Author's Note: This was written for the Mythology/Folklore Writing Challenge recently held on phansonline(dot)net. The challenge was to write a Phantom story based on a myth or legend from any culture.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. This story is based upon the novel by Gaston Leroux.
The Peculiar Adventure of Firmin Richard
It had been a long and pleasant evening filled with much rejoicing. There was singing, dancing, feasting, drinking, and, as a special entertainment, the current managers had even succeeded in making a ghost appear at the table of the living.
Firmin Richard was impressed. And he was happy, because the Opera House would soon be Under New Management. His New Management.
Or so he thought.
After the miraculous appearance of the deathly spectre, which had regaled the guests with tales of murder and intrigue, the current managers of the Opera House rose from their seats and gestured to Richard and his partner, Armand Moncharmin, to follow. The newcomers soon found themselves in the opulent throne room affectionately known as the Office.
Messieurs Debienne and Poligny, current rulers of the Palais Garnier, sat on their thrones and allowed them to spin around a few times. Richard Firmin was once again impressed. So the rumours were true: The legendary Chairs of Swivel were real after all.
After several rotations, Poligny cleared his throat loudly and began his Managerial Speech.
"As retiring managers of this Palace of Music, we give you three items of the utmost usefulness. Firstly, we give you the famed Master of Keys, which will allow you to unlock any door in this realm."
Moncharmin took it, smiling gratefully.
"Secondly, we give you the Earplugs of Blissful Ignorance, which will see you through many an unpleasant audition. And thirdly, we give you the Safety Pin of One Thousand Uses, which will never let you down."
"Never," agreed Debienne.
"Er…thanks," said Richard, slipping the precious Pin into his jacket pocket.
"Can we have our Engraved Nameplate of Authority fitted now?" asked Moncharmin, eyeing the small gold doorplate on the desk. It read Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin, Managers.
"All in good time," said Poligny. "You see, this is a managerial nameplate, and you're not yet managers."
"What?" said Richard, bewildered. "But you personally selected us as your successors!"
"I'm afraid we obey the rules of someone much higher in the pecking order," Poligny replied. "And we promised him we would familiarise you with company protocol before the Nameplate was fitted. Debienne! Fetch the memorandum-book!"
Debienne took a huge, leather-bound book from a shelf and carried it to the desk, his knees almost buckling under its weight. Then he turned to the relevant page and placed it before Richard and Moncharmin.
"'Clause 98,'" Richard read aloud. "'The privileged position of manager of the National Academy of Music can be immediately withdrawn if said manager infringes the conditions stipulated in the memorandum-book…' We both read all this weeks ago."
"Are you familiar with Condition Five?" said Debienne.
"There are only four conditions!" replied Moncharmin.
"Not anymore," said Debienne darkly, pointing to a paragraph further down the page. Richard and Moncharmin peered at it critically. It was scrawled messily in red ink.
5. Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight the payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera Ghost, an allowance of fourteen talented sopranos a month, or one-hundred-and-sixty-eight sopranos a year.
"What on Earth?" gasped Richard. Then he remembered the ghost at dinner. So it was an extension of that wonderful practical joke! He began to laugh. So did Moncharmin.
"It's not funny!" said Poligny, glaring at them.
"Have you any idea how hard it is to find that many talented sopranos?" snarled Debienne. "They don't grow on trees, you know."
The two managers looked at their successors with such terrible expressions of pain and desperation that Richard and Moncharmin stopped laughing and leaned over the desk towards them.
"Good God!" Richard exclaimed. "You're being serious, aren't you?"
Debienne and Poligny nodded.
"For the last three months," Poligny began, "fourteen talented sopranos have been sent into the dreaded labyrinth beneath the Opera to appease the terrible Opera Ghost. The Opera Ghost must be appeased no matter what happens. He is capable of doing some truly wicked things. Just tonight, Joseph Buquet the stage hand was found dead. The sopranos are only a day overdue because of the festivities. The Opera Ghost is evidently impatient."
"But what does the Opera Ghost do with all these sopranos?" asked Moncharmin.
"Don't ask questions like that," said Debienne, suddenly looking very ill.
