Tag: story

The next day, Edmée arrived at the opera house early, anxious to read more of the Phantom’s musings. Once she arrived she looked for Meg Giry but was unable to find the dancing instructor. So, letting one of the stagehands know where she was going, she began the trip back down to the Phantom’s lair.

        The lair was dark, as the usual guide had not been down yet to light the candles. Edmée went around lighting them one by one with loving care. After the candles were lit, she settled into a chair near the lone table and opened the journal, picking up where she left off.

        Ma Chère Confidente,

        Christine has progressed nicely in her lessons. We have expanded her vocal range nearly a whole octave. We have been practicing whenever she goes to the chapel to pray for her father.

        I’ve learned he himself was very talented musically, usually playing the violin for Christine to sing along. I have done some research in the newspapers that Madame Giry brings me and found that he was rather famous, both here in Paris and his home country of Sweden.

        Her mother had died in childbirth. At first I thought it was during her pregnancy with Christine, but apparently she had died giving birth to Christine’s little sister, who died shortly after birth herself. Her mother was also a singer, though I have been unable to find anything else about her. Christine remembers her only vaguely.

        Christine’s unwavering love for her father reminds me of my own, though I don’t remember him much. I do remember that he was a cruel man, having sold me to the circus when I was very young. Apparently, my face frightened him, though he had claimed his reason was that I reminded him of my dear deceased mother, Marie. I’ve a picture of her, and while there is only a slight resemblance, my horrendous face is no match to her lovely one. We do share an eye shape, and my lips have a vague likeness to her own, but beyond that I cannot see. Perhaps my outward hideousness stems from my father’s inward ugliness. He is still alive, as far as I know. When Christine tells me the lovely stories of her father, I find I am envious of her pleasant memories. Perhaps I’ve become the green-eyed monster inside that I am outside.

        Edmée wiped away a tear that streamed down her cheek. This poor child had been through so much that it broke Edmée’s heart. As she flipped the page, a piece of paper fell out of the journal. Edmée picked it up and eyed it. It was a rough draft of a lullaby, full of scratched out words and notes. Edmée set the music aside and continued to read the journal.

        Ma Chère Confidente,

        Today was Christine’s birthday. She said that she was turning sixteen, meaning we are the same age now! As a gift, I composed a song for her. I had intended for it to be a ballad, but it somehow turned into a lullaby.

        Edmée paused and picked up the music again. It was clearly a song meant for a soprano, as it had sweet and sweeping high notes. She hummed it to herself with her usual perfect pitch. It was so beautiful.

        Christine loved the song when I sang it for her. She said it reminded her of a childhood friend. When I pressed her for more details, she told me of a young man who had been a dear friend. The boy had run into the sea to rescue the scarf she was wearing the first night I sang to her.

        Oddly, I felt my jealousy rearing its ugly head again. Something about this boy I instinctively didn’t like. Maybe it was because I wished Christine would speak of me with as much fondness as she spoke of this Raoul de Chagny.

        This sentence made Edmée pause. Of course, she knew Christine and Raoul had loved each other. After all, they had been married for almost twenty years. Still, it was different seeing it in this child’s writing.

        “Edmée!”

        Edmée jumped and shut the journal, using the lullaby to mark her place. She turned and saw little Meg Giry. “Miss Giry! You frightened me.”

        Meg giggled. “Forgive me. I was waiting for you in the lobby when one of the stagehands said you told him you were coming down here. How did you find your way back down?”

        “I have a good memory,” Edmée said quietly.

        “Oh, okay,” Meg said, a little too cheerfully for Edmée’s liking. “Anyway, would you like to go watch the rehearsal? They’re starting soon.”

        Edmée nodded. When Meg turned away, Edmée slipped the small journal into the pocket of her cloak. She had to read more about this “Phantom” girl.

Edmée noticed the page had faded some, but could make out the handwriting. It seemed as if this was from a hand that practiced letter and writing day in and out, as if it had just been taught – not very refined, but getting there slowly with each passage written.

Ma Chère Confidente,

Madame Giry has gone away for a few days and left me on my own. I try to keep occupied, but what is there to do? I am forbidden to go watch the dancers rehearse while she is away for fear that I may be detected. I can only play the organ for so long before that too gets tedious. Tedious – a word that I learned before Madame Giry took leave. It means boring, dull, slow.

