I have a Note, from The Author: This is a story that, though I am not entirely sure if it is really qualified as a fanfic, I suppose could be considered a fanfic.. And as such,since I was unsure, I just decided that for now it will be considered a fanfic... And so I introduce to you all my first story inspired by The Phantom of the Opera! It really has none of the characters that POTO has, though, there are several who are inspired by those in POTO and the basic plot line is much the same as POTO's, I suppose one could call it a 'POTO variation'. Please R&R and let me know what you think, Thank you!
My Sincerest Regards,
-G.T.
I shall now open with a short introduction summary thing... -+
Cristiôn is nothing but an orphaned boy, brought by a kind soul, the Maestro Klénmour, to live in an Opera house after the death of his parents. And it is within that Opera house that he is to become one of the male Ballet dancers.
Unknown to anyone, the still grieving boy sings songs to himself when he is alone.. Songs to express whatever emotions lay locked within himself at the time. Often times, songs of great sorrow, as it seems he may have a harder time coping with the loss of his parents then anyone may think.
Cristiôn's secret talent for song passes by entirely un-noticed until one day.. A mysterious figure enters his life and his 'luck' begins to change.
But, suspicions arise in the minds of Cristiôn and his best friend Vikgnaor, son of Maestro Klénmour, that this mystery person is likely to be the feared 'Fantôme de Chant' who plagues the Opera. As the suspicions rise further, multiple unexpected new twists are added to the lives of Cristiôn and all those in the Opera house.. Twists far greater then anything Cristiôn had never even thought he could possibly become involved in.. Is it perhaps that by his naivity in accepting that first offer made by this mysterious person that he has bitten off more then he can chew?..
A fairly terrible summary, but oh well. Just let me know in your reviews if you think this should or should not be considered a fanfic andif the majority agree it should not then I shalldelete it and re-post it on fictionpress instead.
My Humble Thanks,
-G.T. -+
P.S. I hope you enjoy the story.
Fantôme de Chant
-Phantom Of Song-
Chapter One;
Hidden Halls
-- Location --
The Opera House Walls
The sound of his singing drifted down, through a wall, to me within one of the hidden passage ways. My silent footsteps ceased all movement as my head tilted ever slightly to one side, my sharp hearing tuned in, listening intently. My interest was increasing more and more each moment I heard his song. His voice was soft, deep, and beautiful.. Yet it was a touch shaky, as if uncertain of the notes and, in result, was thus hitting a wrong key here and there.
But, it was the passion behind the voice that had first caught my attention almost a month past now.. A passion showing clearly that the voice lifted its melody for the sheer enjoyment of singing it. Not to please anyone or achieve any form of glory, but instead, simply to sing because it was something they liked to do and was also a way for them to freely express thoughts and emotions.. It was a carefree sort of passion, and one which was rare to find in singers these days.. As such, it was that passion which lured my ears to hear the great, overlooked potential locked within that voice.
When I had first heard him sing I had merely paused a moment before carrying on. But, for some reason, I kept passing by and running into his voice.. That voice which always caught my ears, distracting me from whatever task I was partaking. Even if my attention was only captured for a moment before I came to my senses and pressed on. Gradually though, his voice caused me to take a peculiar interest in listening to it. However, I had yet to seek out and discover to whom this voice belonged. Thus, here I stood now.
I had begun to greatly enjoy deliberately seeking out and listening to his songs on a frequent basis, and now, curiosity pulled me to investigate and find his identity at last. Of course, I would be sure that I saw him without his ever seeing me. Though, I may perhaps let him know someone was there, just for the amusement of it.. As long as he never saw who I was. I did not think it would at all be to terribly difficult to accomplish. After all, I was the feared, and always anonymous, 'Fantôme de Chant' who plagues the House of Opera.
I lived below the Opera house, mostly in the unknown structure of underground stories beneath. But, also within the hidden passages and below ground level basement like storage areas. Where I lived was a structure, not exactly a building, but it was not entirely possible to be pegged as anything specific. It was my guess that the structure had been built deep under the ground's surface and somehow, over time, was abandoned and forgotten about. Lost forever, that was, until those building the Opera discovered, while digging, the hidden passage leading down below several floors worth of earth to where the structure had been built.
And it was there, deep beneath the earthen surface, that the builders of the Opera house decided to build the Opera house foundations just above where the roof belonging to the ancient structure began. And so naturally, just above the newly uncovered structure, was where the catacombs and other basement like storage rooms were laid out. As such they built secret ways weaving the passage that lead to the structure, and even newly created ways that they themselves made leading directly to the structure itself, all woven into the design of the storage areas in a most hidden and secretive manner.