"There are many rumours," said Poligny ominously. "Joseph Buquet always said that the Ghost must eat them, simply because he wouldn't have room for them all in his labyrinthine lair. Of course, it could be something much worse."
"What's worse than having a crazed cannibalistic ghost feeding on sopranos in your cellar?" cried Richard.
"Well, the other popular rumour is that he trains their voices and then sells them to La Scala in Milan," replied Debienne.
Richard went pale. Then he leapt to his feet, almost knocking the desk over.
"You understand the extent of our problem now?" said Poligny. "The Ghost is either eating our sopranos, or sending them to our rivals! Hasn't it occurred to you how small the choruses have been lately?"
Richard looked ready to explode. He clenched his fist and brought it down heavily on the open memorandum-book.
"The villain!" he cried. "How dare he make such unreasonable demands? Well, gentlemen, I'm telling you right now that I'm not going to stand for it! I'm going to march down to the cellars right this minute and…"
"Impossible!" said Poligny. "No one ever comes out of those cellars alive!"
"Nonsense!" snapped Richard. "The sopranos must come out if they're headed for Milan!"
"Calm down, Richard," said Moncharmin. "If it's as dangerous as these gentlemen are suggesting, maybe we should report this ghost to the police."
"No!" said Poligny, rather too quickly. "No police! This is an artistic affair!"
"Deciding what colour waistcoat to wear is an artistic affair, not dealing with murderous blackmailers," said Moncharmin.
"No police," Poligny repeated. "Please. They'd close us down."
Richard and Moncharmin were silent. They knew Poligny had a point.
"That settles it," said Richard, after a moment. "I'm going to sort this out myself!"
"How?" said Moncharmin.
"I'll volunteer to be one of the victims," said Richard. "I'll disguise myself as a soprano and confront this Opera Ghost!"
Moncharmin exchanged glances with Poligny and Debienne. Then all three burst out laughing.
"I don't think you'd make a very convincing soprano, old chap," said Moncharmin. "You're a man of many talents, but looking realistic in drag isn't one of them. Remember that production of Romeo and Juliet at the Rouen School for Boys?"
Richard chose not to remember.
"What if he asks you to sing?" said Debienne.
"I have no intention of letting him get that far!" Richard snarled furiously. "You may scoff all you like, gentlemen, but I swear to you that tomorrow the Opera Ghost will receive his final victims, and I, Firmin Richard, will be among them!"
With that, Richard turned his back on his fellow managers and strode determinedly from the room, slamming the door behind him.
--)--)—
The next morning, Richard arrived at the Opera early. Glancing around nervously, he entered the costume department, where he found what he needed. Then he went to the nearest lavatory and donned the feminine hat, wig and thick lace veil. He concealed his men's garments with a voluminous cloak which hid his entire form and left everything to the imagination. Then, much to the confusion of a passing seamstress, Mademoiselle Fantine Marie Richard left the gentlemen's lavatory.
--)--)—
The unfortunate sopranos were gathered in one of the larger communal dressing rooms, where they were being watched over by the sharp eyes of Madame Giry, box keeper and personal postmistress to the Opera Ghost. Mademoiselle Fantine Marie Richard knocked at the door and was let in without any apparent suspicion from the old lady. He sat down delicately on a stool and glanced around the room.
He was in talented company. His thirteen fellow victims included La Carlotta, the prima donna, and Madame Biancarolli, the other prima donna. Then there was Maria, who had enjoyed a successful career at the Opera House in Budapest before coming to Paris. And then there were the Christines. Christine Dubois was from Provence, and sang about bells a lot. Christine Charles was originally from London, England. Christine Day always maintained that she was from the future, but no one took any notice of her. Her friends had long ago decided that she was eccentric but harmless.
The sopranos talked fearfully amongst themselves.
"Where's Christine?" asked Maria.
"I'm here!" The three Christines spoke in unison.
"I meant the other one," said Maria. "Christine Daaé."
"Ha! She is not a talented soprano!" snapped Carlotta. "The Opera Ghost only wants the best! Not little toads!"
"Then why are you here?" asked Biancarolli. Carlotta glared.
