Author's note: Ok, I haven't seen the Robert Englund version of POTO in a couple of years, so I can't remember everything, which is why this may be a bit off. I'm basing it on that version, but I don't think you need to have seen it to get it. It takes place before the time switch, travel, whatever thing. It's pre-movie, how about that? Please, I'm a review addict, plus I'd like to know if this is any good at all. So please review. Oh, and it's just a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Robert Englund version of POTO, but POTO is technically public domain, so there!!! Besides, whatever studio owns the rights to that particular version obviously doesn't care about it, they haven't put it out on DVD!!!! Which they should, I want that movie!!!!!

***************

HAUNTED

Erik sat at his organ, furiously playing, pouring his thoughts and emotions into his song. He expressed everything he felt at that moment, all his desire and longing for one girl. He could not get her out of his head. What had made her so special out of the thousands of other singers he had heard, he had never quite placed.

Perhaps it was the feeling she invoked from his soul as he listened to her, even when her voice was untrained. Perhaps it was the emotion she put into her song, how she seemed to pour everything she had into her singing, the way he poured everything he had into his music. Perhaps it was the innocence of her, captured in her voice that attracted him so.

No matter. He had fallen in love with her voice, and unwillingly in love with the girl herself. And that's all she was, a mere girl to someone who was immortal. Yet he felt so close to her, so connected, it disconcerted him profoundly at times.

Abruptly, he stopped. His fingers were frozen mid-play. He had to see her again. They were rehearsing, he could catch a few glimpses of her now. He had been trying to keep himself away. Trying to make himself spend one day without watching her.

He couldn't even keep himself away from her for one day.

Grabbing his cloak, he strode out of his lair briskly. He would see her, he couldn't stand it, knowing she was up there, so close.

Yet a thousand miles away.

***

Nothing else existed as he watched her. He could not make himself leave, could not tear away his gaze. He had no control over his actions it seemed.

She was perfect. Everything he wanted in a voice, she had, everything he loved in a woman, she embodied it. She loved music, first and foremost. She had told the "Angel of Music" this several times. She would tell her "angel" many things, and he would always listen to her every word, trying to commit them all to his memory.

Of course, she had no idea of this. The young girl had no idea that her "angel" was no angel at all. He was in fact of condemned soul, damned to live forever without love.

But he was a man still, and men hoped. Foolishly, they hoped. And just as foolishly as any mortal man, he hoped and wished and prayed for some small mercy. For her to love him.

It was folly. He knew this. But like all men, he was blinded by this passion that now consumed him, a passion he thought he could never feel for anything, anyone other than music. Yet he now felt it for her. Such a fire, haunting him.

He could not sleep, always thinking of her. Of what he would love to do to her. He had gone out several nights the past few weeks, and every time he imagined it was her. It was wrong of him, he knew that. But he was beyond that now. He hadn't cared about morals for a long time.

Until she came.

With a sigh, he leaned against the wall of the small box, listening to her voice amidst all the others. He would never be rid of her. He knew that, he admitted it not long ago. He had come to accept the fact that in all his years, stalking underneath the world, he would always burn for her. Long after her mortal body had turned to dust, his memory of her would haunt him.

Just as her memory, her voice haunted him now. Just as his desire for her haunted his dreams. His music now only expressed his frustration, his longing, his yearning. It would never cease, not until he was finally freed of his curse, and he breathed his last breath.

Torn away from his thoughts, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He couldn't risk it.

Quickly, he slid back into the secret passageway and began the path back to his lair, several levels bellow. Like his own dungeon, his own Hell. But he did his best to make it as close to Heaven.

But with her, his own angel of music, down there with him, they could make it Heaven together. But for now he would simply have to settle for the memory that haunted him.

Soon, though. Soon, he would reveal himself to her. He would show her how she had haunted him. And he would haunt her, his music would always be there, she would always love it. And through that, he would make her love him.

***

He watched her as she sang a piece he had given her to learn. It would help her with the higher pitches he would be asking of her in a couple of days. She sang it near perfectly, missing only a few hard notes. He gently encouraged her. He wasn't as harsh today, he could be sometimes.

But today he was slightly distracted by the fact that only her wall separated them. He could see her through her mirror, though she was unaware. He wondered if she was ever self-conscious with her "angel".

He was more like her personal demon or ghost, demanding and scornful at times. Yet he was softening. Today he had spoken only in hushed, kind tones, never the scathing voice she was accustomed to. He was losing his edge with her. He knew she still feared him, but it was no longer the same. She was now almost fully relaxed in his presence, which was better for her lessons.

Although for him, it wasn't. It was effecting him how natural this was becoming. How much he paced and became agitated between sessions. How he longed to reveal himself to her. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the flames, but could he drag her into them as well?

At times he wanted to, he blamed her for this. But that side of him was slowly losing the battle for supremacy, being overcome by a side of him he thought died with his mortality, his humanity.

He would hate himself, curse himself when he thought of blaming her. He would never be rid of this. The sad truth was, he did not want to be rid of it. Because what would he lose when she no longer haunted him?