Death Stalks the House

By: Hordak's Pupil

Armand Moncharmin

"How I do love a masquerade," I told Richard as I looked around at the festivities. There were creatures of all kinds and shapes. My partner looked around nervously, "Oh come on you're still not worried about this whole Phantom business?" I ask him sipping the champagne.

"What me? Of course not!" he said looking around the room, "there are no such thing as…," just then the clock chimed midnight. A dread silence came across the room something as if the Devil had entered. "Wha…," my friend's gaze went to the grand staircase where a dark figure stood.

He was dressed all in red and a sword was at his side. The only sound was its footsteps. It was then I saw the mask he wore. It was a Death's Head with blood flowing for the empty sockets and mouth. The figure spoke not but glared at everyone in the room with a stare that could make even the bravest of men turn pale.

A chill was in the air as he approached us. I wanted to demand who this stranger was but some strange power took my voice. He fixed his gaze on me. "Wh…," was all I could get out before he stormed off. "In nomine Patris, et filli et spiriti sanctus…"

An eerie thought entered my mind. What if that strange man who walked past was not of the living. "That is ridiculous there is…no…such…thing…as…" something in my being refused to say that last word as if my very soul knew it was a lie.

Abdul Aziz (the Persian)

The managers looked at each other in disbelief. Firmin was not to indulge in the supernatural. He always had an explanation for everything. "You were just startled by the costume. It wasn't the ghost," his partner however wasn't sure of that saying that was no man.

The figure glided past the guests, each giving a different reaction. One poor drunk soul approached the specter. He went to snatch the mask from his face, "DO NOT TOUCH ME!" A bony hand grasped the drunkard and with one quick move shattered his hand. No one dared approach him again.

He walked over to where Miss Daaé was standing. She looked timidly at the figure. The same hand the broke the drunkard now softly touched her face. Her impetuous fiancée got between them and told the girl to get behind him. "Who do you think you are?" the figure gestured towards the sword attached at his side. "You don't frighten…," he grabs the viscount by the arm and draws his sword. The boy says nothing as Death places his weapon along his throat.

The figure caught a glimpse of me and threw the boy to the floor. He stormed out of the room but what he did not know was that I was behind him. "So eager are you to know the dead's secrets Daroga?" a voice asked from the skull.

"You promised me that you would not take another life!" He snickered and asked if I actually counted the boy's miserable existence as 'a life'. "I could say the…," he grabbed my throat and hissed how dare I compare him to the boy. I reach down for my pistol in my vest. He laughed saying I failed to kill him in Persia and what make this so different. "I am in the right this time. You will leave the soprano and the boy alone."

"You are lucky I am merciful Abdul," he releases me; "you will be wise to keep your nose out of Erik's business."

Madame Giry

"Please monsieur now is the time for impetuousness," I tried to calm to young man who was out for blood. He said that no treats Christine like that. "You really think you could take him," he took a breath and sat down.

Christine gave him some brandy to ease his nerves. "I will find him again and then he will pay," the soprano said that she would tell him everything soon. "When?" she looks around making sure they will be alone and point to the roof.

I walked over to the managers who were still aghast at what transpired. "Est-ce que tu vas bien?" Richard nods and asks who that man was. I told them I haven't the slightest and was probably just the atmosphere of the night.

"Maybe," Armand said looking at his empty glass. I told him that I would get him some more. "Merci."

The room was uneasy as if Red Death was listening. I am just glad that most stayed away from him and all was suffered was a broken hand by some poor drunk.

I poured the wine into the glass but before leaving I heard someone talking.

"Oh Christine you test my patience," a deep voice bemoaned, "I shall need to make sure that cretin does not interfere," like that the voice was gone. I pray that the boy has a least a gram of sense in him and does try anything stupid.