The Phantom of the Opera II
Erik's Legacy
By SilverclawRose
Hello, all my readers. Ok, I know on the last chapter I said that I'd put up the 3rd chapter within a day or two. Well, I'm very sorry to say that it won't be possible for 2 weeks, due to matters beyond my control. I promise that once I am able, I'll write a wonderful 3rd and 4th chapeter (which trust me, will be MUCH better than the 1st and 2nd, which were just basically the chpaters to let you know the storylines) Thanks everyone, SilverclawRose
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I don't own Christine. Or Raoul. Or the original Eric (I wish...) so you no sue. But....the new Eric IS MINE!! Grrr! You no take him! Anyhoo, read, review, and be marry! I'll try to update alot! NO FLAMES...be constructive. ENJOY!! PS If I get a few mistakes with names or facts, please don't be mean about it. Feel free to point them out, and I'll fix it...also, don't expect Erik to be very in character, because he's not the original Phantom...he's a totally different person, and therefore may act different. Ok, enough gibber-gabber. HAVE FUN! Also, please disregard the upset review I put for myself, I deleted the review which caused it, and the review below it was very nice (it states to see post below)
The rain fell in tourents on that cold night. It was the late 1800s, on a well kept street in Paris. The small flowers lining the coblestone road were bent over and mud covered, and only a few lights shone from the neat little houses. Not many people were awake at 3am, after all. Although at the victorian house sitting alone at the end of the lane, that was not the case. Because the child of Christine Daee and Raoul Chagny had chosen that cold, wet morning to be born. The nurse held Christine, whose beautiful face was twisted in agony.
"Shhh, madame, it'll be alright...you're giving someone life, bringing your child into the world, just breathe, madame." the nurse said soothingly. Raoul wanted to rush into the room and comfort his wife, but tradition dictated that he wait outside, and only women and the doctor be present at the birth. The poor town doctor had been waken quite rudly, by a loud pounding at his chamber door by a very upset Raoul, when Christine had begun to go into labor. Raoul stood up and walked back and forth, then sat down, the noises of pain from Christine unbearable. All at once there was a bloodcurtling scream, and the wetnurse ran out of the room, her face pale and tear stained.
"What?" Raoul yelled, but the wet nurse was too distraught to answer, flinging herself out the door into the rain. Ignoring tradition, Raoul burst into the bedroom, needing to see Christine. The doctor was against a far wall, looking agast. Christine lie on the bed, and seemed to have fainted from exaustion. It was the writhing bundle next to her, which had been hastilly covered with a blanket, which caught his attention. A small cry could be heard, as the bundle almost rolled itself over the edge of the bed.
"Demon..." the doctor whispered, crossing himself and backing further away. The doctor edged his way along the wall untill he backed himself out the door. Raoul turned back to the bundle, which was now only whimpering. He inched closer, his mind flashing back to the Opera house, to the man which had struck the same fear into the hearts of the Opera folk, including his wife. The man whose face had been that of death, always and forever covered in the mask...Raoul rushed over to his wife, avoiding looking at the child. He was afraid of what he'd see. Christine's eyes fluttered open in the arms of her husband, and she looked up into his face.
"Is it...done?" She asked tiredly. He glanced down at the bundle again, and finally reached out to pick it up. What he saw was perfectly normal, the baby boy was rolled over onto his side, his tiny eyes closed in sleep, a beautiful child if there ever was one. Raoul heaved a deep sigh and smiled.
"Yes, love, it's over. Would you look at that? He has your eyes..." Raoul gently handed the baby to Christine, who sat up painfully, her eyes full of happy tears.
"Oh Raoul..." she whispered. The baby turned over in her arms, and Christine gasped. It took all her self control not to drop the child. Raoul stood up quickly, shaking his head.
"No....how..?" Christine held the child away from her a bit, overcome with horror. For while the right side of the baby's face was beautiful and perfect, the left side was not, with one sunken eye, a twisted nose and mouth, sickly yellow skin streched taut over a high cheekbone. Christine layed the child down at her knees, scooting back towards her husband.
"Christine, how can this be?" She clutched Raoul and began sobbing into his shoulder. He gently stroked her head, his eyes still wide in disbelief.