"Quiet please, ladies," said Madame Giry, who had just caused a full-length mirror to open as if by magic, revealing a dark and dusty passageway. "The time has come. Please proceed down to the cellars in an orderly fashion."
The sopranos peered into the darkness beyond the mirror.
"I'm not going in there!" said Biancarolli.
"I'm scared!" said the Christines.
"What if we get eaten?" said Maria.
"Silly little fools!" said Carlotta, stepping into the passage. "If there is any chance that I'll be sent to La Scala, then I'm going! Anything to get out of this rubbishy pit!"
The other sopranos followed her like twelve terrified, vocally gifted lemmings.
Richard was the last to step over the threshold. The mirror immediately closed behind him with a bang. Then, unnoticed by the sopranos, he removed something from a pocket in his cloak. It was a ball of twine. Richard hurriedly tied the end of the string to a nail which jutted from the wall. Then he followed the other victims, allowing the twine to slowly unravel in his hands, leaving a stringy trail leading back to daylight and freedom.
He only hoped the twine would be long enough.
--)--)—
Five stories below Richard, in his lair at the heart of the labyrinth, the Opera Ghost sat in his armchair and growled to himself. His sopranos were late and he was angry. He was also very hungry.
Well, his appetite would soon be sated. All he had to do was wait just a short while longer.
A few minutes later, the smell from the kitchen told the Opera Ghost that his cheese on toast was ready.
Erik went to retrieve it from the oven. Bringing the plate of toast into the sitting room, he resumed his place in the armchair where he sat munching…and waiting.
An alarm sounded and Erik smiled to himself.
The post had arrived.
--)--)--
Richard stared at the inky expanse of water before him. He had never quite managed to believe that there could be a lake in the cellars, and yet here it was. And there was no bridge.
"What do we do now?" said Maria nervously.
Richard could not answer, but his instinct told him that, after over an hour walking through the darkness of the labyrinth, they had finally reached their destination.
There was no movement on the lake for a long time, and Richard started to think that the Opera Ghost must have grown tired of sopranos.
Then he saw the eyes. Yellow and glowing, they were like no other eyes he had ever seen, but he knew they were eyes because they were staring at him. Staring at him horribly.
Maria gasped. The Christines squeaked and hugged each other.
The eyes came closer. Then there was a splashing sound and a small boat became visible on the lake. It reached the bank, and a strange figure jumped out.
There was a collective gasp from the sopranos. So this was the dreaded Opera Ghost.
He was tall and thin, and he wore an oversized evening suit and a black mask that hid his entire face. In one hand he held what looked like a slice of toast. He walked over to the cowering sopranos and gave a formal bow.
"Good afternoon, ladies. Erik is delighted to welcome you to his home."
"Eek!" exclaimed the Christines.
"When Erik has finished with you," the Ghost continued, "you will never again grace the Parisian stage."
Richard gasped beneath his veil. The meaning of the Ghost's words was terrifyingly clear: he was going to kill them all! And then eat them! On toast!
Knowing he had to act now, Richard tore off his cloak, hat and veil. He pulled a tiny revolver from his coat pocket and aimed it at the Opera Ghost.
The three Christines fainted on top of each other, Maria screamed, and the more courageous sopranos took a step backwards.
"This madness ends here, Opera Ghost!" said Richard, striding bravely towards his adversary. "You will let these talented sopranos go, or die right now!"
The Ghost did not even blink.
"It is very nice of you to pay me a visit, Monsieur Richard," he said, looking at the gun as if it were no more of a threat than a bouquet of carnations. "But Erik regrets that he cannot spend his time training baritones. He is only interested in sopranos at present."
"So the rumours are true! You are selling sopranos to La Scala!"
"I do not sell my students, Monsieur," said the Ghost, clearly offended. "Erik is not involved in some archaic slave trade!"
Richard hesitated, lowering his gun slightly. Suddenly, a thin length of cord whizzed through the air and caught the barrel of the revolver, pulling it out of Richard's hand.
"I'll look after this, I think," said the Ghost, freeing the gun from the Punjab Lasso. "You could hurt someone."
"That was the idea," Richard muttered. "But tell me, if you're not selling the sopranos, what are you doing with them? Surely you're not giving them to another opera house?"
