Behind Closed Doors

"Joe, tell Cecile about the ghost!" Christine looked around as a couple of dancers rushed towards the technician and she paused to listen, under the pretence of reading a piece of paper.

"I've told you girls a thousand times." Joe chuckled lightly.

"And you'll tell us again? Tell us what it looked like!"

Joe put down a screwdriver and scratched his head, sighing heavily.

"Well… I only saw him through the frosted glass but his face was pressed up against the window and it was… it was like a skull. Peeling yellow skin, stretched tightly across the bones. And no nose at all, just a hole. And there were hints of red flesh, as though he were rotting. I thought it was just a dead body at first, but then the eyes moved. His eyes were so sunken in, the shadows around them look like holes, with just pupils in the middle." His voice had become quiet and tense.

"I think I saw horror movie like that once." Jammes giggled. Joe looked at her sternly.

"I guarantee you, little Jammes, this was no movie. That thing was as real as you or I."

The girls looked at each other and then Cecile tittered nervously.

"Maybe that's how Carlotta's headpiece ended up in the toilet this morning!"

"Yes, the ghost put it there!"

"The Opera Ghost is a troublemaker!" They dashed away, laughing. Joe shook his head and then looked up as Christine approached him.

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny."

"Mr Buqet, why on earth are you telling stories like that? Those dancers are excitable enough as it is and they're performing tomorrow night." Christine scolded gently. Only gently, because she rather liked Buqet, with his quiet sense of humour and reliable nature. Now his face was perfectly serious and she saw that it was taut and pale.

"I wish it were a story, Mrs de Chagny. I was here late last night, I forgot to put something away and I heard this strange music coming from the practise rooms. I followed the noise and that's when I saw the face against the window."

Christine smiled slightly.

"I'm going to hope that you saw it through mere tiredness and not because you were drinking at all."

"This is no joke, Mrs de Chagny. There's something in this opera house. Something that shouldn't be. And it's here for a reason. There are a thousand and one places something like that could hide in this place. All of those unused rooms, the cellars, the attics…" Buqet said, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand but not meeting her eye.

"Why would it need to hide, if it were a ghost? Surely it could just walk through the walls anyway?" Christine said calmly, walking away with an amused expression. Joe watched her go, an anxious look on his face and a horrible burning sensation on the back of his neck, as though someone was watching him.

Dear Madame Manager,

You would do well to advise Mr Buqet to hold his tongue. Ghosts do not react well to such provocation and invasion of privacy. On that note, I suggest you keep Mr Nadir Khan from entering my Opera House again.

On a friendlier note, I wish to make a reservation. Box 5 will be kept empty on the opening night of Romeo and Juliet tomorrow. You will find that the box office has set it aside. May I suggest that you keep it that way? Otherwise life could become highly unpleasant for the both of us.

Your most humble servant

The Opera Ghost

Christine stared at the note in utter disbelief. Her office had not only been locked, but she possessed the only key! Yet someone had still managed to place this impossibly rude note on her desk and even have the nerve to not only tell her how to do her job, but actually threaten her!

Christine seized the scrap of paper and marched furiously through the opera house to the box office by the entrance. A middle aged woman was sat inside, reading the newspaper.

"What can I do for you, Mrs de Chagny?" She said, looking up.

"I want to know what is going on with Box 5."

"Box 5…?" The woman turned to her files and glanced through them, licking her thumb to help her shift the paper. "Ah, here it is. Oh, yes, that one. We were delivered a note saying that it was to be reserved for a Mr O.G. I thought that was odd, not leaving a proper name…"

"When was it booked?"

"Er… just two days ago." The woman said, peering over her half-moon spectacles at the file. Christine clenched her jaw.

"Sell the box. No, reserve it for myself and my husband."

"But Mrs de Chagny-"

"Just do it, please!" Christine snapped.

She turned and stormed back into the main part of the building. Moncharmin caught up with her.

"Ah, Mrs de Chagny, I was just looking for you, I- … is something wrong?"

"Has someone been in my office?" Christine demanded. Moncharmin blinked.

"No, everyone's been in rehearsals. Why?"