"I..don't know." She managed to gasp out. She looked up at Raoul, her red eyes pleading.
"I never...Raoul, I didn't..." she broke down again, still grasping onto him. Raoul shushed her, placing her gently into his lap.
"I believe you, it's ok..." The couple looked over at the beautiful, hideous boy, the cruel twist of nature. Christine's sobs subceeded, and her maternial instincts took over. She reached out and picked up her child, cradling it close to her.
"How did this happen?" she asked, gaining her composure. Raoul looked at her.
"Erik....Christine, did he ever..."
"No!" she shouted. She glanced at the sleeping form. "No...at least, I don't think..." she whispered. Raoul tooka deep breath.
"It's not his child. Erik's dead. This is our son, and I will love him." Christine gave a small smile. "Me too...how can we not? After all, it was the parents who shuned him that made Eric...that way he was. What should his name be?" she asked, gently stroking the normal side of the child's face.
"What other choice do we have?" Raoul whispered. Christine gave a small nod, barely noticible. "Welcome home, my little Erik..." she said saddly.
The first few months of Erik's life were pleasent and quiet. His parents had removed all the mirriors in the house after an incident when Erik was 2 months old, and had caught sight of the left side of his face, and went into a crying fit. Christine tried never to cringe when she saw her son, but it was difficult, espically since every time she saw him, she thought of the man she'd once loved and hated. Whenever commpany came over, Raoul or Christine would pardon themselves and keep Erik occupied in his room untill the people had left. Raoul and Christine loved Erik very much, and tried to hide his hideousness from him. Raoul couldn't help that splinter of doubt that had wedged itself into his mind the day of Erik's birth. Was Erik...really his child? It was obvious where he could have gotten his face from, the murdering phantom that still haunted his wife's nightmares. But Christine insisted that the elder Erik had never touched her, at least to her knowledge. Yet young Erik knew none of this, and continued to live sheltered from the painful outside world. Erik was still a baby when distater struck. His parents had left him with the wet nurse (who refused to hold him and needed to be paid quite well to stay at all) and had gone out for their first dinner since Erik had been born. They promised to be home at 11, but 11 came and went, as did 12, then 1am. The nurse had fallen asleep, with Erik dozing in his crib. A loud knock startled the old woman awake, and she grumbled to the door.
"Yes, monsiur?" she asked, peereing out into the darkness.
"Is this the home of Christine and Raoul Chagny?" questioned a tall man in black.
"Yes, how may I help you?" she questioned. The man sighed and ran a hand through his scraggily hair.
"Is there any family members of the Chagny's at home?" The nurse glanced back and motioned to the crib.
''Just their child, who I look after." The man nodded.
"I deeply regret to inform you that the Monsiur and Madam have been in an accident." The nurse's hand covered her mouth as she gasped.
"Are they alright?" The man cast his eyes down.
"Witnesses report that their horse stumbled while crossing a bridge, and fell in, bringing their carrage with it." The nurse swayed,and the man reached out to steady her. "I am sorry to say that they did not make it. The monsiur died on impact, and the madame shortly after being rescued. I am truely sorry." The wet nurse burst into tears, as the man helped her to a seat. She didn't protest when the man went over to the crib to see the now orphaned boy. "The madame only had time to say 'Erik' before she died. Is this Erik?" he saw only the right side of the Erik, who was lying on his side sleeping.
"Yes" the wet nurse managed to say. "That is their child." The man made a move to pick him up, but the nurse jumped up. "No!" she cried, grabbing Erik. "Please, I...don't want him to catch a chill." she discretly covered the left side of his face, shielding it from view.
"I must take him to the orphanage, to be cared for." the man consoled. The nurse looked at Erik's face, or what was in view. She breathed in a shuttering sigh.
