Author’s Note: These are the ongoing recounts of dreams I have had in the past, in which Erik, or any other element of Phantom, have been involved. I have put these down as truthfully as I can remember them. Some will be sad, some funny, some will be just downright strange. Let’s have a little peek into my psyche…

Darkest, Direst, Most Bizarre

Vision 1: The Trials of Erik’s Torso

“The forest sure is lovely in the spring, don’t you think?” I call to Erik over the clatter of my horse’s hooves on the winding mountain path.

In lieu of a response, Erik glares straight ahead and mutters something about how Cesar’s trot was much smoother. Truly, I can understand his discomfort. I would not call the creatures on which we rode “horses”, though it was as good a term as any, for they closely resemble equines. More than anything, they look like the Thestrals out of Harry Potter, minus the wings. They are skeletally thin, much like my dear Erik really, with bulging white eyes and large, carnivorous fangs.

With every step of our steeds, Erik and I wince in pain. I can’t remember what madness possessed us to ride bareback on such bony, uncomfortable animals. In fact, I can’t remember why we chose to ride them in the first place…or what they are…or where we got them…or where WE are…or how we met up in the first place…

Oh well. It’s probably not important anyway. I just sit back and enjoy the woods, the dogwood trees with their pink and white blooms, the wild pansies perfuming the air, the gentle summer breeze. Wait, is it summer now? I could have sworn it was spring…

Oh well. It’s probably not important anyway.

I turned my head to address Erik cheerfully. “Don’t you just adore the forest in summer?”

Erik glares at me from under the rim of his fedora. “What’s the matter with you? It’s autumn!”

I look around, and sure enough, the leaves are all dried and warm-colored. The forest around us is like a kaleidoscope of orange, yellow, husky brown and fire-engine scarlet. The falling leaves are blown on the crisp, autumn breeze and I catch a glimpse of a wild turkey fluttering through the trees. Such intelligent, majestic animals, turkeys. Ben Franklin suggested them as the national bird of the United States, you know. I wonder, if Mr. Franklin had got his wish, if we would be eating bald eagles on Thanksgiving instead?

Suddenly, there is a mighty crash from somewhere to my left, and a cry of anguish. I bring my painful steed to a halt and turn to see a most distressing sight. My beloved Erik is on the ground, pinned beneath his fallen “horse”. He groans, pushing at the animal’s weight, but to no avail. He is trapped, and slowly dying of smush.

“Nooo!” I cry, most passionately. I leap from the back of my “horse” and rush to Erik’s side. “Oh, dearest, does it hurt terribly badly?”

Erik groans and tilts his deathly face to me, staring from under half-lidded yellow eyes. “I’m under a bloody horse, you twit! Of course it hurts!”

This is all that is needed to spur me on to action. There are stories of women whose love is so strong that it gives them the ability to lift large cars off of their babies. I am sure that I love Erik at least as much as a human baby. Possibly more, since Erik never once drank my pet sea monkeys or wiped his nose in my hair. How could he, when he doesn't even have a nose? I position my hands at the animal’s sides, bend my knees, and call upon all the intensity of my adoration for Erik so I lay lift the “horse” off of him.

It does not budge.

Sighing, I step back and rest my hands on my thighs, bent over Erik’s prone form.

“Why don’t you try to pull me out instead?” He suggests.

Of course! Can you expect any less from a genius such as Erik? I roll up my sleeves, grip his long-fingered hands, and pull with all my strength. To my elation, he does slide out a few inches. But he only gets out up to his waist before he becomes stuck and will move no more.

“Fear not, darling!” I grunt, repositioning my hands so as to get a better grip on his arms. “I’ll have you out in a twink, and tomorrow we’ll be laughing about this over hot Russian tea!”

“Three…two…one…heave!”

I pull again, digging my heels into the ground and growling with exertion. Erik’s upper body quivers from the tension, and then there is a loud snap and I fall backwards with Erik on top of me. I give a wild hoot of joy, for not only is Erik free, but he is on top of me as well!

Then I open my eyes and realize that my beloved is, well…not all there.

There is Erik’s head, his lovely, perfect head. And his elegant neck, and majestic shoulders, and flawless arms, and magnificent torso, and nothing else.

Erik’s legs are still stuck underneath the felled “horse”.

“Oh dear,” I moan. “Your legs broke off.”

Erik, still lying flat in my lap, does not seem all that morose about it. In fact, he rolls himself into an upright position on his waist-stump, crosses his arms, and shrugs.

“At least I’ve still got my health.” He remarks.

I stand up, nodding. “Yes, if you haven’t got your health, you’ve got nothing.”

“Indeed. Now, how about that tea?”

And so, I walk off down the forest path, headed back towards god-knows-where. At my side is Erik, legless but just as enchanting as ever, dragging himself along through the crisp winter snow.