A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! You are too kind Here we are one more chapter. Also after much anticipation Sara will have her first contact with the Opera Ghost! As always R/R and enjoy!
My hands ached. I had been sewing non stop for 3 hours. There seemed to be an endless parade of first ballerinas, then musicians, and now chorus girls. The ballerinas were easy enough. Most just needed a few adjustments to their existing dress, and for the few requiring a new outfit the design was simple and easily completed. The musicians were few and far between. The position only required dark evening wear to look professional and hidden. They were required to purchase it themselves but the seamstresses at the opera were always willing to do some free tailoring and repair. The chorus on the other hand was a nightmare. It seemed that every single person who would be singing in the new production needed a new costume. To add to the frustration the new costumes for the chorus were the most complicated designs I had ever seen. They required darts, invisible stitching, piping, embroidery, buttons; the list never seemed to end. These dresses could not be finished in an afternoon so all we could hope to do was get the measurements and baste stitch a general design and work on it after the girls had left. I was finishing the hem on one girl's sleeve when I reached back to grab a pin, but to my dismay my hand connected with nothing but cool wood. I turned to look at the table only to find my pins completely missing; all that remained on the sewing table were a few spools and bobbins of thread.
"Did you move my pin?" I asked the girl stupidly, her arms were out stretched and I had been pinning a hem at her wrist.
"No." She replied, politely ignoring my stupidity.
"Its ok, I am done anyway. I just need to stitch it. Carefully pull it off while I grab some thread." I said turning back to the table.
I glanced back across the table. It was completely empty. I was sure that moments before I had seen my thread on it. I ran my hand across the table perhaps hoping to feel a trace of the thread. I searched beneath, beside and behind the table before concluding it was no where in my vicinity. Its absence perplexed me it seemed to have vanished into thin air.
"It's gone." I finally admitted, standing up from my search of the floor.
"What is?" The chorus girl asked handing me her dress.
"My thread. I swear it was just here." I reply, looking behind the table again.
"Ooooh. Maybe it was the ghost!" The girl practically squealed, the excitement glowing in her eyes.
"I'm sorry the what?" I asked.
"The Opera Ghost! Haven't you heard?" Her voice was oozing with excitement, as she grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, whispering to me like we were old friends sharing secrets. "He haunts the whole Opera! My friend Bridgette swears he stole her powder-puff once. She was applying her make up before a show when she noticed her hair was falling down so she went to borrow a bobby pin from here neighbour and when she came back her powder-puff was gone. Completely, absolutely no trace of it."
"What use does a ghost have with a powder-puff?" I asked skeptically.
"No one really knows," she continued, "but he steals lots of stuff. Like ballet shoes, hair pins, ribbons all sorts. But the most interesting thing is…" She literally quivered as she spoke, "he insists that the managers give him his box."
"The ghost has a box?" I asked, my skepticism rising.
"Yes, box five! But there's more!" She could hardly stand still as she pulled my ear closer to her lips, "The managers also pay him a salary! I heard it was 20 000 francs per month!"
I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and despite myself I laughed. "What use does a ghost have with a salary? And really if he gets 20 000 francs per month why would he need my thread?"
"It's not a joke. Its true, every word!" She said sternly before storming off.
I shouldn't have laughed. I knew she thought that she had a juicy piece of gossip and wanted to share it. I could just see her running back to all the little ballerina's and chorus girls and whispering of dark things huddling in the corners. I remembered being like that as a child; I was always blessed with an active imagination. But the idea of an actual ghost running around and stealing powder-puffs was absolutely ridiculous. To add to my skepticism I couldn't imagine the managers handing over 240 000 francs per year to a non existent entity. However the problem of my missing supplies remained. I concluded someone must have borrowed them while I was immersed in my work. I simply had to get a fresh spool from the supply room.
The supply room was a brilliant place. It was a rather large room and was filled with reams of the most beautiful fabrics I had ever seen. Every type of fabric I could imagine seemed to be in this room, from common flannel to the most expensive silk. I guilty let my fingers slide over the silk as I approached the cupboard containing the spare thread and other sewing notions.
*Bang*
I turned too see a large ream of fabric rolling across the floor. I hurried forward but before I could replace it another hit the floor with a sickening crash, followed by another and another. It seemed like all the reams were hitting the floor one after another like in a twisted game of dominos. I ran forward hoping to stop, what appeared to be, a chain reaction. I was nearly at the most recently displaced ream when I saw a whip of a clock and two burning eyes.
"Stop!" I yelled. "Please stop. I saw you! This isn't funny!"
"Oh contraire mon petit. I find it quite humorous." An angelic voice cooed.
My chest constricted and unintentionally switching to my native tongue I gasped, "It's you."
"And who precisely would that be my dear?" It replied in perfect English.
"The demon that tormented the gypsies!"
The last thing I remember seeing was a terrible winged creature with burning eyes lunge at me before everything went black.
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It was so simple to torment these stupid girls. Erik found it beneath him to steal sewing supplies but the poor girl's confusion amused him to no end. Yes that's it your mannequin stole them, with her hands raised and standing three feet away from the table. Chorus girls must have learned the art of psycokinesis. The thread was all too easy to steal, and he was not disappointed with her confused scramblings to find the lost spools.
Erik listened as the chorus girl spilled her gossip. She hit a few right but that powder-puff was not his doing. It seemed that any time anything went missing it was the Opera Ghost, regardless of the trivial nature of the misplaced item.
The little sewing rat didn't realize how wrong she was, it was the Opera Ghost and he had many uses for a salary. Though she did have a point, Erik didn't need thread and he flicked his ill gotten gains into the air. Perhaps she needed a more dramatic introduction?
Erik followed her into the supply room, watched as her fingers danced across the fabrics. It was too easy. Erik pushed a ream of fabric and watched as it tumbled to the ground. Then he pushed another and another. Erik continued down the row until his cloak caught. Erik quickly flicked his cloak free but it was too late.
"Stop." She yelled, still foolishly scrambling forward. "Please stop! I saw you! This isn't funny!"
"Oh contraire more petit. I find it quite humorous." Erik teased.
Her face fell to a frozen expression of shock. Her voice rattled and she spoke in English. "It's you."
"And who precisely would that be my dear?" Erik taunted, it appeared she had found faith in the Opera Ghost!
"The demon that tormented the gypsies!"
All humor in the situation drained at those words. How did she know? And who tormented who? Erik's eyes burned with rage he wanted answers and he'd get them. Erik made to step forward and grab her only to see her falling to the ground. She had slipped on the silk strewn across the floor.
This was not how Erik wanted to do it but perhaps it would work regardless. So he lifted her unconscious form off the floor and headed to the house on the lake.
A/N: So they've met… sort of. Let me know what you thought!