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Memoirs of a Monster	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2992 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The narrative that I now set forth is one of only a few episodes in my life that I am able to recall with at least some fondness. As these are rare moments in my existence, I find it agreeable to record the circumstance for future reference. For one of two things I am certain will occur. I shall either find myself in such a state of hopelessness some day that I will have no recollection of anything worthy of remembering about my life; or I shall die alone, as I am almost certain to do, and my discovered personal effects will serve to feed the morbid curiosity of those wishing to delve into the mind of the fabled “opera ghost”. In either case, it is my wish that this tale serve to either remind me, or inform others that I was not entirely a loathsome beast. There were times, however fleeting, when I knew at least a hint of what happiness was. This is the story of one such time.

Chapter One - A Friend in Need

One late evening (or early morning, I could scarcely recognize the difference), after staring at my quill and blank score for what seemed hours with no inspiration to be found, I decided to take it upon myself to go and pay a visit to the stables. It had been no less than a fortnight since I had last been, and I felt the tiniest bit of guilt for neglecting my old friend, Cesar. The gelding had, after all, been of the utmost assistance in bearing many of the furnishings that I now enjoyed through the long and unforgiving corridors to my home. Without him, I would have nothing but a simple straw mat and the few lesser items that I was able to transport myself, or either received by the hand of my only confidante, Madame Giry. I had since felt indebted to the horse, and I frequently checked in on him to satisfy myself that he was well cared for and adequately attended to.

So it was that I set out across the smooth lake, taking my time and thinking on how good it would be to see Cesar and feel his inquisitive muzzle pressed against my hand, a gesture that I knew was selfish on his part (to be sure he had a nose for sweets). I had always found horses to be quite sagacious animals though, and they, unlike many humans I had known, seemed to be instinctively aware of what makes an individual a friend or a foe. Cesar’s acceptance of my presence therefore eased my mind, even if it was a wishful illusion. For if the truth be known, my poor face was the lesser of my scarred attributes. I had recently been apprised of the fact that my true distortion lied much deeper. I do not know how Cesar had missed it, but perhaps my generosity with cubes of sugar and bits of sweet pear were enough to overshadow my obvious lack of goodness within. Whatever the cause, I looked forward to visiting with him, and his enjoyment at seeing me in return, even if it was merely pretense.

The walk to the stable from the lake was not long, for the horses too were housed below the opera house, something I found entirely detestable. It was one thing for a monster to find sanctuary from the cruel world above in this dank place, but quite another for a beautiful creature of light to be closed away down here. How many of them had I seen hauled out and taken away because they had fallen ill? Horses are not meant to live in boxes underground, buried like forgotten corpses and only called upon to do the bidding of the imbeciles that both managed and patronized my opera house. Though my memories were faint and depleted by a great passage of time and traumatic events in between, I do remember enough to know that horses are happiest turned on grass with other horses to keep them company. But as usually the case in this unjust world, what is best for the innocent is not nearly as important as what is best for the powerful. It was thought by some that building the stables in this manner, beneath the main structure, would save space and would also lend convenience to accessing those animals used in productions. And so the hideous place had been constructed, and the souls had been entombed. The sadness of the world lurked behind their large liquid eyes, and I felt their pain all too acutely.

I fully expected no human souls to be within as I entered the familiar musty confines of the stable. Though my perception of time was not altogether accurate, I knew it was sometime between midnight and dawn, and the stable hands were likely all quite sound asleep, helped along a great deal by the effects of the whiskey they drowned themselves in on a nightly basis. I moved quietly down the narrow aisle way that separated the stalls. The horses shifted, rustling the thin bed of straw beneath their feet, trying in vain to find comfort. These were narrow standing stalls, not the loose boxes afforded some stabled animals. The inhabitants here were not afforded the luxury of freedom at any time. They stood with heads tied on unforgiving stone floors. The straw that had been scattered was done so sparingly, in the hopes that it would absorb the ammonia tinged urine that the poor beasts were force to stand in. It was beyond me how men expected a horse to give him so much when he gave so little to the animal in return.

