Wow, quick update. I'm sorry, I just like this idea.
Got my hair cut yesterday. I hate it now. Poor me, I guess.
Okay, now my computer is being stupid in another way. Same apology as yesterday, but with italics instead of bold.
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, except for stuff that you don't recognize. That should be easy to spot. And I am taking no claim on anything else.
Review Praises:
way2beme: Thanks for reviewing! You were the only one. Here, I'll dedicate this chapter to you.
Here's Chapter Two. Everyone, this chapter is for way2beme.
My first show. Wow. I'm nervous. Who wouldn't be? I have been busy trying to identify my cues so I pull the right ropes at the right times. Amos helps me with this. Joseph just leans on the rail, watching the performance.
Christine had stolen the show already. Many applauses. Why had she never performed like this before? Anyway, she is very good.
I kept an eye on the spot where I had seen my "Phantom," but he never reappeared. Then, Christine began singing again.
We never said our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea
If you can still remember,
Stop and think of me.
Think of all the things we've
Shared and seen.
Don't think of the way
Things might have been.
Think of me,
Think of me waking
Silent and resigned.
Imagine me trying to hard
To put you from my mind.
Recall those days
Look back on all those times.
Think of the things
We'll never do.
There will never be a day when
I don't think of you.
Flowers fade
The fruits of summer fade
They have their seasons
So do we.
But promise me that sometimes
you will think of...
Me.
She finished her song with an array of notes I had never even heard before. Then a thundering applause.
With that, the opera was over.The only one I had ever been to in my life. Astounding! The aristocrats filed out, all of the actors and actresses left offstage towards the back, and I closed the curtains.
I flew down the stairs, forgetting my fear. I wanted to congratulate Christine. So did everyone else, I guess. I could hardly move through the way too crowded hallways in the back. People in costumes and flowers flooded the place.
I only caught a slight glimpse of her. She was headed near a staircase, leading downward. Must be something private. I wouldn't bother her
So instead, I headed to my room. Well, rather, my bed. No one else was in there. For that, I was happy. Sound still burst through all of the walls, though. But it was for the best I was alone, for I found the most peculiar thing on my pillow. An envelope, with a wax seal of a skull. So macabre.
I slid my finger under the flap and pulled gently. It came open easily, the seal still intact. Inside was a small sheet of paper. Written on it was a short note in fine hand. It read:
Dear New Stagehand,
I shall not make this long, seeing as to how much work there is to be done. For you and me. Our encounter is best left forgotten. I would be most honored if you were to change your occupation, to allow encounters to be at a minimum.
I remain, your obedient servant,
O. G.
I knew immediately who this "O. G." fellow was, since our encounter was the only one that had been on accident.
I hid the note under my pillow. Mme. Giry would probably fire me if I showed her. Couldn't risk that, not on the first day and all. Crazy Opera House. That's why I like it.
I left my room. Only a second later, Joseph shoved me up to the wall. He smelled just like his vile drink. "Had a little run in with the Ghost, didn't ya?" he breathed. I raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?" I asked
This only made him even more suspicious. "Missy, stay away. I seen you up there. Not very good at hiding. Now, tell me. Did ya see the Ghost!"
I spat at him, then ducked beneath his slightly released grasp. He shouted a curse at me, but I paid no heed. Stupid drunk. How'd he get hired here, anyway? None of my business.
I wandered around for a good while, pondering the "Phantom," Joseph, Mme. Giry, everyone that I had met. They're all interesting and thought provoking. Some thoughts not the best, but still...
I walked until I came again to the stage. It's like a magnet. You just wanna kind of go there, even if you don't have a reason to. There, I found Amos. He was on a catwalk, directly above the center of the stage. Very high. I'd never go up there.
So I went to the balcony, waiting for him to finish up whatever he was doing. I took a seat on the floor and stared absentmindedly at all the levers. Too many to count right now. Not enough light.
"So, Elise, what do you think?" Amos asked. His voice snapped me out of my staring trance.
"It's great! Great fun. Thank you, Amos, for teaching me. How to work all of it, I mean. If it were only Joseph, I'd quit immediately." Amos smiled. "So... what were you doing on the catwalk?" I asked, trying to stir up a conversation. "Ghost hunting." He smiled again.
