Authos' note: This story is the winner of the Mort Rouge Morbidity Writing Contest. It also won the awards for the most original and the most enjoyable story. I hope you'll enjoy it as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Searching for a ghost

The first thing I noticed about the other girl was her broad, open smile. It seemed to light up her friendly, freckled face as she beamed at me.

"Hi, are you alone here as well?" she asked, looking around at the other people assembled around us. Most of them were talking animatedly, gesturing at the building behind us or reading out passages from their tourist guides.

I nodded, taking a good look at the girl. She had a mass of wild auburn curls and eyes of a vivid green. Yet what I liked most about her was her black tee shirt. The words ´Prima Donna´ were written across the chest in big pink letters.

Noticing my gaze, the girl grinned.

"I take it you're a phan then, too," she stated. "Phan with ´ph´, of course. Why else should you be here?" She pointed at the huge building. "The Opera Garnier. It's the one thing I was looking forward to seeing on our trip to Paris, and then my parents seriously told me I couldn't come here. ´It's more than enough that you listen to that musical every waking moment of your life and waste all your money on going to London to see the show. Your mother and I are not willing to support your obsession any longer,´" she imitated what I assumed was her father's stern voice, but ruined the effect by winking at me. "So I told them I'd spend the afternoon shopping and came here instead. Isn't it peculiar that they'd rather have me waste my money on clothes than see an important historical building?"

I shrugged, giving her a sympathetic smile and wondering whether she always talked that much.

"I'm Ellen, by the way," she went on after a moment. "What's your name?"

"Christy," I replied, knowing perfectly well what was about to come. I got the same reaction from every phan I met.

"Christy as in Christine?" Ellen wanted to know eagerly, confirming my suspicion.

"Yes," I admitted. "But I'm not named after the Christine. My parents didn't even know the musical exists. That's why I'm here alone."

"Tell me about it," Ellen said, rolling her eyes. "Where are you from? I come from a tiny little village in Sussex. It's really boring there most of the time, but at least it's not too far away from London. I go and see the show as often as I can, my parents are right about that. My first Phantom was John Owen-Jones, then I…" On and on she went, apparently perfectly happy with the occasional nod from me.

I was glad that she took over the biggest part of the conversation. I disliked strangers, especially large groups of them, but this girl was making things easier for me. She didn't even seem to care that we were so different in appearance, she in her pretty clothes and I in an old pair of jeans and a faded blue tee shirt.

"…and I'd just love to go to New York one day and see the show there," she was just saying as I stopped my pondering and forced myself to focus on the conversation again. "And to Las Vegas, of course, and to – what is that sound?"

I looked around, a frown appearing on my face.

"It's a song," Ellen stated. "And it comes from behind that door."

She gestured at a side entrance into the building. I nodded, feeling excitement rush through my veins. Without further ado, Ellen walked over to the door and pushed down the handle.

"It's not even locked," she whispered, pulling open the door cautiously and peering inside.

"Do you really want to go in there?" I asked. "I was just about to find out whether there is a guided tour…"

"Oh, forget a guided tour," she hissed impatiently. "We'll have our own tour, a hundred times better than anything a tired old guide could offer. Perhaps we'll even see the Opera Ghost!"

"Well, all right," I agreed. "But we mustn't stay away too long…"

No one noticed us slipping into the building. Everybody was too busy taking pictures to pay attention to two teenage girls who were there in one moment and gone in the next. Following the music, we went down one corridor, then the next, then another one. Soon no one who was in the building for the first time would have known which way we had come. But at least it wasn't as dark as one might have expected, for every corridor was lit with lamps.

"There's nothing to worry about," Ellen assured me as she led the way. "See the lights? They surely mean that people come into this part of the opera every day, so we're not doing anything illegal. It's not as if we were going down into the… oh!"

We stopped in front of an open door behind which a staircase was leading downwards. The music was growing louder and more alluring than ever before.

