Chapter 1 - Sarah

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AUDIO VERSION COMING SOON!

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When Sarah and Caesar stepped into the sunlight of the city of Paris, or at least the part of it with the airport, she expected the smell of baguettes or croissants or something cheesy like that. Instead, the city smelled like the German mom she remembered from the dance studio she went to as a child. The mom who helped with the small concession stand and then stood outside during breaks to smoke like her life depended on it, before secretly teaching Sarah how to cuss someone out in German while waiting for her mom to pick her up.

“Ok, Caesar,” she whispered to the black lab standing beside her. “Let’s see if we can find Monsieur Khan.” 

Sarah could hardly believe she was here. A year ago, she started her channel out of pure boredom. Working nights at the tv station led to the afternoons becoming completely empty while friends were either at work or in class. Researching the history of different fictional villains and monsters seemed like a good way to while away the hours. 

Turns out a bunch of people on the internet thought so, too. 

“Sarah Lucas?” 

Turning to make out a man with dark skin and salt and pepper hair with a beard which stopped only centimeters from his chin, Sarah held out her free hand with a smile. “Hi, Monsieur Khan?” 

The current manager of the opera laughed, and Sarah felt the air whiz past him as he waved his hand. “Oh, please! Call me Andrew, Mademoiselle!” 

“Then call me Sarah.” 

“And this adorable friend?” Andrew asked, gesturing to the four-legged creature. 

“This is Caesar, my guide dog.” Caesar seemed to hold its head higher, like a soldier being recognized for his bravery. “I brought his paperwork, as I know y’all were a bit worried about a guide dog staying for longer than a single show.” 

Sarah reached for her purse and felt for the copies of the papers in both French and English, and, just in case, the doctor's note that technically they weren’t supposed to ask for, but the internet said they might. 

“Don’t worry about it! All that matters is that you are here, and most likely exhausted from a long, terrible flight. Do you need any help with the car? With suitcases?”

“Maybe just a little when we get to the car.” She said as Mr. Khan took the suitcase from her. “Thank you again for the opportunity.” 

“It’s nothing. We may be more excited than you are,” he told her as they walked to the waiting car. “To tell you the truth, we’re hoping you’ll get more young people to appreciate what we do here.” 

Khan put her bags in the trunk, being extra careful with the camera equipment, then opened the front door for her like some old-fashioned gentleman and offered his arm to help her in. She took it before the man opened the back door, and Sarah called for Caesar to hop in, which he did, curling up in the backseat and panting as he looked around without a thought in his little lab head. 

“I also have to say that your French is impeccable,” Khan commented as he made his way to the driver’s seat. “Although you do not have to use it if you don’t want to. Most people here do know enough English to get by.” 

“And waste six years of suffering in a cramped classroom?” She chuckled as she folded her cane and buckled up. “I don’t think so.” 

“Ah, so you’ve been practicing for a while then?” 

“Yep. My school only had that, computer science, or Spanish. I knew enough Spanish from being in the south and I wanted a challenge. Thought I was all that, y’know?” 

He chuckled in a way only a father or uncle could before a moment passed. 

Sarah pulled out her phone awkwardly. “Do you mind if I film a bit? Just get the drive by through the window and some of Caesar sleeping in the back?”

“Feel free! And I do not mind answering any questions! My daughter says I am the opposite of camera shy,” he laughed again as she started filming the window’s view. 

She moved on after a moment to filming Caesar snoring away after a long flight that he, admittedly, wasn’t ready for. Turns out, when it comes to planes, Caesar is a very light sleeper.

“So,” she asked Mr. Khan. “How long have you been the manager of the theater?” 

“A little over ten years now, but I grew up visiting it all the time.” 

“Really?” Sarah moved the camera onto him.

Excerpt from Arriving in Paris! | Unmasking the Phantom | Day 1

Sarah: Can I ask why?

Khan: My parents both worked there, and after a while the building became like a family member itself. It’s one of those places that has a soul, and when you visit enough, you learn the depths of that soul like it’s your own.

Sarah: When do you think you started going there?