"I will care for him." she said firmly. "The madame was a close friend of the family, and I have known this child since that day he was born." she looked a little pale saying this, but the man didn't notice. "Well, seeing as you are the closest thing to family...I supose that will be alright." The man turned to go. "If you have any problems, the orphange will always be open." With that, he went back out into the night. The nurse closed the door after him, and slowly unwraped the rest of Erik's face. When she saw the twisted features, she burst into tears, not just of saddness, but of self-pity. Self-pity for having to care for such an evil looking thing. The nurse had heard of the Phantom of the Opera, and the terrible things that had happened, but she only knew the rumors. That a masked man had once kidnapped a singer, and killed a few actors. She never knew that Christine had been that singer, or what was behind the mask. She didn't know that Erik had half the same face as the Phantom, nor that Christine would never mask her child. The nurse knew none of this, only that the thing she held in her arms was hideous. She began to walk home, leaving the warm house for the last time. When she got to her own small cottage, she began to sew a mask.
The years passed in a blurr, and the nurse got older and slower. On the contrary, Erik got older and faster. He grew beautiful black hair, and was a very quiet boy. The nurse kept him in his room during the day, and avoided spending time with him. He was told to wear the half-face mask at all times, and did as he was told. The nurse was never very nice to him, but never very cruel, either. She couldn't send him to school, or school him herself, so Erik spent most of his time reading about the outside world. When he was seven he had already read most of the works of Shakespeare. The nurse never let Erik outside, and never even told anyone she had him. She died when Erik was 11, and Eric hid in his room while the towns people gave her a quiet burial. He was somewhat sad, true, but he didn't feel the normal greif. She had never been a mother to him, more like a distant housemate. That night, Erik steped outside the front door for the first time, not knowing what to expect. He brought some clothes and food, and with his mask in place, wandered off into the night. Poor Erik had never even spoken to another person besides the nurse and his parents, and hadn't seen his face since he was 2 months. He had no idea he was different. To pass the time, he recited parts of Othello and Macbeth, and tried to pull up the picture of his mothers face. He had often spent hours trying to remember what she looked like, but he had been too young when she died. All he could remember was her name, and the songs she used to sing to him in his crib...
Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye....Remember me, every so often, please
promise me you'll try....On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free,
if you ever find a moment, spare a thought on me.....
Erik took this to heart, and when he felt most lonely would sing it to himself. There had been one more song his mother had sung, but she had only sung it a few times, when his father hadn't been home. Erik knew this, because she would whisper it to him, as if afraid something would happen if she was heard. In fact, Christine once in a while would remember her Angel of Music, and the beautiful songs they sang together. Raoul hated when she even mentioned the Opera house, but she wanted her son to know about him, the creature who very well could have been his real father, or not. Once in a while, when her son was asleep, she sang to him quietly...
In sleep he sang to me....in dreams he came....that voice which calls to me...and speaks my name..
And do I dream again? For now I find....the Phantom of the Opera is there....inside my mind.....
That was all Erik could remember, because his mother would then get a faraway look after that part, as if some unseen force was singing along in her memory. Erik had no idea of the Paris Opera house, although everyone else in France remembered the masked Phantom. When Erik reached the edge of the forset, it was night again. He smilied a little bit. For some reason, he liked the dark better than the light of daytime. Perhaps because he had been allowed to play at night, within the confines of the yard. Erik peeked out from around a stone wall, and his eyes went large. There was huge paved streets, and large stone buildings covered in ivy. Cafes with chairs upside down on tables were at every corner, and caragges were parked everywhere. He glanced up at the sign above him that said 'Paris, France'. A young woman and man walked up the street towards him, their arms linked. The woman giggled as the man whispered something in her ear. They stoped short when they saw the small boy peering in the opposite direction.
"Pardon me, but what are you doing out so late, young monsiur?" he said, winking at his girl. She giggled and played along.
"Oui, isn't it too dark for young gentlemen such as yourself to be out alone?" Erik turned around, the right side of his face a bit dirty from the long treck, and the left side still hidden under the mask.
"How do you do?" he said politely, but a little uncertanly. The man looked inmpressed and bowed mockingly.
"Are you by any chance the Phantom of the Opera?" he chuckled, gently tapping the mask with his cane.
"Who?" Erik asked, backing away a bit. The girl looked shocked.
"What young man hasn't heard of the Phantom? Surely your father has told you of the Phantom who comes and steals naughty children away in the night?" she said, trying to look scared. The man nodded solomly.
"Yes, he wears a mask and steals children who misbehave and flys them to his lair under the Opera house!" The man straightened and chuckled.
Erik kept a blank look on his face as he said "Then you two had better watch out." The woman sniffed haughtly as the man went a little red in the face.