"Surely you don't believe, do you?" I asked. My eyes widened.
"Of course not! Everyone just feels safer if I do. I don't do anything, anyway. Just walk back and forth. I get some deep thinking done up there." He moved toward the staircase. "Good night, Elise," he whispered. I waved. Was it really that late?
I took a peek at the shadowy place again. No Ghost. Maybe that was a one-in-a-million shot, and I'd never see him again.
I wished the "Phantom" would appear again. Maybe out of spite toward his note, or to worry Joseph some more. This reminded me.
I ran back to my room. I found a scrap of paper and a pen near out of ink. There, I scribbled down in my messy handwriting:
Dear O. G.,
I am sorry, but I enjoy my job with the ropes far too much to abandon it right now. Besides, they need my help. Poor Amos and I are the only ones working the ropes. The stupid Joseph just sits and drinks. As soon as he begins to cooperate, I shall try to switch. Thank you for (possibly) understanding.
The New Stagehand,
Elise
Who knows if he would come in here again. He had no reason to. But I placed the note on the floor by the window. I folded it up, so passers by would think nothing of it. In the top left corner, I wrote in my tiniest letters : To: O. G.
This way, he'd know it was his. Hopefully.
I laid down onto my bed then realized how tired I was. Physically though. My brain was still wide awake and spilling over with questions. Then I heard it. A soft, gentle voice in the room beside mine. Male. How could a male's voice be gentle? No clue.
I tiptoed — thinking now, I had no reason to. I only feared that if I made too much noise, the voice would go away — out of my room and listened. Two people. Male and female. The female I recognized as Christine.
I heard footsteps approaching, and ducked into a hallway and hid behind curtains. I recognized the person. 'Twas the Vicomte! I remembered now. The Opera Populaire's new patron. Rich aristocrat.
He tugged and twisted on the handle and listened for a few seconds. "Whose is that voice? Who's that in there? Christine! Christine!" he bellowed. That was all. He couldn't open the door, so he stormed off.
Behind the door, though, I could hear that entrancing voice. It grew fainter and fainter. Odd. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch any wisp of the voice again. I didn't. I shut my eyes and slid to the floor. Maybe I was more tired than I thought.
I felt my head loll to one side, then a hand on my shoulder. I wrenched my eyes open to be staring into the piercing blue eyes of Mme. Giry. "Come, Elise. Up now. Go to bed. You must be tired." I was. I nodded sleepily, and meandered back to my room.
Three ballerinas were occupying the beds (except for mine, of course). All of them were shrieking and squealing. "Oh, Marie! Did you hear Joseph's new tale of the Opera ghost?"a young girl shrieked.
Someone else (Marie, I am guessing) replied, "I know! I know! So frightening and scary! I shall not sleep for a week! Who knew a Ghost could work spells. I don't want to risk losing my voice!"
I smiled. If I were under that spell, it was more of a loss for him than me. "Absolutely hideous! No nose at all! And burning, fiery eyes." The last concluded. I sat up. The others looked at me.
"Joseph has told you of the Ghost, has he not? He's the only one to ever see him," Marie told me. "Of course he has. I highly doubt all of his stories. He's only a crazy drunk," I said matter-o-factly. They all gasped, as if they had never known of his disgusting habit.
Then they forgot about me again. And told each other terrifying stories of the Ghost, each passing story getting more and more stretched. I scoffed. "Don't talk about him unless you've met him," I muttered.
My hand had found it's way under the pillow. There, I felt the envelope. The flap. The wax seal. I was in ties with the Phantom now. This could get interesting.
Now, go on with your criticism. Once again, Elise, Amos, anything you don't recognize in the slightest bit is mine.
Fast update. Consider yourselves lucky. I hardly ever update, especially twice in a row! If you find any typos, unnecessary italicized spots, etc., etc., It'd be greatly appreciated if I was told. Thank you.
One more thing: I saw "Star Wars III" today. It ROCKED! For those of you who didn't know, I am a Star Wars junkie. And not ashamed, either.
Okay, that's all I need to say.
Until Next Chapter,
DaydreamingTurtle
