Disclaimer: I do not own the brief little telling of The Grudge.
A/N: Hi everyone! School is out tomorrow and the last of Finals! Yea! I'm going on vacation next week and updates are going to be a bit slow. To make it up I give you this chapter and the one-shot The Wife. I hope you would all check it out and review. Also, I hate to bring this up, but I noticed that I have quite a few people on my alert list and when I update I get about 5 reviews a chapter. I know there has to be more reading this and I would really appreciate it if you drop a line and tell me your thoughts. It doesn't have to be long, it could just say "good" and that's fine. Thank you.
Chapter 4- Ghost Stories
Christine eventually caught up with Meg later that night, once she was sure the Vicomte wasn't in sight. Meg was glad to see her but at a loss for words for her sudden disappearance.
"Didn't you want to speak to him? He recognized you Christine! He wanted so badly to see you once more! Why did you take off?"
Christine lowered her head while shifting about nervously. "I… I… it was overwhelming. After all these years…"
Meg nodded slightly, though Christine couldn't tell if she agreed or not. "Well, don't take off again. It hurt his feelings and it's unlike you."
Christine winced. "I won't."
The night went on and the number of guests began to leave. Antoinette, Meg, and Christine headed back to the dormitories. Inside, they could hear Joseph Buquet's gruff voice telling the tale of the Opera Ghost.
"Like yellow parchment is his skin. A great big black hole serves as the nose that never grew," the Chief of the Flies spoke in a grave volume.
Christine and Meg wandered over to their beds while listening to the stagehand's story. The first thing Christine noticed about him was his horrendous stench of booze, smoke, and body odor radiating off the filthy stout man. Madame Giry told her to be wary of Buquet since he's well known to throw himself over the young girls if they're alone. He was a drunk and a complete disgrace to the human race, but a hard worker in the Opera Populaire.
The other mindless dancers were in awe over him since he was the only person who "seen" the Ghost's face and lived. Christine rolled her eyes at the gasps and shrieks of the corps de ballet, entranced with such an indubitably farce. She was about to say something to Meg, but stopped at the glaze over expression of wonder and terror written over the blonde's face.
I must be the only sane person here, she thought. Christine poked Meg in the ribs and whispered, "This is so farfetched Meg. How can anyone survive with a 'dead head' without getting an infection from the exposed flesh?"
"Black magic," she replied, not looking at the annoyed brunette.
"You must be always on your guard. Or he'll catch you with his magical lasso!" And in a flash, Buquet captured one of the girls in a noose, who began giggling uncontrollably at her "predicament".
Not far, Antoinette watched the entire scene and made a face. This has gone on far too long.
She marched over, releasing the girl, her gray eyes scanning the mass in an unapproved stern look before settling on the portly stagehand.
"Those who speak of what they know, find to late that prudent silence is wise," she spoke in a solemn tone. "Joseph Buquet hold your tongue!"
And with that, the ballet instructor slapped him hard across his face. "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!" She took his noose and thrown it over his own throat, tightening the knot to express her point.
She returned to the girls, glaring at each and every one while Buquet struggled to free himself.
"If you wish not to anger him than refrain yourselves from childish curiosities!" she snapped. Antoinette turned and quietly left the room, slamming the door behind. No sound was made except for the cursing coming from the ignorant stagehand.
"Crazy wench," he mumbled after he managed to rid the knot from the lasso. "I've seen his monstrosity and lived! It's best for you to know what's lurking behind these walls at night."
"D-do you think he's here right now?" asked one of the quivering dancers.
"What if he's furious? I can't die yet!" came another.
The girls voices raised in worry and fear that Christine found it hard not to laugh at their silly behavior.
"And what's so funny Christine Daae?" one sneered. "Since you don't believe in him then you might be his first victim!"
"I like to see that happen," she retorted. "Though all of this is crazy. Your Phantom doesn't exist and that's final. It's all ravings of a drunkard."
"A nonbeliever then missy?" Buquet asked. "You don't find my tale to your liking?"
"No I don't." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not even scary."
"And do you know a tale that's worse than Buquet's?"
"As a matter of fact, I know plenty that will keep you up for days." Christine smiled devilishly.
"Christine, what's going on in your head?" Meg hissed. "You don't know such stories."
"But I do. One that puts the Phantom to shame."
