Dollhouse in the Attic (Tag Maria Cheveau)

[Erik Lenoir]

It was the middle of the night. Not being able to sleep as usual, Erik had decided to do something useful to keep himself occupied. Erik was looking for a few things that he needed in the lair, namely some heavy rope amd some wooden boards to repair the hanging bridges which led to his home. They had unaccountably become brittle and broken and must be repaired as soon as possible.

Short of a trip to the village in the horse and wagon or ... horrors, one of those strange motorized horseless carriage contraptions of which some of the others were so fond, Erik decided to venture up to the top floor to see if there were any storage areas there. One never knew what one might find in an attic. He had been in the tower room, but even that was not the highest point of the manor. The tower room had held some horrors for him. Erik had been attacked by a vengeful spectre Josephine for no apparent reason. He had met her earlier in the library. But he had not seen her for many months. He hoped the nasty spectre was gone.

Erik had met several spectres since he had come to the mansion. Other than Josephine, he had met Olivia, a lovely spectre whom he had spoken to and danced with on the stage of the opera house. Another was Emma Ravenhearst, a mysterious spectre who appeared on occasion and then was gone. The beautiful Adina Gillespie had at one time been a ghost, but strangely she had become human again. Erik liked her very much. Then there was the strange Charles Dalimar, connected with Emma. Erik had only met him once and did not care to meet him again.

Other than those encounters, and one other time, when Josephine pushed him down the stairs and he had hurt himself, although not badly, Erik had not had much to do with spectres. Not that he wished to have anything to do with them. For a fellow who had masqueraded as a phantom himself, he was not overly enamoured of those who were real spectres.

These thoughts ran through Erik's mind as he left his lair, still holding onto the lantern that he used on the gondola and the bridges to light his way. He walked through the corridors of the mansion and then upstairs, first on the grand marble staircase which led up several fights..Then the stairs continued to the upper regions through a door and several flights of wooden steps, dusty from disuse. Erik pushed open the door at the top of the steps and peered in. There was no light, save for his lantern. Everything was as quiet as death.

There were a couple of windows, but it was a moonless night and the blackness outside let no manner of light through. He expected no electricity would have been extended to this upper region, for not many would enter this place.

From what Erik could see, there were boxes and trunks of all shapes and sizes piled up against the walls. A few things hung from the inside of the slanted roof, which he could not make out. He didn't see any rope and thought perhaps in one of the boxes he might find some. He opened a box and found some children's toys. He closed it again. A trunk contained women's clothing from even before Erik's own time. Perhaps some of them could be used for the opera company when it was formed.

Then he saw something covered with a white cover sheet. He put down the lantern on the floor and pulled off the sheet. It was a dollhouse. Very intricate and lovely. He touched it and felt a strange tingle. He pulled his hand away. He pulled the lantern nearer and bent down to observe the object. Gradually he felt something. He wasn't sure what it was. Standing up, he raised the lantern to look about him. There was no one discernible, yet, he felt as if someone was near him.

[Maria Chevau]

The house was slightly dusty. It hadn't been touched in some time. She didn't want anyone touching her dollhouse, didn't want anyone possibly figuring out the connection. She would choose who had that privilege. No one had for a long time. She was only a couple centuries old, and after her family was gone she had protected it viciously. No children had been allowed to play with the antique either aiding her efforts.

The paint was slightly faded. Once upon a time it had been a vibrant white with blue trimmings, but it had faded to a faint yellow. Tiny canopies gave shade over the windows. In the front was a gated yard a painted stone path and garden covering it. A large staircase could be seen on the side each step meticulously carved to be even and match the rest. The windows were ornate, a small gated stable to the side waiting for a horse and wagon. A tiny knob could be seen below the windows to lift and reveal the rooms inside chandeliers hanging inside the rooms.

It took time for Maria to become aware. She'd drifted off into that half state ghosts sometimes enter, aware of what was around them but not truly awake enough to respond to what was happening. It was the closest to sleep a ghost could get, and a state that often happened involuntarily. If the ghost wasn't occupied, just drifting around, it would fade into this state until something happened that drew it back to the world of the living to watch again as life went on around them.

Slowly she came into focus around the dollhouse. When she came back she usually appeared here. She wasn't surprised-at least not until she realized that the sheet that had covered her dollhouse had been removed. Anger flared through her as she looked down at the phantom that had dared to come up here. They lived in the house, it was true, and she enjoyed their company. This was different though. This was private.

