Based on the works of Rick Griffin and Gaston Leroux
A Story by Harry Johnathan
CHAPTER ONE
Once upon a time (and by that I mean New York, 1911) there was an Opera House - the Babylon Opera House, situated right next to the Department of Sanitation on 126 Worth Street. It wasn’t a grand or big or even a good Opera House, but it was certainly an Opera House, and you could listen to music in it, provided you ignore the peeling wallpaper, wet seats, and falling sandbags that had the potential to end any of the performers at any given time.
And in that Opera House, in the manager’s office at the very top floor, a deal was being made. The old owners, who went solely by Bruce and Roosevelt on a first-name basis, were selling the venue to Keene and Breel Milton, a wealthy and respected couple who made their fortune in clothes sewn by starving, impoverished children; Keenes’ father called them “essential workers”.
“Just sign here and the Opera is yours!”, said Bruce, pressing his hand atop a lengthy contract on yellowed paper. Breel attempted to sign but his paw trembled too much, causing an irritated Keene to push him out of the way and sign the paper himself. “Pleasure doing business with you”, said Roosevelt, shaking Keene’s paw before rolling up the contract and stuffing it in his waistcoat. The two kangaroos were heading out the door when Keene called out, “Hey! Where are you going?”
“Back to Australia”, said Bruce matter-of-factly. He was about to shut the door behind him when he suddenly paused. “Oh, and one last thing: you might receive notes from a certain ‘The Phantom of the Opera’. It’s usually advised to reserve Box Five for him at all times and always listen to his… uh, suggestions.” Keene and Breel looked at each-other for a moment and burst out laughing. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”, replied Keene.
“This is no joke. Accidents have been known to happen around here when The Phantom is ignored….”, said Roosevelt before Bruce finally shut the door; Keene could hear VERY fast footsteps heading toward the staircase. Breel looked genuinely frightened; Keene just shrugged.
“I’m sure they’re just joking, honey, or they’re insane”, said Keene. “Or both.” His words provided absolutely no comfort to Breel, so Keene sighed, opened the office door and said “Look, we’ll ask one of the workers around here about this ‘Phantom’ character and be done with it.” The two mustelids exited the office and approached the nearest person they could - Mrs. McGillicuddy, the elderly human concierge, who was currently feather-dusting a shoe and completely ignoring a suspicious stain on the wall right behind her.
“Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you something?”, asked Keene. McGillicuddy looked up at her new boss with a disturbingly large and dopey grin and answered “Yes, dear?”
“Would you happen to know anything about a ‘Phantom of the Opera’?”
Breel expected a look of horror to wash over McGillicuddy’s face, but that never happened. Her smile never wavered, the spark in her eyes never vanished and she appeared perfectly calm. “Oh, him? Yes, yes who doesn’t know? The managers used to pay him 30,000 francs a month because they were afraid of him, but there’s nothing to fear, he’s actually a very nice man, he always gives me generous tips when I enter the Box, but he always hid his face from me-”’
“Hold on, did you just say you have access to Box Five?”, asked Keene emphatically. “Well, of course I do, silly. I’m the concierge!”, replied McGillicuddy. Keene grabbed McGillicuddy, which as you can probably imagine looked very awkward considering he was only 4 feet tall, and shook her vigorously. “Well, don’t just stand here! Take us to him - there’s a concert going on right now, he’d surely be there if he were real!”
After a brief walk all the way around the rotunda, down the twin staircase, through the actual theater, into the lower offices, down a hatch, through the furnaces, up another staircase, through the storage closet, down a long corridor, up yet another staircase, all the way around the rotunda again, the trio arrived at the door of Box Five.
“Well… here he is.”, said McGillicuddy as she pulled out her keychain, stuffed the skull-shaped key into the lock, and opened the balcony door.
Keene and Breel entered the box, and while they weren’t certain what exactly they’d be seeing, they didn’t expect a small, completely non-imposing figure huddled up in a black blanket swaying and rocking to the music.
Upon realizing his safe space had been intruded upon, the figure turned around, covering his face with one hand and using the other to throw a variety of objects at the duo, including an empty toilet-paper roll, a Hanukkah candle, and a bag of Beef Jerky. “Get out of my box, get out now!”, cried the figure in a nasally tone, and Keene and Breel obeyed, visibly shaken by the whole ordeal.