What am I to do while she is away? I overheard one of the dancers say “What Madame Giry doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.” Maybe if I watch the rehearsals and be very careful, she won’t even know.

Edmée’s eyes scanned the rest of the page. Entries about parents long gone, life that this person once knew and music. So much talk of music. It seemed that they came from a lineage of pianists, singers, composers, or just really took an interest in doing those things. She flipped forward a few pages, looking for more information.

Ma Chère Confidente,

Madame Giry visited me late into the night. She spoke of a little girl that she just brought to the Opera House. “Little Christine is much like you, you know,” Madame said to me. “Her father was a violinist and Christine has such a lovely voice.” A girl from Sweden! I’ve never been to Sweden before. How I would love to see it.

Madame Giry spoke to me of Christine some more, but I wanted to see her for myself. She would not allow it. No need to overwhelm her on her first day. She was going to have to get settled into her new life before I could meet her. Overwhelm – to upset. That was my word for today. I’m pretty sure I used it correctly. I hope I did.

After Madame Giry tucked me into bed, I waited for her to return upstairs. When I could no longer hear her footsteps, I went up to the girls’ bedroom – where they all sleep. I had to see Christine for myself. I just had to!

I used the passages as to not be seen. I know how I look. My face has been cursed. I am a monster and I frighten people, but Madame Giry said that one day I will be better. I don’t know, though. I hope so.

Through one small crack in a wood panel I could see a young girl with brown curls. She wore a red scarf around her neck, even though the bedroom was warm. I could tell that she was still awake because I could hear her sobbing next to her bed. She spoke of an angel and asked that her father send one to her in her time of need. Especially the angel of music.

I don’t know why, but I started to sing, but quietly. Just to her so I did not wake the others. I guess I just wanted her to know she was not alone. I could see her looking for me, but I know if I showed myself I would just scare her away. I didn’t want that. I just wanted a friend, and this was as close to one I could get.

You know what? After a little while, she sang with me. And she was good, very good. We both were.

“Vicomtesse de Chagny?” came a voice. Edmée turned to face Monsieur Dubois, a little man who had enough money to eat well. Grey hairs mingled with his dark, brown, curly hair that looked like no man, or woman for that matter, could tame it. For a heavy man, she was shocked she did not hear his footsteps prior to his arrival.

“Your husband requested that I escort you back upstairs. It is getting late and we would not like to hold you and your husband from your plans.”

Edmée smiled politely with a nod, “Thank you, Monsieur Dubois. You are very kind.” She noticed him eyeing the journal she had gently shut.

“Ah, I see you found the Phantom’s memories. Nothing but musings of a child gone mad.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes. I found it hidden behind the pipes of the organ. Nothing of value, though, so it did not make it into the auction. Plus, I did feel like leaving some history down here. It has made a delightful addition to the tours we give our potential patrons from time to time.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Once reunited with Raoul and the others, Edmée did not feel quite comfortable. She had a strange feeling that there was more to the history of the Phantom than what people had recounted. Especially after reading the entries from the journal.

As she made her way to the carriage that had been drawn for her and her husband, she paused at Meg Giry. Taking Meg’s hands into her own she thanked her for showing her the way to the Phantom’s lair. “May I meet you again here tomorrow?”

Meg looked quizzical, but nodded. “Of course! My mother would be horrified, but also secretly proud, to know I have taken over her old position. She would have liked better for me, but I could not stay away! I shall be here tomorrow.”

With that, Edmée stepped into the carriage and headed home with her husband.

The new electric lights in the room made it look so bright that Edmée had to squint for a few moments to adjust her eyes. The full-length mirror that took up nearly an entire wall made the room look much larger than it was. The room was well-furnished, as befitted the room of a Prima Donna. Across from the mirror was a dressing table that had three mirrors of its own with a chair that had fabric matching the chaise-lounge in the antechamber. Edmée, now used to the light, walked over to the mirror on the wall. She stared at her reflection for what seemed like minutes before she reached up to the hem of her veil. She began to lift it when she heard a knock at the door.

“Yes?” she asked, lowering the veil and turning away from the mirror to face the door.

The door opened and a woman with blonde hair poked her head into the room.

