"Ah, young feller-me-lad," said the Phantom to his Loyal Apprentice, who had been hired not long before the chandelier had fallen from the roof of the Opera Populaire. The Loyal Apprentice was now twenty-five. "As you know, I'm suffering from love and the lack of it."

"Yes, master," nodded the Loyal Apprentice with a sympathetic grimace.

"And I don't have very long to go. I'm almost sixty and that's well past the average lifespan for a man living in the dank depths of an opera house, if indeed such an average exists."

Here he paused to cough reflectively. The Loyal Apprentice waited loyally for him to continue.

"In fact, this might just push me over the edge, what?"

"I dislike acknowledging it, sir, but perhaps you are right."

"Yes, perhaps, perhaps indeed, yes, well. It's an occupational hazard, m'boy; you'll have to suffer it, too. Whatever else happens, it will soon be your turn to lose the name of Loyal Apprentice and take up the mantle of the Phantom of the Opera, and terrorise the inhabitants of your chosen Opera House—"

Again he stopped speaking in order to cough. The Loyal Apprentice stepped forward with a packet of lemon drops. The Phantom waved them away with a grand gesture.

"Now, my lad," he wheezed, "I need you to do one thing for me to keep m'presence and fear alive in their hearts. You'll have to get used to this—tying up all the, er, loose ends, as it were. Everybody's got to do it. I had to do it for my master. Ah, the days of the inflatable pig's bladder and the lemon tree—but that's not important right now. You've had a bit of a boring run, due to that blasted fire—don't ever make that same mistake, kill your career, it will—but I've no doubt you can cope. Come closer."

He beckoned with a curled finger. The Loyal Apprentice obeyed.

"Now, here is your task: either de Chagny or his wife Christine will die during your term as the Phantom—'tis certain to happen, in fact. Now, when this happens, you must be there. I do not care how this inconveniences you: you must do what I ask."

Here he paused, and the Loyal Apprentice said, "Yes, sir?"

"Do not interrupt me!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Now, after one of them has died, I want you to find a red rose and attach to it, with black ribbon, this ring."

He held out the ring Christine had given him. The Loyal Apprentice took it and pocketed it for safekeeping.

"As you say, sir."

"And—now, this is really important—I want you to wait for the psychological moment whereupon you will place the ring and the rose in a position that they are bound to notice."

"Are you all right, sir?" asked the Loyal Apprentice. "Your face has gone purple."

The Phantom began to respond, but yet another coughing fit halted his words. By the time he had recovered, both his temper and his face had cooled.

"That'll really freak 'em out, what?"

"Yes, sir, it will indeed."

"Very well, now, that's business attended to. And now I suppose you'll be wanting me to hurry up and die so that you can continue my legacy—well, I shall do my best to oblige you."

"Oh, no, sir, you mustn't!"

"Too late, lad, your time has come."

The Loyal Apprentice shook his head in distress. "No, sir!"

"Oh, but before I go, m'boy," said the Phantom.

"Yes, sir?"

"Whomever you choose to fall in love with over the course of your career, do make sure it isn't a chorus girl, what?"


And now, because I have finally brought the true history into the light, surely you could take it upon yourselves to review, what?