The Parody of the Opera

By Serena



Everyone else: Believe it.


Seriously, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with this story for so long. This last chapter is dedicated to all of you. LOVE YOU!!! I wouldn't have got this far without you guys.

SEQUEL UPDATE: I still need more feedback from you guys if I'm going to write up a sequel, so PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Project: The Hairless Horror

Disclaimer: Me no own Phantom. DANG IT! Also I don't own Morpheus...

Amidst all the chaos, Mme Giry was unable to stop the masses from journeying down to Erik's cellar – er, lair. But when she heard roars, trumpets, and screams, she shrugged. Christine really did have everything under control. Those animals were good for something.

She turned to find Meg but halted as she stared up into a pair of strange sunglasses. The fact that it was nighttime only made her more puzzled. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked shrilly.

He nodded. "I am Morpheus. I request your hand in courtship."

"I wouldn't give you my foot," Giry snapped back, and whipped out her Nextel walkie talkie. "Giry to OG, OG, do you read me?"

After a moment of static, she heard a click, and then a moan. "OG?"

A throat cleared on the other line. "Ahem, I, uh, yes, Giry, this is OG, I read you."

Giry glared at the walkie talkie. "The entire mob's coming after you and you're making out with Subject: Singing Angel? Erik, what the bloody devil is WRONG with you?"

"Hey," said Morpheus, stepping closer, "if it's making out you want, then I'd be happy to volunteer…"

Giry shoved him back. "Get away from me!"

He scowled. "What, are you a racist?"

"No," she hissed. "A sunglasses-in-the-nightist."

He frowned in confusion and touched his sunglasses. "Hey…"

"Giry to OG," Giry said, ignoring him, "you have to get out of there before it's too late. And by the way, have you seen Subject: The Fopster?"

"Er… no?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why does that sound more like a question than an answer, Erik?"

"Um, because it is?"

There was another voice on the other end, and Giry and Morpheus heard Christine say: "Give it to me."

"No," Erik objected.

"Erik, give me the walkie talkie."

"It's mine!" he whined.

They heard the two wrestling over the machine and Christine screeching, "GIVE ME THE DANG WALKIE TALKIE!"

"NYAH!" Erik cried in protest.

Then, there was silence.

"Hey!" they heard Erik protest. "You can't just kiss me and take it away from me, man! Dat ain't fair, yo!"

"Too bad," said Christine crossly, "I just did."


"Ain't happenin', yo," Christine retorted. Into the walkie talkie she said, "Singing Angel to Giry."

"Christine, tell Erik to grow up," Giry snapped. "And also that you two need to get out of there."

"Got it. Erik, grow up," Christine ordered. "And we need to high-tail it out of here. Is all our stuff in the Hummer?"

"Yeah, but - "

"Is your organ safely in the van?"

"Yeah, but - "

"How'd you pack up that whole dang organ, anyway? It's huge! Is it portable?"

"Yeah, but - "

"Then we're good to go. The animals will hop in the truck when they're done taking care of the mob people. We're good to go, Giry!" Christine said cheerfully.

"Good," Giry said. "What about Raoul?"

"What about him?"

"Is he down there?"


Giry sighed. "Did he try to rescue you, Christine?"


"Did you knock him out, Christine?"


Giry's eyes narrowed again. "Christine… you didn't shave his head, did you?"

"… Maybe."

Giry nodded. "That's all I needed to know. Have fun, you two! Write me, text me, email me, IM me, whatever."

"Got it! Toodle-oo, and mwah!" Christine kissed the walkie talkie.

Mme Giry sighed and shut off the walkie talkie. She looked up at Morpheus, who stood there silently like an idiot, and snapped, "Why are you still here?"

"I want to go out with you."

"Forget it," she said.



"Pretty please?"


"Why not?"

"Because of those." She pointed at his sunglasses.

Morpheus swallowed, slowly reached up to his face, his hand trembling, and pulled the sunglasses off his face. When he opened his eyes, Giry gasped.

"You have… beautiful eyes," she said, blushing.

"Thanks," he said with a grin. "I grew 'em myself."

She raised an eyebrow.

"So," he said, "Now will you go out with me?"

"Depends. Where we going?"

"Finest restaurant in Paris. I'll buy."

Giry may have been the scariest woman in the entire world, but even she was not one to pass up a free dinner. She smiled and took his arm.

