Disclaimer: I only own the girl. (Mwahhahaha…)
Erik was once more pacing through the dark passageways of his opera house. Yes, his opera house. He had built it, he knew all the passageways by heart. It was his. He paused, though, when he heard the sound of a girl crying. He growled to himself. One of the ballerinas had somehow stumbled into one of his passageways and was now lost—or stuck on this side. He followed the sound of crying to the source—only to find no one there.
"Are you here to help me?"
Erik jumped at the sound of a little girl's voice right behind him. He spun around, ready to attack if need be. There was no need. She can't be more than five, he thought. The little girl in front of him was dressed in a yellow Sunday dress and hat—the brim and her waist encircled by yellow ribbons. Her feet were protected from the cold stone floor by white Sunday shoes, and brown curls cascaded from under her hat and down her back. She looked scared as she clutched a red ball to her that was as wide as her body.
"No, ma chere," he said sternly, kneeling so he could look her in the eye. "Tell me, how did you get back here? What are you doing here?" And how had she managed to sneak up on him—the Opera Ghost?
She sniffled and hugged her red ball closer to her. "I'm looking for Mommy and Daddy. I can't find them anywhere."
"Well, they aren't back here." Erik sighed. He was going to have to take her out of here, wasn't he? "Come on," he said reluctantly, standing up. "I'll take you to where someone else can help you find your parents." The irresponsible parents probably left her here after the last performance. Why hadn't anyone found her before this?
"Yay!" she cried, smiling and grabbing his hand. Erik's first reaction was to pull away from this sudden touch, but as he started to, he stopped. She was only a little girl, after all, and if he didn't hold her hand, she might get lost down here—even hurt, maybe. "I'm Anabel. Who are you?"
"Erik," he said, guiding her down the passageway.
"Erik. I like you, Erik." She started skipping and swinging his arm. "Do you want to play with me?"
"Some other time." He wasn't making any promises. All he wanted to do was get rid of her. They walked (and skipped) in silence for the rest of the way. Erik could only think of one place to get rid of the kid without being seen. "Christine," he said, walking into her dressing room. "I need you to find this kid's parents. They seem to have left her behind."
"Mommy!" the girl cried, running up to Christine and giving her a hug.
Christine sat there in shock at first, but soon began to stroke her hair, smiling at Anabel.
"Anabel, Christine is not your mommy," Erik scolded. "Christine!"
"What are you talking about, Erik?" she asked softly, almost trance-like. "Of course she is. Anael, my dear, sweet Anabel…"
Erik was taken aback. Surely it wasn't true. He had known Christine for longer than the little girl had been alive! She didn't have children—she didn't even have a man ever touch her like that.
He strode up to them and pulled them apart.
"Erik!"
Anabel began to cry.
He held Anabel's shoulders and knelt down, looking her in the eye. "Christine is not your mother. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, she is!" she sobbed, holding her fists in front of her eyes. "Yes, she is, Daddy! She is too my Mommy!" Before Erik could stop her, Anabel threw herself against him, hugging him and crying into his chest.
He froze like Christine had. Part of him wanted to throw this self-imposing child away from him and part of him—a growing part—wanted nothing more than to comfort the child, stroke her hair, tell her everything was going to be all right. His mind seemed to be in a fog, and all concern was slipping away. All except for Anabel…My Anabel…My dear, sweet Anabel…
"Get out!" Erik roared, throwing the child from him. "Get out! We are not your parents!"
"You're not my Daddy!" she cried defiantly, as if Erik had been the one making the claim. "My Daddy's not so mean!"
The air suddenly became heavy and hard to breathe.
"I hate you!"
Electricity crackled through the air.
"You're too mean! You said you'd play with me!"
The vase beside Christine shattered, sending glass all over the stand. She jumped, hugging Erik for safety.
"You're not my Mommy! You're like him! You don't love me!"
The hanging mirror exploded. Erik shielded Christine with his body from the flying shards.
"I hate you! I hate you both! You don't love me!"
Behind the two, Christine's wall mirror completely shattered, exploding across the room. Erik once more shielded Christine.
Everything fell quiet. The air returned to normal.
Erik and Christine cautiously looked around. Glass and mirror shards were everywhere and the secret passage into Christine's room was revealed. Anabel was nowhere to be seen.
"Erik," Christine asked shakily, "what just happened?"
"I'm not sure," he said, watching a red ball fade out of existence, "but I think we just survived a real ghost's attack."