"Go ahead and tell us. Make us quiver in our boots," Buquet challenged.
"All right. Sit and gather around and I promise this will sate your thirst for horror of the unknown. I heard this from a source who swears on their honor is true. Now this is not for the weak at heart so if anyone-"
"Just get on with it!" "Yeah!"
"Your call. This happened in a city far from here where a horrific crime took place years ago. Two murders and a suicide done by a deranged husband. He drowned his only son and suffocated his wife before hanging himself. The reason no one knew but the family, who sadly was buried six feet under. Now to anyone this was just a terrible misfortune and nothing more. But there's a legend that says, 'When one is killed by an act of violence at the breech of a temper, they leave a curse behind on the building where it took place.' And that's where our story begins…"
As she went on, the girls scurried over around her bed while Buquet joined them. The story got them hooked as Christine smirked to herself. Now this will be the scariest tale they will ever hear.
"And Karen look down at the body of her dead boyfriend and imagined her under the sheet instead. Why did she had to live and not him? He was so innocent but her mind and heart stopped when the familiar haunting croak came from behind."
The faces of everyone were open, eyes wide in fright. Sometime during the story they all huddled together, especially Buquet who couldn't stop shaking.
Just like she predicted, Christine's retelling of The Grudge freaked them all out. She kept it to the time period to avoid any confusion and any suspicions, but the reactions were what she was hoping for. And it was worth it. Screams were frequent when she went into detail of the deaths and when Christine did her best imitation of the croaking. Even Meg was scared out of her wits! Just like back at home, she thought wryly.
"What happened to Karen? Did she die?" a girl, Odette, asked.
Christine shrugged. "I'm not sure. What do you think?"
"I think she did," spoke a few dancers. Some disagreed.
"You don't think the Phantom is some curse left behind?" came the tiny squeak of Joseph Buquet, whose red face had turned into a ghastly white.
The brunette shook her head. "If he was then we'll all be dead by now."
Antoinette chose that moment to enter and narrowed her gray eyes at the still waken girls and mostly at Buquet.
"Lights off or rehearsals tomorrow morning will start at five," she snapped, ushering the still-frightened stagehand out and leaving the girls alone.
Christine got up from her bed and began pulling the covers off when Meg sat down at the foot.
"Where have you heard that story? I can't imagine you making up such a horrific tale," she spoke softly.
"Um, I overheard it somewhere," Christine answered. "I didn't scare you too much did I?"
"Oh no! I was only curious that's all…" Meg's voice trailed off. She lifted herself up and murmured a "Good night" before walking to her bed on the other side of Christine's.
Christine shrugged Meg's question off and dip under the sheets, quickly noting Meg checking under her bed sheets before doing the same.
Get yourself together you fool! It was only a story!
Erik was still trembling over the story Christine finished telling. He never was capable of being scared easy, but the storyteller had changed it all for him that his normal comfortable darkness made Erik wary.
He wanted to stick close by the dancers so he wouldn't be alone for the night, but called himself foolish and trudged back to his lair. It was only a story. It's not real.
"Just a concoction of a wild imagination!" he cried into the lonely path. But it still didn't make him feel better. If only, it just made him more paranoid.
Feeling around for a match, Erik strikes it and looked behind to assure himself he was alone. A blast of cold wind rushed at him, putting out the little flame.
"Damn," he muttered, as he once more went through his pocket for another. Grabbing tightly to it, he struck against the wall to produce another spark. Staring intently into the shadows, he found himself relaxing a bit. I'm the only one other than Antoinette who knows this path. I'm safe. I'm safe, I'm-
His train of thought was broken off as his night-vision eyes caught an outline of a figure darting away, a scuffling of feet running down the twisted corridors towards the dorms.
Christine, he thought before dubbing the fire out and chasing the shadow. Adrenaline flooded through his lithe body, the blood in his ears pounding at an erratic beat as his thoughts focused solely on the object of his desire and the old familiar thrill of a kill coming soon took over his senses. How long since it been since he had ended a life of a breathing human being? Five? Ten years? He lost count when Christine walked into his life when she was but a child of seven years begging for the coming of her Angel.
As he drew near, a wild notion popped in his mind. What if it's a ghost of someone I killed? Did I kill anyone here? Did I?