"Yes, that is exactly what Erik is doing," the Ghost confessed, his eyes glowing serenely.
"But why?" gasped Richard. "What do you get out of it?"
"Well, I get a lot of satisfaction from teaching," the Ghost replied. "And there's another reason, but it's a little embarrassing to Erik…you couldn't possibly understand."
"Try me," said Richard, who was intrigued in spite of himself.
The Ghost hung his head.
"Well, the thing is, Erik has been trying to keep the stage clear for Christine Daaé. I reasoned that if all the other sopranos were gone, you would have no choice but to make her the principal."
"Why are you so interested in Christine Daaé?" said Richard.
"Isn't it obvious?" said Maria. "The Opera Ghost is in love!"
"Awwww!" said the Christines, who had awoken from their faints simultaneously.
"Is this true?" said Richard, feeling his heart swell with pity.
The Opera Ghost nodded sadly. "I have nothing to offer her, you see, but my gigantic heart and a glittering career. And my savings. And the three houses I own in Paris."
Richard suddenly had the urge to laugh.
"Why didn't you say so?" he chuckled. "You could have saved yourself an awful lot of trouble!"
The Opera Ghost's eyes blazed at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean there was no need for any of this fuss!" said Richard. "Christine Daaé is very talented, and I have every intention of giving her the role of Marguerite in Faust."
"Oh," said the Ghost, his eyes flashing in surprise. "Oh. Well. That's all right, then."
"However, I do think Madamoiselle Daaé would benefit from some extra tuition," Richard continued, realising that they might all get out of the cellars alive after all. "If you let these other sopranos go, I'll send her down to you immediately."
"Oh! Would you?" said the Ghost, clapping his hands together. "Thank you! You have made poor unhappy Erik a very happy man! You know, I never thought you and I would get along so well!"
"That's the benefit of communicating in person," said Richard. "Messages scrawled in red ink are all very well, but they're so impersonal, don't you think?"
"Yes," the Opera Ghost agreed. "It's nice to have some real social interaction. Would you care to join me for some cheese on toast?"
"I'd love to," said Richard, following the Ghost to his boat. "You know, I think this could be the start of a wonderful partnership."
The sopranos cheered. The Christines were particularly exuberant, jumping up and down and squealing joyfully.
From that day onwards, peace reigned in the magnificent kingdom that was the National Academy of Music. Firmin Richard and Erik the Opera Ghost became firm friends, Christine Daaé triumphed in Faust, and Carlotta fulfilled her lifelong dream of performing at La Scala. Raoul de Chagny, who had long believed that Christine Daaé was in some terrible danger, soon became bored out of his mind at having no one to rescue, and left to pursue a career as a respected member of the French aristocracy. He was never seen at the Opera again, leaving Christine free to marry the Opera Ghost in a touching ceremony which was followed by feasting, drinking and rejoicing of all kinds.
Because of the interaction between Ghost and manager, misfortune never again befell anyone who worked within the walls of the Palais Garnier.
Which proves the importance of a friendly, supportive management.
The End.
Author's Note: This story was inspired by the Greek myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, which in simple terms goes like this:
King Minos's son was killed at Athens, so he demanded that fourteen young Athenians (the sopranos) should be fed to the Minotaur (Erik) – a monster with a man's body and the head of a bull – every nine years as compensation. The Minotaur lived in the labyrinth on Crete.
Theseus (Firmin Richard) volunteered to be one of the victims. Upon entering the labyrinth, he tied the end of a ball of twine to the entrance so he could find his way out again. Once at the centre of the labyrinth, Theseus fought and killed the Minotaur and led the Athenians to safety by following the twine.
For anyone who was wondering about the names of the sopranos, they're all from various movie adaptations of Phantom. Madame Biancarolli is the 'Carlotta' character in the 1943 film with Claude Rains, and Christine Dubois is the 'Christine,' who sings a duet with co-star Nelson Eddy called 'The Lullaby of the Bells' (hence her singing about bells). Christine Day is from the 1989 film with Robert Englund, and Christine Charles is from the 1962 film with Herbert Lom (set in London). Maria is from the 1983 TV movie with Maximilian Schell, which is set in Budapest.