"Never speak back to your elders, child! And take off that silly mask!" the man reached for Erik's mask, but Erik jumped back, frightened. He couldn't take off his mask....the nurse had said something bad would happen...
"Stop, I can't take it off." he pleaded. The man cornered him against the wall.
"Oh, stop playing and go home to your mother." he grumbled, snatching the mask. The girl behind him took one look at Erik and screamed a blood curtling scream. The man jumped back, his eyes wide.
"It's a monster..." he muttered, staring at the twisted deformities. The woman just kept screaming, frozen in terror. Erik jumped up and ran across the street, his mask still in the man's hand. He dashed in front of a horse drawn buggy, startling the horse. It reared back, neighing in fright and flailing it's hoves. Erik scrambled to get out of the way of being trampled, as the driver shouted down at him.
"You foolish boy! You could have..." the man caught sight of his face in the light of the streetlanters and gasped. "Good god!" the man reeled back and almost fell off the caragge. The carrage door opened and a well- dressed woman looked out.
"Whatever is the mater, Fredrick? Why have we..." the woman saw Erik next to the carrage and screamed, shielding her eyes. Erik got up and ran, but right into a large crowd gathered in front of the Opera house.
"Oh yes, I think Madomiselle Changly was simply surpurb." The people were dressed in gowns and had just seen a play when a man was knocked over by Erik.
"What the blazes?" Everyone turned and looked at the boy who had accidentlly stumbled into the center of them. The people nearest him jumped back and screamed, and a few women faninted. Erik glanced around terrified, as the crowd had encircled him. A few men swore and held their crying wives.
"What is it?" "Demon!" "It's a mutant!" the crowd was in a frenzy as Erik tried to push his way out, covering his face in his hands. One young man picked up a stone and threw it at Erik's retreating form. It struck his leg, and he yelped out in pain. He glanced frantically around for an escacpe, and dashed into an alley. The loud voices behind him slowly got quieter, and Erik stoped running to catch his breath. So far his terror had kept at bay by how fast everything had happened, but it struck him now. He sank to the ground, shaking like a leaf. His hand never moved from his face. His fingers caressed across his nose; from the smooth right side to the sallow left side. It began to rain, and Erik huddled down into a ball, fighting back tears. The small 8 year old shivered on the stone ground, and eventually fell asleep.
When he woke up, sunlight was pouring down into the alley. Erik woke up, expecting to see his small room. But where there should have been a wood floor, there was dirty stone. And where there should have been a door was the street beyond. He gasped and sat up straight, his hand flew to his face. His mask...where was it?! He peeked out from the alley at the busy street beyond, where a few people strolled and some shopkeepers were begining to open up.
"Why...why did they scream?" he whispered to himself. He felt his face, perhaps that was it. Just how bad did it look? he wondered. He glanced behind and saw a puddle between some coblestones. He kneeled down and looked at the reflection peering up at him. At first all he saw was his normal, 8 year old boyish face, smeared with dirt, his hair soggy with rain. Then he turned his face a bit, and jumped backwards, stumbling head over heals.
"No...that's not me..." he whispered. He inched closer again, breathing heavily. There it was again, the dead face straight from the grave. His sunken eye widened, his deformed mouth opened in a gasp. He sat back, shocked. The young boy was far wiser than his years told, and he understood competly. He was a freak. It was his face, his face had been under the mask, his face had kept him a prisioner in his small room for the first 11 years of his life...His hand reached up to gingerly touch the yellowed skin. It was clammy and oilly, so different from the right side.
"My mask.." he mumbled, somewhat lost in thought. He jumped up and was about to dash out and look for it when he stopped. He turned and looked around, searching for something to cover the dead corpse...he lifted the lid of a trash can that had been haphazardly thrust out the theatre door. Some food, a broken stage light...there. Some shreaded costumes and material. He lifted up a torn white shirt and began to shred it furously, letting out the horror of his face on the material. Gingerly, he wraped the strips around his head, leaving two spots for eyes. Not very discreet, but it would have to do. Erik edged out onto the street, trying to keep behind caragges to avoid beeing seen. He sped across the street and dove behind the wall he'd come out from. Where...where was it?
