Chapter Five: Death of Carlotta

I tried talking to her, but didn't get much response, seeing as she was dead. Nevertheless, let it not be said of Erik Jass— yes, my name is Erik Jass— in fact, my full name is Erik Hugh Jass— what of it? — let it never be said of Erik Hugh Jass— stop laughing— let it never be said of Erik Hugh Jass that— look, will you stop?

Honestly!

People are so immature.

Let it never be said of Erik the Phantom of the Opera that he doesn't try to keep conversations going. I may not be a pro at the social arts, but practice makes perfect.

And yes, conversing with a corpse counts.

In fact, it's the best way to exercise your social skills. There may be a bit of a silence, but you don't have to worry about if its because they find you boring, because, as they're dead, they don't have a lot of choice. The alternative to this, I suppose, would be hauling an Ouija board around and attempting to contact them via that, but its efficiency is dubious at best and the dead never really have anything interesting to say anyway. Because they're dead. Not a lot happens after you're dead. Bingo, mostly. Monopoly if you can't handle the numbers.

I dragged the body down to the lair and installed Meg with the others. It was getting quite full there in my bedroom, and I seriously considered branching out into the main room of the lair before I remembered that I hadn't been planning on making a habit of this. Of course, things have a way of turning on you. It seemed quite possible, from the way things were going, that I was destined to make my way through the entire population of the Opera House one by one, as they became victims of unfortunate accidents.

For the first time it occurred to me to wonder what an innocent bystander would make of the five bodies in my bedroom. Would they think it was— well, strange, not to put too fine a point on it? Would they blink slowly at the odd array, nod their heads, and then back away and run for the police?

Surely not.

I don't think your average citizen would leap to conclusions in such a manner. Strange as it may seem, I have the utmost faith in humankind.

However, there was no question that it looked bad.

I stood with one finger to my lips and pondered for a few moments.

I could tell people they were a new sort of garden.

I could try to convince people that I was starting a morgue.

I could offer people a free one-month trial membership to the Dead Society.

I could bribe people to go away and forget they ever saw it.

Nah, that would never work.

Unfortunately, before I hit on a definite plan of action, Dame Carlotta di Pissi entered the room.

She stopped, aghast, her mouth stretched wide enough to ensure the death of anyone unfortunate enough to be sucked into it. I watched as, vacuum like, it sealed the fates of several small bugs and a bat. Her hair, likewise proving a trap, quickly had a sparrow entangled in it. There's just something about Carlotta that makes the animal kingdom go absolutely mad with suicidal mania.

"Monsieur Ereek!"

I have yet to discover why she thinks my name is Ereek.

"Monsieur Ereek!"

Perhaps I should tell her that she may refer to me by my middle name. Hugh.

"Monsieur Ereeeeeeek!"

Perhaps I should invite her to call me Mr. Jass.

"Monsieur Ereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!"

Perhaps not.

I coughed discreetly.

"I am here, Dame Carlotta, there is no need to shout. I'm not deaf yet, you know."

"Youa are notta?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Monsieur Ereek, there are-a five-a dead-a people in-a your bedroom-a."

I coughed again.

"Yes, Dame Carlotta, there are," I admitted.

She glared at me with her small piggy eyes.

"Eef-a you were having-a party, why-a you notta tell me?"

I blinked at her.

"I— er—"

She glared at me.

"Perhaps the invitation got lost in the mail," I was forced to conclude, somewhat lamely.

She smiled, and began to take off her coat.

"That's-a whatta I thought. I know-a you like-a me."

"Did you? Er— do you? Er—"

She ventured quite close to me now and put one finger on my cravat, which had come somewhat askew during all my corpse-hauling.

"Do-a you think-a I don' like-a parties?" she cooed, softly as a newborn squirrel.

I sighed before I could stop myself. She had done things like this many times in the past, usually as an attempt to make me endorse her singing skills in public. I don't know why people think I enforce my opinions on people so much. I'm really rather shy and retiring. However, this time her blatant attempts to seduce me forced me to cock a snook— or is it snook a co— no, it can't be that. Anyway, I stuck my nose in the air to indicate how above such whiles I was.

Of course, I don't actually have a nose.

In fact my face is a bit on the frightening side, which is (I admit embarrassedly) why I wear a mask.

But the jerking motion of the snook-cocking caused my mask to slip, and Dame Carlotta got a very, very good— or, one should say, very very bad— look at my face.

She screamed, and stumbled backwards, and then laughed so hard she fell over on her what-I-shall-call-a-caboose. Unfortunately as she fell, she took one of my candles with her.

She uses far too much spray on that mane. Her hair went up like it was soaked in petrol, which, I suppose, shouldn't be entirely discounted.

Eventually, I managed to get the flames out.

Not soon enough, however.