This is just a creepy story I ended up writing for English class and I thought it would make a good fanfic. I got the idea from my sister when we were talking about the effects dreams had on your body, if they could actually do harm. I decided to play around with it. Thanks Kathleen! My parents now think I have major issues, but I do. And I'm damn proud of it.

Disclaimer: I don't own PotO. I just own two copies of the DVD, a movie poster, a phantom half-mask, the Phantom Companion Book, and 5 or 6 playbills. Damn I'm obsessed.

A loud, piercing scream broke the silence. Christine sat up in her bed covered in a light coat of sweat.

"It was only a dream," she whispered to herself, "Only a dream."

But why had it felt so real? The same image played over and over again, the dark figure lurking in the shadows. He was always there, haunting her, muttering into the shadows. Whenever she would reach out to touch him, he would turn on her, holding a knife, and he always slashed her right side.

She moved to turn on her light when a dull pain gripped her. Turning on the light, she saw a red stain on her t-shirt. She lifted her shirt to reveal a gash running from the middle of her ribcage to her hip. That never happened before.

Oh, God, she thought, what's happening to me?

There was a sharp knock at her door and Christine heard her mother ask, "Christine, are you ok?"

"Yeah, mom," Christine replied, "I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

She heard her mother's feet shuffle away. Christine stood and looked out her window. A blanket of snow had covered the ground and Christmas lights illuminated the street.

She went to her bedroom door and locked it out of paranoia. She sat on her bed for a few minutes looking around. Christine finally turned off her light and fell into a troubled sleep.

She was in a dark hallway. The only light came from underneath a door at the end of it. She cautiously walked towards it, unsure if she wanted to know what was on the other side. She reached the door and slowly pushed it open.

Firelight filled the room giving it the impression of comfort. She turned away from the fire and fought the urge to gag. On the opposite wall was a mutilated body. She was about to scream when a gloved hand covered her mouth.

"Screaming will only make this more painful than it has to be," a man's cold voice whispered sending chills down he spine. He turned her so she was facing him. His eyes were yellow, like a cat's. His raven black hair was slicked back and he was dressed in a well pressed suit.

"What do you want with me?" Christine asked desperately.

"That is not important, Christine Leevy," he replied.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

"I know all about you, Christine," he answered, "You are seventeen years old, you go to Piermont High school, and you've received the lead in the last three school musicals. Your best friend is Meg Giry and you are currently dating the town's hockey goalie, Raoul Changy."

Christine froze in a panic. Who was he?

"Shall I continue?" he questioned mockingly not caring about the answer. "How about something that no one knows? You tell everyone that your father is dead, when really he's in jail for your baby sister's murder."

"Stop it! Please just stop!" Christine shouted unable to hear anymore. Tears were pouring down her cheeks as he smirked cruelly at her.

"Now Christine, it's time to meet your end," he said throwing her to the ground. "I wonder what Raoul will do without you?"

He pulled out a silver dagger that gleamed in the firelight. He knelt down in front of her. She was too afraid to fight, paralyzed with fear.

"Merry Christmas, Christine," he whispered menacingly before plunging the knife into her heart. He pulled it out as she gasped for air. She clutched her chest as blood soaked her hand. She was loosing consciousness fast and she watched as he cleaned the knife of her blood. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she fell to the ground, dead.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Leevy. There's nothing."

Mary Leevy fell to her knees as her daughters body was carried away. There was no murder weapon, only a wound in her chest and a gash down her side. There were no fingerprints on the doorknob, the door was locked on the inside, and Christine just looked like she was suffering from a nightmare.

The coroner took her body for examination while the police looked for evidence. There was nothing, and they would find nothing.

I told you it was creepy.