Cesar’s stall was at the far end of the row on the right, and as I proceeded towards it I became suddenly aware that I might not be alone. I stopped and listened and it was with great alarm that I discovered the soft murmur of voices coming from Cesar’s very stall. I panicked at the idea of being discovered, and hearing one voice come clearer as though its owner might be exiting into the aisle, I quickly ducked into the stall on my left, pressing along the wall until I was at the manger where I crouched and waited.

The occupant of the stall seemed quite interested in my presence. She was a small white pony, one often used on stage, and she observed me with wide dark eyes and forward pricked ears as she pulled against her tether in an attempt to reach out and investigate my face. I refused to indulge her with my attention, and she ardently persisted until she caused such a racket tugging the rope and rattling the metal ring to which she was tied that I finally acquiesced and reached a hand out to her muzzle. This placated her only momentarily and as she lipped the leather of my glove, she began to paw with her dainty hoof. It was now that I realized the mare had caught a whiff of the treats I had intended for Cesar. Begrudgingly I offered a chunk of the pear to her, and she devoured it straight away and demanded more. This continued until she had stripped me of all my offerings for my old friend and I silently cursed the gluttonous pony under my breath. Seeing no more use for me, she slanted herself with her head in the opposite corner of the manger, propped a hind foot, and went to sleep.

I was desperate to know what was taking place down the aisle, but far too cautious to move. At length my knees began to grow stiff from crouching (my long legs were not serving me so well in such a predicament), and so I lowered myself to the floor and sat with my knees drawn close so that the dozing pony would not accidentally stand on me. I could still hear the muffled voices coming from Cesar’s stall, and though I strained to make out what was being said, I could not.

There is no telling how long I remained in this position, for I fell asleep at some point with my head leaned back against wall. A horrendous noise jarred me awake at once, and it seemed the pony too for she started, her hooves scuffing against the slippery straw on the stone floor. When the noise came again I was cognizant enough to recognize it and the realization sent my heart plummeting down to my gut. There are few sounds like that of a struggling horse, and few sights as disheartening. I could hear clearly now the clamoring of hooves against hard wooden walls frantically kicking and pawing. There were human sounds of distress too, and this time I could make out what was being said. They were shouting encouragements at one minute followed by sullen curses when the racket would cease.

I got to my feet, partly out of concern for Cesar and partly out of concern for myself. The pony, as well as all the other horses in the stable had been unnerved by the apparent recognition of one of their own in peril. She now swayed and stepped to and fro with her back legs. No doubt she wanted, as I did, to see what the matter was. I tried in my own way to ease the mare, speaking to her in hushed tones and laying my hand along her neck, but each time the brutal pounding came from down the aisle she would jump and dance nervously. I therefore had to abandon my hiding place for fear of being trampled.

I moved silently along the floor, daring to creep closer to the stall where I felt certain some horrible fate had befallen my dear old friend. I was hardly ten yards away when two men walked out into clear sight, their backs to me. They spoke briefly, saying in so many words that nothing was to be done and that the “poor bastard” would be dead by morning. They shook their heads then and much to my relief, as I stood frozen against the wall, they retreated to the living quarters never the wiser of my presence. I waited until I heard the door close and then a moment more before hastily hurrying to the stall.

The sight that I found was so dreadful that I had almost wished I hadn’t come. Cesar, a small horse by no means, lay awkwardly in the bottom of his diminutive abode, his legs bent and pressed against the wall, his neck curled and his head lodged beneath his manger. He was breathing heavily, his great sides heaving and his nostrils flaring. A lather of sweat coated his neck and flanks and when I entered he rolled a wary eye back to look at me. I felt my chest tighten at the pitiful vision. I couldn’t imagine how or why he had gotten down, but it was obvious from the condition of the wall, he had been desperately trying for some time to right himself to no avail. I felt a cold lump of helplessness hit the pit of my stomach. A horse could stay down only so long before his internal organs became crushed by his own weight. Given Cesar’s size and the brutal severity of the unforgiving stone beneath him, I wagered he wouldn’t last much longer. His outward appearance spoke to the agony he was in, and I cursed the stable hands for not having the decency to at least put a bullet between his eyes to ease his suffering.

