Being the supernatural obsessed weirdo I am, I thought it would be an interesting idea to explore what would happen if Erik was visited by a demon after Christine left. A demon that promises him everything he could ever dream of and more, if only for a small price.
I wrote the demon of this story in a more modern way… I like to think that time doesn't really apply to demons and they can wander about through time taking souls in whatever era they choose. That's why she's more blithe, and modern sounding.
I'm aware that some of this probably isn't cannon, but I couldn't be assed to make it perfect.
Poor Erik, poor, disconsolate Erik…
Everybody was gone. They had been gone for days now and Erik felt as alone as ever.
He had barely moved from his favourite chair. He hadn't eaten, and sleep was a rare, fitful and fleeting thing.
None of it mattered though, now that Christine was gone. He'd all but lost the will to live.
He wasn't sure if it was from the lack of food, or sleep, or perhaps from his broken heart, but he thought he was starting to see and sense things that weren't really there.
For the first couple days, it was nothing more than a feeling of being watched intently. But as the hours passed, things started happening:
Things like a whiff of Christine's perfume filled his mind as he swore someone brushed past him without making a sound.
He'd occasionally look up from his sad thoughts to see the white lace hem of Christine's night dress wisp around the corner, out of sight.
Once even, he woke up from a nightmarish sleep to the feeling of Christine's soft hands on his face. He opened his eyes though, and found himself quite alone.
If he'd bothered to inspect his dreary home further though, he would have encountered a pair of glowing scarlet eyes, watching him through the gloom of his silent domain.
The Eyes were watching him; waiting for him, as they had for weeks now, merely waiting for the perfect moment to come.
Erik though, was sure there was no reality to his visions, and ignored them until one evening it became impossible:
He was startled out of his inner pleas for death by the sound of a voice. Christine's voice in fact: She was singing in the distance, of sadness and love.
It gave Erik the strength to stand for the first time in days as he followed the voice.
"Christine?" He said, "Could it be you? Have you come back to me?" His sad heart grew hopeful as he moved towards the voice, but every time he got near, it faded, and grew strong somewhere else.
Erik stopped suddenly, illusion vanishing as he realized he knew this trick very well.
"Who is in my house?" He hissed as rage filled him. Who could it possibly be? The foolish viscount had won his prize and was gone, and daroga had no further quarrel with him as far as he knew.
Now, if ever, was not the time to intrude on Erik.
Angrily, as he went to find the Punjab lasso, Erik's mind raced, trying to imagine who it could be.
"Evening."
Erik turned towards the amiable female voice, but was met with, well, no one.
"I'm over here." The voice now came from his bedroom. Erik stormed in: Empty.
"Where?!" He bellowed, his echo turning into a laugh that wasn't his own.
"Easy there."
He looked for the voice and this time he found it: Sitting at his organ.
It was a woman, mid twenties, with long, pin straight black hair and porcelain skin. She had crimson lips and scarlet eyes and wore a scant black dress, cut low, revealing scandalous amounts of cleavage, and even more obscene amounts of leg.
She smirked at him with heavily lidded eyes.
He moved angrily towards her. She stood up and held out a cautionary hand, her eyes free of fear or panic.
"Relax, friend."
"Who are you?" He demanded.
The strange woman's lips curved into a sultry smile.
"I'm whatever you want me to be." She whispered, stroking her long hair. "Or… whoever, in your case…" She gently tapped out a couple notes on the organ.
"Don't touch that." Erik growled.
She gingerly took her hand away, a coy expression on her aristocratic face: She looked like the Queen of all whores.
"Oh I'm sorry. I apologize for touching your organ." She giggled mischievously and tossed her beautiful ebony hair.
"Who sent you?"
She looked up, meeting his strange eyes with her own equally odd ones. "Pardon?" She said politely, looking genuinely confused.
"I have no need for a prostitute." Erik said in a dignified way. "It would be wise for you to leave now, the way you came." He turned away.
He looked up and she was right in front of him; arms crossed, looking stern.
"A prostitute?" She repeated in a husky, but threatening whisper. "Erik I'm offended." She took a step forward forcing him back into the bedroom. "I am not a whore." She said crossly. "Although…" she simpered, "I am here to make you happy…"
Her sultry voice drove shivers down Erik's spine.
"I can make everything right." She promised.
"Impossible." Erik snapped.
"Not really." She drawled.
"How then?" He sneered, unwilling to play this stupid woman's games of seduction.
"I have my ways." She smiled, "So are you interested?" She ran a hand from his shoulder down his arm.
He steeled himself against her touch: She smelled of sulfur.
He uttered a frustrated moan and moved away.
"Get out!" He demanded.
"Awww," she pouted, "but I couldn't possibly leave you here knowing you feel so badly. Let me fix things."
Was it a trick? Was he imagining the beautiful woman in front of him? Why wasn't she afraid?
"I can make it better." She purred. She snapped her fingers and his underground home was gone. They now stood outside a picturesque village on the sea. "A new home?" She said.
She snapped again. They were back now, in the familiar gloom. This time she held a small, ornate mirror in her hands. In the mirror was Erik, but Erik with blue eyes, thick dark hair and beautiful alabaster skin.
Erik touched his face, knowing the tight, papery skin was still there: The sulfur smell was growing stronger.