Erik's Legacy
By SilverclawRose
Hello, all my readers. Ok, I know on the last chapter I said that I'd put up the 3rd chapter within a day or two. Well, I'm very sorry to say that it won't be possible for 2 weeks, due to matters beyond my control. I promise that once I am able, I'll write a wonderful 3rd and 4th chapeter (which trust me, will be MUCH better than the 1st and 2nd, which were just basically the chpaters to let you know the storylines) Thanks everyone, SilverclawRose
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I don't own Christine. Or Raoul. Or the original Eric (I wish...) so you no sue. But....the new Eric IS MINE!! Grrr! You no take him! Anyhoo, read, review, and be marry! I'll try to update alot! NO FLAMES...be constructive. ENJOY!! PS If I get a few mistakes with names or facts, please don't be mean about it. Feel free to point them out, and I'll fix it...also, don't expect Erik to be very in character, because he's not the original Phantom...he's a totally different person, and therefore may act different. Ok, enough gibber-gabber. HAVE FUN! Also, please disregard the upset review I put for myself, I deleted the review which caused it, and the review below it was very nice (it states to see post below)
The rain fell in tourents on that cold night. It was the late 1800s, on a well kept street in Paris. The small flowers lining the coblestone road were bent over and mud covered, and only a few lights shone from the neat little houses. Not many people were awake at 3am, after all. Although at the victorian house sitting alone at the end of the lane, that was not the case. Because the child of Christine Daee and Raoul Chagny had chosen that cold, wet morning to be born. The nurse held Christine, whose beautiful face was twisted in agony.
"Shhh, madame, it'll be alright...you're giving someone life, bringing your child into the world, just breathe, madame." the nurse said soothingly. Raoul wanted to rush into the room and comfort his wife, but tradition dictated that he wait outside, and only women and the doctor be present at the birth. The poor town doctor had been waken quite rudly, by a loud pounding at his chamber door by a very upset Raoul, when Christine had begun to go into labor. Raoul stood up and walked back and forth, then sat down, the noises of pain from Christine unbearable. All at once there was a bloodcurtling scream, and the wetnurse ran out of the room, her face pale and tear stained.
"What?" Raoul yelled, but the wet nurse was too distraught to answer, flinging herself out the door into the rain. Ignoring tradition, Raoul burst into the bedroom, needing to see Christine. The doctor was against a far wall, looking agast. Christine lie on the bed, and seemed to have fainted from exaustion. It was the writhing bundle next to her, which had been hastilly covered with a blanket, which caught his attention. A small cry could be heard, as the bundle almost rolled itself over the edge of the bed.
"Demon..." the doctor whispered, crossing himself and backing further away. The doctor edged his way along the wall untill he backed himself out the door. Raoul turned back to the bundle, which was now only whimpering. He inched closer, his mind flashing back to the Opera house, to the man which had struck the same fear into the hearts of the Opera folk, including his wife. The man whose face had been that of death, always and forever covered in the mask...Raoul rushed over to his wife, avoiding looking at the child. He was afraid of what he'd see. Christine's eyes fluttered open in the arms of her husband, and she looked up into his face.
"Is it...done?" She asked tiredly. He glanced down at the bundle again, and finally reached out to pick it up. What he saw was perfectly normal, the baby boy was rolled over onto his side, his tiny eyes closed in sleep, a beautiful child if there ever was one. Raoul heaved a deep sigh and smiled.
"Yes, love, it's over. Would you look at that? He has your eyes..." Raoul gently handed the baby to Christine, who sat up painfully, her eyes full of happy tears.
"Oh Raoul..." she whispered. The baby turned over in her arms, and Christine gasped. It took all her self control not to drop the child. Raoul stood up quickly, shaking his head.
"No....how..?" Christine held the child away from her a bit, overcome with horror. For while the right side of the baby's face was beautiful and perfect, the left side was not, with one sunken eye, a twisted nose and mouth, sickly yellow skin streched taut over a high cheekbone. Christine layed the child down at her knees, scooting back towards her husband.
"Christine, how can this be?" She clutched Raoul and began sobbing into his shoulder. He gently stroked her head, his eyes still wide in disbelief.