I knelt beside him, whispering soothing words and stroking his hip in an effort to keep him still. I was certain his struggling would do more harm that good. It was then as I was trying to come up with a way to save the poor creature that I perceived of the smallest movement in the corner of the stall. I looked up to find what appeared at first glance to be a young stable boy. I couldn’t say who was more frightened, for I scrambled back and nearly went headlong out the end of the stall, my feet slipping on the straw. I stood and stared. The boy’s face was streaked with tears under his wool cap. He rubbed a filthy sleeve across his nose and sniffed and then said to me, “He’s going to die. They’re going to let him die.”

Had I not been so caught off guard, perhaps it would have dawned on me before that very moment. Perhaps I would have taken notice of the heavy lashes and wide eyes. I would have been more aware of the full lips and long graceful neck. But it was the soft voice that gave it away at last. This was no young boy facing me. Despite the short cropped hair topped by a cap, the soiled shirt and trousers, and the thick soled leather boots, there was no mistaking. This was a young woman, and as I surmised that she was in as much danger of being truly discovered as I was, I remained and offered no threat.

“How did he get like this?” I asked the young woman, still not at ease and fully expecting her to either scream or bolt at any moment. She stood quite still though and looked down at Cesar through lowered lids, a plump tear breaking her cheek and sliding to her jaw.

“He broke his tie,” she said and I looked up to indeed see the frayed ends of the rope. I glanced down again and saw the other end of the rope still fastened to his halter. It made no sense though, and my mind struggled with why such a placid animal as Cesar would have cause to break his tether. I had just raised my eyes and opened my mouth to form the question when the young woman, seeming to read my thoughts answered for me. “Henri lost his temper. He had been drinking I think. Cesar stepped on his foot, it was an accident. But Henri went mad and grabbed a carriage whip.” At this the girl seemed to lose her voice and she choked on a sob.

I looked down at Cesar and discovered the faint whelps that crossed his hindquarters and flank. He had been thrashed sure enough. In his panic, he must have lost his footing and fallen. I felt a hot wave wash over the back of my neck and creep into my face as anger momentarily replaced my sorrow. A gentler animal than Cesar had not been born, but even the most forgiving of souls cannot abide by irrational cruelty. It was widely accepted that kind men made kind horses. Likewise, a good natured horse, no matter how well trained could be driven to the point of madness by a malicious master. (The reader will note that here too I find myself once again in complete understanding of the plight of these unfortunate creatures.) Thus seemed to be the case with my poor Cesar who now lay before me helpless and facing a certain long suffering death. Had I not been so concerned for the animal, I would have gone straight away for some rope and ended at least a few lives that night in the living quarters of the stable, if for nothing else than the rightful retribution for the death of an innocent soul.

My thoughts were still set on finding some miracle to save the horse however and rope seemed to be useful in this as well. I inquired of the young woman if she could find a good length of rope. I gathered that she was employed in some capacity, her disguise providing her the post. She nodded that she knew of some and hurried off to retrieve it. I waited, forming the plan in my mind of how I would execute this hopeful rescue. It stood to reason that all Cesar lacked was leverage. His shod hooves slid along the wooden wall preventing him from being able to push himself over. I carefully scanned the area of the stall floor and gathered that the dimensions were sufficient enough that should I be able to pull Cesar over, he would have ample space to stretch his legs out and push himself to his feet. I felt my adrenaline begin to pump at the prospect of how promising my plan was. The only thing that concerned me greatly was the position of his head under the manger. Pulling his body one way while his head was trapped could be disastrous. There was little space beneath the manger, and I thought on it as I waited for the young woman to return with the rope.

She came back with more than enough and I set about tying loops and slipping them over Cesar’s hooves on his farthest fore and hind leg. This was not done easily as I had to pry and squeeze to reach the trapped feet. At one point a somewhat rested Cesar gave another gallant effort to free himself, his will to survive not quite yet gone. I froze, afraid that the commotion would bring the men back from their beds. I quickly decided that should that happen I had enough rope at my disposal to make quick work of them and still have plenty left over to save Cesar. But they were not to be roused, and I continued my work, finally able to slip the loops over his fetlock joints. We were both out of breath by the time I was done and I removed my cape and my jacket and draped them over the side of the stall. I tore my cravat loose and put it with my outer garments and quickly worked my collar open a bit so that I could breathe. I knew the task ahead would be a difficult one and I rested for a moment before continuing.

