A Modern-Day Phantom

by: Haley Macrae

Disclaimer: I DO NOT, nor will I EVER own any POTO characters, lyrics, etc... depicted here. I'm a poor person, okay. Please don't sue.

Chapter One: A Rising Starlet

With a heavy sigh, fifteen year-old Larisa Kelley slung her schoolbag over her shoulder and strode through the halls of St. Mary's Episcopal School. Her crisp white shirt, black vest with the school crest on that annoying front pocket, matching stockings combined with a red and black plaid skirt, she thought, was all very cute. The other girls, mostly, hated them. Just as much as they seemed to despise Larisa.

All through her life, school bored Larisa. All her life, she had been tortured, mocked and made fun of. And now, at a time when hormones ran high in both sexes, puberty was rampant, and tongues became sharp as the edges of paper, it was worse than ever. Personally, Larisa had learned to deal with the sharper words that were directed at her with silence long ago, slipping a mask of indifference on and removing it with tears.

Larisa straightened out her loose strands of wispy black hair, her dark eyes focused straight on the little chapel which was her destination. She entered with a humble little squat-kneel and took her place with the more senior girls, opening their hymn and prayer books, marking the pages with slips of paper.

After morning prayer, classes began. The same old boring day...the same old food. The same old boring life.

And yet, as some of the other girls noticed, Larisa was not quiet as sullen as she normally was. Her usually pale coloring and lifeless eyes were brightened somewhat. She ate her lunch with some sort of private gusto--reveling in some happiness only she knew about.

Finally, at about three in the afternoon, the bell of freedom tolled, and the maw of the school released many varied shapes and sizes which eventually branched off and became groups of children.

Larisa Kelley was one of the first to rush out the door, running like a madwoman. Even her best friend, Nell Jiry, had a hard time keeping up with the ecstatic girl. The race finally ended in a tie at the nearby Grovner Theatre.

The Grovner, as it was commonly called, dated back to the early 1900s, and was a tribute to the American architecture of its time. It was more or less, first and foremost, an opera house. The grande stage, private boxes, and acoustics were all perfect for staging grande opera.

Nell and Larisa quickly caught their breath and willed their heaving chests to quiet as they made their way through the house and into the back of the theatre. Down a flight of twisting stairs on the second level was the place where dancers and chorus girls placed their shoes, filling the vacant cubbies with their smaller personal items during performances and rehearsals. Taped to the inside of Larisa's cubbie was a small envelope that made her smile. She plucked it from its place, discreetly tucking it lovingly into the pocket of her school jacket, then put on her ballet shoes and costume for the new in-house production of "Hamlet."

At a very young age, about seven, Larisa's parents were killed in protests against the current government of Ireland. Her father's brother, Jack Kelley, had long since moved to America with his family, settling into a quiet suburban life. When he heard of Larisa, he quickly agreed to fly to Ireland and bring her back to America.

At age ten, she entered the Grovner Theatre as a girl who took on minor roles and made herself a place in the chorus. Every weekend, she would join the other young thespians in a lockdown on Friday night, where the group would practice their parts and enhance their skills. At one such lockdown, she made her way into one of the quiet storage rooms on the second level, just to snoop around. As she was leaving, a voice which seemed to come from the walls began to sing. It lulled the girl into such a trance that she fell asleep where she was. She awoke the next morning, barely in time to make the impression she had slept with the other girls and pack her things.

For five years, Larisa heard the voice call to her from the house, from the stage, from nearly everywhere. It was about six months before the events I speak of when Larisa Kelley received her first note.

My Dear Larisa--(it began)

I have been watching you for some time, and I am impressed with your talents. When the time is right, I will call you to me, and together we will astonish those mediocre performers with the essence of true beauty and real art. In the meantime, do not be afraid. And especially not of me. Learn your lessons well, and the time will come soon. Keep this a secret between us for the moment.

Your Angel of Music

The note had been scrawled in red ink--ink red as blood. At first, Larisa had been afraid. But as she held the note, read it over and over again, her naive, pure little girlish soul became enthralled with this "Angel." A few weeks after the first note, Larisa gained enough courage to write back.

Dear Angel of Music--(she wrote)

I am flattered that you have been watching over me. I am tingling with excitement at the thought of experiencing true beauty and art. I have heard your voice in the walls, calling to me, and I thought I was crazy. I thought you might like to know that I have learned well, and my teachers say that I have made good progress. I hope I was not imprudent to write back to you--but you may also rest assured no one knows of you except for me.

