Monstret Under Sängen (Phantom of the Opera)

Monstret Under Sängen: Part 2

"Monstret Under Sängen? Are you there?" The cherub girl inquired, peering into the shadows where "her" monster hid whenever he came to visit.

"Yes, I am here." He said, speaking from behind the wall. It wouldn't do for the innocent girl to accidently stumble upon him.

"Good evening!" She bounced onto her small cot, still located within the closet and snuggled under her blankets. One couldn't help but be cold in a such an un-heated area of the Opera House.

"Good evening. Did you have a nice rehearsal?"

"Nice enough. Did you hear Carlotta?" The girl quietly giggled. "She gets worse with every season."

He could readily agree with her on that point, but as he wasn't sure how much the "Monster Under the Bed" would listen to an opera Diva's screeching, he declined to answer with a sweeping affirmative.

"I have heard bits and pieces over the years. She is not what she was." During his three-month acquaintance with the little Swedish orphan, she had relaxed around him, not worrying as much that expressing her true opinions would earn her a quick trip to where Monstret Under Sängen took his victims.

"She sounds like a dying cow."

"Christine!" He scolded lightly, not truly meaning anything but rebuked himself for the look of terror and squeaked apology she gave him.

"I'm sorry!"

"Christine..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "I am merely shocked that such words would come from your mouth. I didn't declare you a bad girl."

"I shouldn't have them."

"Perhaps not, but you were correct." The pair shared an odd laugh before they fell silent. After a few moments, he picked up his violin and quietly played for her, common now between them.

"Monstret Under Sängen, do you believe in angels?"

He paused his playing, barely stopping himself for hitting a discordant note.

"Angels? Do you mean with wings that live in heaven?"

"Yes, those sorts of angels."

Did he? He supposed he did. He had been a devout little Catholic and, while he didn't love God or particularly like him, he didn't see a reason to deny the existence of him or of supernatural minions.

"I suppose I do. Why do you ask?" Surely, she didn't think him an angel! The girl was far closer with believing him to be a Swedish monster. What could have sparked such an interest in the celestial?

"I was just thinking of my father. He promised to send me an Angel of Music when he died. It will be a year tomorrow and he has yet to send him." Her blue eyes grew forlorn and he desperately wished to find a way to take away that look.

From the bits and pieces he had gathered through their conversations, her father had been her closest friend. The man had the audacity to then die, leaving his innocent girl to fend for herself with the barest help from the Opera House. Apparently, he had also filled the girl's head with odd bits of nonsense. Angels of Music, indeed!

But, it wouldn't do for her to know of his disbelief in such creatures so he went along with her father's story, humoring the girl.

"What would the Angel of Music have done?"

"He would have taught me how to sing.

Goodness knows what possessed him to say his next sentence. Surely, he had gotten himself in deep enough without adding another thing to the list. But, the girl seemed to desire this Angel. Perhaps, until he came, the "Monster under the Bed" could fill his place well enough.

"If you wish, I shall teach you until your angel comes."

Her eyes lit up, and she nearly flung herself at the wall as if to hug his non-existent form.

"You mean, Monstret Under Sängen? You mean it? You will teach me how to sing?" It would at least be something for them to do, he surmised. After all, three months of conversation with a young child had limited their fields of conversation drastically.

Even if she proved a mediocre or, Heaven forbit, bad singer, it would provide him an outlet for his talents and a reason for staying in contact with her beyond the fact he was a lonely old fool.

"Of course, child. But, only until your angel comes. Now, sing me a few bars of something easy. Something you know well. Give me the title and I shall play the tune for you, if I know it to see if you have any talent."

The girl supplied him with the title to a common ballad, easily played and easily sung. Even those with awful voices could manage the tune well enough. Even Carlotta might be able to handle it without embarrassing herself too much.

Touching the bow to the strings, Erik drug it across, starting the melodies and waiting to see if the childish voice was angelic enough to warrant an Angel to train it.

She was better.

While still young and thin with very little support, her voice carried through the little closet, almost making him drop his beloved violin in shock.

When she finished, a pretty blush stained her cheeks and she shifted from one foot to the other.

"What do you think? Will you teach me? Do I have any talent?"

"I would be honored to train so beautiful as voice as yours."