—
Several days had passed, and the cast and crew of the Opera House were preparing for another production, “Pridelands”, about a war between lions and hyenas in the Sahara which ended with thousands dead, the hyenas in slavery, and the Lions’ kingdom in economic shambles. It was light entertainment.
“I can’t perform in this thing!”
Duchess, the Prima-Donna, was busy pestering the director, Grape, while fussing around with her costume, which was a perfectly fine and normal-looking dress. The entire problem for Duchess, of course, was that it was a perfectly FINE and NORMAL dress.
"Stop being ridiculous. We only have a couple hours till showtime", said Grape. Duchess scoffed. "I refuse to perform unless the dress is fixed. I want it painted with polka-dots and cut a bit shorter around the neckline and legs. And add some tassels to the arms, that would look swell, don't you think? Of course you think so, I always had the best ideas, after all-"
"Good lord, does she ever shut up?", one of the Chorus Girls said. Sitting next to her was another Chorus Girl, Sabrina, a black cat in a white dress very similar to Duchess' own. Sabrina shook her head "no" and gave out a light chuckle.
Sabrina watched with a mixture of bewilderment and sad pity as Duchess stormed off to her dressing-room after Grape vetoed her suggestion that her character should be given a chihuahua sidekick with matching outfits. Grape herself was currently arguing with the baritone, Rex, about some obscure stage directions while doing her best to ignore Peanut, the horse-wrangler, who was completely hysterical, flailing his arms around and desperately trying to get her attention.
“GRRAAAAAPE, Caesar is gone! Caesar is gone! A man in a hat and a mask and a cape came out of the walls and he took Caesar and I was so scared that all I could do was stand there and they fell through the floor and are you even listening an-”
An irritated Grape sighed and motioned to one of the stagehands, Jack, a wolf with a missing ear and sickly-green fur. “You, One-Arm! Deal with him.” Jack promptly escorted Peanut outside, gifting the crew approximately 5 seconds of peace and quiet before Duchess came back and started screaming her head off. “This is an outrage! I will not stand for this”, cried Duchess as she walked over to Grape with some kind of letter in her hand. “What is it, now?”, Grape asked. "I found this on my desk!", said Duchess. She handed Grape the letter, which read:
Dear Duchess,
Your singing voice is quite good but your acting makes me want to cough and your off-stage behavior makes me want to vomit.
I would advise you to be just as “ill” as I am tonight and let Sabrina D’Angelo, the chorus-girl, fill your role.
Love, The Phantom!
Duchess, with a face as red as a tomato (which is rather impressive given she's covered in fur) stomped her feet and declared “I will not let this nobody threaten and extort me! I'm singing tonight whether this Phantom likes it or not" before storming off. Again.
—
2 hours later, hundreds of patrons had already taken their seats and the orchestra was playing the overture. Up in their balcony, Keene and Breel sat along with their new patron, Fido Byron, Viscount, Earl, Sheriff, and Head Dentist of Lansbury-on-Newton-On-Forkroad-at-Chilligogogo, Normandy.
"Thank you so much for sponsoring us, Viscount. We might actually be able to afford repairs for once!", said Breel. "Might being the keyword with this economy", Keene interrupted before Breel shut him up with the evil eye. "By the way, you've been single for ages, when are you planning on getting married?"
Fido chuckled. "Why would I ever want that? All the married people I've ever seen have been utterly miserable - um, no offense."
"But you're alright with a casual fling?", Keene cheekily asked before Breel jabbed him in the ribs. Suddenly, the music stopped and the curtain raised for Pridelands' debut, and sure enough, Duchess was up there on the stage, fully prepared to sing her heart out. But something strange happened, because when Duchess opened her mouth, beautiful music isn't what came out. Instead, Duchess croaked like a frog!
The audience remained silent, not quite sure if that really just happened, and Duchess opened her mouth once more only to let out yet another croak. And then another. And as she desperately kept trying and trying to make herself sing, the audience could no longer hold in their inhibitions and began roaring with laughter, louder and louder until they drowned out Duchess completely, who was reduced to tears and ran off the stage. Keene and Breel gestured to the technicians who lowered the curtain, and the orchestra began playing filler music on their own accord.