Sincerely--
Larisa

The next lockdown, another note appeared in her cubbie.

My Dear Larisa--(it said)

You were not imprudent to reply to my note. But you must not do it again; it is a little too dangerous that someone might find our little correspondences. Very soon now, I will call you to me. You are nearly ready for me to take over your lessons. Together, we will make Grovner ring!

Your Angel of Music

Larisa tingled with excitement as she went through her parts, her lessons, and movements for the chorus part she would have this evening in an opera version of "Hamlet," which starred seventeen year-old prodigy Mena Parsons, who was as stuck-up and nasty as Larisa was good and kind. Everyone--from directors to ballet girls--praised the young diva's talents. Why, she even sang for the Governor at his mansion. There was no disputing her talents--except for the fact that she sang in a style that was much too flamboyant. Nevertheless, Grovner loved her, and she stayed on.

It was the Friday night lockdown, and it was understood that none of the younger thespians would be leaving the theatre after closing time. Mena sang like the bedecked angel she was, but did not wish to, 'associate with amateurs,' as she put it, at the lockdown.

With a moment to herself at last, Larisa quickly tore open the note and read.

My Dear Larisa--

The time is now. You are quite ready for me to take over your lessons. Go down to where you first heard me.

Your Angel of Music

"Larisa--what are you reading?" inquired Nell with a sweet smile. Her blonde hair lay sleepily to one side, braided tightly. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her long white nightdress made Larisa think of some girl from Victorian times.

"Nothing," chirruped Larisa sweetly, and thrust the note back into her pocket.

That night, when she was sure everyone was sleeping soundly, Larisa rose from her

sleeping bag and puffed it up to make it look as if she were still asleep. Satisfied with her work, she slipped on her little blue brocade slippers and took a small flashlight from its place in her pillowcase. With a hand over the light, she crept from the large, ornate lobby and into the house. Slowly and silently as a wraith, she moved down to the second level, not noticing the shadow which followed her.

"Angel?" whispered Larisa, looking around the room.

"Who's that?"

With a yelp of fright, Larisa turned the flashlight in the direction of the call--

And sighed in relief.

"Oh, Nell...it's only you. Look, you have to go back to bed, all right?"

"No--I want to know what you're doing down here."

Larisa sighed. Of all the people she could have made friends with, Larisa had chosen a blabbermouth. Well...there was nothing for it.

"All right, Nell- but you have to swear by our friendship you won't tell anyone--I mean anyone--what I'm about to tell you, understand?"

Her friend's tone was so strict, so grave, that Nell immediately agreed, crossing her heart with a solemn gaze. When Larisa spoke again, it was in the soft, gentle tone of remembrance.

"Well--when my mother was little--she recalled, a long time ago, being visited by an angel. And not just any angel, Nell--but an Angel of Music. Mother said to me, 'He comes down when you least expect him--you hear a voice that is soft and gentle, surely made of Heaven itself. And once you hear him, you will never forget that celestial voice. The Angel visited me, my girl, and I played my flute from then on as I had never played it before. Da has seen him too--why do you think he plays his violin so well? And you, alannah, who can sing like a nightingale even now-you'll see him, as well. When Da and I are taken to Heaven, we will send him to you.' Nell--I tell you my mother was right! I have been sent the Angel of Music, just as she promised. And I am here to meet him."

Nell's little china face looked grave and troubled. She, unlike little Larisa, had heard other tales of what lay beneath the Grovner Theatre. They called it--him--the Phantom. Most of the time, if no one bothered him, things ran smoothly and nothing bad happened. However, one night, when the directors opted to rent out that strange little box in the second tier...

It was as if the theatre had a curse upon it. This Phantom was the stuff legends are made of-and there are too many stories of who and what he was or is to recall here. Suffice it to say he was thought ugly and a creature that struck fear into the hearts of all who knew the legend.

"Larisa," she breathed, "do you really believe the Angel has come to you?"

"Yes...he has even sent letters to me."

"He's a strange Angel--to write letters to you."

"Ah, but Nell--Angels can do whatever they wish," replied Larisa with a smile, "Now hurry and go. He won't like it if he sees you."

With a final promise not to reveal anything, Nell Jiry crept back to the lobby and her sleeping bag.

A/N: 'alannah,' is Irish and means, 'my child.' It's a very sweet word. Please don't forget to review!