A/N: Okay, so I wrote another story. I read the original Phantom of the Opera book, again, and wrote down every line that I thought could inspire a new phanfic. The one I chose to write was, of course, "Barrels! Barrels! Any barrels to sell?", from the singing barrels in Erik's cellar. I just thought of a funny little story as to why they could sing.

Masque: Okay, I posted it. I hope you're happy now. And I'm still amazed you've been talking to me so long...


They claimed it was their imagination…

A fool's response to anything they can't understand.

They heard it, they know it.

How could they forget?

"Barrels! Barrels! Any barrels to sell?"

It was like a siren…Drawing the men to their deaths…If Christine had been unwise in her decision.

"Barrels! Barrels! Any barrels to sell?"

They knew naught of what caused the barrels to sing…

"The say the nightingale dyed the rose crimson with its own blood," Erik whispered, pressing the rose to his bare, deformed face, coaxing a drop of blood forth. The small, gleaming red droplet ran over his features and dropped silently into the center of the rose.

"This one is not for you, my dear, like so many before," He laughed quietly as he recalled the many roses he had dyed red with his own blood for Christine.

A sparkling teardrop fell onto the rose noiselessly, running into the center of the rose and mixing with Erik's blood. "And yet, I suppose it may be, if you are foolish when you are forced to make your decision…" His maniacal laugh, so deep and beautiful in its insanity, filled the room, bouncing off the cold stone walls.

"The nightingale could sing so beautifully, and yet the rose could not make a sound," Several more teardrops struck the rose, darkening the petals. "You are my rose, Christine, my beautiful white rose. I taught you to sing, and this rose shall as well," Another tear fell from his gleaming golden eyes, running through another swelling drop of blood and falling to the rose. "And this rose shall not betray me,"

Moving his long, skeletal fingers to the top of the beautiful rose, Erik pulled off a single crimson petal. When his fingers released it, it fluttered downwards like a dying bird, finally landing in the barrel at his feet.

A barrel soon to be filled with gunpowder…

They believe they imagined it…

They know nothing of the single rose petal inside each barrel.


A/N: Okay, so, I know, it really doesn't explain it. But hey, Erik is a genius, so we'll neverknow...I thought of another idea, but it was kind of...disturbing...

Oh, and the nightingale thing--there's this little Persian legend that is slightly mentioned in Kay's Phantom, that I did quite a bit of research on to write this. If you haven't readPhantom in awhile, then it goes like this: Basically, there was a nightingale who was in love with a white rose. Their love was forbidden by Allah, so the nightingale impaled itself on a white rose's thorn and dyed the petals red. Just a basic explanation. There's also a story written by Oscar Wilde, that is very different. But anyways...Please leave a review and tell me how I can fix it...I know, it's already horrible...