"I..don't know." She managed to gasp out. She looked up at Raoul, her red eyes pleading.
"I never...Raoul, I didn't..." she broke down again, still grasping onto him. Raoul shushed her, placing her gently into his lap.
"I believe you, it's ok..." The couple looked over at the beautiful, hideous boy, the cruel twist of nature. Christine's sobs subceeded, and her maternial instincts took over. She reached out and picked up her child, cradling it close to her.
"How did this happen?" she asked, gaining her composure. Raoul looked at her.
"Erik....Christine, did he ever..."
"No!" she shouted. She glanced at the sleeping form. "No...at least, I don't think..." she whispered. Raoul tooka deep breath.
"It's not his child. Erik's dead. This is our son, and I will love him." Christine gave a small smile. "Me too...how can we not? After all, it was the parents who shuned him that made Eric...that way he was. What should his name be?" she asked, gently stroking the normal side of the child's face.
"What other choice do we have?" Raoul whispered. Christine gave a small nod, barely noticible. "Welcome home, my little Erik..." she said saddly.
The first few months of Erik's life were pleasent and quiet. His parents had removed all the mirriors in the house after an incident when Erik was 2 months old, and had caught sight of the left side of his face, and went into a crying fit. Christine tried never to cringe when she saw her son, but it was difficult, espically since every time she saw him, she thought of the man she'd once loved and hated. Whenever commpany came over, Raoul or Christine would pardon themselves and keep Erik occupied in his room untill the people had left. Raoul and Christine loved Erik very much, and tried to hide his hideousness from him. Raoul couldn't help that splinter of doubt that had wedged itself into his mind the day of Erik's birth. Was Erik...really his child? It was obvious where he could have gotten his face from, the murdering phantom that still haunted his wife's nightmares. But Christine insisted that the elder Erik had never touched her, at least to her knowledge. Yet young Erik knew none of this, and continued to live sheltered from the painful outside world. Erik was still a baby when distater struck. His parents had left him with the wet nurse (who refused to hold him and needed to be paid quite well to stay at all) and had gone out for their first dinner since Erik had been born. They promised to be home at 11, but 11 came and went, as did 12, then 1am. The nurse had fallen asleep, with Erik dozing in his crib. A loud knock startled the old woman awake, and she grumbled to the door.
"Yes, monsiur?" she asked, peereing out into the darkness.
"Is this the home of Christine and Raoul Chagny?" questioned a tall man in black.
"Yes, how may I help you?" she questioned. The man sighed and ran a hand through his scraggily hair.
"Is there any family members of the Chagny's at home?" The nurse glanced back and motioned to the crib.
''Just their child, who I look after." The man nodded.
"I deeply regret to inform you that the Monsiur and Madam have been in an accident." The nurse's hand covered her mouth as she gasped.
"Are they alright?" The man cast his eyes down.
"Witnesses report that their horse stumbled while crossing a bridge, and fell in, bringing their carrage with it." The nurse swayed,and the man reached out to steady her. "I am sorry to say that they did not make it. The monsiur died on impact, and the madame shortly after being rescued. I am truely sorry." The wet nurse burst into tears, as the man helped her to a seat. She didn't protest when the man went over to the crib to see the now orphaned boy. "The madame only had time to say 'Erik' before she died. Is this Erik?" he saw only the right side of the Erik, who was lying on his side sleeping.
"Yes" the wet nurse managed to say. "That is their child." The man made a move to pick him up, but the nurse jumped up. "No!" she cried, grabbing Erik. "Please, I...don't want him to catch a chill." she discretly covered the left side of his face, shielding it from view.
"I must take him to the orphanage, to be cared for." the man consoled. The nurse looked at Erik's face, or what was in view. She breathed in a shuttering sigh.