All that was done before the actual grand Opera house was built above it, a grand Opera house that was far more then just an Opera house. But as such any reasons or motives they had for weaving the Opera house together with the old underground structure is a puzzle. As is why they would keep it so hush-hush. But I suppose that doesn't really matter now. And I assume that eventually the secret of the hidden structure was lost and forgotten entirely as the Opera house suffered many changes in ownership over time. In which case it would be safe to suggest there had not been many who knew of it in the first place. Aside from the Opera house builders and possibly the original ownership that is. Though perhaps the building crew told not even the ownership. Which would be a most intriguing thought.
Of course, I really had no guarantee that was how things had come to be, but it seemed a logical enough of an explanation to me. It had been clear no one had known of it until I uncovered it in my exploration of the secret passages through out the Opera house and down below in the store rooms and catacombs and miscellaneous other areas. And I of course revealed it to no one. It was to be my secret. After all I had first come here after basically being invited to create my home here by the one person to treat me with kindness and show me any amount of respect in most of my conscious memory, however little respect or kindness it may or may not have been was beside the point. It had been more then anyone else had shown for some time, at least that I could recall. However, I had only been invited by that one person only, and it was an invitation to hide here unknown. As such, I am certain no others desire my presence here, nor would they have wanted me to arrive had they known I was coming in the first place.
My find had indeed been a bonus to the life I was soon to become accustomed to, for more reasons then one. Stealing items of clothing and food as well as some tools and other materials for furnishing, construction work, and building. All to make additions to where I was to live to this day. Later on I, at times, even stole some money here or there. Not that I really needed to steal any of it of course, aside from perhaps occasional food items, and not even that really. For, in some parts of the underground structure, was what I suppose one could call a grand treasury. Which, was to be my founding benefactor, for any and all need or desire the twisted ingenious of my little mind should ever think of.
The structure had certainly not needed any extensions, additions, or other modifications done to it as I was fairly sure the structure itself was far larger then all of the Opera house. However, I found it fun to make my own secret tunnels and other passages and build additions to the underground of the Opera hous in places no one would ever suspect. As I did so, quickly growing was my love of song and music. And now that I was living beneath an Opera it rose to a great passion for it. Though, I quickly became unable to stand the amazingly terrible tastes of those running the Opera house and determined to take action against the horribly disgusting choices being made.
Which is partially how I gained my current horror-ghost story reputation. A reputation which really is not as misleading as some may assume. Yet here I was, taking forever to weigh the risk of the course of action I chose to make soon. I had absolutely no reason to be dragging along in pointing out to myself which precautions I must be sure not to neglect taking. And I was getting lost in thoughts of the past too, positively shameful of me to lose my focus like that. It was terrible timing on my part for a lapse in focus too. I scolded myself silently and turned, taking a step in the direction of his voice, smirking dryly at myself. My timing on all my schemes and everything I did was always perfect, now should not have been any different.
My cloaks swished about me with the slightest whispers and rustling. I prided myself in stealthy, almost perfect silence of movement. At any rate, I was sure I would be able to peg a name to his face the instant I saw him. I knew the name of every face here, even if that was all I knew about them, and nothing else. And clearly, he was not one of the singers as I did not recognize his voice to be one of them and I knew each of their singing voices. Which was perhaps why I was so fascinated by his new, young voice. It was always nice to enjoy something fresh like his was.
I stepped along lightly, making my way towards the direction his voice came from. I moved swiftly, as if were the song to end I would never have another chance to find the face to match with his voice. And, as I made my way forward, I listened closely to his words and the melody.
"Left now to face the world alone..
Without you here,
I can't help but to long
For your fathering knee.
To sit before your guiding gaze..
Remembering your voice,
Speaking words of wisdom
As only a father can.
..I am filled with missing you.."
I stepped down the passage way and turned a corner, finding myself facing a window leading inside one of the dressing rooms. I knew this was actually a mirror on the other side, but for me, it is a window. And through this window I saw him for the first time.. Actually, I had seen him many times before, but I never knew he could sing!..
He was known as Cristiôn Du'Mônt, an orphan boy the Maestro Klénmour had brought here to the Opera. Ah, Monsieur Klénmour always was secretly a tender hearted soul, though not to a fault of course. I chuckled silently to myself. Cristiôn was one of the male ballet dancers and occasionally an extra chorus boy or extra actor in minor silent roles. All roles to which no one really paid much heed. Now that was a funny thought. Once again his voice drew my attention away from all thoughts and back once amore to the words.
"I wish you could help me now
Yet, I know you will never again.