"It's so beautiful," Ellen breathed, her eyes half-closed as she listened intently. "I wish I knew who's singing there…"

"Perhaps we should better go back," I started cautiously, but my new friend's feet were already carrying her down the staircase. As I didn't want to be left behind, I followed her.

We walked for what felt like hours, moving deeper and deeper into the cellars of the opera. Yet we didn't have to pause once; the excitement was adding a spring to our steps. The music filled my body with joy. It spoke of love, of longing and yearning, and it made me walk even faster. It seemed to be the same for Ellen, because she finally spoke, for the first time since we had found the door leading downstairs.

"I feel it," she whispered, her voice breathless. "I feel the music inside me. It has to be the Phantom, it has to be him. He's calling for me!"

"No, he's not," I disagreed, now positively shivering with excitement. I always loved this part. "Actually, he's calling for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ellen asked aggressively.

I waited till she had turned around to face me and allowed her one moment of glaring at me. Then I snapped my fingers and transformed into my normal self, sighing contentedly as my hair was released from its plait and my legs were enveloped in my beloved wedding dress once more. Even after all those years, I still hadn't grown used to the concept of girls wearing trousers. Dresses were so much more elegant and comfortable.

Ellen didn't seem to care about such niceties. She jumped backwards, her eyes widening in shock as she tried, and apparently failed, to take in what had just happened.

"Oh my God…" she muttered. "It's… it's you… it's her… who are you?"

"You know who I am," I replied sweetly. "I'm Christy. Christine Daaé."

"Are you… a ghost?" Ellen asked, only to answer her own question in a nervous babble. "No, you can't be a ghost, because ghosts are transparent. I've read that in a book, so it has to be true. And if you were a ghost, it would mean Christine Daaé had really existed, and she hasn't… not really, anyway… not like this…"

"You're right about that," I said pleasantly, glad that she had understood at least that fact quickly. It saved me a lot of the tiresome explanations I had to give to more narrow-minded mortals. "I'm not a ghost. I'm a spirit, the spirit of Christine Daaé. I've been created in the moment when Gaston Leroux penned his masterpiece, and I've been around ever since. I've undergone a few changes over the years, you have to thank Andrew Lloyd Webber and Susan Kay for it, but essentially, I've stayed the same."

The girl eyed me shyly, as if trying to find out whether it was safe for her to say something. She seemed to think it was safe, for she asked:

"What about Joel Schumacher then? Did he also add an interpretation?"

"No," I replied sharply. "Of course, Erik and Raoul would have loved to see me like that, with huge puppy eyes and plunging necklines! But I told them I wouldn't sooner become Emmy!Christine than Erik changed his deformity into a minor sunburn and Raoul started wearing pink ribbons in his hair." The memory of their indignant faces still made me laugh. "Men…"

"Erik and Raoul live here as well?" Ellen wanted to know.

For the first time since my transformation, traces of her excitement reappeared. Her eyes shone hopefully as she looked around her, and she even ran a hand through her hair. Naturally, however, she didn't see anyone. Erik and Raoul wouldn't show themselves until it was time, although it was possible that they were nearby. They so enjoyed watching me play with our prey.

"Oh yes, they do," I answered readily. "They all live here, the managers, Carlotta and M.Piangi, the Girys… in different parts of the building, of course. Erik, Raoul and I are in the cellars. The two of them get along very well, in case you were wondering. In fact, they get along a little too well every now and then. I always tell them to stop reading slash fanfiction, but will they listen? No."

"You read fanfiction?" the girl asked, the excited glow growing more pronounced than ever. I inhaled deeply. The excited ones always had a particularly sweet smell.

"Of course," I said. "Fanfiction, posts in forums and on fansites. We're everywhere. You see, that is how we live. We live because thousands of phans want us to live."

A tentative smile spread across the girl's face.

"You mean that our love keeps you alive?" she exclaimed, sounding utterly delighted with the idea.

The more enthusiastic she became, the sweeter she smelled. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold myself back much longer. But then, it wouldn't be necessary. After my next reply, she wouldn't be that happy anymore.

