A wretched croak echoed along the dampened, dark walls of the tunnels. To the outside world, the tunnels, cramped though they may be, would seem like a stretch of infinite blackness all around them. But to the sole occupant, and source of the weird noise, the tunnels and darkness are his friend and loyal companion. Moving swiftly through the blindness, Erik skillfully maneuvered his aching body through the twists and turns of the vast underground tunnels which lay beneath the Paris opera house.
Blasted water! The masked man cursed in his head as another droplet of water dripped directly under his shirt and cloak, and onto his bare back. Any other time, this person's yelp of surprise would have sounded normal, but today is not like any other day. Today, Erik was plagued by an illness which would render him completely useless. No disembodied voices would echo through the halls of the Opera house to frighten the managers into submission for the next week or so.
The horrible Phantom has been torn from his perch. I am no different than a toad now. Erik let out another throaty bark as another water droplet hit its mark. Just as he thought, the sound that came forth was not his normal golden toned vowels.
That voice, which earned him the ability to captivate any listener, has been defeated by the dreaded illness known as Laryngitis!