A child is never meant to be without a father..
But here I am,
Fatherless and wandering
Broken and yet somehow strangely whole.
..I am lost,
I know not what I should do
Oh how I wish you could be here
Just once more..
Lead me, guide me, teach me..."
And so I stood, listening, able to relate, not necessarily to the words of the song, but to the emotion behind it. Sorrow.
I was careful I did not stand to close to the window so I would not be seen on the other side. Though, as I was so enraptured in watching him while I listened, I nearly did forget not to step to close.
It was a slow, moving melody, with notes dropping low. And the song was sometimes cutting off entirely with the heart wrenching feeling Cristiôn felt as he sang growing almost to great for him to bare.
His tone was soft, almost teary like, as the boy did shed a single tear that tracked slowly down along his one cheek in his sorrow. Somehow seeming to find that it was alright to cry just a little, since no one would see. Or, at least not as far as he knew. But, while I was standing hidden in the unseen shadows, I saw.
I knew how tough life could be sometimes, and the lonely longings of one's heart was something that I understood well. It was then, as I heard him cry out with song in soft tones of heartfelt emotion, that my fascination grew and I first came to love his voice...
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-- Location --
Cristiôn's Dressing Room
Cristiôn squeezed his eyes shut tightly to fight off anymore tears as he felt the one slip from his eye and slide down his cheek. Inwardly crying out in mournful desperation as his song came to an abrupt end. Sometimes he just felt so lost. He still missed his father terribly at times, even though he knew he should have moved past that by now. He had his first dance solo in an upcoming performance and he was afraid, which hurt. He wasn't acting much like a man. And it seemed he never did. Everyone was always teasing him for being so 'unmanly' and such a 'baby'.. That was when they even noticed him. Though, as it was, he preferred them to simply just ignore him.
His best friend, Vikgnaor, was always telling him they were just 'Acting stupid 'cause they're jealous.' He was one of the most manly folk Vikgnaor knew, or at least that's what Vikgnaor always told him, 'deep voiced and strong muscled'. Which he supposed was true, but he still had his doubts. After all, he did often tend to act rather childish and immature. Vikgnaor said he was neither childish nor immature, instead, simply mature enough when he needed to be but still childlike. Which, Vikgnaor insisted childlike and childish were not the same thing. Yet, in spite of everything Vikgnaor argued, he still held his doubts.
Sighing he let his chin drop and his head bow. He supposed he should believe his best friend's words more then he believed anyone else's, but he just couldn't help it. He sat there, his eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling slowly for several long moments of silence. At last he exhaled sharply before taking in a deep breath, lifting his face. His eyes remained staring at the floor for a few seconds and then he raised his gaze.
He was still worried about his solo performance. He had never done a solo performance and though he was excited about the opportunity, he was awfully nervous. Would he be able to pull it off? Or would his giddiness cause him to mess it all up and leave him shamefully embarrassed by letting everyone down so they would never allow him another solo?.. He wished his father could be there to speak some fatherly words of reassurance as he always used to but never would again.
Just then there was a knock on his dressing room door.
"Yes?" He called.
"I've been sent to make sure you are ready and on your way to rehearsals.. Are you? 'Cause you're late." It was Vikgnaor.
"I am." He answered, standing slowly.
He stepped toward the door and inhaled sharply, exhaling heavily. He paused at the door, holding his breath a moment to calm himself.
He opened the door slowly and Vikgnaor grinned, laughing.
"You look like you're terribly nervous. Relax! You'll do fine. Mark my words, you really are one of the best dancers around."
Cristiôn released his breath and grinned back. Vikgnaor always did seem to have a way of relieving a relative amount of tension from any situation with his rather odd way of speech. Shutting the dressing room door behind himself, Cristiôn stepped from the room and into the hall with Vikgnaor. And together they made their way to the rehearsals.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- Location --
Behind The Mirror
Rehearsals! Suddenly my mind was jerked back into motion as I heard the voice of Vikgnaor, a stage worker and Maestro Klénmour's son, remind Cristiôn that he must be at rehearsals. I abruptly remembered that before Cristiôn's voice had sidetracked me that was where I had been sneaking off to spy on. I did always rather enjoy keeping particularly close tabs on performance rehearsals rather then any other area within the Opera house building.
I turned around sharply after watching Cristiôn exit the room and with a twirl of my cloak I was off. The starched folds of the cloaks rippled sharply as I spun and stepped hurriedly off. Though my steps were placed with no less care then before and thus remained almost completely silent. I must reach my secret place for watching the rehearsals...
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(End Of Chapter)
To be continued...