best to try and pinpoint his anger and try to ease it before it became disastrous.

Suddenly she imagined that she could almost feel his icy breath by her left ear and she cringed. "You have done nothing but annoy me for the entirety of your career here, little Jammes, but rest assured that the anger that you sense from me now has nothing to do with you or any of the other ballet girls." The Ghost seemed to be everywhere at once now, the icy breath from her imagination now gone and replaced with his echoing voice as it reverberated off the walls around her. Jammes glanced about frantically, trying to follow the sound vainly with her eyes.

Expressing more courage than she felt, Jammes chanced the question, "What is it that's gotten you so angry then, monsieur?"

She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.

With a cry that echoed throughout the corridor, the Ghost seemed to fly into an even worse rage than Jammes had at first suspected. His voice seemed as loud as thunder as he cried at her, "That is not information for you to know! It is enough that you simply hear me, little Jammes, and that I indulge you in your greed as much as I do now! Do not try my patience by asking impertinent questions!"

Cowering in the wake of a tyrant she could not even see, Jammes crouched down on the ground and suddenly held her hands out in a pleading gesture.

"Forgive me, please, monsieur! I did not mean to be impertinent! Please, please don't be angry with me!" As hard as she tried to will herself not to, she began to weep a little as she sat crouched on the floor, trembling in terror.

It seemed that the air around her, which had moments ago seemed full of terrible energy, suddenly calmed and stilled. The Ghost was silent, and Jammes merely sat and stared about herself with wide, wet eyes. Then it seemed that the air in the corridor was moved by the Ghost's weary sigh.

"No, little Jammes, I must ask for your forgiveness. What has occurred recently has been a matter of a personal nature, and is no fault of yours. You must forgive me for taking my anger out on you. You're just a child, after all...."

The Ghost trailed off, as if lost in thought. Jammes wiped at her face and began to stand up. She looked about herself uncertainly as she smoothed her skirts, still feeling conscious of the Ghost's presence but not knowing exactly where he was.

"I forgive you, of course, monsieur." She glanced about again, wondering if he was next to her. "Is there anything that I could possibly do to help your situation, monsieur?"

Again the Ghost gave a sigh. "Please, mademoiselle, just keep yourself and your little friends from looking for me for a little while. Play at other games; try to find some other way to amuse yourselves other than seeking me out and expecting me to entertain you. I am sorry that you have had to face my fury this day, but you must understand that a ghost can only take so much of the little games you children like to play. Do you understand, mademoiselle?"

Jammes nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry that it had to come to this, monsieur, that we aided in your frustration."

"Do not apologize, little Jammes. Just agree to my request."

"I agree, monsieur, and I'll see that the other girls do too."

"Merci, mademoiselle."

"De rien, monsieur."

And with that, Jammes sensed that she had been left alone. The corridor seemed to become harmless once more, now void of the Ghost's dark presence. Jammes wondered vaguely how long she had been standing there, and suddenly felt very tired. Looking about herself once more with a rueful expression, she turned and trotted back to the dressing room.

Though she knew that this would make for a wonderful story upon her return, she thought it might be best that she tell it tomorrow, when the cantankerous fury of the Opera Ghost might have somewhat abated.

When she arrived, ashen faced and red-eyed, she brushed all the other girls aside as she made her way toward the nearest divan, which she then collapsed upon. When the other girls asked her excitedly about what had happened to her, their eyes gleaming in eager anticipation, all Jammes could do was shrug, sigh wearily and say,

"It's indescribable."

Finis

Author's Note: Like it? Hate it? Tell me. :)