Khan: Well, I don’t remember my first visit, so I had to be young… So maybe two? Three at the latest? So the Palais Garnier has been part of my life for almost 50 years now? Give or take a few misbegotten years at university.

Sarah: So you must have grown up with the story of the Phantom, then.

Khan: Oh, of course, but we didn’t have the musical until I was about seventeen, so I saw more of the Universal Claude Rains version and, strangely enough, The Phantom of the Paradise. But my mother raised me on the book and the stories at the opera of slamming doors and strange mirrors.

Sarah: Have you ever experienced any spooky occurrences yourself? 

Khan: <with a laugh> Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. But if I did, I would wait until you're ready to tell you about it.

Mr. Khan spoke like a parent trying to scare their child on Halloween, and Sarah couldn’t help but give a small chuckle and put her phone away as Khan told her, “Speaking of that, if you ever feel unsettled in the Palais Garnier, do not be afraid to call or even stay with my family. My wife already offered to give you a huge welcome meal. She wanted to come, but she had an early class today.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude-” 

“Nonsense. Now that little Mina has left us for university, Fatimah has been in dire need of someone to baby,” he teased.

Sarah let out a laugh through her nose at that. Her mother had done the same thing when her sister went off to college. 

 “And staying at the Opera House for more than a night is no easy feat.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind having dinner with you and Mrs. Khan,” she offered. “And if things get too spooky, I’ll call you to rescue me.” 

Khan gave her a thankful nod before finally pulling up to the gates of the opera house. He said a word to the man in the little guard box, who opened the gate for the two as Sarah brushed out her skirt like it was a ballgown. Except, instead of a pumpkin carriage, she was in a minivan with a man who reminded her of her father back home… who was probably snoring away with the C-Pap machine at that very moment. 

According to her research, because of course she’d done research like the nerd she was, there were two main entrances for the opera house. One was for the general public, with doors that sat at the ground for people to get out of their carriages and walk on in. The other, where Sarah was being taken up, was designated specifically for the imperial family… and apparently, her now. 

He brought the car as close as he could get before getting out and opening the door, first for Caesar and then for Sarah, whom he offered his arm to again, so she could grab on and help herself out. The moment she stepped out, she felt the cool mid-January air attempting to give her poor Texan body frostbite.

She tried to help Monsieur Khan with the bags, but he waved Sarah off. Not wanting to just stand there and wait while he fought the old, fraying suitcases, she wandered up to the railing surrounding the ramp way to the doors. Her fingers traced the old stone, cold as ice and just barely warming as the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing both Sarah and Monsieur Khan in the beginnings of a warm embrace, only to be halted by the faint winds flowing through the city streets. 

She slowly raised her hands to feel the base and the feet of the statue. Her hands moved up to touch the toga at the statue's hem. Up and down her fingers went along the folds before holding at the highest point she could reach without getting on her toes, right on the ribs of whatever the statue was depicting. 

“Are you alright over there, Sarah?” Khan asked her as he approached with her suitcase and backpack. 

“Yeah, this is just how I get to experience some of the art you guys have,” she said reverently before moving her hand to the outside wall of the opera house. “And this is how I orient where I am.”

Monsieur Khan said something, but Sarah only seemed to hear the first part of his laugh when suddenly her hand against the wall felt a vibration. Several small ones, actually, in sequential order. 

“Is there a ballet or opera rehearsing right now?”

Khan opened the door for her and let Caesar trot ahead of the suddenly perplexed woman, as when she walked inside, she heard no music; she heard nothing, actually, except for the steps of Khan’s dress shoes, her tennis shoes squeaking slightly at every step, and the faint tip-taps of Caesar’s nails on the ground. 

“No?” he questioned. “Most rehearsals don’t start until around 13:30 today. Why?” 

“Just… felt something, I guess.” 

Sarah had to shake her head as the manager walked her down the hallway. She was only in Paris for an hour and suddenly seemed to be hearing things. It was probably sleep deprivation; she reasoned. After all, she couldn’t really get to sleep on the plane with a toddler kicking the back of her seat and the man across the aisle from her letting his feet out to air dry. You’d think people would have common sense enough to know that not everyone wants to look at, and much less smell, your dogs.

