Phantom of the Opera That Monkey Box was MINE!

_The title and genre may be a bit misleading, for this isn't really a laugh-out-loud kind of story. But it is a humorous concept, and it explains how the rose on Christine's grave got there, so... yeah._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing! And this is based off of the ALW and JS movie, btw..._

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" Lot 6-6-5, Ladies and Gentlemen, a papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals. This item was discovered in the vaults of the theater. Still in working order, Ladies and Gentlemen." 

"Showing here."

Madame Giry's eyes closed briefly as the familiar music filled the dusty air. Her trained ear could hear the music box straining to wind out the notes, the small tune fading away much sooner than it would have years ago. She squinted her eyes, wishing her eyesight had not waned as her years had grown, and noticed that the monkey's movements were also nowhere near as animated as they had been.

_He wasn't here to take care of it,_ she thought, her head drooping slightly.

"May I commence at fifteen francs?"

Madame Giry's head jerked upwards at the auctioneer's words. She had hoped that nobody would have discovered Erik's 'vault,' as they called it, for she hated to see his possessions being treated like mere souvenirs.

_Fifteen francs is nowhere near that music box's true value,_ she thought grimly. _If they only knew its true value, both sentimental and monetary._

However, she was not about to speak up, for she had very little money with her as it was.

"Fifteen, thank you."

Madame Giry turned to look at the man who had just bid on the music box. He was a stranger to her, which meant he must be the type of person hoping to get lucky and walk away with a piece of history. She recognized everyone else present from her days as ballet master in the opera house.

"Yes, twenty from you, sir, thank you very much."

Madame Giry had not been able to see who had been the bidder this time. She cast a wary eye around at those around her, then raised her hand.

"Madame Giry, twenty-five. Thank you, Madame. Twenty-five I am bid. Do I hear thirty?"

Madame Giry quickly dropped her gaze to rummage in her purse, checking to see how much she had brought with her. Silently praying that nobody would out-bid her, she counted twenty-six francs. Not enough to even go for another bid.

"Thirty!"

She felt her stomach plummet as she heard the auctioneer's voice carry through the air. She looked up at him again, and their eyes met.

"And thirty-five?" He looked expectant. Feeling disappointed in herself, Madame Giry shook her head.

"Selling at thirty francs, then," the auctioneer continued after a few tense seconds. "Thirty once, thirty twice…" He brought his gavel down with a sharp rap, causing Madame Giry to jump slightly. "Sold, for thirty francs, to the Vicomte de Chagny. Thank you, sir."

Madame Giry watched as the once handsome young man was handed the music box. She felt her stomach bubble with a long-held anger, curling her hands into fists. Raoul was very old now, sitting in a wheelchair and attended to by a nurse. The auction continued, this time with the broken chandelier as lot 6-6-6.

Madame Giry watched, as if in a trance, as the chandelier was lifted up off the ground and illuminated the unkempt building with its new electric lights. She could not help but feel a twinge of regret as the chandelier was pulled up to its former resting place.

But all this seemed too much for the Vicomte. He was shaking in his chair, no doubt recalling his own experiences in the opera house. His nurse interpreted his actions as a wish to leave, and motioned for a man standing next to her to begin wheeling him to the exit. As his chair was turned towards the door, Madame Giry noticed that he looked older than she did.

Not wanting to watch the man wheel past with Erik's music box clutched in his gnarled hands, Madame Giry turned on her heel, her skirts swishing around her, and exited the opera house. Little puffs of dust floated from the floor with every step. Her breaths were coming very deep, her chest heaving.

She came to a stop by the bottom of the steps. She could hear the hastily constructed ramp creaking as Raoul was wheeled down, but she did not turn around. Her eyes were fixed upon the automobile in front of her.

She looked on as Raoul was helped into the automobile by the nurse while the man took his chair to the rear of the vehicle. When he was properly situated, Raoul's gaze turned out the window, where his eyes fell on her.

