The Metamorphosis
By The Lark
Disclaimer: I own Phantom of the Opera! It's all mine! MUAHAHAHAHAH! (Just kidding. Leroux, Kay, and ALW own it all. I'm so depressed.)
Erik walked through the streets of some small, backwater town, trying his best to ignore all the people screaming, fainting, and snapping Polaroids to sell to the Enquirer as he passed them. He sighed regretfully. Vanishing into thin air beneath his cloak and leaving only his mask behind for the mob to find had been a deliciously symbolic stunt, but it hadn't been very well planned.
The Phantom held his head high and stared straight ahead as he stepped over a young woman who had just fainted in his path, trying his best to act natural. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he muttered, "You could have just ducked out through the secret passage behind the mirror like Gerik did, but noooo, you had do things the dramatic way!" Now he was stuck out in public without a mask to cover his face or a cloak to help him hide in the shadows. Screw drama, next time he had to do the vanishing bit, he'd leave one of his socks behind and be done with it.
He took in his surroundings thoughtfully. "Wonder where I am, anyway? It doesn't look like anyplace in Paris." He knew he shouldn't have skipped over all those footnotes when he was reading the directions for the vanishing act in Magical Madmen Monthly, but there had been a new love advice column near the back that he had been in a hurry to get a look at.
He tapped an older man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, monsieur, could you tell me where I am?" The old man just let out a strangled gasp, clutched his chest, and crumpled to the ground at the sight of Erik's face.
Annoyed, Erik poked the lifeless old man with his the toe of his shoe. "Monsieur? Monsieur? That's it, I need a new mask and I need it now."
As luck would have it, there was a store on the corner called "Masks R Us". Erik eagerly ducked inside and approached the girl at the counter, careful to keep a hand over the ugly side of his face. "Mademoiselle?"
"Yes, sir?" answered the girl without looking up. "How can I help you?"
"I have two questions, actually. First of all, do you know where I am?"
She glanced up and looked over the tuxedoed stranger who was clutching his head like a migraine sufferer. Most people would have stared, but running a mask store, she was quite used to meeting weirdos like this. "You're in Kansas."
"Kansas?" Erik was stunned. "Kansas! No, there's got to be some kind of mistake. I'm a sexy masked man from nineteenth-century Paris. I belong in a more exotic locale. You know, Persia…Rome…maybe India. Not a rectangular state in the middle of America known for its supply of corn and wicked witches."
The girl behind the counter shrugged. "Just for the record, I don't think the Wizard of Oz has been written yet. But I don't have time to argue with you. You gonna buy a mask or not?"
Erik was depressed. Now he'd have to invent a hot air balloon or something to get home to Paris. Granted, he could have just taken a ship, but he was going to have to do something with more flash if he wanted to make up for this whole Kansas thing. If word of this ever got back to his friends…or rather, his one friend and his cat…he'd never live it down. "Oh, very well. What kind of masks do you carry? I'd like something in a glossy porcelain half-mask, if you've got it. Or maybe a full black Leroux-style thing, to give me that extra air of mystery. Or, if you can't find those, I'd settle for one of those skimpy, Gerik-type 'Point of No Return' domino masks. I don't suppose you have any death's heads for sale, do you?"
"Sorry, but there really isn't a high demand for masks like that. Most of our customers are small children looking for Halloween costumes." She began to rummage through the boxes behind the counter. "Let's see, we've got Mickey Mouse…Batman…that Haunted Mask from the Goosebumps series…Richard Nixon…a clown mask…an entire series of Care Bears masks, complete with the Care Bear Cousins…"
Erik groaned. "Just give me the clown mask, I guess. But I'm not paying for it!"
"Oh yes you are!" the girl behind the counter replied sharply. "Or I'll set the police on you!"
"I'm not afraid of any police from some quiet little farming town," sneered Erik. "I'm a cold-blooded butcher, well-versed in the art of murder. And with my trusty Punjab lasso in my hands, I'm invincible! Invincible, I--" He reached into his pocket for his weapon, but all he could find were three Tic-Tacs and a stick of gum. (He'd wanted his breath to be nice and fresh for his big make-out scene with Christine) "Damn it! I left my lasso around that Vicomte kid's neck!"
"Yeah, yeah, things are tough all over. Now pay up. That'll be $19.95."
"I don't have any American money on me!" protested Erik. "I just materialized here from Paris, France and--"
"That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard in my life. Try something more plausible next time, like 'I just got mugged' or 'I left my wallet in my other pants'.
"Well, what am I supposed to do? I can't keep one hand over my face and build a hot air balloon at the same time!"
"Tell you what. I'll be generous and let you work off the money by weeding my garden."
"But I'm allergic to pollen! That's half the reason I moved underground. Granted, the mold could get me sneezing on occasion, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the ragweed."
The girl rolled her eyes. "I've got problems of my own right now. Some ugly old witch with a bunch of flying monkeys made off with my beloved dog this morning."
After several hours of violent sneezing (which wasn't a pretty sight, considering the fact that Erik had no nose), the young woman from the store arrived with a mask and some handkerchiefs for Erik. He cleaned himself up and tried the mask on. It fit him well enough, but was wrong on so many levels. "Ugh." He cringed when he saw his reflection in the mirror.
"What's the matter?" the girl asked him.
"I have a fear of clowns."
She snickered. "The 'invincible, cold-blooded butcher' is scared of clowns? Sure."
"It's perfectly understandable! I had a very traumatic childhood in a circus!" snapped Erik defensively.
"Whatever you say."
"That's it! I'm out of here! I've got a balloon to procure, thank you very much." Erik didn't have to go far. There was a man giving hot air balloon rides in the next town over, and when his head was turned, the Phantom simply cut the ropes anchoring his balloon to the ground and took off toward the rising sun.
A few hours later, he was having the time of his life. "Ah, this is the life," Erik sighed contentedly. "Wind in my hair, mountaintops below me, soaring alongside the birds." He waved at some pigeons. "Hello, there!"
The pigeons swooped down, landing on the rim of the balloon's basket. They looked up at him expectantly.
"What?" He frowned, confused. "Oh, I get it. You want food. Sorry. I'm an anorexic on the run from the law. I don't really carry food."
The pigeons squawked harshly, as if to say, "Yeah, right, cheapskate. Do you really think you're the first guy today to give us that story?"
"It's true!" Erik insisted indignantly.
Insulted, the pigeons pecked several holes in the balloon and took off. Erik screamed, "Just you wait until I get back to Paris! I have a very violent tempered cat at home who is extremely overprotective of me! Watch your backs! I--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" The balloon began to sink toward the ground, and Erik shut his eyes, bracing himself for impact.
To his surprise, it didn't come. He cautiously opened one eye, only to discover that the torn balloon had caught on the spire of a skyscraper. Erik took in his surroundings. Apparently, he had landed in New York City.
One of the windows of the skyscraper opened, revealing a familiar Arab man. "Hey, Monsieur Erik, is that you? It's me, Darius! Nadir's servant, remember? Fancy meeting you here."
Erik's eyes widened. Wearing a clown mask, on top of a skyscraper, with Darius, in New York…
"Dear God!" He shrieked in horror. "I've become the Phantom of Manhattan! Damn, this is what happens when I neglect my magical studies for the sake of romance."
The End