"I will care for him." she said firmly. "The madame was a close friend of the family, and I have known this child since that day he was born." she looked a little pale saying this, but the man didn't notice. "Well, seeing as you are the closest thing to family...I supose that will be alright." The man turned to go. "If you have any problems, the orphange will always be open." With that, he went back out into the night. The nurse closed the door after him, and slowly unwraped the rest of Erik's face. When she saw the twisted features, she burst into tears, not just of saddness, but of self-pity. Self-pity for having to care for such an evil looking thing. The nurse had heard of the Phantom of the Opera, and the terrible things that had happened, but she only knew the rumors. That a masked man had once kidnapped a singer, and killed a few actors. She never knew that Christine had been that singer, or what was behind the mask. She didn't know that Erik had half the same face as the Phantom, nor that Christine would never mask her child. The nurse knew none of this, only that the thing she held in her arms was hideous. She began to walk home, leaving the warm house for the last time. When she got to her own small cottage, she began to sew a mask.
The years passed in a blurr, and the nurse got older and slower. On the contrary, Erik got older and faster. He grew beautiful black hair, and was a very quiet boy. The nurse kept him in his room during the day, and avoided spending time with him. He was told to wear the half-face mask at all times, and did as he was told. The nurse was never very nice to him, but never very cruel, either. She couldn't send him to school, or school him herself, so Erik spent most of his time reading about the outside world. When he was seven he had already read most of the works of Shakespeare. The nurse never let Erik outside, and never even told anyone she had him. She died when Erik was 11, and Eric hid in his room while the towns people gave her a quiet burial. He was somewhat sad, true, but he didn't feel the normal greif. She had never been a mother to him, more like a distant housemate. That night, Erik steped outside the front door for the first time, not knowing what to expect. He brought some clothes and food, and with his mask in place, wandered off into the night. Poor Erik had never even spoken to another person besides the nurse and his parents, and hadn't seen his face since he was 2 months. He had no idea he was different. To pass the time, he recited parts of Othello and Macbeth, and tried to pull up the picture of his mothers face. He had often spent hours trying to remember what she looked like, but he had been too young when she died. All he could remember was her name, and the songs she used to sing to him in his crib...
Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye....Remember me, every so often, please
promise me you'll try....On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free,
if you ever find a moment, spare a thought on me.....
Erik took this to heart, and when he felt most lonely would sing it to himself. There had been one more song his mother had sung, but she had only sung it a few times, when his father hadn't been home. Erik knew this, because she would whisper it to him, as if afraid something would happen if she was heard. In fact, Christine once in a while would remember her Angel of Music, and the beautiful songs they sang together. Raoul hated when she even mentioned the Opera house, but she wanted her son to know about him, the creature who very well could have been his real father, or not. Once in a while, when her son was asleep, she sang to him quietly...
In sleep he sang to me....in dreams he came....that voice which calls to me...and speaks my name..
And do I dream again? For now I find....the Phantom of the Opera is there....inside my mind.....
That was all Erik could remember, because his mother would then get a faraway look after that part, as if some unseen force was singing along in her memory. Erik had no idea of the Paris Opera house, although everyone else in France remembered the masked Phantom. When Erik reached the edge of the forset, it was night again. He smilied a little bit. For some reason, he liked the dark better than the light of daytime. Perhaps because he had been allowed to play at night, within the confines of the yard. Erik peeked out from around a stone wall, and his eyes went large. There was huge paved streets, and large stone buildings covered in ivy. Cafes with chairs upside down on tables were at every corner, and caragges were parked everywhere. He glanced up at the sign above him that said 'Paris, France'. A young woman and man walked up the street towards him, their arms linked. The woman giggled as the man whispered something in her ear. They stoped short when they saw the small boy peering in the opposite direction.
"Pardon me, but what are you doing out so late, young monsiur?" he said, winking at his girl. She giggled and played along.
"Oui, isn't it too dark for young gentlemen such as yourself to be out alone?" Erik turned around, the right side of his face a bit dirty from the long treck, and the left side still hidden under the mask.
"How do you do?" he said politely, but a little uncertanly. The man looked inmpressed and bowed mockingly.
"Are you by any chance the Phantom of the Opera?" he chuckled, gently tapping the mask with his cane.
"Who?" Erik asked, backing away a bit. The girl looked shocked.
"What young man hasn't heard of the Phantom? Surely your father has told you of the Phantom who comes and steals naughty children away in the night?" she said, trying to look scared. The man nodded solomly.
"Yes, he wears a mask and steals children who misbehave and flys them to his lair under the Opera house!" The man straightened and chuckled.
Erik kept a blank look on his face as he said "Then you two had better watch out." The woman sniffed haughtly as the man went a little red in the face.
