Chapter 4

"The person who risks nothing, does nothing, had nothing, is nothing and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live."

-Leo F. Buscaglia

As my eyelids fluttered open I tried to remember where I was. I had a sinking feeling there was something not quite right, when in a flash it all came back to me. My hands flew to my face and a breathed a sigh of relief as they grazed the smooth silk of my mask. My relief, however, was short lived as I considered the possibility of discovery by this strange ghost-man-whatever he was- and what he might do.

Then out of nowhere a voice seemed to fill the room, "I didn't touch your mask." The words were stated simply; however, quite a bit of time went by before I realized what they said. The voice itself was a source of wonderment. It was as smooth as silk, yet as powerful as thunder. When I finally tried to get up to find the speaker of these words, the voice came again, "You might not want to try moving just yet." But I was intent on finding out where this mystical voice was coming from, so once more I made to sit up and almost cried out from pain. My hand was pulsing in pain, despite a new bandage, put there by the ghost/man I supposed. My arms felt as if they had been ripped out and put back. Every part of my body was seized with pain, but I refused to show weakness in front of this unknown monster. My eyes closed and my tongue between my teeth, I didn't see from where the ghost/man came from, except to know that when my eyes opened he was in front of me.

"You are a pretty tough little thing. But you needn't pretend- I can imagine the pain you are in. Now, would you mind telling me how the devil you came to be in my house?" He inquired from his spot across the room. I stared up at the man. He was eerie and frightening, but was far too real and dangerous to be a mere ghost. He was dressed all in black, every inch covered, except for his face. His face was covered with a white silken mask, much like the one I was wearing.

"I know you can speak," he stated in his quite yet loud voice, interrupting my disquieting thoughts, "You talk in your sleep. Now explain how you came to find yourself in this perilous position." He ordered.

Panicking about what I may have already confessed, I cleared my dry throat and croaked out, "Box five, I came from box five." His golden eyes narrowed into slits as he processed what I said.

"Impossible! No one could possibly have found the entrance to the tunnel in box five! Not to mention all the traps along the way. Who helped you?" He asked menacingly.

Swallowing my fear, I responded, "I didn't need help. I don't need anybody. I made it here on my own, and I think it is time for me to leave." After saying my piece, I got up and headed for the door. But before getting two steps from where I started, he had arrested my arm and said in a irate tone, "Why are you here?" His demanding tone was chafing at my pride, so I matched my tone to his and demanded to know if he was indeed the 'all powerful' Opera Ghost.

"I am precisely that! Who are you? Explain yourself at once," He snarled, gripping my arm still tighter, and added, "Do not lie, for your very life is at stake." Ripping myself from his tight grip, I put some distance between us before answering with a voice dripping in sarcasm.

"My life is at stake?" I repeated, mimicking him as best I could, "Is that the best you can do? You are supposed to be a legend! All I see before me is an old man- full of empty threats and cheap tricks." His golden eyes flashed at my snappy sarcasm, but he didn't move from where I had left him standing.

"What," he asked with falsetto calmness, "pray tell, on what grounds do you make such unwise accusations?" I could tell that he wanted to frighten me with his unnatural calm, but it was too late. I had been swallowing my fear all night, and I had begun to like the taste of it.

"I say it because it is true." I announced with a hint of triumph in my voice. I could not help but feel proud that I had stood up to this menacing man. With my new found courage, I pressed on, "Just look at you! Your clothes are so out of fashion, I haven't seen any like them except in photographs. Your boat is even older than your clothes must be. Everything in this room is covered in three inches of dust! I wouldn't be surprised if you were just as dusty…I mean rusty. Why that is what everyone else says! Why do you think I was under the impression that the Opera Ghost was just an exaggeration of a silly stage-" I was interrupted by his hands around my neck. Without seeming to move he had crossed the room. I had thought I knew what it was to be afraid, I now new the true meaning of terror.

"I have killed people for saying less than you have" He whispered harshly. Realizing I could die at any moment, I swallowed the bitter taste of misplaced pride and asked him what he was waiting for. His hands tightened in a death dealing grip, when just as suddenly as he had put his powerful hands there, he removed them. My eyes widened in surprise as I watched him back away from me.