"Somebody broke into my office. This is the second time that this has happened and I don't find it particularly amusing!"

She paused and then looked down at the note. It didn't make sense. The main suspect would be Joe Buqet, but Christine couldn't believe for a moment that it was him. Why would he threaten himself? And this note about Nadir Khan…

"Mr Moncharmin, please can you find me the telephone number for The Notice?"

He watched as the manageress sat at her desk, frowning as she listened to whoever it was on the other end of the telephone.

"Are you absolutely sure? …Yes, thank you. Sorry to have bothered you." She put down the telephone and pushed a stray hair put of her face. He smirked. No doubt she had just discovered that Mr Khan was not a reporter.

She picked up His note again He watched carefully as she reread it.

"Well, to hell with you, Mr Opera Ghost. I've got enough to do without playing childish games." She said dropping the note into the bin and turning on her computer screen. He scowled. His warning had been fair enough, hadn't it?

Now the consequences would have to be paid.

The next day was Friday and the opening night of Romeo and Juliet. Christine stood at the door of the Opera Populaire as the crowds passed, shaking hands with respectable citizens and admiring the vast variety of colour and luxury that passed her by. She herself was dressed in a sheath of light silver satin, her hair pinned up with silver clasps in a lovely cascade of golden curls. Raoul, in his smart tuxedo, was around somewhere, meeting and greeting old acquaintances whilst she spoke to the guests.

"We're terribly excited about the opera, Mrs de Chagny. The Opera Populaire always produces the most wonderful shows."

"Thank you, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"I can hardly wait until it starts!"

"Thank you, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

The same replies, over and over again, for Christine was distracted. There had been no further notes from the Opera Ghost, but she felt uneasy nonetheless. Perhaps sitting in Box 5 had been a mistake. An usher announced that it was time for everyone to take their seats and Christine stood to one side as everyone rushed to the theatre. Raoul appeared at her side and she smiled as he took her hand.

"Ready, my darling?" He said, kissing her cheek as they ascended the steps that would lead them to Box 5.

"Of course. Come on, let's go and enjoy ourselves. We can have at least one night without too much stress, don't you think?"

Joe moved around backstage, checking the final details of the lighting before nodding to the two technicians who would be handling it that evening. He tapped a thumb against his cheek for a moment as he heard the music strike up in the orchestra pit. He turned and fell back as he bumped into Carlotta, who sneered at him.

"Get out of my way, Ghostbuster." She said, pushing past to the stage.

For the past two days, everyone had been asking over and over again about the Ghost. And Joe had answered their questions, but now he was regretting it. Any little incident was now being attributed to the mysterious Opera Ghost. If a ballet rat's tights laddered, the Ghost had done it. If one of the chorus members lost their music, the Ghost had hidden it. The whole thing had become a complete joke. Joe suspected that a great many of the employees were laughing at him behind his back and those that weren't imagined him to be losing his mind.

Well… there was only one thing that would prove them wrong. And that would be if he could find out what that thing had been. Find evidence to show that he was telling the truth.

"Mac, I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He muttered to a fellow technician, who nodded.

"Watch out for the ghost, Joe!" He whispered. Joe glared at the back of his head and stalked off, thoroughly disgruntled. And Christine de Chagny's comment about him either being exhausted or drunk hadn't improved his mood at all.

The corridors of the opera house were eerily quiet after the hustle and bustle of the backstage. Joe moved purposefully towards the practise rooms.

Christine watched delightedly as the opera began. The rich music swelled as Carlotta began to sing in her charming tones. Raoul touched his wife's hand and she wrapped her fingers around his with a faint smile.

From the boxes surrounding them, eyes watched the stage in admiration. People were heard to murmur to their neighbours,

"Outstanding!"

"Superb."

"They've outdone themselves again."

The dancers flooded onto the stage and Christine leant forward to admire them. She watched Meg particularly and although she couldn't have told you what movement was what, she could tell that Meg was extremely talented. She held herself a touch more elegantly than most of the other dancers. Carlotta returned to the stage again, with the leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. They began a duet and Christine closed her eyes, half-dreaming as the music enveloped her.