"To be like everyone else?" She offered just before a wide smile came to her immaculate face. "Or the thing that outweighs all else… the love of another." She snapped again and now Christine stood before him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, ever detail perfectly identical. "All you have to do," she said in Christine's voice, "is kiss me."
Erik shuddered. "But you're not Christine, even if you look like her."
Christine sighed, "theatrics my friend, it's all for the sake of theatrics." She placed her hands on the lapels of Erik's coat, pressing herself against him. "I can make the real thing yours. Snap of the fingers, kiss of the lips, and 'poof' she's here, madly in love with you."
"At what price?" Erik snapped, now catching onto the mysterious woman's game.
She shrugged innocently.
"Only your soul." She said. "Doesn't get any better than that."
"My what?" Erik hissed: He'd seen Faust enough times from his box to know what was going on now. "You're not a-a-"
"Demon?" The woman said, Christine's voice and appearance melting away, leaving the sinfully beautiful figure of Erik's personal Mephistopheles. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I hope that doesn't ruin things between us."
"It certainly does!" Erik spat, pushing her away. "I don't want anything you could offer, demon!"
She made a pained face, like she was dealing with someone exceptionally stupid; Erik was reminded of Carlotta.
"I have a name." She said. "Nelly. Use it, or I'll go away and not make things better for you."
"That suits me just fine 'Nelly'" he said mockingly, "feel free to leave now."
The demon named Nelly folded her arms and smirked, sitting in Erik's coffin, stroking the silk lining absently, driving Erik mad with her coy smile.
"You don't really want me to go." She said, "If you did, you wouldn't have used my name just now."
Before Erik could argue, she continued.
"So what'll it be? I saw the whole thing. I've been here for awhile. I know how much you love ickle little Christine Daae, soon to be Missus Raoul de Chagny if I don't do anything about it.
"All you have to do is say the word and seal the deal and she'll come to your humble abode, suddenly desperate for your love, saying 'Raoul who? I love you my darling Erik!' She'll love you till the day she dies and even longer." She let her words sink in before standing and pinching Erik's wasted cheek. "C'mon…" she cooed, "it'll be fun. Hell, I'll even sweeten the deal: I'll dispose of her pretty fop lover, just for you."
Oh it was tempting… Raoul out of the picture, dead in fact, and Christine… perfect Christine in his loving arms forever without question…
But at the price of his soul?
As if reading his mind, Nelly spoke.
"Only your soul, and I've seen you Erik. What do you ever use that shoddy old thing for anyways? Do away with it. You live a normal life and when it's time for you to die, I come knocking and we go from there."
"I should kill you for saying such things! Leave me be!"
"Ha!" She laughed, "Kill me? You could try. You'd fail, but give it your best shot crypt-keeper! I warn you though: Unless you want to make use of that," she pointed to the coffin, "earlier than intended, I wouldn't try it. Now, I'm making you an offer. Take it or leave it but don't get hostile; I'm just doing my job."
"I don't want it." Erik said resolutely through ground teeth: He refused to let this demon make him a pawn of Hell, even if he wasn't sure he was committed fully to his decision.
Maybe she was right; what did he need his soul for? Was he not already a heartless murderer? What difference did a soul make now?
Maybe it was his soul that made him feel so much pain; the sorrow for the horror he cause people with his ugliness, his ever present ache for Christine…
Maybe he should just give it away, requiring nothing in return. Simply be rid of the cursed thing and feel no more pain…
"Yes…" She hissed slyly, "you've got the right idea." Once again startling him with her apparent aptitude for mind reading, she gently brushed against him. "For the price of a kiss." Her hot breath in his ear almost made him want to scream that they had a deal.
Just when he thought he could resist no longer, a thought occurred to him: Was it not his soul that allowed him to write and feel music at such a profound level? Without his soul, Don Juan Triumphant would be nothing more than a faded memory, comprised of notes and scales. It would hold no meaning for him anymore. It wouldn't have the massive weight of sorrow, anger and pain as it did now… it would be merely 'music of the opera' which he so resented now.
And what of Christine? How could he love her without a soul? Maybe it was indeed the source of sadness and pain, but everything else he felt, everything he dreamed for himself and Christine was rooted at his soul… how could he give that away for a love made in trickery?
Nelly growled suddenly, "You try my patience! Make your choice! Forget the dreams! Make it a reality!"
Erik grabbed Nelly and pulled her close, his lips hovering near hers. She closed her eyes and smiled, parting her lips, ready for another soul. His lips touched hers and the taste of sulfur filled his mouth as her breath hit his face like steam from a volcano.
With a deft movement, he pushed her back and jerked the thin line over her head, yanking it taut and savagely choking the life out of her.
Her evil eyes bulged as she clawed at the noose around her neck feebly, strength fading as her face paled further and her lips turned blue. Fading every moment until eventually she was still.
Still fuming, Erik slipped the noose off the neck of the dead woman.
After everything, he was still poor, disconsolate Erik, and now he knew his soul that he refused to sell would be his doom. He would die of it…
Christine would be back sooner than she expected.
Erik stepped over the corpse of the demon, and sat wearily in his chair, and four tears slid down his hollow cheek. He closed his eyes and put his hand on his forehead.
"I'll take that as a no." Nelly's voice whispered in his ear, and she was gone, leaving poor, disconsolate Erik alone, one hand holding the Punjab lasso, and the other, hiding his face.