White Mask
"Raoul?" Christine whispered. Her only response was that of a thick and eerie silence. She had waken in the night by a nightmare; one in which her beloved was hung by way of that infamous punjab lasso. She reached her thin white arm across the bed in search of her spouse, but found nothing. Quickly she sat up straight in the bed and lit the nearest candle. Once more she whispered, "Raoul?"
A gutteral response sounded from the other side of the bed: "Christine."
With a gasp she crawled across the bed, candle in hand, and leaned over the edge. There, on the cold wood floor, lay her husband of only a year. His beautiful blonde locks were ratty and tangled, cleary from signs of a struggle. His face was pale, his lips parched, and his clear blue eyes bloodshot. A pool of blood flowed and trickled from beneath him in a little stream heading to the open french doors.
"Oh my gosh," she said, and knelt down next to him. She rolled his body over and looked for the wound from which the rich, thick blood poured out. There was a large gash near the top of his back and at the base of his neck. It had clearly been made by a knife, and Christine immediately burst into silent tears. "Who did this?" she sobbed, turning Raoul back over.
He wheezed and coughed up some blood. "It was him," he gasped.
"Who? WHO?" she asked desperately, but he was gone. She placed a soft kiss on his cold forehead and then dashed out to the balcony, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind her. When she reached the cold marble floor of the balcony, sharp rain hit her face and her white nightgown whipped around her legs in a frenzy. She leaned over the edge, shielding her eyes with her arm, and scanned the gardens for any signs of the murderer. After a few moments she was about to give up when she saw a flash of white down below amidst the roses.
"Show yourself!" she called fearlessly. The shadow of a person stepped into the light shining from one of the lower rooms. The figure was slim, not too tall, and had a white mask adourning the face. "Who are you? Why did you do this?" Something inside her told her that it was him, The Phantom, but she had to be sure.
The person entered the doors below the balcony, and Christine quickly ran to meet him at the stairs. It wasn't long before they met. "Bonjour Madame Changy," said a soft, feminine voice from within a heavy black cloak. Christine held her candle high to shed more light. "How is your Vicomte?"
"Remove your mask," ordered Christine, dreading the face that would be revealed beneath.
Slowly, the woman removed the mask. It fell to the ground with a soft thud, and bounced down several steps. Two white hands pulled the hood of the cloak back to reveal lush locks of golden hair. She raised her face. "Surprised?"
"Meg!"
"Yes, I am Meg," said the woman who had now shed the cape completely. She was dressed in what she wore the night of Don Juan, men's breeches and blouse, and appeared quite muddy. "I suppose you weren't expecting that I murdered you beloved Raoul, were you?"
"N-no," stammered Christine.
"Well I did, and I'll even tell you why!" She giggled somewhat maniacally. "Ever since he showed up at the Opera you got all the attention. Suddenly you were the diva, suddenly you had all the gentlemen callers, suddenly you were mother's pet. And me? Not a single suitor, which is a mystery to me. Afterall, I am the more 'well endowed' woman of us two, and I'm blonde to boot. But no, pretty blonde boy goes for the homely brunette with the saucer eyes. Well, that was the last straw Christine. I couldn't stand to see you in the limelight everywhere I turned. So, I enlisted the help of a certain gentleman; The Phantom. Don't look so shocked Christine, you knew my mother had her ties to him. I convinced him to kidnap you so that I could have Raoul, and my plan almost worked. But..." she paused and gritted her teeth.
"But?" Christine ventured.
"But my mother had to interfere and show him the way to 'the lair'. You know what happened after that. You all argued and then you left with Raoul. I should have left with Raoul. But you, perfect Christine - the apple of my mother's eye - , had to ruin everything!" She stomped her foot like an angry child, and began to weep.
"I-I'm sorry," Christine said uneasily.
"Shut up!" yelled Meg. She reached into the cape that lay near her feet and pulled out a knife. "I hate you!"
Christine shrieked as the blade drove right through her heart. "Goodbye Christine," Meg spat bitterly, and then picked up the white mask and left the house. She walked the dark streets of Paris to her meager flat, where she peeled off the muddy trousers and blouse. She climbed into her flimsy bed and went to sleep.
"Meg," said an angry voice, waking her from her troubled sleep. She opened her eyes and peered at who was speaking. "You're late, hurry up!"
Meg sat up and said, "Yes mother." She jumped out of bed, put on her outfit, tied up her slippers, and ran down the corridor. As she jogged toward the stage, she bumped into a friend. "Oh hi Christine," she said, eyeing the girl strangely.
"Good morning Meg," replied Christine, who was very much alive. Meg smirked...it had only been a dream.
Sooo...what did you think of my attempt at PotO horror? Leave a review please! I just wrote it on a random whim one day and I'm actually proud (moridly so) of the effects. Mwah!