Hey everyone! Sorry it is taking me so long to update my What Would Erik Do Story. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon! Oh, and it was my birthday on the 20th! Yay!
This little 'mini-story' started off as I really do not know what, but it developed into a look into the annual Phantom Society meeting. I kept the title because I liked it, but it really has very little to do with the story.
I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.
We are all doomed!
Ahem…
The Authoress, Crim, sat staring at the screen, completely comatose. "Argh… I want it to be National Talk Like a Pirate Day already."
She shuddered at the luminous white digital page before her.
"Must…do…something…" She reached for her trusty notebook and scribbled random lines all over the page. Then she got tired of it and chucked it across the room. It fell just short of her bed, plopped onto the floor with a thunk, and skittered past the edge of her comforter and out of sight.
Half awake, Crim disinterestedly waited for the scraping of the metal binding rings on the wood flooring to stop. Which, of course, did not happen. Coming completely to once she realized she could still hear her notebook bumping around somewhere far beyond her bedroom wall, she cautiously padded across to the bed and stuck her head under it.
What she saw was quite unexpected. Somehow someone had taken a chunk out of her floor and there was a gaping hole in the wood leading off into darkness.
"To follow the notebook or not to follow the notebook, that is the question." The Authoress stated to the random dust bunnies around her head. "Hmm…dark, spooky hole, most possibly put there by a stalker or an insane higher power. It calls to me. Definitely."
She shimmied the rest of her body under her bed and then scooted down into the hole. As her shoes hit stone she could hear dripping off in the distance. Squinting, she tried to ascertain where it was coming from, but it was too dark. Waiting a second to get her bearings, she started off in the direction she thought that her notebook had gone.
In no time flat she found it (stepped on it, actually) lying facedown in a puddle.
She disgustedly picked up the soggy mess and carted it back to the hole under her bed, where she preceded to toss it up and out. Then, doing an about-face, she stalked off into the musty blackness to go exploring.
After about twenty minutes of the same boring tunnels she came across something very interesting. Looking on from a peephole she had found in the stone wall, she watched curiously as hundreds of Eriks descended upon a giant, cave-like chamber. Smoking torches lined up against each wall lighted the area and there was a huge buffet table right underneath the Authoress' vantage point.
A few were busy piling trays with shish kebobs, shrimp, and mini-carrots. Two in particular were talking to each other excitedly,
"Erik, my good man! I haven't seen you in ages!"
"Nor I you, Erik! How's it been? Find any new booby traps we can all use against the Phangirls?" They moved down the line and started picking at a strawberry dessert ball.
"Sadly, no. I am currently of the opinion that the only possible way to get any solitude these days is to retire!"
"Retire! No, I wouldn't dare. I just could not give up my lasso. At all. Ever. Besides, what in God's name would you do with all that time? Surely not enter society!"
The other Erik sighed and replied, "No. I was thinking of taking up a rather delightful activity, or so I'm told it is. Fop hunting. It's all the rage in Paris these days." His companion leaned over and snatched a muffin off the table.
"Really. Oh, look, Erik's getting up to do the speech. Best get good seats while we can." He dashed off towards the opposite side of the room, the other Erik hurriedly following.
Crim watched in amazement as all of the Eriks scrambled to get situated on anything they could find – chairs, boulders, tables, one group just plopped themselves right down onto the ground.
The head Erik, distinguished by a gigantic, feather-stuffed fedora and shiny skull topped staff, climbed atop a small, decorated platform. The whole lot of black-cloaked, mask wearing characters snapped to attention.
The Erik on the podium swept his glowing eyes over the crowd and then spoke,
"My fellow Eriks, I thank you all for coming to our annual Phantom Society Gathering. I would just like to say that the clambake last month went superbly. We have nearly doubled our funds from the 50/50 raffle."
A smattering of applause was heard.
"Unfortunately, I have some bad news to report. Due to our propensity as Eriks to strive to acquire surroundings of the highest caliber even though financially, for now at least, we are ahead, if we want to do an extra cookout this summer we are going to have to find more…er…funding."
There was an outraged cry from the crowd and some of the Opera Ghosts even whipped out their lassos and twirled them menacingly at some of the stalactites on the ceiling.
The Erik on the podium waved his hands vigorously.
"Now, now! I have put some thought into this and have found a very easy solution – just extort the hell out of your managers and sell your ballet rats into prostitution."
There were some shouts of "We are already doing that, you imbecile!" and "Those poor children! How could you even think that!" but most of the Eriks seemed to agree.
Catching the overall positive feeling of the crowd the lead Erik went on to other business.
"Now, as this is a fairly new issue that has been brought to my attention, most of you might find this, well, disturbing. Due to the recent increase of interest in Fop hunting the species is becoming drastically thinned out."
There were surprised murmurs from the crowd.
"Yes, yes, I know. To keep them from total extinction we must stop the killing. Already Fops are being bred in captivity so that the species may thrive again. But it will not help to go on any rampages through your opera house any time soon. So, KEEP YOUR HANDS, KNIVES, LASSOS, AND ANY OTHER TORTURE DEVISES YOUR WICKED MIND MIGHT COME UP WITH OFF OF THE FOPS!"
This last bit was said with so much gusto that some of the Phantoms up front had to cover their ears.
The head Opera Ghost cleared his throat and went on,
"Finally, we have our usual entertainment – minus the Fop"
Some boos were heard.
" The lasso skills game, knife throwing competition, bobbing for apples, and cake-baking and decorating contest are back from last year. We have a few new additions this time. I am pleased to say that we have hired a 'stripper Christine', rented a dunk tank which came with a complimentary Carlotta, and, best of all, we have a raffle!"
He held up a strip of blood red tickets.
"Just find the Erik with the 'I love Jack' cravat on. Tickets are a dollar each and six for five dollars."
With that, Erik raised his staff and brought it crashing down, signaling an end to his speech and the start of the festivities.