At least, until someone touched her shoulder. She turned, as did Raoul, to see a pale-faced Mrs Giry behind her.

"Mrs Giry?"

"Mrs de Chagny, there's an emergency. You must come." The ballet mistress whispered. Christine frowned and touched Raoul's arm.

"I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to come?"

"No, just watch the opera."

She rose and followed Mrs Giry into the corridor, the noise of the opera only just audible through the doors. The older woman turned to her and Christine noticed for the first time that she was trembling.

"Mrs Giry, what's wrong? Do you need to sit down?"

"No... no…"

"What has happened? Has someone had an accident?" Christine asked, putting a hand under Mrs Giry's arm. She swallowed hard.

"It is Joseph Buqet. He's…"

"What? Is he hurt?"

"Mrs de Chagny, he's dead!"

Christine felt a cold numbness flood her body, quickly followed by terrifying heat. She stared at the ballet mistress.

"Where?"

"Come with me." They walked swiftly through the Opera Populaire's corridors, not meeting anyone until they reached the hallway that led to the practise rooms. A small gaggle of people were standing outside one of them but Christine pushed through.

"Let me through!" She ordered, and threw open the door to the practise room, only to fall back with a cry of horror.

The man that had been Joe Buqet was now swinging slowly from side to side, his neck encased in rope. Blood dripped, forming a small scarlet pool on the floor, too much of it to soak into the already saturated carpet. At first Christine could not understand where the blood had come from, but then her eyes fell upon his hands. The fingers were stained with the red liquid, where he had been clawing at his own throat to try and get free. Christine lifted her eyes to his face and saw that his eyes were bulging and his mouth was slack and his expression was one of absolute terror.

She only broke from her trance-like stance when the sound of applause reached her ears. The interval had arrived and in a few moments people would be pouring out of the theatre. She stepped back and slammed the door shut, locking it swiftly and turning to the few people gathered.

"All of you, go backstage. And if any of you breathes a word of this to anyone else, you'll be fired immediately! You…" She pointed to Mac, "Find me Moncharmin and Richard, and then find my husband. Mrs Giry, see if anyone else is missing."

"They won't be." The ballet mistress said quietly. Christine looked at her in confusion.

"How do you know?"

"It was him, Mrs de Chagny. The Opera Ghost."

"Don't be so ridiculous! Do as I said!"

Raoul sat in Box 5, waiting for Christine to return. Only, to his surprise, she did not. Instead she appeared on the stage, signalling for the curtains to close. They did so and everyone began to talk loudly until she called for attention.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if I could have your attention please." She paused. "Thank you. I regret to inform you that there has been a terrible accident backstage. I have had to summon the police." An outcry of horror and anger.

Christine waited for the noise to die down.

"I thank you for you patience in this matter. If you could all remain in your seats until I have further instructions, I would very much appreciate it. Of course, the rest of the opera will not be able to be shown, but I will ensure that you are all compensated. Staff will come round with refreshments in a moment. Thank you all."

She disappeared and Raoul got to his feet as the noise level rose again, determined to find out what had happened.

He watched as chaos ensued in His opera house, but was not particularly interested in the small, insignificant people who fussed that their grand evening had been ruined. Instead, He watched as the manageress greeted the police, leading them to the room where Buqet was hanging like a puppet on useless, gory strings.

Whilst the police questioned those who had found the body, He followed the manageress as she went a nearby flight of steps and lowered herself onto them, slowly removing the pins and clasps from her hair. It fell free in a tumble of curls and she buried her face in her hands. He could not tell whether or not she was weeping. But then she lifted her head and He saw that she was clasping a small crucifix between her fingers, obviously a necklace of sorts. Her mouth moved quickly but no sound came out.

He resisted the temptation to laugh, for no amount of prayer would be able to undo what had already been done. What God was as powerful as Him?

A/N: Hmm, for once I don't actually have anything to say in my author's note. I hope I'm creating enough tension and mystery for this to work out into a good story. I know it took a darker turn towards the end, but since I'm hoping to go for a darker theme altogether, I'm hoping that it works out. Perhaps you should review and tell me.

I am so unsubtle, it should be a crime.

Love

Katie