“Monsieur?” The soft voice startled me. I had been so absorbed in what I was doing I had forgotten about the presence of the young woman. I turned to her now and noted that despite her boyish façade, she was not unpleasant to look upon. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

I told her of my plan to roll Cesar away from the wall. She looked dubious, and I could hardly blame her. I had decided that it would be her task to squeeze beneath the manger and turn his head and neck as I pulled his body. This meant that I was to man both the front and rear ropes, a wide spread to be sure, and would be single-handedly attempting to move nearly twelve hundred pounds. I have always been strong, but this was as daunting an undertaking as I could fathom. For her part, the young woman agreed to help. I instructed her to move slowly so as not to upset Cesar and she crept with the stealth of a cat into the cramped space and settle into position by his head so that she could assist him. After a few deep breaths I decided the time had come and I gathered the ropes, thankful that I had worn my gloves and said, “On three,” to my helper who nodded her understanding.

I counted down, and at three I pulled with all my might on the ropes. Cesar seemed to recognize that he was to cooperate and he didn’t attempt to fight as the loops tightened around his pasterns and began to tug him over. I ignored the screaming pain in my arms and back as I gritted my teeth and dug in with set determination. Only once did I shoot a glace under the manger. I saw that the young woman was as ardently involved in her assignment as I was in mine. She was speaking to Cesar with constant words of reassurance, and keeping a wary eye on the progress of his body so that she might maneuver his head accordingly. To my relief, once I got the great horse fully onto his back, he came the rest of the way under his own power and the ropes went slack. I watched to be sure his head had made the journey with him and seeing that it had I stood back and allowed him the necessary space to get to his feet. He did so quite nimbly, promptly shaking himself and heaving a sigh of relief. I collapsed against the wall, overcome with joy and exhaustion. Cesar, though a little scraped from the time spent writhing on the hard stone floor, looked none the worse for wear.

The imposter stable boy crawled from her post beneath the manger beaming at me. She immediately wrapped her arms around Cesar’s neck and pressed her cheek against his mane murmuring sweet adorations to him. I joined her at his side, removing my gloves and running my hands along his frame, fingering the cuts and abrasions gently to determine their severity.

“I know where there is some salve,” the young woman said, and she went out of the stall for only a moment and returned with a jar. I watched as she tended to Cesar with loving kindness, dabbing the ointment on his wounds and talking in a soothing voice. Slowly, as the excitement of the situation wore off, I became increasingly self-conscious. As I watched her doctoring the horse, I began to wonder why she hadn’t so much as asked my name. As a precaution, I decided on the instant to reveal that I knew her secret. This, I thought, would serve to keep her quiet should she suddenly become tempted to reveal my exploits of that night to another.

“I didn’t know they allowed women to work in the stables,” I said quite steadily watching for her reaction. She looked at once startled and ashamed. Her eyes searched mine and then darted around as though she was trying to think of something to justify her gender. When at last she looked at me again, it was with a pleading countenance.

“Please don’t tell,” she implored. “They’ll throw me out if they discover the truth.”

I thought to myself they would more likely do much worse than that. The fiends employed in the stables of the opera house were not the most reputable of sorts. I had little doubt that should my helper’s secret be discovered, she would be reminded quite severely of the fact that she was female. They would have more than enough fun with such a pretty young thing before relieving her of her duties. But it was not without some pleasure that I discovered her desperate desire to have her identity remain a secret. Once again I started to speak and once again she seemed to know my mind without needing to hear my voice.

“Your secret is safe with me too, Phantom,” she said a little shyly. Her eyes dipped and then met mine as she stroked Cesar’s shoulder. Unable to say anything else, I gave her a slight nod in gratitude. We hardly spoke another word. I said my goodnight to Cesar and thanked the young woman for her assistance and discretion in the matter. She smiled at me, (I can still feel the piercing sensation as I write this) and I took my leave, gathering my shed garments and striding out of the stable in a haze. It was only when I was back on the lake, gliding towards home that I allowed myself to smile. It was the smile meant for her, to thank her and return the one she had given me, but being the crude monster that I was, I had only gaped at her stupidly and rushed away. My heart sank at my ineptness with fellow human beings, especially those of the fairer sex. As I pulled my mask and wig off and studied my reflection before retiring to my bed, I wondered if the poor creature would suffer nightmares on account of me.
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Memoirs of a Monster