"Well, not exactly," I corrected her. "We exist because so many people hold us dear in their hearts, yes, but we couldn't live on that alone. Like everyone else, we need to eat. And that is where you come in."

Ellen's smile froze.

"You eat… people?" she breathed, growing pale.

"Oh no," I replied, shuddering at the thought. "We don't feast on human flesh. What do you think we are – zombies? All we are interested in is your soul."

"But… but… but could I still live without a soul?" she whispered. She had courage, I had to give her that. Most people had already broken down by now. It was time for the final blow. I was eager to see how she'd handle that one.

"You could live," I answered. "We do let some people go after we're through with them, but we have to choose them carefully. With some people, it doesn't make that much of a difference whether or not they have a soul. But you…" I took another deep breath, savouring the slightly bitter smell of her fear. "All those hours you've spent listening to the muscial, all those times you've seen the show, all those stories you've written about our fate – your soul is filled to the brim with love for us. It'll be a special feast. And afterwards, we'll kill you."

The girl let out a high-pitched scream and tried to run for it, but she had only taken a few steps when Erik's song could be heard again. She froze instantly.

"I can't move," she whispered. "Why can't I move?"

"You're in our world now," I explained. "The moment you entered the cellars, you were under our control. You just didn't notice it at the time because you were so keen on coming down here anyway. They're all so keen on coming down here…" I smiled reminiscently.

"How… how…?" the girl stammered, and I realised I had to give further explanations. I was always willing to do so. Once those mortals understood their own stupidity, they gave up struggling and were ready.

"The music you heard," I replied. "It's very effective for luring people down here. Erik has written it especially for that purpose. The melody purges their minds of everything but the wish to follow it. All one of us has to do is go outside and make sure the right person hears it. It was so easy with you. You opened your mind to a complete stranger and allowed me to look at your soul. I saw at once that it was ripe for the taking."

Ellen stared at me, her eyes round as coins, and I wondered whether she had taken in much of what I had said. I couldn't help being a little annoyed. What was the point in asking if you were too scared to listen properly?

"You're going to kill me," she muttered. "You're going to kill me…"

"Of course we will," I said impatiently. "I thought we had already discussed that matter."

I threw a glance over the girl's shoulder and smiled. Erik and Raoul had just emerged from the corridor behind her. They looked fantastic as always, Erik dressed completely in black, his mask gleaming, and Raoul in his best suit, a broad grin on his face. My hunger for them quite matched our hunger for the girl's soul.

"There you are," I called. "About time, too. She's getting boring."

They exchanged a look of deep understanding.

"You're always getting bored so quickly these days, love," Raoul remarked. "Do you remember the times when you used to play with our prey for hours?"

"That was before I found out what Erik and you were doing in that time," I said sternly, but I smiled.

I walked over to them and exchanged a brief kiss, first with Erik, then with Raoul. I was really pleased to see them, and also proud about what a nice meal I had found us. Ellen watched us in horror.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" I said. "It's not my fault. You writers could never make up your mind as to whether I should be with Erik or Raoul. So I'm with both of them now. It was the best solution."

"You're not supposed to be like this," the girl whispered, shaking her head. "You're supposed to be good and friendly and…"

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," Erik interrupted her, an amused smile on his face. "I happen to be a madman and a murderer. That's the way I'm portrayed in Leroux, Webber and countless pieces of fanfiction – mainly the ones in which Christine ends up with Raoul, of course."

"And how many stories are there in which I frequently beat up Christine, in which I drink far too much and betray her with other women?" Raoul demanded. "I'm as bad as he is."

"And I'm the worst of all," I concluded. "After all, I'm playing with the hearts of two men who deserve far better than me. Believe me, I'm capable of everything."

Erik started singing again, and Ellen began to walk slowly down the corridor towards our home. Like I had predicted, she had stopped struggling. Silent tears were falling down her cheeks as she walked.

We followed her. Holding both men's hands, I wondered why those phans always complained about being murdered. After all, it was they who were so desperately making us parts of their lives. It was not asked too much of them to help us stay alive, was it?

The End