"You have guts, kid. Most ladies scream or faint at the very sight of me, and yet with my hands around your neck, you did neither. I am beginning to doubt that you are even frightened," His words caught me off guard; I could do no more than stare in wonder. He continued, "I haven't killed you yet, because of your mask. I am guessing- and I'm never wrong- that you have run away from home to start a new life. Of course you don't believe in ghost stories, but you thought you could take advantage of other people's superstitious thinking. Am I right?" He asked with a glint in his eye that I was beginning to think was his way of smiling. I saw in that glint, hope for my survival.

"Listen," I asked him, with more politeness than I had been using before, "we have gotten off to a bad beginning-"

"I'll say!" he interrupted, "you stole my boat, invaded my house, and insulted me multiple times!"

"As I was saying," I rolled my eyes at his dramatic outburst, "we have gotten off to a bad start, but it doesn't have to end with death. You could just let me go, or-"

"Nobody," He interrupted again, "leaves here alive." I almost missed the ruthlessness of his statement, so miffed was I at being cut off once more. Before I could snap at him once more, however, the death threat hit its mark.

"Or," I continued as if he hadn't disrupted me, "You could let me stay." There was a long pause as my words seem to float through the air, waiting for him to comprehend them. When he kept staring at me as if I had just said something extremely complicated, when in fact I had not. "If you would listen without interrupting so often, maybe you wouldn't miss simple statements," his eyes flashed with a look that I recognized as trouble and apologizing quickly I continued, "I am sorry, but truly bad manners are appalling. What I was trying to say is that you might consider keeping me here. I can help you haunt the Opera House. It is a big place, I cou-"

"Are you insane? I don't need help! I don -"

"Will you just listen?" I demanded, "You do indeed need help! This place is huge and you are starting to slack off. Everyone knows it, and before you know it, I will not be the only one who doubts your existence. Then where will you be? People will never show you the fear and respect that you crave, you will be nothing but a ghost of what once was!" I screamed at him. I had never met anyone rude enough to make me lose my temper so many times in such a short space of time. He paced the room, muttering to himself, then stopped in front of me and said, "I should have killed you sooner."

Seizing his hesitation like the life line that is was, I shot back, "But you didn't, because deep down you know we are cut from the same cloth. Has anyone else ever made it this far? Has anyone else ever stood up to you, despite the danger? I didn't think so. Surely…surely someone once showed you a kindness. All I ask is for a chance." I said keeping my eyes glued to his. With our facial expressions concealed, our eyes were the focal communicators of truth.

I saw the sadness in his eyes as he responded, "Someone did help me once, with tragic consequences. That man lost everything because of me." I realized that he was at the point where he could be swayed either way, so I tried once more to persuade him.

"Look," I said gently, conscience of the distressing thought that may have been on his mind, "I know there are risks in this venture, for both sides. How can you know it will fail unless you try? How long do you think you can keep this up all alone? If you will just let me shadow you for a time, give me a trial of sorts. If you find the situation not to your liking, you can easily dispose of me. Either way you win." For the longest time he just stared at me, but this time I would not be the first to break the delicate silence.

"A trial. Fine, you have a deal, Miss— forgive me, what is your name?"

"My name?" I panicked and did something I had never done before- I lied, "My name is Vashti."

"You are a terrible liar," he told me, "and I refuse to call you by that ridiculous name."

"It isn't ridiculous. Vashti was a glorious Persian Queen!" I informed him with a condescending tone.

"A queen who lost her glory because of her own vanity!" he objected. I recoiled at the thought of vanity being my downfall. I was not vain in the common sense, but I had pride. Too much perhaps, but I could not resist defending the name I had chosen once more.

"It wasn't vanity, it was pride. She may have lost her glory, but she kept her dignity. That is why I chose her name. The name given me at birth is a cursed and hated name." He seemed to understand the resentment I held for my name.

"Fine," he conceded, "Your name doesn't matter at any rate. You most likely won't be staying long. For the time being, I will address you as Shadow, for my shadow you will become." His words gave me chills from a precarious combination of excitement and irritation.

"I refuse to take on such a degrading name! The shadow of a ghost-that is ridiculous!" I shouted at him.

His eyes flashed as he replied, "Stay as a shadow, or leave as a ghost." I heard the implied threat and dropped the argument. Accepting my acquiesce he continued, "You may address me as Phantom, Opera Ghost, or O.G, whichever you prefer. Now allow me to give you a tour of your temporary home" He watched me as if waiting for me to give him another snappy response. I stared him down, but I would not give in to what he expected of me. At any rate, despite his annoying and rude ways, I was intrigued and captured by the thought of this glorious adventure before me.