"Never speak back to your elders, child! And take off that silly mask!" the man reached for Erik's mask, but Erik jumped back, frightened. He couldn't take off his mask....the nurse had said something bad would happen...
"Stop, I can't take it off." he pleaded. The man cornered him against the wall.
"Oh, stop playing and go home to your mother." he grumbled, snatching the mask. The girl behind him took one look at Erik and screamed a blood curtling scream. The man jumped back, his eyes wide.
"It's a monster..." he muttered, staring at the twisted deformities. The woman just kept screaming, frozen in terror. Erik jumped up and ran across the street, his mask still in the man's hand. He dashed in front of a horse drawn buggy, startling the horse. It reared back, neighing in fright and flailing it's hoves. Erik scrambled to get out of the way of being trampled, as the driver shouted down at him.
"You foolish boy! You could have..." the man caught sight of his face in the light of the streetlanters and gasped. "Good god!" the man reeled back and almost fell off the caragge. The carrage door opened and a well- dressed woman looked out.
"Whatever is the mater, Fredrick? Why have we..." the woman saw Erik next to the carrage and screamed, shielding her eyes. Erik got up and ran, but right into a large crowd gathered in front of the Opera house.
"Oh yes, I think Madomiselle Changly was simply surpurb." The people were dressed in gowns and had just seen a play when a man was knocked over by Erik.
"What the blazes?" Everyone turned and looked at the boy who had accidentlly stumbled into the center of them. The people nearest him jumped back and screamed, and a few women faninted. Erik glanced around terrified, as the crowd had encircled him. A few men swore and held their crying wives.
"What is it?" "Demon!" "It's a mutant!" the crowd was in a frenzy as Erik tried to push his way out, covering his face in his hands. One young man picked up a stone and threw it at Erik's retreating form. It struck his leg, and he yelped out in pain. He glanced frantically around for an escacpe, and dashed into an alley. The loud voices behind him slowly got quieter, and Erik stoped running to catch his breath. So far his terror had kept at bay by how fast everything had happened, but it struck him now. He sank to the ground, shaking like a leaf. His hand never moved from his face. His fingers caressed across his nose; from the smooth right side to the sallow left side. It began to rain, and Erik huddled down into a ball, fighting back tears. The small 8 year old shivered on the stone ground, and eventually fell asleep.
When he woke up, sunlight was pouring down into the alley. Erik woke up, expecting to see his small room. But where there should have been a wood floor, there was dirty stone. And where there should have been a door was the street beyond. He gasped and sat up straight, his hand flew to his face. His mask...where was it?! He peeked out from the alley at the busy street beyond, where a few people strolled and some shopkeepers were begining to open up.
"Why...why did they scream?" he whispered to himself. He felt his face, perhaps that was it. Just how bad did it look? he wondered. He glanced behind and saw a puddle between some coblestones. He kneeled down and looked at the reflection peering up at him. At first all he saw was his normal, 8 year old boyish face, smeared with dirt, his hair soggy with rain. Then he turned his face a bit, and jumped backwards, stumbling head over heals.
"No...that's not me..." he whispered. He inched closer again, breathing heavily. There it was again, the dead face straight from the grave. His sunken eye widened, his deformed mouth opened in a gasp. He sat back, shocked. The young boy was far wiser than his years told, and he understood competly. He was a freak. It was his face, his face had been under the mask, his face had kept him a prisioner in his small room for the first 11 years of his life...His hand reached up to gingerly touch the yellowed skin. It was clammy and oilly, so different from the right side.
"My mask.." he mumbled, somewhat lost in thought. He jumped up and was about to dash out and look for it when he stopped. He turned and looked around, searching for something to cover the dead corpse...he lifted the lid of a trash can that had been haphazardly thrust out the theatre door. Some food, a broken stage light...there. Some shreaded costumes and material. He lifted up a torn white shirt and began to shred it furously, letting out the horror of his face on the material. Gingerly, he wraped the strips around his head, leaving two spots for eyes. Not very discreet, but it would have to do. Erik edged out onto the street, trying to keep behind caragges to avoid beeing seen. He sped across the street and dove behind the wall he'd come out from. Where...where was it?