He seemed to recognize her, for her took off his hat and bowed his head respectfully. Rather shocked at his remembrance, Madame Giry inclined her own head as a reflex, for she had no respect for the man who had taken away everything Erik had desired.

The automobile began to depart, puffing out clouds of black smoke as it went.

_They're heading off to the right,_ Madame Giry noted. _His home is the other way. They must be heading for the cemetery._

A tear came to her eye as she remembered her dear Christine. The girl had been like a daughter to her, and she had become an adoptive grandmother to Christine's children. She and her daughter Meg had attended Christine's funeral two years previous, and she had to admit, Raoul and the priest's speeches had been very dry.

_If only Erik had been there,_ Madame Giry thought, hastily wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. _He always knew what to say, or, rather, sing._

Regretfully, Erik had passed away mere months after Christine had deserted him, despite Madame Giry's care. He seemed to lose the will to live after that, and, as Meg put it, died of a broken heart.

As Madame Giry stowed her handkerchief back into a deep pocket in her dress, her fingers brushed against something hard. Frowning in confusion, she pulled out the mystery object.

It was the ring Christine had given Erik. He had entrusted it in her care after his passing, and she had kept it close ever since, knowing it was his most prized possession.

_That music box was his other most cherished possession,_ Madame Giry remembered, her anger at Raoul bubbling again. _If only I had brought more money with me. Knowing Raoul, he'll leave it at Christine's grave where any fool can steal it._

An idea struck her.

_I could be that fool._

Madame Giry began walking briskly over to the florist's, where she purchased a long-stemmed red rose. Then, carefully hiking up her skirt, she crossed the muddy street to the tailor's, where she was able to score a black ribbon. She carefully tied the engagement ring onto the rose with the ribbon, getting a very curious look from the tailor as she did so.

Feeling pleased she had not cut off communication with the former opera house employees, Madame Giry then headed over to where the stable-master was now employed. With the remains of her twenty-six francs, she was able to persuade him to give her a ride to the cemetery.

By taking the long-forgotten dirt roads, the two arrived before Raoul's automobile had made it out of town.

Madame Giry, rose in hand, made her way through the cemetery respectfully, her head bowed. She was careful to keep to the path and not accidentally tread over a poor soul's resting spot. Leaves were crunching under her feet, making her feel guilty for the noise.

When she reached Christine's grave, she carefully laid the rose where she was sure Raoul would see it. Smirking, she retreated behind a few elaborate headstones, where she was certain she would not be seen.

She only had to wait a few minutes before Raoul arrived.

The music box was still in his lap, and his hands were clutching it desperately. When he reached Christine's grave, he struggled to stand up. The man and the nurse made movements to help him, but he waved them away. Then, hobbling and shuffling, he walked over to Christine's headstone and placed the music box beside it.

His eyes traveled over the words etched into the stone for a few seconds, but then his gaze fell upon the rose. He squinted, uncertain of what he was seeing. Then, after he must have caught sight of the ring, he gasped, his eyes widening and his whole body shaking. He looked around warily, as if expecting Erik to jump out from behind a headstone.

Obviously deeming himself safe, Raoul retreated to his chair. The man wheeled him out of the cemetery, the nurse at his side. Only then did Madame Giry emerge.

Feeling triumphant, she untied the black ribbon and tucked the ring back into her pocket. She re-tied the ribbon around the rose and left it at the grave, feeling that Erik would have appreciated this gesture.

Then, hands trembling, she lifted the music box. Holding it carefully, she turned the small crank in the back, and the masquerade music graced the air.

As she left the cemetery, still clutching the music box, she could almost hear Erik's powerful voice singing along, _'Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you…'_

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PS. I feel like explaining how this idea came about, now that you know what this story was about. My mom and I were watching PotO the other day, and when Raoul got the 'omg there's like a rose on christine's grave' look on his face, my mom goes, "Yeah Raoul, Madame Giry put it there because she wanted that monkey box!" _

Needless to say, I laughed really hard for a really long time. And this story was born! 


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Phantom of the Opera, Humor