The phantom stepped away looking around the attic. Maria sent a low breeze running through the room the temperature dropped. Who was he?

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik saw nothing as he raised the lantern and looked about him. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. He walked away from the dollhouse and looked through another trunk, which had antique male clothing. He let the top close and a plethera of unseen dust flew into the air, making Erik sneeze, several times. He backed away from the trunk and brushed himself off. He hated to let his clothing become dusty or dirty. He felt the temperature suddenly drop, as if a cool wind had come through. He glanced at the windows. He couldn't tell from here, but perhaps one of the windows were broken and letting in the outside air. He had not thought the night was that cold, yet even a summer night could often be chilly.

Returning to the dollhouse, he squatted again to look at it more closely. It was well made and quite accurately depicted a lovely intricate mansion. He noticed the canopies over the windows, the porches and the beautifully carved tiny staircases. He inadvertently touched it again, running his finger about the tiny gazebo-like structure on the very top of the house. And inexplicably, he felt colder as if a cold wind had encircled him. He stood up again and made his way to the windows in the front of the attic. He glanced at the panes of glass. They were old, but not broken and he could feel no place where air could enter, at least that much cold air.

Erik always had cold hands and suffered a great deal from the cold. Erik's lair, he always called his home, considering the word lair gave the impression of being the hiding place of a hideous animal or monster, ready to come out and attack. Perhaps some saw him as that hideous creature. But Erik knew, that despite his monstrous looks, he was an intelligent man, a genius really, possessed of many talents and excellent manners. The lair, being underground, and composed mostly of a series of caves, was a warm and comforting place for Erik. Some questioned why he would wish to live in a cave, but they just did not comprehend it and obviously never would.

The cold made Erik wish to leave. He hadn't found that for which he was looking and, contrary to what he had thought before, he expected perhaps a trip to the village might be easier than this.He glanced at some of the other items that were in the attic. He saw some things that had not been covered well and were full of dust. Several oil lamps and a Victorla sat in the corner. The Victrola's horn was beautiful, covered in painted roses. But the dust again made Erik sneeze. He went back to the dollhouse and covered it again. He must leave....the cold was becoming very uncomfortable.

[Maria Chevau]

He didn't step away from her dollhouse. The temperature plummeted further under her anger. Why was he touching it? Was he going to break it? That clearly didn't belong to him. It was hers, and even if she did have trouble making herself visible at times that was no excuse for people to touch her things without permission.

The instant the dollhouse was covered the cold vanished. That was better. He was leaving things as they should be. She took a moment to straighten the sheet to make sure that nothing would break when it was removed again. Cheerfully she followed after him her prior bad mood forgotten.

[Erik Lenoir]

Before Erik put the cover over the dollhouse again, it seemed to become even colder. Then upon covering it, the temperature rose. He started to walk away, then frowned, turning to look at the object again. It appeared that the covering fluttered a bit and looked as if it were raised and lowered. Was Erik seeing things? Or was there something here? Or more likely, someone?

A ghost, a spectre, undoubtedly. He was used to them being among the living. If they were not evil or vindictive. He hoped Josephine had not returned. She was the most wicked spectre he had ever met, save the Delacroix fellow. He didn't intend to become involved with either one of them if he could help it. He stood near the dollhouse, watching the last of the soft undulations of the covering seemingly move by itself. Knowing the window was not letting in a breeze, there could be no other explanation.

Erik's tenor voice was soft as he spoke. "Is there anyone here? Show yourself. Have I offended you?"

[Maria Chevau]

Maria was surprised to suddenly have herself be addressed. The phantom had turned back after the temperature had returned to normal. It must have provoked his curiosity, though surely he was used to the dead being among the living? It was a common occurrence, and not all the ghosts were as skittish as she was about making themselves visible. Maria just didn't like putting the effort forward, not when it meant that she lost her ability to move things. It took a lot of concentration. Throwing things around didn't take nearly as much.

Still, his request was enough to make her appear. She came into sight standing on the hardwood floor. "You touched my dollhouse." That was explanation enough in her opinion.

