The Opera Ghost

The buses pulled up to the old opera house, and the large amount of screaming girls contained within the long, gray vehicles screamed vigorously at its massive size and elegance. The bus doors creaked open and they all came rushing out like a stampede of anxious and ambitious ballet dancers. If their instructor, Mademoiselle LaViola, had not pulled out her infamous whistle and blew in it, causing them all to halt and cover their ears, the opera house would have surely seen destruction and devastation.

“Ladies!” Mademoiselle called out, giving out a stern expression to each and every one of them. “We are in one of the world’s most famous and historical landmarks in all of Europe! You are supposed to be calm, elegant and graceful dancers, and yet you are all screaming like a bunch of boy band fan girls!”

The young ladies bowed their heads in shame, but still sent impatient glances at the magnificent building before them.

Only one girl remained on the bus, and this girl happened to be the only one in the group of ballet dancers that was not excited in the least. Instead, she held a nervous and loathing look on her face, and slowly trudged off the bus with her carry-on bag in hand. Once off, she glanced at the building and admired it apprehensively. Sure, it was beautiful, built in the early 18th century, almost immediately after the end of the French Revolution. It had many magnanimous arches and pillars, with golden statues at each corner of the building, statues of half-naked women holding a single piece of cloth in their hands and trying to shield themselves innocently. The girl glared at the statues childishly.

‘No one is like that anymore,’ she thought to herself sadly, a sigh escaping out through her nose. ‘No one is innocent or lovely and pure on the inside like that anymore.’

“Liana!” Mademoiselle shouted out at the girl in a chastising tone. “Venez ici, maintenant!”

Having taken two years of French herself, Liana did as the instructor said and quickly ran to the group of the girls who all sneered at her haughtily.

“Now, I want all of you ladies to go back to your travel buses and gather up your things,” she commanded to them, standing properly with her head held high.

Mademoiselle LaViola was not a terrible teacher; in fact, she was quite talented and an amazing ballet instructor. She taught all of the girls’ routines for the past 11 years, and all of the girls adored her. Naturally, she was strict in class. You had to be; otherwise the girls would not take it seriously, something very key to the art of ballet. But outside of the studio, she was friendly and fun.

“Then, you will head up the stairs where the owner will meet you and show you to your dorms,” she informed them, her posture not faltering.

The young girls nodded their bun-clad heads and rushed off to their buses, making sure to collide into Liana as they did so.

Liana was not like all of the other girls. She was nowhere near a ballerina, but she was indeed a dancer. She had always hated the fact that, whenever someone heard the title, ‘dancer,’ they immediately thought of ballet, when there were in fact many other styles of dance. For example, there was Irish dancing, tap dancing, hip hop, lyric, jazz, clogging, even Indian Ritual dancing. Liana was a hip hop and a tap dancer, hence the reason why the other girls despised her.

She moaned, pivoted around back towards the direction in which she came, and leaned against the side of the bus casually, awaiting her turn to enter and gather her things.

Liana’s father had always told her that she had the legs of a ballerina dancer. It was true; her legs were indeed long and muscular, but she could never find herself enjoying it as much as she did hip hop and tap. She had only taken two and a half years of ballet (two dance seasons and one summer session), but that was three years ago.

She had long, golden brown hair and a round, somewhat chubby face (thanks to the Polish side of her family). Liana had hazel eyes (thanks to the Italian side of her family) that she had come to admire, the only thing that she admired about herself. She was tall, about 5’6”, and had a slender body that she wished, just like every other girl in the world, was perfectly flat.

Finally, the girls had exited the bus, allowing Liana her chance at retrieving her two suitcases. They were waiting for her towards the back of the bus in one of the elevated compartments above the seats. She grabbed them and pulled her down, and followed the rest of the girls into the building.

Inside, an older, but not quite old, woman waited them at the bottom of the grand staircase. But she wasn’t what caught the girls’ attention; it was the room that they stood in. The floors and staircase were pure white marble, and there were statues just like, to Liana’s distaste, the ones that stood outside. The ceiling was covered in murals of angels mixed into splashes of red and greens and blues. In the center, there was a colossal chandelier, covered in millions of dangling crystals. There were three layers to it, and, about a foot apart, there were electric candles along the rails.

“Bienvenue à L’Opera de Magie,” the woman greeted with a sharp French accent. “Or, welcome to zee Opera of Magic. Zis magnificent structure waz built in 1800, immediately after the French Revolution, by orderz of Napoleon Bonaparte, for iz entertainment uze. My name iz Madame Bellamont, and I will be zowing you your roomz.”

She ascended up the white marble staircase and directed us to a large room with about fifty or so beds in it. Immediately, the girls ran for the best bed next to their friends. Liana, having no friends with her, walked down the catwalk of beds towards the back, where there were four free beds. She took the last one on the right, next to a large mirror with golden trims. She sat her suitcases on the ground and her carry-on on the bed, and began unpacking her clothes into the small armoire on the right side of her bed.

Liana dug into her carry-on bag and pulled out her blue iPod, and slipped the headphones into her ears, clicking on her favorite song in the world: Past the Point of No Return, from the Phantom of the Opera movie. She loved the movie so much, and had even seen the play multiple times, which was one of the reasons why she decided to come with her dance studio’s ballet troupe to France; to see an actual opera house. She didn’t care about the French romance, or the croissants, but the opera house.

The rest of the girls were chatting away on top of each other’s beds, picking out outfits to wear when they got their chance to go site-seeing, when Madame Bellamont opened the door and asked us to enter into the auditorium. The girls filed out and stared once again in awe at the splendid auditorium where they would be performing at the end of their week-long stay in Paris. Liana, of course, sat in the back with no one around her.