Andrew took her through the labyrinthine Palais Garnier and, to the woman's misfortune, up a few flights of steps. To the man’s credit, he tried to use every elevator he could find, but the building was old and by no means perfectly ADA-compliant. At least they tried where they could. Eventually, Monsieur Khan stopped at a door. 

“You may want to pull out your camera for this,” he offered, as Sarah listened to the clicks of the door unlocking. “We decided to surprise you and maybe get some more of a PR angle out of this.” 

Sarah obediently pulled out her phone and started to record. When he opened the door, Sarah could make out a sea of pink through the usual blur of morning light. She could feel the sunlight through the windows as she stepped into the room, where the squawking of her sneakers and the tip-tap of Caesar’s paws came to a stop as they walked across soft carpeting. 

“We had done our own research, and if Christine Daaé were real, then this would have been her dressing room.” 

Sarah felt the world still as she walked forward, holding her breath.

Visual Description from Arriving in Paris! | Unmasking the Phantom | Day 1

The camera showed a rose pink dressing room, where the management and staff had provided a small twin-sized bed with comfortable hotel-like sheets and a comforter. A mirror stood wall-to-wall behind the bed, like a silent sentinel, mirroring the vanity on the opposite side of the room to create an endless loop of woman and service dog. A thin piano sat against the windowless wall that pressed against the hallway, with the bench tucked underneath it. Two last details remained. One is intentionally for Sarah, and the other is for viewers watching at home. A dog bed for Caesar, circular and fluffy with what looked like faux fur… and a flicker of light behind the mirror.

Sarah laughed out of pure shock as the manager set her bag in the corner and her backpack on the vanity’s desk. 

“Oh my God! Y’all didn’t have to do this!” She told him as she found her way to the bed and sat down. “I would have been fine with just a sleeping bag in a closet!”

“Do not mention it… or do in your video if you want to make us look good,” he teased. “I’ll leave you be for the day to rest and get everything set up the way you need it to be, but before I go, I’ve got a few rules.” 

“Hand at the level of my eye in the cellars? Never use box five for a performance?”

“Yes, actually.” 

Sarah expected him to say it in the same way he’d been teasing her before, but Khan seemed scarily serious. He wasn’t bouncing with his steps any longer, as she could tell from the movement, but he was approaching her like a general about to give orders to a private. 

“You have permission to go into box five for your investigation, but you can’t use it during a show, and you have to tell me when you plan to go in there,” Khan explained. “The hand at the level of your eye is more of a superstitious thing we do now, but it’s something we enforce. I do also suggest going down to the reservoir with someone in tow, and I don’t mean brave Caesar here.” 

Sarah sat dumbfounded, but nodded‌. 

“Ok… anything else?” 

“Yes, and this one’s not in the books,” he said solemnly, “and it only became implemented after the 80s. No one is to speak ill of the memory of Christine Daaé.”

“I don’t see why someone would, but do you mind if I ask why? Does Erik still get upset?” Sarah smirked. 

“Mademoiselle, you have no idea.” 

He cleared his throat, and like taking off a heavy coat, his demeanor relaxed. Monsieur Khan reached into his pocket and dug for but a moment before pulling out two items. He placed them both in Sarah’s waiting hands. One was cold and metallic, jagged on one end and round on the other; the other was flat, thin, rectangular, and a tad warmer from being plastic. 

“That’s the master key and the keycard for what we modernized. Wherever you need to go, you just have to use one or the other. And the keycard will work as your security clearance. Your room has its own attached bathroom, and the kitchen is just down the elevator and to the left. We passed it on the way here.” 

Sarah held the key and keycard tight in her hands as Khan walked to the door. 

“And remember, you have my phone number if you need anything.” 

Sarah shrugged and put the two items on the bed, grinning. “I’ll call you the second I hear an organ,” she promised before he walked out the door. 

“Goodnight, Mademoiselle Sarah. Don’t let the ghosts bite.”