October Frights! The Phantom of the Opera, Part Two

Welcome back!

Are you ready to delve back into Godfrey and Serafina's nightmare? If you've just joined us, you may want to read the previous post, which has part one of my Phantom of the Opera retelling.

The Phantom of the Opera

Part Two: The Blasphemous Sound

I fled that hellish chamber, madly racing through the dark and somehow emerged into the street—after breaking through the rotten door that Serafina had locked behind her.

I emerged into the night, tattered, scuffed, wet, and bleeding.

I got lost in the winding streets and fog and didn't make it back to my car until nearly dawn.

I called on Serafina later that afternoon. She was still distracted and the circles under her eyes were deeper. Yet she seemed to almost glow with a weird excitement. I did not ask her about the mysterious cellar or the ghoulish typewriter.

The impression that she was not of this world anymore haunted me.

Serafina did not protest when I suggested dinner that night and I watched in sickly fascination as her excitement grew with the night.

After I took her home, I waited again and sure enough, Serafina emerged from the side door, cloaked and candle-bearing.

I was not fortified by champagne. My legs were shaky as I stepped out of my car and made to follow her. The vague horrors of that nightmare flickered through my mind, like Serafina's candle in the mist.

It slowed me just enough and I lost Serafina in the fog. I had to return to that place. I had to know the truth. How much had the alcohol colored my first visit? I almost ran down the alley, my footsteps slapping on the wet cobbles. She was nowhere to be seen. Twice, the muted glow of a lamppost fooled me.

"Serafina!" I called, but the fog robbed my cry of volume.

I kept going, trying to follow my hazy memory, but it was useless. I got lost again and finally returned to my car, wet and dejected. I sat and waited for Serafina's return. I wondered if I should confront her.

Her reappearance from the mist, almost an hour later, robbed me of breath and I sat limply in my fog shrouded automobile as she drifted ghost-like from the night and vanished again into her house.

When I called on her in the morning, her maid told me she was feeling ill and was still in bed. She had another performance that night. I told the maid to tell her I would see her at the show.

The evening came, deliberately, and I knocked on her dressing room door before the show began.

"I'm fine!" She called. "Really. Tell Peroll he did an amazing job adjusting the bodice. I can breathe without being stabbed by the seam."

"Serafina," I said. "It's me. May I come in?"

"Godfrey?" Her voice took on an edge of anxiety. "Yes. Yes, come in."

I caught her in the act of recomposing her features. Fear and guilt vanished under a veneer of tired happiness.

The room was full of her perfume, sweet and Rosy. But again that weird spice odor whispered underneath...anise, metal, and mold.

"Are you all right?" I asked raggedly.

"Yes, I think I just needed more rest," she said. I can't go out tonight; I have a meeting with the director, discussing future projects, then I must get to bed."

"Yes," I said. "Yes." I was nearly taken in by the reality she offered me with word and tone. The nightmare of the night before last seemed distant: unreal and champagne-inspired. But...

I had seen her vanish into the fog.

I had seen the guilt on her face. Or had I?

"You look tired, too," she said, concern in her tone but something else in her eyes...almost accusation.

"Yes," I said. "I should get to bed early tonight, too."

"Perhaps I'll see you in the morning?" She suggested.

"Absolutely," I said. "I look forward to tonight's show." She smiled and I turned to leave.

I glanced back before I closed the door and saw that her face had returned to conflicted anxiety.

Whatever was bothering her, she used it to great effect that night, pouring her emotions into her role. Her voice sparked with angst and her high notes were more chill-inducing than ever before.

After the show, I returned to her dressing room to congratulate her for another stunning performance. As I approached, however, I heard her talking to someone. I stopped with my hand on the knob.

"He acts like he didn't see anything," Serafina said. "Are you sure he was the one who broke the door?"

Words answered her. My stomach leapt up against the back of my rib cage and I leaned against the he door to keep from falling. To call it a voice would be borderline blasphemy. God did not create such a mode of expression. It twanged and hummed, metallically—jarring—buzzing—non-musical, but with infernally musical tones sparkling amidst the grinding chaos.

Somehow...words tumbled out of that—that sound.

"I saw him, Serafina. I saw him. He must have followed you. You must get rid of him."

