Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
Apparently, talking late at night to your friend about a couple shameless Phantom versions that are horrible, really is a great way to come up with silliness. This is the product of her inspiring me. So, please enjoy!
sarahandmarquis
P.S.
I do not own any of the Phantoms mentioned in this work. If I did, you can be sure I wouldn't be writing on this site.
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Phantoms Mentioned:
Leroux – 1909-1910 (Book)
Lon Chaney – 1925
Claude Rains – 1943
Herbert Lom – 1962
Maximillian Schell – 1983
Michael Crawford – 1986 (Play)
Robert Englund – 1989
Charles Dance – 1990
Kay – 1990 (Book)
David Staller – 1991 (Play)
Julian Sands – 1998
Gerard Butler – 2004
Anthony Mann - 2014
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It is the Phantom convention, the gathering of all the Phantoms of all the movies, books, and plays. They wander about, talking with each other, a few playing softly on their violins before sipping a glass of champagne or wine.
All is happy. All is nice.
Each is one is elegant in their fine attire, looking their best for the convention. Leroux is talking to Kay and Gerard Butler is exchanging stories with Charles Dance. Maximillian Schell is listening to Herbert Lom talk of his opera and Claude Rains is discussing current events with Anthony Mann. Lon Chaney and Michael Crawford compare their differences and similarities.
Then, the doors open. All eyes turn.
And everything falls silent.
A dozen pairs of eyes burn with hatred as the-one-which-must-never-be-named enters. He pays no attention to their hatred, calmly walking over to the punch bowl. He pours himself a cup.
All eyes turns to Robert Englund, frowning in the back, playing with his unsheathed knives. He takes a step forward. Leroux and Kay fall in beside him. Three abreast, they approach the intruder.
He merely looks up, unware of the pure revulsion in every eye which is fixed on him. The three tower over him, their height and power overwhelming the room. Leroux and Kay casually stroke their Punjab lassos while Englund calmly tests the sharpness of his blade.
A moment before they pounce on the-one-which-must-never-be-named, the doors open again. This time, David Staller enters, blond hair matching the-one-which-must-never-be-named and his mask a comedic version of Michael Crawford.
Filled with rage, Crawford lunges from his place in the back, only to be grabbed and restrained by Dance and Butler, who whispers in his ear that it is hardly a fair fight between them as it is and he can deal with Staller later and avenge the rip-off.
Staller stands beside the-one-which-must-never-be-named and grins at Englund. Removing on of his pristine white gloves, he slaps Englund in the face with it. A horrified gasp runs through the crowd, gathering in a circle around them.
Englund lunges, gutting Staller and hurtling his corpse towards the floor. A moment later, Englund is finished, every bit of his visible skin ripped from his body and left in a careful pile.
Leroux and Kay grab the-one-which-must-never-be-named and hang him from the ceiling after breaking his neck, pleased with the swinging body.
Staller's corpse is tossed aside, he merely a shamefully terrible rip-off. The skinning is a sufficient reward.
But so it isn't for the-one-which-must-never-be-named.
The game is on as each Phantom comes by to destroy the body of the abomination. Some prefer to use a knife to carve away pieces as trophies. Rains, Lom, and Schell take great pleasure is using any form of acid on the face, marring its perfection to model features of their own.
When they are done, Chaney takes the mangled creature and hurls him into his private torture chamber, after arguing with Leroux on who gets to do it, to see how his body cooks in the infernal heat.
As the day ends, the pieces left are hurled outside into a dumpster.
And, the convention is free to continue unencumbered by the presence of their least loved members.
Until next year when once more, Staller will walk through the door, only to be killed for being a terrible rip-off, and Julian Sands will once more face the wrath of his betters.