[Erik Lenoir]

After he spoke, the ghost appeared. It was a girl, a pretty girl, perhaps 16 years old. She appeared, standing on the floor of the attic and she made it clear she didn't care for the fact that Erik had touched her dollhouse. He smiled. "I see. It's your dollhouse, then. Well, I certainly would not break it. I was curious. I am an architect and it's a very well done model. I am quite impressed at the detail."

He found a chair that was covered and removed the white cover. "Do you mind if I sit down and talk for a bit? It's not often that the ghosts deign to speak to me. Why don't you sit down too? Unless you don't care to. I expect you wouldn't get tired."

He hoped his odd looks wouldn't put her off. Had the ghosts seen everything? He didn't know. This one being so young, well he just wasn't sure. "I am called Erik Lenoir," he said. "Late of Paris, the Opéra Populaire. I managed the Opera." While that statement was somewhat true in effect, it wasn't really true. Erik had taken over the opera house and terrorized everyone there, just to get his own way, and later to meet and woo the beautiful Christine Daaé. Since coming to the Manor, he had met many people face to face and had mellowed a bit. There was more than one deformed fellow here and it somehow eased his feelings of being alone.

"And," he said, in his pleasant voice, "What is the name by which you are known and how is it that you have come to live here?

[Maria Chevau]

He didn't seem surprised or disturbed over her appearance. It was true, he had asked her to appear, but somehow she had thought he would react differently. The compliment did mollify her slightly. She did love the dollhouse, it was the reason she had ended up tied to it rather than some other object in her life. The fact that he was an architect was taken in slowly. She knew that the phantoms were all mad geniuses, gifted in music but talented in various other ways as well. She just never really thought about it. She knew the least about the Phantom of the Opera of the ghosts that had helped bring them here.

Maria hovered for a moment as he took a seat, uncertain how to respond. She didn't get along with others well. He was being polite however. She might as well. Flickering out of sight Maria removed the cover off another chair moving it over near the phantom. Reappearing she took a seat looking over at him. His introduction was polite, reminiscent of the way she had been raised. She was tempted to make a smart remark. He wasn't the only phantom that ran the Opera Populaire.

"I am Maria Cheveau. I came from a small own in France, my family owned a house in the country." It had been quite pleasant. "I came with my dollhouse when it was bought and moved here." She wouldn't state how she had died unless he pressed. "Seen your Christine around?"

[Erik Lenoir]

Erik wondered if Maria thought it odd that he wasn't afraid of her. Why would he be afraid? She was a ghost, it's true. But she was a young girl and there was really no reason for her to be frightening to him. Even when he first learned that the place was haunted, he hadn't been frightened. There had been much more danger for those at the Opera house when he was masquerading as a ghost.

"I have met some of the other ghosts, Maria," he said , answering the question he thought she may have had in mind. "Most of them are not fear inspiring. I hope that you are not a ghost who hurts the living." He laughed a bit. "I've had some experience as a ghost myself, Maria. I haunted the Opéra Populaire for some years. I, of course was not a real ghost, but everyone thought otherwise." He smiled with the thoughts of how he had upset, annoyed and gotten his own way at the opera because of his masquerade.

The young ghost sat down, fading out as she moved the chair and took the cover off of it. He would have moved it for her, but he didn't know what she had in mind. She reappeared and sat down. He was quite interested in the ghosts, but they didn't always wish to talk.

"So you arrived here while you were still alive? With your dollhouse? When was that? I don't mean to pry, so if you don't wish to answer me, that is perfectly fine." He paused. He was quite an inquisitive and talkative Phantom if there was anyone with which to speak. Sometimes he became terribly bored and this was one thing that could help relieve the boredom, making friendships with others at the mansion. He wondered how he had survived alone at the opera house with no one with whom to speak. But he had been the Opera Ghost then, and had many pursuits concerning that occupation. One of the main ones was keeping the Opera Managers in line and demanding the sacking of unsuitable singers, dancers and musicians. Another was the pursuit of the lovely Christine Daaé, which had turned into tragedy just before he left the Populaire.