"He'd had quite a bit of champagne that night," Serafina said hopefully. "Maybe he doesn't remember. Besides, I took your transcript. He can't really know anything."

"We can't risk him finding out," insisted the horrible sound. "He'll interfere. Do you not want to sing for the Convocation?"

"Of course I do!" Serafina protested. "I told you I want nothing more. I don't know how to get rid of Godfrey. He already suspects I'm not well. If he heard or saw anything, he might worry about me. If I try to push him away, he'll likely pry into things more."

"You must want to sing more than you want any human affection. If the deamons hear any love in your voice, they will not be pleased. Do you wish to displease the Convocation?"

"No! I'll...I'll get him to leave me alone...I'll tell him I'm too busy to see him until after the last performance of the show."

"See that he believes you," warned the sound. "He must stay out of the way. Music is all."

"Asmodeii?"

"Yes?"

"It is you, isn't it? Why can't I see you?"

"You don't even know what I look like. Is it my voice? Did you not expect it to sound like this? It is horrible, isn't it? Now you see why the convocation wants you to sing for them. We cannot make the sounds you can. That's why I prefer to communicate via machine. But your GODFREY HAS RUINED THAT. I will speak to you again. In this voice, my Serafina. I hope it does not frighten you too much."

I gripped the door handle. My Serafina...spoken by such a hellish sound! No, no, it was wrong. My hand trembled and the doorknob rattled.

I looked down at my white knuckles in horror.

"What was that?" demanded the sound.

"The door!" gasped Serafina. I let go of that handle as if it were molten and leapt back.

"Who's there?" twanged the sound. I looked about, but there was nowhere to hide. Footsteps.

A gaggle of ballet girls rounded the corner and I dashed into their midst. They giggled and hooted in protest. Serafina's door flew open. I ducked around the corner, hoping the ballet girls would shield me from sight.

"Prima Donna!" The girls trilled.

"What are you doing here?" Serafina demanded.

"The night is young!" replied one and several other answers joined: "Why are you still in costume?" "What are you doing?" "Leading lady has nerves, eh?"

It seemed the girls were all a bit drunk.

"Oh never mind," Serafina said. "But you should all get some sleep. We have another show tomorrow night."

The girls moved off with a chorus of "Humbug!" and Serafina closed her door. I waited at the corner, shaking like a struck cymbal. I was too afraid to approach the room again.

That sound...and what? The source of that sound was invisible? Serafina could not see it. Had it mentioned deamons? I clutched my head. I was dead sober. But this...

I shook in silent agony for what seemed hours, but must have been only twenty minutes.

The door creaked open and I went rigid.

I listened to Serafina's footsteps fade off down the hall and slowly relaxed. Strange calm stole over me and I squared my shoulders. I marched around the corner and threw open the dressing room door. If the source of that sound were still here, I would kill it.

The room was empty. It was not lavishly furnished. After checking the wardrobe and behind it, as well as the vanity and dressing screen, I had to give up. The thing was not here. Its smell was, though...that clean spice, immured in decay.

The room felt empty, tomb-like in its vacancy. I did not believe in invisible things. But then I remembered the entrance to that crypt near the typewriter. I had been drunk then.

But I hadn't been drunk earlier, when that sound had called Serafina 'my Serafina.'

My eye fell upon the floor beside the chair.

A book lay on the carpet, partially open.

A surge of white hot horror passed through me and I seized the book off the floor. It was very old and musty, leather bound and cracked. The title was The Ways of the Fallen Angels: Secrets, Summonings, and Symbols.

Two ribbons protruded from the damp pages, marking separate places. I flipped it open to the first.

A sort of alphabet was depicted. Unnatural shapes, mostly intricate geometrical diagrams, triangles, stars, and interlacing circles. One was circled in red pencil: an upside down triangle with a cross hanging from the tip and a curved line intersecting the top side. It had a caption: Opening Rune.

I frowned. With a careful flick of the mildewed pages, I turned to the second ribbon and was faced with an illustration of creatures—horned and hooved—gathering about a huge pentagram of fire.

The chapter title was printed in gothic letters: The Great Convocation of Devills.

Absurd! But...why was I trembling? I was no longer alone!

The sound filled the room, soft and mechanical.

"I SEE YOU, GODFREY!"

Stay tuned for the installment tomorrow!
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