A/N: I give thanks and credit to The Scorpion, who really started me going on this story through wisecracks at her own… Read her newest phic, it's the shiz! And widdout further ado, I give you a humor phic I never thought I'd write.


Erik was sitting in an armchair before a fire, deep in thought and waiting for Christine to return to him. He had let her go just the previous day, but as she was the only person he ever came in contact with, he grew so lonely when she was away.

Whether it was the fact that fate was on his side that day or that the springs on the trapdoor to the torture chamber were rusty or cheap, maybe a combination of the two, or maybe it was the fact that the rats have chewed them, you know, with their powerful jaws grown mutatedly strong due to what the rat catcher was feeding them to lure them to him… Let me try that sentence again… Whether it was the fact that fate was on his side that day, or the springs of the torture chamber's trapdoor were weak, something caused a small accident, which would soon become a huge burden.

KATHUMP! (was the sound made which allowed Erik to start and break from his brooding, wondering what could have made the noise.)

"Please, God… Let that be the little fop's head," Erik muttered to himself as he slowly stood from his velvet chair to investigate. Had he not been away in his mind, he would have known where the sound had come from. Instead, he began his search by checking outside. Discovering there to be nobody, save for the Persian who was holding his breath and hiding in the shadows, who he ignored anyway, he closed his door and was just about to check under the sofa when he heard a cry from inside the torture chamber.

It distinctly said, "Aaauuuhaaaammaaaamaaa," which led our hero to believe that it was either Ayesha with her claw caught in the hidden door again, or Meg. It turned out that it was neither. Erik realized this after he peeked through the little window outside the chamber and saw the distinct figure of an estimated four-year-old little girl in pigtails, too small to be Meg and too large to be his precious. The Phantom was horrified once the thought registered that he couldn't murder an innocent child like he could a hairy, old man.

"Leave it," Erik said to himself. "Just leave it and it will go away."

With that, he left the window, went to his library, pulled out a book and began to read in a comfortable recliner. Amazingly enough, even three doors down, Erik could still hear the child's wails. He just tried to ignore them at first, but it got so annoying over the course of about a minute and a half that his head began to pound.

"The organ," he realized. "I can block the girl out if I practice the organ." Abruptly, Erik stood and quickly crossed the hall to the room which held his glamorous and ridiculously loud pipe organ. He set himself at the stool and began to press the keys rhythmically. He happily drifted into a world of peace and music, blocking reality out and falling toward a surreal state of mine which openly embraced him. That is- until the wails erupted and climaxed quite impressively.

Erik played louder, but the louder he played, the louder the girl cried.

"It's inhuman!" he shouted to himself, ending his tune and wheeling around toward the noise. "I'm dealing with the devil's child, here!" He flew out the door, down the hall and to the window again, which he glared at the girl through. She couldn't see him, for the light was off.

"Little girl," Erik addressed her, tapping on the glass. She persisted in her sobbing. "GIRL!" he crowed at the top of his lungs. The kid stopped crying instantly and looked as if she hadn't been in hysterics at all. Indeed - she smoothed out her pink dress, pulled at the silk ribbons in her hair and gave Erik the most adorably cute pouty face. He recoiled with a wave of sickness.

"Girl, are you hurt?" Erik asked, sufferingly. The kid let her eyes wander to the tree. Erik snapped his fingers a few times and tapped on the glass again. She gave him her full attention. "Are you hurt?"

"Sylvie," she replied, sniffing once.


"My name is Sylvie. Not Girl," she said.

"Are you hurt, Sylvie?" Erik asked, pronouncing each vowel and consonant absurdly slowly, mentally slapping himself in the forehead.

"My mommy, she's a-important lady, she told me, she told my owder big brother to be with me. I wan't afraid of the below ground, he says I was, but I wan't. We went down and we-" She paused here for a moment and said, "Well, I fell fwum up there." She pointed at the ceiling, where the trapdoor hung open far above the child's head.

"Yes, that's all good," Erik said, impatiently after a bit of blinking. "But are you hurt?"

"I fell and, and landed on…this," she said, indicating what she fell on by lifting up her skirts. Erik screamed.

"Put those down, young lady!" he ordered. She did so. There were a few seconds pause. "So you're not hurt?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Nope," Sylvie said, popping her lips on the 'p.'

"Then… why were you wailing so loudly?" he inquired.

"I am scawed of the dark," she said, pouting some more.

"If I turn the light on, will you promise to stop crying?" Erik tried to bargain.

"Turn the light on and we'll see," Sylvie answered, sticking her tongue out and running to hide behind the tree. Erik flipped the switch, and light flooded the room. The girl poked her head from around the metal trunk and squinted in the Phantom's direction.

"I see you," Sylvie informed him, giggling.

"That's all good and well," he replied, sarcastically.

"What awe you wearing on your face?"

"It's a mask."

"What does it do?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Awe you scawed-a sunlight?"


"Awe you going to a mathed-ball?"


"Is it holding your face togethow?"

"No!" Erik shouted, frustrated. "Now shut up and go away!"

"I can't," Sylvie complained.

"Why not?" Erik grumbled, nonsensically in his aggravation.

"Too showt," she replied, hopping up and down and stretching toward the ceiling.

"Then just sit down and pretend like you're not here," Erik said.

"You're gwumpy," Sylvie muttered.

"What of it," Erik muttered back.

"You're probably old," she said, nodding as if she knew so much more than he.

"What!" he said as a lame comeback.

"Old and mean and vewy old," she added, solemnly.

"That's it. Time out behind the tree," Erik demanded.


"But nothing. Five minutes. Get."

Erik was completely surprised when the girl actually did it. He smiled to himself and thought how rotten he could be by ordering this kid around all day. He kicked himself a moment afterwards, knowing that he couldn't manipulate a cute little girl like that… unless she was wearing the proper maid uniform, complete with little black flat-heeled shoes so she could deliver his champagne quicker and reduce the chances of spilling it on the silver tray…

He immediately left to prowl the kitchen in hopes to find a suitable platter, but soon gave up looking and wandered back to the fireplace. He actually forgot all about the child until she began to cry again. Her voice carried down the hall and well to Erik's ears. It actually carried up six stories, around the corner, four doors to the right to Jammes's dressing room where she wondered if it was that nasty old opera ghost again.

"All right, all right," Erik said, giving in as his head gave an especially loud clang of complaint. He rose from his seat and approached the torture chamber, shooting what he hoped to be an intimidating glare in the direction of Sylvie.

"You fowgot about me," she accused him, not even flinching, absentmindedly spinning on her heel and pulling out a ribbon.

"Did not," Erik retorted. He could hardly believe that came out of his mouth the instant he said it.

"Did too," Sylvie said.

"So what is it you want?" Erik asked, icily.

"I'm hungwy. And I want out. Why won't you lemme out?" she inquired.

"Are you joking? I don't know how to care for or feed a little girl," Erik announced.

"Make me a samwich."

Erik muttered a few colorful phrases under his breath which Sylvie picked up as sandwich fillings.

"Never heawd of it. Make me a samwich."

"This is going to be a long day," Erik groaned.

A/N: Like it? Hate it? Want more? Please tell! Thanks for reading! I wrote this seriously half asleep. Had to write it, ya know?