By the time he approached the rooms, his steps let up and his breathing return to normal as everyone was accounted for in their cozy beds, dreaming the night away. Or some were. The others faces were distorted in horror and whimpers of a dreadful nightmare.
Erik scrutinized the room until he was satisfied that there was no danger awaiting the tired girls. His questing blue orbs found the sleeping form of Christine, whose face was scrunched up in a restless dream. A soft cry slip from her rosy lips and concern arose in his heart.
When Christine Daae was a young girl, she was often plagued of horrible nightmares mostly about her father's death. Erik quickly found a remedy to her sleeping problems by singing lullabies to her until it passed. But despite appearances, this Christine was different from his own and knew not what troubled her. He assumed it had to be about her father. After all didn't she not tell Antoinette he died about a year ago?
Erik left for a moment only to remerge through the door. Silently, he made his way over to Christine's bed, who was wrapped up in her dream. His gloved hand went out to gently caress her cheek and lower to trace her jaw. The touch caused her body to jump, but not to awaken her. Biting his tongue, Erik knew he had to be careful. If she woke… He didn't want to think about it.
Removing his hand, he began to softly sing a song that he wrote for his angel long ago, which he hope to share with her when she got old enough to understand his feelings:
"Night time sharpens,
Heightens each sensation…
Darkness stirs and
Wakes imagination…
Silently the senses
Abandon their defenses…
Slowly, gently
Night unfurls its splendor…
Grasp it, sense it-
Tremulous and tender…
Turn your face away
From the garish light of day,
Turn your thoughts away
From cold, unfeeling light-
And listen to
The music of the night…"
The soothing of his tenor voice took its affect over her as the sounds ceased from her mouth and calmness settled on her features. Erik grew confident and continued:
"Close your eyesAnd surrender to your
Darkest dreams!
Purge your thoughts
Of the life you knew before!
Close your eyes,
Let your spirit
Start to soar!
And you'll live
As you never lived before…
Softly, deftly,
Music shall caress you
Hear it, feel it,
Secretly possess you.
Open up your mind,
Let your fantasies unwind,
In this darkness which you know
You cannot fight-
The darkness of
The music of the night…
Let your mindStart a journey through a
Strange, new world!
Leave all thoughts of the world you
Knew before!
Let your soul
Take you where you
Long to be!
Only then
Can you belong
To me…
Floating, falling,
Sweet intoxication!
Touch me, trust me,
Savor each sensation!"
Her eyelids fluttered gently as Erik drew closer, closer as his breath tickled the skin of her neck. A small smile grew on his countenance as he went on singing for her…
"Let the dream begin,
Let your darker side give in
To the power of
The music that I write-
The power of
The music of the night…"
Drawing a shaky breath, Erik loomed over her as the last words fled his lips:
"You aloneCan make my song take flight-
Help me make
The music of the night…"
He barely touched her forehead with his lips, but when he withdrew a tranquil look reflected on her pale face. Like always, his voice had a way of fighting off the inner demons inside this girl. Erik sat beside her, taking in every inch of the easy fall and rise of her chest before he forced himself to leave this serene scene. She no longer needed him.
Within minutes he was back on his path to his home, humming his song and forgetting about why he was afraid of the dark before.
Sometime during the night, her easy slumber became restless for once more her mind was filled with endless vivid images of Ray.
She woke up suddenly, jumping upright in bed, panting heavily. Sweat illuminated her forehead, even as she wiped most of it off. What a horrible dream!
The last one was the icing to the cake. Closing her eyes, Christine could picture the scene being replayed in her head. But unlike the others, this one was completely different.
Christine stood in a room, which she thought she was alone until the heart wrenching sobs coming from somewhere nearby woke her out of her stupor. Once adjusted to the darkness, she could make out an outline of a body huddling in a corner. It was a girl.
Christine couldn't see her face. All she could see was the girl's long wild mass of raven curls clinging to her face. The cries erupting from her was enough for Christine's own to well up. She went forward to see if she could help, when a loud busting sound stopped her cold in her tracks.
Ray stormed over and yanked the girl off the ground by her forearms, shaking and screaming at her with sheer force, that Christine feared he would severely hurt the poor thing. She went to interfere but realized that he couldn't hear or see her. She went to grab his hair to pull away, alas her hand went straight through him as if she was a ghost. She tried getting his attention but failed. She watched, helpless, as he went on ranting and then all to soon he stopped and dropped the girl. She had fainted.