“Hi, I’m Meg Giry,” the woman said, stepping into the room. “I found the Vicomte and the managers in the hallway and they told me you were in here. I can’t remember the last time I was in here. It always made me uncomfortable after what happened. So, you’re Raoul’s new wife?”

Edmée gave a shallow nod. “Yes, I am the new Vicomtesse de Chagny. How do you know my husband?”

“Oh, from ages ago!” Meg replied, making a gesture with her hand. “I was a dancer here back when he was the patron. And, of course, I was friends with Christine Daaé.”  

Edmée’s eyes narrowed at the name of Raoul’s former wife. It always made her have a strange feeling whenever someone mentioned Christine’s name, like a sick feeling in her stomach. Perhaps it was jealousy, but after all these years? Why should she be jealous of a woman long-since dead?

“Wait,” Edmée said, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean ‘after what happened?’ What did happen?”

“Didn’t Raoul tell you about the Opera Ghost?”

Edmée pursed her lips. “He did mention it, but not in great detail. Apparently, it was a time that he would much rather forget.”

“I think we would all rather forget about that time,” Meg replied, understanding.

“He did mention something about an underground lair,” Edmée hinted. “Is that true?”

Meg’s face immediately became more animated. “Oh, yes! I couldn’t believe that anyone would care to live down there in the cellar, but if the rumors were true, I don’t blame him for hiding. According to Monsieur Buquet, his face was like a skull and his eyes were on fire! I’d be terrified to see anything like that.”

Edmée said nothing. Meg shuffled her feet in the awkward silence, then she had an idea.

“Would you like to see it?” she asked, moving to the mirror.

“See what?” Edmée hesitantly replied.

“The Phantom’s Lair!” Meg exclaimed. “I’ve been down there a few times. There’s still a lot of his stuff down there. That’s where they got a lot of the auction items. There’s a bunch of papers and musical scores. He even stole wigs of all sorts, though no one knows why. Do you want to go down and see what’s there? He had hidden passages all throughout the opera house, including the one behind this mirror.”

“Why not?” Edmée said, half to herself.

Meg pushed on the glass and slid the mirror aside. There was a flashlight on a table beside the mirror, and Edmée picked it up to hand to Meg. They stepped into a dark corridor that ended at a staircase, which led to another corridor and then another set of stairs. It seemed like they were descending for hours, though it couldn’t have been more than half of an hour at most. It got trickier the deeper they went as the cellars were full of old sets and props. It also got progressively damper.

“There is a lake down here in the fifth cellar,” Meg mentioned conversationally. “Luckily, we’re on this side of the lake, where the lair is. When we first found it, on the night he disappeared, we had to find a way around the lake. It wasn’t until later that we found this entrance.”

“You were here that night?” Edmée questioned, stepping carefully on the damp stone.

“Yes, I was. There was a group of us that came down here after he took Christine for the second time. I was the one who found the mask that they were auctioning off tonight.”

There was silence between them as Meg led Edmée around the corner to a vast space. As Meg went around lighting candles with matches, the large cavern came into view. On the right-hand side was the large lake that Meg mentioned, complete with a boat pulled up onto the shore. However, it was the living space that drew the eye. There were hundreds of candles that lit up the large space. Against the wall was a pipe organ which had rusting pipes, a clear sign of disuse. There was a table covered in architectural drawings, musical scores, and drawings of various people. To Edmée’s immediate left was a diorama depicting a scene of an opera, complete with tiny figures of the opera cast. To the right of the organ was a set of stairs that led up to a bedchamber, complete with a bed.

“Well, here it is. The lair of the Phantom of the Opera.” Meg said, motioning with her arms.

Edmée smiled. “It’s quite magical.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Meg said, laughing. “Feel free to take a look around. I’m going to go back upstairs to let the Managers know that we’re down here. Don’t want them thinking the Phantom came back and stole us away!”

“Yes, that would probably be best. Raoul does tend to get worried.”

Meg nodded and headed back in the direction they came. Edmée, meanwhile walked over to the table and began sorting through the objects. She found a very nicely drawn image of a young Raoul and another of a woman with long dark ringlets, which had to be Christine. As she put the portraits down, her hand landed on a leather-bound book with papers stuck inside. Opening it, she saw that it was a journal. Flipping through, she settled on a random page.