How to Be an Opera Ghost

Part Four: "Succeed"


The footsteps drew closer, so close that Isabelle had to hold her breath to keep from giving herself away. So close that she could feel the vibration through the floor. So close… but then they moved right past her. Without even stopping.

Relieved beyond measure, Isabelle lowered her arm so that she could see the retreating figure of the person who'd just passed her. A portly woman was now walking steadily away from her; an older woman with white hair.

Isabelle clenched her hand into a fist in annoyance. She'd been scared nearly out of her wits by a bloody maid.

Scowling beneath the mask, Isabelle narrowed her eyes at the figure. Vengeance, she decided, was in order. (And then she congratulated herself on the thought; vengeance was a very ghostly thing to think, which meant that she was beginning to get a feel for the role.)

She followed the woman as stealthily as she could, keeping to the shadows and treading lightly – the latter of which was surprisingly easy, thanks to the ballet slippers. Isabelle made a mental note not to replace them with proper ghost shoes after all. Whatever proper ghost shoes were.

She watched as the woman waddled down the corridor toward the main entrances to the auditorium, but didn't dare follow her out into the open lest she should be seen. She watched, and she waited impatiently for an idea. Vengeance! She must have vengeance! But what kind of vengeance? She would have loved to frighten the maid in return, and she knew that a mere sighting of the opera ghost would be enough to do it… but what about afterwards? She would have to run away to avoid any closer inspection of her person, but where would she go?

This was already turning out to be much more than she'd bargained for.

The woman, oblivious to Isabelle's vain thoughts of revenge, continued on. But after a moment, Isabelle saw that she was not heading for the auditorium after all, but for the boxes! The maid unlocked the first door and went inside – and immediately all thoughts of revenge left Isabelle's head. This was better than revenge. This was an opportunity to haunt.

Right now, the maid was inside Box One, presumably dusting it or something to that effect, which left only two doors to go until she would reach Box Five. And Five was the ghost's private box; everyone knew that. At least, everyone in the corps de ballet did, since Meg Giry talked incessantly about how the concierge, her mother, would leave the ghost his program and occasionally even bring him a footstool.

Out came the maid again, after only a few minutes. She locked the door to Box One and moved on to Three, which was next door over. Isabelle waited patiently for her to be finished with Three, and just as before she came out, locked the door, and unlocked the next one.

As the maid moved into Box Five, Isabelle silently followed. The maid, feather-duster in hand, bustled around the box with her back to the door. Isabelle looked around and quickly discovered a discarded pin on the floor, which she laid atop one of the door's hinges. Then she slipped behind one of the box's curtains and waited for the maid to finish. The poor maid moved past Isabelle's curtain as she finished, and made to close the door – which of course did not work, thanks to the treacherous pin.

The sounds of the maid trying to close the door nearly made Isabelle laugh, but she couldn't risk giving herself away. After a few choice curses, the maid gave up on the jammed door and moved on. When she heard the door to Box Seven unlock, Isabelle quickly removed the pin, closed the door to the ghost's – her – box, and locked it from the inside.

Silently congratulating herself on accomplishing the first part of her task, Isabelle began the second part. The actual haunting part. And this was easy enough: all she had to do was step forward, just so, and step forward again, just so, until she was in the light.

There.

Placing her hands upon her hips in a fashion she sincerely hoped was manly and imposing, she tilted her head up just enough that the brim of her hat wouldn't prevent the light from illuminating her mask.

Now, all she had to do was wait for someone to spot her.

La Ernestina continued to sing with abandon, eventually moving on from scales to choice segments of various arias that Isabelle vaguely recognized. The other few singers warmed up much more quietly, their voices dwarfed entirely by La Ernestina's presence.

And not one of them thought to look up.

Isabelle stood in her ghost pose for thirty seconds, then a minute, then two minutes, then five, growing ever more irritated at the singers' apparent self-absorption – until finally, a young man by the name of Laurent chanced to look her way.

Shading his eyes against the light with one of his hands, the singer squinted up at her. "Georges, is that you?" he said. "Come down here! We've been waiting for you, and we can't begin till you're ready!"

Of course. Of all the possible people whose attention Isabelle could have caught, it had to be the one singer with bad eyesight.

But all was not lost, for La Ernestina had seen her too. The German diva let out a dainty little shriek, which sent a thrill down Isabelle's spine.

"It's the ghost!" she cried. "The opera ghost! The one they told me about! Mein Gott! It's a sign! The production will be cursed!"

"Madame, madame, don't fret!" began Laurent, rushing over to comfort her. He lowered his voice as he spoke to her, and Isabelle could hear no more – but she didn't need to. Her work here was done.

Smirking to herself, Isabelle withdrew into the shadows again. This haunting business might not be so difficult after all.

And she escaped to the safety of the dressing room before anyone thought to come up and inspect Box Five.