"Morphie, I think this is going to the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Meg, in the meantime, sloshed into the Phantom's lair. To her astonishment, everything was gone. The entire place had been cleared out. Well, except for the huge, glaring sign painted in bloodred on the wall that said:


Meg touched the paint. It was still wet. She grinned and went into the other room, where there was nothing but a white mask and a man with a bald head lying on the floor. She gasped and went over to him cautiously. She prodded him, and his eyes flew open.

Meg screamed and jumped back.

The man jumped to his feet, groaning, and said, "Where's Christine? Where is she?" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her crazily.

Meg scowled and pushed him away. "I don't man, geez louize!"

"He took her!" the man screamed. "The PHANTOM VAMPIRE TOOK HER!"

Meg's eyes narrowed. She'd heard only one other person call the Phantom that… She suddenly gasped and stared at him. "Foppy?"

Raoul blinked. "Yes?"

"Oh my gosh… you're Raoul?" Meg started to snicker.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. "WHAT IS SO FUNNY? TELL ME!"

Meg couldn't stop laughing. She nearly fell over but managed to point to a mirror hanging on the wall. Raoul rushed over, did a double take, gasped, and suddenly let out the worst, highest-pitched, most piercing scream ever heard by anyone before.


The mirror shattered.

Meg left the room, laughing and holding her ears. "Man, that's some hairless horror," she chuckled, and realized she'd taken the Phantom's mask with her.

"Hmm. Wonder why he doesn't need the mask…" She shrugged, grinning. "I still thought he was totally hot with it, anyway…" And she skipped off, singing, "Just keep singing, just keep singing, just keep singing, singing, singing, what do we do, we sing, sing, sing!! OH HO HO HO I LOVE TO SIIIINNNNNGGGG!"

Already on a boat leaving France, Erik touched newly reconstructed face.

"Well?" said Christine. "What do you think? We went to best surgeon in the country."

"I feel like a Gerard Butler look-alike," Erik grumbled as another lady eyed him.

"I know," Christine said with a grin, pulling him closer. "But you have to admit, it's a lot easier to smooch without the mask."

He grinned and kissed her. Pulling back, he added, "But you know, I wish I could've kept the mask. For sentimental reasons."

Christine pulled a spare out of her bag. "I did. Just in case we need it… you know, for scaring purposes."

"You're the best, yo!" Erik grinned, pulling her close again.

After they kissed for a lot longer, Christine pulled back and faced the water.

"In a way, I'll miss it all," she said wistfully as she watched the shores of France disappear. "It was so fun… tormenting Cart… tormenting Senor Care Bear… tormenting the stupid ballet rats…"

"You'll miss the Fopster?" Erik said suspiciously.

"I'll miss tormenting him."

"Oh. Me too."

"We should really write him a goodbye-note."

"Hmm. Filled with itching powder?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a snake popping out at him. Or one of him with a picture of his bald head."

"Oh, you're good."

"I know, dear. I learned from the best." Christine smiled and patted his cheek.

Erik sighed and flexed his fingers. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to find another Opera House to torment."

"Indeed. I hear New York City's got a lovely opera."

"Isn't that where we're headed?" Erik asked.

She shot him a grin. "Coincidentally."

He grinned back. "I like the way you think, my dear."

"So do I." She rubbed her hands together and stared out at the ocean. "It'll be a big change, though."


"We'll have to make sure they know who's boss."


"You'll have to find a new… ahem… cellar – I mean lair."

"Yes." He shot her a dark glare. "Lair. Domain."

"Well," said Christine, "We'll always have Paris."

"Mmm-hmm," replied Erik. "And my lair…" He shot a glare to Christine, and she held up her hands in defeat.

"Fine, fine! LAIR, NOT CELLAR!"

He leaned back, quite pleased with himself. "Exactly. And at least we won't have to worry about those blasted doorst - " But as he was walking, he suddenly tripped over a familiar object lying jammed in a doorway and fell ungracefully on his stomach. He leaped to his feet and screamed, "BLOODY DOORSTOPS! BLAST IT ALL TO - "



Wow, this is a historic moment. I can't believe I'm done with this story.


Dear Readers, I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to review. If you do not, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur! I remain, Readers, your obedient servant, OG Graduate. I've graduated from the OG Academy!! Cheers to me. I'm an OG In Training no more! :)