How to Be an Opera Ghost
Part Seven: "Worry"
Days of rehearsal passed far too slowly, and Isabelle began to become restless with anxiety. As the corps de ballet spent hours upon hours perfecting their pirouettes and tour jêtés, two things weighed ever more heavily on her wandering mind.
The first was the lack of opportunities that she had to haunt the company; for whenever there were rehearsals, Isabelle had to rehearse too. Her first two (and to date, only two) days of haunting had generated enough gossip to last for quite some time, but how long would it be until the company tired of discussing what would soon become old news? And when would Isabelle get the chance to practice her sinister chuckle, or her maniacal laugh, or even her breathy, ghostly speaking voice – all of which she had worked so hard to perfect?
The second was Meg Giry. The concierge's daughter continued to shy away from any and all conversation that revolved around the ghost, and Isabelle grew increasingly intrigued. But she still didn't quite know how to broach the subject. After all, she and Meg had never been close friends, so Isabelle had no real excuse to pay close enough attention to Meg that she'd notice her aversion to the subject. Well – no real excuse that wouldn't look suspicious from Meg's point of view, that is.
But as luck would have it, Isabelle's patience paid off; after a week of waiting, a series of events presented her with a solution to both of her problems on the very same day.
On Friday morning, approximately a week and a half after Isabelle had begun her duties as the resident ghost, the ballet mistress complained of a headache. The rehearsal proceeded as it normally would, but for only a few hours; by noon, Madame's headache had grown so painful that she was forced to go home early. The corps de ballet feared that she would leave them under the care of one of the principal dancers, which she occasionally did and which inevitably resulted in chaos – but so distracted was Madame that she left without giving them any instructions regarding the continuation of rehearsal.
Needless to say, none of the girls wasted any time before packing their belongings and running out to enjoy the day.
Isabelle left with the rest of them, as happy as anyone to have a day off, but she had a feeling that her plans were much different than anyone else's. Without any hesitation, she headed straight to her flat and put together her ghost costume – and then turned around and headed right back to the Opéra. She knew that the rest of the company still had a full day of rehearsals before them, and she was determined not to waste such a golden opportunity.
And waste it she certainly did not. She repeated her costume-stealing trick of the previous week; she let four people see her, including La Sorelli, who had hitherto claimed not to believe in the ghost; and she even went so far as to unloose one of the scrims from its hook, so that it fell to the stage and rolled into the orchestra pit when it was lowered. No-one was hurt, but Isabelle nearly clapped with glee at the number of gasps and screams that followed the execution of her trick.
By the end of the day, Isabelle felt very proud of herself indeed. So proud, in fact, that when she finally sneaked back into the dancers' dressing-room, she did not notice the three figures that followed close behind her. She closed the door, hearing but taking no heed of the faint voices that grew steadily closer...
"It's fine, we'll wait for you."
"No need. You two can… can go on without me."
"It's late! We can wait."
"Really, don't bother. I promised Maman I'd meet her upstairs, and she'd – oh! She'd have my hide if she knew I… I had this with me..."
The last voice let out a high-pitched giggle, and as the voices told each other farewell, some part of Isabelle's euphoria-clouded mind registered that they belonged to three of the ballet girls. But what Isabelle's mind did not register was the possibility that they could be headed for this very dressing-room.
She was just opening the door to the closet, preparing to take out her own clothes so that she could change – when a creak nearly made her jump out of her skin. She whirled around to find the dressing-room door open.
In the doorway, staring at her with a gaping mouth and wide eyes, stood Meg Giry.
Isabelle stared back, frozen to the spot. How stupid she'd been, not locking the door! Now it would all come to an end, a humiliating end, and all because she hadn't been paying attention...
Isabelle opened her mouth to say something. But she never found out what it was she would have said, because it was Meg who managed to speak first:
"Erik?"
In that moment, Isabelle was certain that it was all over. It would take less than a second for Meg to realize that she wasn't the real ghost – the real Erik – and then she'd have to give up the game for good.
But Meg only continued to stare, and after a few more seconds of tense silence, Isabelle realized that the other girl was swaying slightly as she stood. And that in her left hand, perfect, pristine little Meg Giry held a nearly-empty bottle of wine.
"Erik?" whispered Meg again, almost choking on the word, and Isabelle felt herself begin to smile beneath the mask. The game didn't have to end here after all.