Ray mumbled something incoherently before exiting from the way he entered. Christine walked over to the girl's lifeless form. Was this her? Is this what she had become over the past several months?
She made a move to brush the girl's hair back until a cold, deathly hand clasped her wrist. "Help me," came the pained whisper before she collapsed.
Then she woke.
Christine didn't know who the girl was, but it sent chills down her spine. She had a feeling of who it was but that's all it was. A feeling. It couldn't mean anything. It probably had to deal with the stress she's been having and her worrisome mind brought it on.
But strangely enough she heard a voice in her head that stop the dreams, though it was short-lived. Odd, it sounded like him…
Christine shook her head from the crazy notion. Okay, girl, you got to get yourself under control. Ray's not here, well, his "twin" if you could say, but if you stay away then everything will be all right. Easier said than done. Why do I still feel uppity?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a girl on the other side of the room cried out. Christine felt guilty for putting gruesome images in the girls' childish minds. But they wanted to be scared and Christine did deliver it. And if they couldn't handle it then they should refrain from requesting such stories if it's going to keep them up at night.
She glanced around the room, amazed how such small space can accommodate so many girls. Fifteen to be exact and there was another room next door that holds fifteen as well. But there was the lack of privacy except for a poor excuse of a makeshift cloth used as a drape for the girls to dress behind. Any pervert could still get an eye-view and it made Christine uncomfortable.
Though, she shouldn't have to complain. She loved her body and there was no shame in showing it, but when it came to men whose minds are in the gutter 24/7 then it becomes a different story. Buquet was a prime suspect for one who might try and sneak a quick peek. And Christine wouldn't be surprised if he did already. But she thought about how modest Daae was and didn't want to jeopardize her reputation by any means. So what did she do?
At the foot of Christine's bed was a small chair with a flimsy, yet conventional robe draped across. She remembered seeing a closet filled with dresses in the dressing room so she realized that Daae changed in there. Smart move, she thought.
Christine found herself from the short period of time that she liked the Opera Populaire. It was always busy and so full of life with the hired hands and performers running about. But like all good things there were some downfalls, meaning, Christine witnessed all sorts of temptations taking place in the dark corners. And some she wished she rather never see again for as long as she lived. At least I know this won't scar me for life.
For someone like Daae, who is very much the picture of innocence, it was hard to believe that she could still maintain her virtue living in such a place. But she did and so did Meg, though some chorus girls could be called into question simply due to their body language whenever they're near a man.
Madame Giry told Christine how Daae was pretty much the outcast of the company and it set her different from the rest of the girls. Daae never bragged about any beaus or gifts or go into great detail of any nightly visits with certain patrons. No, Daae kept a clean record and to the bunch they thought her queer since she refused to take part in any mischief whatsoever. There was nothing about Daae that made her look good in the eyes of the others.
Until now, she mused with delight. The girls did get the scare of their lifetime and perhaps they'll start treating Daae with respect. Those simpleton rats didn't know that they were ruining their lives for the future by indulging in lustful acts and whatnot. Only Daae and Meg used their heads.
She wrapped her blanket around her tightly and slowly fell back on the flat pillow. All this pondering was making her tired and before she knew it her eyes drifted closed, returning to the state of oblivion.
The next morning proved to be quite chaotic. The managers were terribly upset over two new letters they received from the Opera Ghost.
Christine was with Meg and her mother at the grand foyer when Firmin began shouting, "It's really not amusing!"
"He's abusing our position!" echoed Andre.
Christine shot Antoinette a confused look who just meekly smiled and headed over to the blustering managers.
"Your Ghost demands his pay! He shall ruin us with this confounded madness!" Firmin bellowed.
"Madame Giry?" Andre asked, waiting for her opinion.
The older woman shrugged nonchalant. "Well, gentlemen, it's best to obey his orders. Monsieur Lefeure learned fast that it's not in the opera's best interests to upset the Ghost."
"This is insanity I say! Pure insanity!" cried Firmin, who refused to calm down by Andre's persistent shaking. "Would you stop Andre!"
"Messieurs."
The new voice silent Firmin from its rich, but urgent tone. Christine turned her head to see who it was and stopped breathing.
TBC…