Then Maria asked an very unexpected question. Seen your Christine around? The question shocked him ... how did she know about Christine? He jerked visibly in surprise. "Christine?" he repeated. "She's here, but...it has been a bit strained between us.:"

[Maria Chevau]

So she wasn't the first ghost. A thin smile did cross her lips at the mention of the others failing to inspire fear. She wasn't so picky. She would be more than willing to do what she could to hurt those that invaded her area. Maria knew the story of the phantoms terrorizing the opera, or at least parts of it. From what she did remember he had been quite demanding. "Fierce ghosts are hard to come by. Especially when they can't touch the living." That was a dilemma that she had just barely managed to resolve herself.

She shook her head amused at the thought that she'd come here with just her dollhouse. "No, the former house owner was interested in it's age and had it shipped here after purchase. They were quite glad to be rid of me." A priest had been summoned a couple times for exorcism, but she'd managed to stick it out. "1978." It wasn't like it was especially secretive information. For her it had been her first time being around other ghosts, most of the places she had been placed in had been clean except for her.

Maria smiled, seeing the surprise in his face. It seemed that he hadn't known that the ghosts knew about him. How much did he know? "Of course. It is an adjustment from...Paris?"

[Erik Lenoir]

He couldn't quite figure it out. Was Maria taunting him? Trying ot annoy him? "You've been here since 1978 or you died then? It's very strange for me. I was born in 1846...and here I am in two thousand something or other. Thirteen, I think they said. It's hard to keep track of a time that seems too far in the future to be real."

When she mentioned Christine and he replied that things had not gone well, he frowned. Perhaps he had said too much. Was this spectre dangerous? "So you cannot hurt the living? There was a ghost here at the mansion, a frightening one indeed. She was indeed able to hurt the living. I was not afraid but she did indeed hurt me. Physically." He had of course been able to do much more than a spectre at the Opera House. He had been a fearful ghost when he haunted the Opera. He had blackmailed, frightened, manipulated and even killed to get his own way. In some ways, he regretted it. He had become less spiteful and sullen since he had met some of the residents at the mansion. Of course there were some that he still fought with.

He went on with a bit of pride. "Yes, I virtually ran the Opera House in Paris. The managers were so incompetent that they could not do it themselves, so I graciously took over that task for them. And they paid me handsomely for the privilege." Lenoir smiled, looking rather proud of himself. His demands had kept the Opera running quite efficiently, until...until that fateful night when all of them turned against him...His smile turned to a frown as he recalled Christine's unmasking of him on stage, right in front of everyone. It was one of the most horrible things he had experienced in his life, save for some earlier incidents as a young man...

[Maria Chevau]

Maria's grin widened. He wasn't pleased with the puzzle that she'd handed him, only answering his question exactly and avoiding the intent behind it. She wasn't about to share her death. Just thinking about it sent flickers of heat through her. Things in the room shifted slightly as her mind turned to her death struggling to keep the memories from breaking out. She didn't want to relive her death yet again. She had to go through it enough times as it was. "I arrived here then." She had been dead for some time before that.

She laughed shortly at his assumption. Flickering out of sight she slid the chair rapidly across the floor. "Depends. Will it hurt to be hit with something?" She had more than enough power to hurt those that bothered her.

[Erik Lenoir]

When he first saw the young ghost a short time ago, Lenoir had thought her rather sweet and the fact that she was attactched to a dollhouse rather charming. He began to wonder.She must be mocking him. He frowned again. No one mocked Erik Lenoir and got away with it.

The question about her death did not seem to sit well the the young spectre. It almost seemed as if the room swayed or shifted or something of the sort. Could this ghost have caused that sensation? He would not ask about that subject anymore. "I see," Lenoir replied. "So you have been living in this mansion since 1978. Tell me, do you know of the man who owned the mansion at that time, or did you pay no attention. I ask because I have received so many conflicting stories concerning this. Of course it is really no matter, just my curiosity getting the best of me."

His question about whether she was a spectre who would hurt the living, met with a question for an answer from her. "Yes, it would hurt to have something thrown at me. Are you planning to do so, young lady? It's rather rude of you to do so. I have been polite and not harmed you in any way. Is that what your life consists of, waiting until someone wanders into your realm so you can pelt them with something harmful? I'm sure you could take up a better hobby than that. I dare say you will not make many friends or acquaintances..."

With that, Lenoir stood up, put the chair back in place, turned to the ghost and bowed rather dramatically. "Good day young lady, and if your attitude changes, I may visit you again. If not, this will be the last you shall see of me in ...your attic..."

Lenoir turned on his heel and strode toward the door of the attic.