—
Backstage, the cast and crew were thrown into chaos, with Duchess nowhere to be seen and Sabrina being viciously interrogated by Grape and the stagehands while vehemently denying any involvement. The interrogation was paused when Keene and Breel rushed inside and cried out "What the hell is going on?!" The exhausted Grape walked over and handed them the Phantom's note, which Keene poured over for at least 2 minutes before summoning Sabrina to his side.
"Are you behind this note?", asked Keene. "No, sir", replied Sabrina. Keene didn't look like he believed her at all but tried his best to play along. "Can you sing?", he asked. Sabrina belted out "so la mi fa so la" in a voice more small and mousey than an actual mouse. "She's beyond mediocre", opined Grape, who was absolutely correct, but they were running out of time, money, and sanity so she would have to do. Keene ordered the costumers to fit Sabrina before he and Breel headed back to the balcony.
—
Following the performance, Sabrina sat alone, away from the others backstage, afraid they might accuse her of sabotaging Duchess, when Viscount Fido of all dogs came up to her with a bundle of flowers and wine!
"Viscount?"
Fido looked off to the side, trying to avoid any and alk eye-contact with her out of nervousness, which also had the amusing side-effect of making him appear blind. "Sabrina! Don't you remember me?", he exclaimed.
"Hey, what's going on?", asked Grape, who just happened to be standing nearby. "When we were children", began Fido, as several others gathered around to listen in "Sabrina and her father lived with our family as servants. One day, I took her to the beach, and her pet mouse was swept out of her hair by a strong wind and landed in the sea. I dove into the water to save him but accidentally swallowed him and required emergency surgery to get him out. It was very painful."
The crew tried their best to hold in her laughter, and began to rapidly lose oxygen. Fido pulled out a ball of gray fur and very small, very yellowed bones from his pocket and asked Sabrina "do you remember me now?"
Sabrina looked off to her side; she saw turquoise eyes peering at her from behind a vent on the floor, and two gloved paws gripping the vent bars tightly in anticipation. “Well, do you?”, Fido asked again. Sabrina turned to him and replied “no”, causing nearly the entire Opera, cast members, orchestra, and even a few of the horses to burst out in hysterical laughter. Fido's face turned bright red and he threw the furball that was once a mouse to the ground and stormed off, huffing and puffing.
While this was going on, One-Armed Jack led Rex and the ballerinas over to the side of the room, where there was a large trapdoor. He opened it and entered, motioning towards them to follow him into the cellars. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Jack?”, asked Rex. “One of the chorus-girls told me that The Phantom lives down there, and that he kills anyone who sees his face.” Jack let out a raspy wheeze Rex assumed to be an attempt at a deep belly-laugh and replied, “Why? Are you too chicken?” Rex was indignant. “No!”, he said, and puffed out his chest in an attempt to appear tough, a facade which fell apart almost immediately as he spotted What Chicken next to him brandishing a frying-pan and almost jumped out of his skin. Jack chuckled. “Well then, let’s continue”.
—
As they ventured further down into the cellars, Jack began regaling the group with tales of the Phantom’s various misdeeds. “They say that, once, The Phantom replaced all of the toilet-paper with sandpaper when the toilet seat was cold! That he put sawdust in the salt-and-pepper shakers when the concierge was late, and mailed live cockroaches and rats to each of the Orchestra members’ homes after they fumbled a song!” With every word it seemed, Rex was getting more and more frightened, to the point his bodys’ shakes were causing a mini earthquake and his teeth chatterings sounded like the typing of a particularly angry letter.
Jack kept on rambling, walking backwards so he could always see the terrified expressions on the rest of the groups’ faces, when he bumped into something hard. He turned around and saw a tall, imposing, female bobcat, with scars on her face, dressed in a three-piece suit and fez hat.
“Oh, um… sorry, ma’am”, Jack said, looking absolutely terrified. The bobcat just stood there, inhumanely still, and with a blank expression. Jack nodded his head and let out a nervous little laugh before running as fast as he could back upstairs, Rex and the ballerinas swiftly following suit.
CHAPTER ONE
FIN.
