"Alexa, turn on the Christmas tree" I said, walking through the door anticipating the ambiance of light reflecting off the glass ornaments. Instead, the first orbs illuminated were a pair of eyes set in a sinister, half-masked face. Before I could react, the man who possessed those eyes was standing up, brandishing a red rose.

​

     The rose was his calling card, and the murderer known as The Opera Ghost caught me around the waist just as my fingers brushed the kitchen door. He wrapped his other arm around my shoulders, holding me fast while I fought against him.

​

     "Sing for me," commanded the Ghost, his own voice gravelly and thick. My heart felt turned inside-out, firing hot needles through my veins. His victims were all singers; some were my colleagues. None survived. He left them facially disfigured and laid out, a rose pressed into stiffly curled fingers, tied with the noose he'd used to strangle them.

 

     Clarity bloomed through my synapses and I ceased my struggle. His grip slightly eased, and I lifted my tingling forearm to my face. I cleared my throat and sang, keeping one shaking hand against my temple: "raise your hand to the level of your eyes." I left my hand there, where it would stop him from slipping the noose around my neck. My blood rushed so loudly through my ears that if he spoke again, I never heard it. I only heard the kitchen door, and turned to see nothing but the single rose.