It was the same welcoming speech that she had given when they had first entered not half an hour ago, the only difference being that they were each handed a schedule.

8:00 am-10:00 am Ballet Rehearsal with Madame Bellamont
10:00 am-11:00 am Free Time
11:00 am-12:30 pm Lunch
1:00 pm-3:00 pm Ballet Rehearsal with Mademoiselle LaViola
3:00 pm-4:00 pm Free Time
4:00 pm-7:00 Site-Seeing as a group
7:00 pm-8:00 am Bed

“Anyone that is found out of bed in between these hours will receive a warning,” Mademoiselle LaViola warned the girls. “The second time, you will be sent straight home.”

“Zis opera houze az many strange secrets,” Madame Bellamont mused, looking up at the rafters with a knowing expression. “It would be wize not to break any of zeese rules.”

“Ahem, alright then, dancers,” Mademoiselle announced after a minute of awkwardness. “It is currently 8:30. Please return to your dorms and be ready for breakfast at 7:00 sharp. Bonne nuit.”

The dancers in the auditorium retreated to the dorms in an “orderly fashion,” with Liana close behind. She was the last to leave, seeing that nobody cared. She gazed curiously at the rafters, wondering exactly what Madame was talking about. Seeing that nothing was there, she shrugged and followed the other dancers backstage and to the dorms.

********
Liana couldn’t sleep. She was in a strange place surrounded by people that didn’t like her, and she could hear someone walking around somewhere, for their footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the nearly-empty opera house.

She debated long and hard inside her head, and finally came to a conclusion. She threw her plain white blankets up in the air so that they floated down to her side, and slipped on a pair of grey slippers. She tiptoed passed all of the sleeping girls and out into the dark hall, secretly thankful that she had brought a flashlight. She reached her destination, the auditorium, and ran up onto the glorious stage. Liana set the flashlight onto the front of the stage so that it lit up only a small section of it.

She silently walked to the center of the stage and looked out into her pretend audience. Slowly, she kicked her leg up into a grand battement, and slowly released it downwards.

In her spare time, Liana liked to pretend that she was up on stage with the rest of the girls at her studio, a ballerina. She admired those girls for their strength and abilities.

She turned to her right in a chaîné, and then into a capezio leap. Well, she attempted to do a capezio leap, but ended up falling on her butt. A moan escaped from her lips, and she stood up and brushed off her white pajamas. She hoped that no one had heard her, but to her misfortune, someone did.

“No, no, NO!” someone called out from the rafters.

Liana gasped and looked around worriedly, wondering who was speaking to her. Judging by the tone of the voice, it was a man, and an annoyed one at that.

“You do two chaînés,” he commanded, emphasizing the number. “And the second one needs to be in plié!”

The girl hesitated before answering, “Excuse me, but, but who are you?”

“Don’t ask questions!” he yelled out, sounding, if it was even possible, even angrier, causing Liana to jump. “Do as you are told!”

She swallowed and shook her head, as if to try to wake herself up, but to no avail. She was indeed awake, and there was indeed a man yelling at her to do two chaînés and the second in plié before doing her capezio leap.

“You’re trying my patience, girl,” he growled out, and Liana glared at the invisible figure in the rafters.

“Sorry,” she began sarcastically. “But I haven’t had much experience in ballet. It was only for fun.”

“Was that your first time ever attempting a capezio leap?” he asked curiously after a moment of silence.

She nodded her head.

“Hm,” the voice said.

“What?”

“You actually have potential,” he told her, his voice thoughtful, and Liana felt a tiny bit flattered. “Are you one of the dancers with the Viola Studio of Dance?”

“Yes,” she answered, wondering why he was interrogating her, and why she was answering these trivial questions. “But I’m only in hip hop and tap.”

He snorted as a response.

“They’re both styles of dances, just as ballet is,” Liana called out, crossing her arms. “Who are you anyways to judge me?”

“You need a teacher,” he said, avoiding her question. “And you are only here for a week. That doesn’t give me much time.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Liana stopped him, slowly stepping back to where the steps were calling out to her to run. “I do NOT need you to teach me anything. I have no skill in ballet technique at all! And you still haven’t told me who you are yet!”

There was no response.

“Hello?” Liana yelled out. “Hey, where’d you go?”

She sighed and shook her head. She assumed that it was probably someone that worked here who was playing a joke on her. But the joke did give her a sense of hope.

Yawning, she was satisfied to know that her little venture had made her tired. She went back to her dorms and tried to forget about the event that just took place.

But for some reason, she couldn’t.

********

“But monsieur!” Madame Bellamont pleaded. “She ‘az no ballet experience, only zis ‘ip ‘op and tap. Surely one of zee other girlz ‘ere have more-”

“Enough, madame,” the man silenced her, his masked face glaring at her. “I’ve seen her try. She has spirit. There is something about her that I need to complete myself. She is perfect.”

“Are you sure, monsieur?” she attempted to dissuade him again.

“Yes, madame,” he answered her, gazing out at the young girl sleeping in her bed.

She looked so calm, so peaceful, so...beautiful. She was indeed perfect.

“You are to inform Monsieur Amaury that I have found my pupil,” he commanded.

“And what about ‘er instructor?”

“Tell her, but be discreet and vague,” he told her, not taking her eyes off of the Liana. “I don’t want her to know too much about my plan. About my angel. Now go.”

“Yes, monsieur,” Madame Bellamont answered with a bow of her head, and head down the tunnel to the opera houses’ owner, Monsieur Amaury, to tell him the news. She wondered whether this was a good idea or not, but Monsieur Amaury did promise Him that he could teach any pupil that He deemed worthy of His instruction. She only hoped that He made the right choice.

“Tomorrow, my angel,” He whispered, reaching out and touching the wall separating them. “We will begin your training.”