A Note to the Reader: This story is a sequel to the novel, The Phantom of the Opera, by Gaston Leroux, which is in the public domain and details the scandal at the Parisian Public Opera House, surrounding the suspicious death of the Vicomte de Chagny and the subsequent disappearance of his brother and his brother's betroved. The author is unacquainted with anyone else's published writings on these events and respectfully prefers to remain so.
This sequel details the unusual occurrences surrounding the haunting of a large, old house in a small town outside Paris, following shortly after the events in Mr. Leroux's novel. There are some necessary scenes of moderate violence. There are no offensive words, as we do not wish to sink to vulgarity. There are also no discussions, explicit or implied, of any character's intimate, sexual relationships. This story also has a complete lack of any illegitimate offspring. If you are looking for any of those things, you are in the wrong place.
This story does contain, a mysterious and beautiful opera singer, a sinister, evil villain , a rampageous young orphan girl, and a most unreasonable ghost. The story is complete, but still under editing. Any opinions or suggestions are welcome and appreciated by the author. Following the main body of this piece are several short stories that may or may not be added eventually to the main story. The reader's opinion on these pieces specifically would be most useful.
With My Highest Regard,
The Persian man hadn't believed him when he told him about Christine.
"She doesn't love you, Monster," he insisted, "You carried her off against her will!" Erik crossed his arms and pouted like a child, "We shall see."
"Return her at once!" the Persian demanded, "You've no right to bring her into your madness! Erik, let her go or I'll-
"What?" Erik hissed cruelly. His dark yellow eyes fixed on him like those of a cobra. The Persian couldn't draw enough breath to continue his threat. Centuries seemed to pass before the monster shifted his gaze.
"Dare you threaten me?" he demanded. His voice went from soft, dangerous whispers to piercing shrieks, "I answer to no one!"
"What on earth could you want with a girl like her?" he asked him, changing tactics slightly, "You can't possibly love her!"
The Persian's words haunted Erik. He had known so little of love. All his life he had known only hatred and jealousy. Hatred of those who shut him away from life, who made of him an animal, and who could not forgive him the sins of being born a monster; Jealousy for those who enjoyed all the simplest joys of life, which he would never touch. Yet he had been sure, from the moment he first saw her, that he could win the love of Christine Daae, in spite of the Persian's doubts.
It was weeks later before he would speak to his old friend again. The Persian loaded him with abuse as he stumbled into his parlor.
"Monster! Killer! What have you done with the Viscount and Christine Daae?"Erik had staggered a bit from the attack and collapsed into a chair as he recounted the entire story to the stunned daroga. Weeping and trembling, he recounted the promise Christine had made him as she wore his ring. She had promised him that they would live together in a real home with no trap doors, in the sunlight as a real man ought to, and that she would love him for himself as long as she lived. And just as she tore away the mask of the opera ghost to reveal a living, breathing Erik, she discovered the human soul within a vengeful monster. For the first time in his life, he loved. And he let her leave in the arms of her viscount. He had to. She couldn't live in his world. And now, as he informed the Persian, he was alone, and he was dying of love.
He had meant to return to the dark house on the lake, after he left the Persian's flat. He would have died there, in his own world; his trap doors and mazes of mirrors, but as the carriage rolled through the streets toward the Palais Garnier he couldn't tolerate the notion. As they passed an enormous graveyard he straightened his mask and called for the driver to stop.
He told himself that he would never return to the labyrinth. Why shouldn't he spend eternity in a graveyard like everyone else? He staggered with pain as he made his way through the stones. He found an old, forgotten vault with a chain and lock on the door. Erik almost laughed. He had spent his whole life tripping locks, why should it be any different now? A moment, and the chain was in a defeated heap on the ground and Erik used his last bit of strength heaving open the heavy door just enough for his thin form to slip through. He then collapsed to the cold floor, unable to close the door behind him.
"What? What have you ever loved, Erik? Scaring the life out of innocent people? What? Music? That can't love you back, can it Erik?" The Persian was smug for a moment, as if he'd scored a major victory, but Erik was adamant.
"Oh yes! It can. It does. It is my only friend I've ever had." The Persian shook his head. He was hopeless.
But Erik knew better now. Music could never equal love. But either way, it didn't matter. Now he was completely alone and his own trembling voice, echoing from every corner of the dusty crypt, was his only companion as he waited to slowly freeze or starve to death.
Perhaps it was the lonely sound of his voice that brought the little girl, or maybe she too had thought the crypt an excellent place to hide. Either way, Erik awoke to the unexpected sound of a small girl barely squeezing her way through the opening that he had made a few nights earlier. Erik scrambled to hide behind the outstretched wings of an ivy- encased angel. The child was about eight or nine years of age. Her golden curls were bound in a black mourning veil and she was clothed in a shoddy black dress made for a girl at least two years her senior. She gathered up her limbs and huddled in dark corner, gasping for breath through her tears. She had been running, and she was terrified.
Before Erik could decide what course of action to take against this unexpected intrusion, there was the sound of someone else trying to get past the heavy door. Erik crammed further back into his hiding place. He was becoming quite annoyed at the whole thing. The space between the statue and the wall was too small for him and the stone was scraping up his arms. He wished everyone would go about their own business' elsewhere.
The strange man heaved the stone door open without too much trouble. He glared hatefully around the chamber. His eyes seemed to penetrate every crevice in its walls. He stared at the floor in front of him. Erik knew what he must have been staring at. The child's footprints were everywhere in the dust. Erik shuddered and tried to hold his breath. So were his own.
"Come on out, girlie." The man growled, "Just tell me where it is and I promise I won't hurt you." The girl stayed put. Erik didn't blame her. Her enemy was enormous, possibly three times Erik's size. The man began stalking the chamber, knocking over coffins and furniture as he went, trying to shake her out. Erik couldn't see what he was doing from where he was, but he could hear him coming closer. He franticly tried to recall what objects there might be near him, which he might use as a weapon. He was quite sure that if he attempted to fight off this giant unarmed, he would lose bitterly and most likely be killed. It seemed to him that the coffin closest to him had been decorated with some sort of gold-colored cording.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted. The man had found his prey and had her by the throat.
"Where is it!" he screamed at her.
"I don't know!" the unfortunate creature wailed through gasps, "I don't know what you're talking about!" Erik began to creep out from his hiding place. He glanced towards the door. The miserable child and her attacker were between him and the only way out. Maybe he could sneak around while the man was distracted. Suddenly, he saw the glint of a knife.
"Maybe if you see a little blood, it will jog your memory!" the man howled and the child shrieked as he dug the knife into her arm. Erik was filled with a fury he had never known before.
A sound as angry as thunder came from the direction of the door and the man turned suddenly towards it and saw nothing there. He was about to take a step towards where the sound had come from when he heard the sound again, this time from another corner of the chamber, and then again, in his left ear. He spun around, terror-stricken. Now the sound was coming at him from every corner, from outside, and even from within the dusty coffins themselves. The man howled with fear but his voice was cut short. He couldn't breath. Something was choking him and now had him on the floor. Seconds went by. The man was cold and dead on the smooth, stone floor.
The girl was shocked and trembling as she stared at her savior.
"Are you a ghost, or an angel?" she asked the strange figure in the black cloak.
"I used to be both," he said in a voice as soft as velvet, "but now I'm neither." The girl seemed to contemplate this for a while and then made a meek sound as she collapsed on the hard floor. She had lost too much blood, and fainted dead away. The chamber was silent. Then, Erik lifted up the girl's small body, and sealed her would-be-assassin in the grave, before carrying her off into the night.