I am firmly obsessed with cameos and cross-overs, and the writing of this phic simply couldn't be delayed any longer. This story/demented bunch of words will probably end up with characters from many of my favorite books or movies, as well as various Eriks. This is also a cameo, as I believe I've mentioned before, so if you read, pretty please leave a review with some stuff like…

-A name to call you by

-Your usual mood

-Any other information that you feel like leaving

With that, let the demented bunch of words begin!

One day, Erik, (from the original book-he will be called plain 'Erik) was sitting at his organ, composing. He was feeling angry, moody, and generally very Erik-y. There was nothing to differ this day from any other day, nothing to make it original, nothing to…

"STOP IT!!!" shouted Erik. The authoress blinked, confused.

"You aren't supposed to know what I'm writing!"

"TOO BAD!!! STOP RUBBING IT IN!!!" The authoress blinked again and shook her head, deciding not to dwell on the utter sameness of every single one of Erik's-

"SHUT UP!!!" The authoress decided to make something exciting happen. So it did.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY LAIR?!" Erik looked up, Punjab at the ready, only to be frozen in place by the sight of a man in the exact same position as he was, with the exact same appearance, down to the black mask covering his entire face and the Punjab lasso currently in his hand. The 'intruder' recovered first.

"As I said before, what are you doing in my lair?" Erik was still to stunned to answer. After a good five minutes of silence, the 'intruder' sighed.

"Excuse me, Monsieur. Are you deaf? Or perhaps mute?" Erik shook his head wordlessly, then recovered enough to respond.

"This is my lair. I could ask the what you are doing here as well. Who are you?" The 'intruder' bowed mockingly.

"The Phantom of the Opera, at your service. And you?" Erik's eyes widened incredulously.

"Excuse me, but the last time I checked, that was my title."

"Exactly the same with me."

"Am I mad?"

"If you are the Phantom, I daresay you are." Erik had to agree.

"Take a seat," he offered. "I always think better while I'm sitting." Erik and the 'intruder', who was no other than Susan Kay's Erik, or Kerik, sat on the couch. They were sitting there awkwardly, both trying to think of something to say, when in walked yet another masked man.

"What the heck are you people doing here?" Taking a look around him, he added, "Where is here, anyway?"

"My lair," answered both Erik and Kerik simultaneously. What then ensued was a exceedingly childlike argument between the two masked men regarding whose lair it actually was. The newcomer watched, amused, for about five minutes, then interrupted the two dignified men shouting 'Mine!'.

"Excuse me, Messieurs, but much as I hate to interrupt your heated debate, I would like to know where I am." Kerik and Erik looked at him, then realized what they had been doing for the past five minutes and looked down in embarrassment.

"You are in a lair, under the Paris Opera House," answered Kerik.

"Who are you?" added Erik. The newcomer bowed mockingly.

"The Phantom of the Opera, at your service," he responded smoothly. Kerik gasped.

"That's my line!" he said angrily.

"What about me?" sulked Erik. "I'm the Phantom too." He was ignored.

"Besides," continued Kerik, "You only have half a mask! You can't be the Phantom!"

"Excuse me," the newcomer, who was in fact, Michael Crawford's Phantom or Cerik, retorted, "But I am in fact the Phantom, as, perhaps, you and the other masked gentleman there are. I would suggest that we try to rationally figure this out. May I sit down? I always think better while I'm sitting."

"That's my line!" shouted Erik, standing up. Then he realized how childishly he had been behaving and sat back down. "Sit anywhere you want," he muttered. Cerik nodded and sat in an armchair.

"So," he began, "We all seem to be the Phantom. We all seem to be in the same lair, which is most certainly not mine, but either yours-" he indicated Erik- "Or yours," nodding at Kerik. "The question is, why are the two of us who-" Here, he was interrupted yet again by another masked man walking in.

"Hey, everyone, what'd I miss?" he asked, for all the world as though this was a party which he had been late to. The Eriks all stared at him.

"And who," asked Cerik coldly, "Are you?"

"The Phantom of the Opera, who else?" Erik groaned and put his head in his hands. Kerik shook his head in disgust. Cerik closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and spoke even more icily than before.

"The Phantom of the Opera is not an assertive teenager."

"Excuse me, but I am not a teenager!" said the 'Phantom', who was, of course, no other than Gerik. "I'm twenty-five!"

"When I was twenty-five," said Kerik coldly, "I was performing at fairs. And I, also, am the Phantom you speak of. Let me tell you, if you were the Phantom, you would not be so self-assured! I let these gentlemen speak for themselves, of course," he said, gesturing to Erik and Cerik, "But I am sure that at twenty-five they were not so…like you."

"I agree," agreed Erik softly. Cerik was about to add something, but the authoress decided that if the pasts of the various Erik were discussed, the tone of the story would get too serious, so she decided to lighten it up a bit. By sending them all to Discworld.

I realize that this is a short chapter, and I apologize. I just ran out of ideas for this particular part, so I ended it. That's the beauty of being an authoress, isn't it? Oh yes. Did I mention that I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, (no, none of them…so sad, isn't it?) or Discworld? 'Cause I don't. So don't sue me. I'm just a 12-year-old girl with about forty dollars in babysitting money. And maybe some money in the bank account that I don't seem to be allowed to touch…yeah. Not much to sue. And please, leave a review so I can make this into a proper cameo!

~Me!!!