A/N: 'Ello 'ello! Here's another chappy for you all, I'm so sorry for the dilemma; had a bit of a writer's block! Once again, the reviews are very flattering so thanks to:

Nocturna Musique

aneglofmusicx0

Hot4Gerry

phantom-jedi1

seawanderer

the Mouse in the Opera House

And anyone else who will hopefully read in the future!

On with the story!

Moving as if she were the poor cat hiding under the bed, Madame Giry leapt gracefully onto the window sill, despite her age. She took in a deep breath and let the small flurries of snow coat her white, glowing face; she made a gesture for him to join her.

Realizing her intensions, Erik slowly backed away from his companion's sprit and stared at her as if she was the Opera Ghost.

"Madame," he muttered, "I am quite good at any skill that comes my way, even genius if you will. Composing, artwork, architect and designing, and ventriloquism are only a few, but I have failed to yet master the art of flying."

"A touch of my hand and you shall fly. Come now, there's nothing to fear!"

Nothing to fear! It's the middle of the night and the ghost of the old box keeper wants me to leap out a slippery window and of course, fly! This is the worst humbug of them all! Still, no one, alive or dead, will call me a coward.

He sniffed as he approached Madame Giry. "I'm not afraid."

Enwrapping his frail hand in hers, in the wink of an eye, they soared out of the drab room into the crisp Paris air.

The white and black material of both of the travelers' coats streamed in the wind whistling by their ears.

Erik could feel his teeth ache from the cold. Damn, the woman couldn't even wait a moment for me to put on some decent clothes…or at least my fedora….

He rubbed his gloved hand over his ears that were screaming from the bitter chill. I'll get frostbite for sure.

Madame Giry turned to him and smiled. "Don't be such a baby, it's not that cold!" She then laughed like an eager school girl. That very laugh seemed to bring out the light that they were quickly drawing nearer to. It started as a pale rainbow shining in the night, but soon changed to a kaleidoscope whirling before Erik's eyes shining every color and shade. Everything seemed right in the world.

Could it be heaven? Don't be ridiculous…I'd never get even close to walking in God's kingdom. I have been told though that sprits come in the middle of the night to take lost souls to heaven…

"What is that up ahead? It can't be dawn!" He tightened his grip on the old woman's hand. It can't be dawn, it can't be heaven, what is it?

"Are you so sure, Erik? Time flies when you're having fun!"

"What is it?" he hissed dangerously.

She sighed and looked dramatically ahead. "It is the past…your past."

Swirling, whirling they plunged down into a bottom of a dark abyss. A sheet of wet, soft snow cushioned their landing.

Erik steadied himself and gazed around him. There was house that looked like it had been pulled from a fairy tale. Even in the wintertime, you could see that it was draped with ivy and had an iron gate surrounding the yard... To give it one word to describe it, it was cute…but Erik wouldn't say that it was cute, more like menacing and tormented. This was the home of his childhood.

"Do you remember this place Erik?" She glanced over towards him and saw that his entire body had stiffened.

"It's-it's where I grew up," there wasn't a hit of wonder or pleasure in his voice.

"Let's go inside then."

The ebony door squeaked as the two entered into the hut. It hasn't changed at all.

"Do you know the way around your old home still, Erik?"

"Know it? Madame you insult my intelligence, I could walk this entire house blindfolded!"

My house…my old house. I hate this house! I still hate it! It brought me so much grief for so many years…and yet why do I feel so warm inside? Oh God, that's it, no more brandy after dark! It clouds my better judgment…

"It's a lovely house, but so low on human activity. Yet one solitary boy is in the corner!" Madame Giry praised, "Do you know him?"

Erik went completely pale, paler than usual, as the image before him flashed into view. They found themselves in his old room, or rather attic.

"It's me!"

Erik's words were all too true. There, on the foot of a humble cot, sat a seven maybe eight year old image of himself, yellow eyes fixed on the frosted window. The boy let out a deep, melodic sigh and seemed to be unaware of the two strangers in his room.

Suddenly, a choir of pounding raps were thrust upon the door making the young Erik turn and face the door way. The boy made a swift movement and opened it to reveal a very beautiful lady.

Mama

She was like a flower pressed inside the pages of a book, just as beautiful as when you picked it. As always she was dressed in the latest style from thirty years or so ago. His mother was fashioned in a stunning green dress that flowed with every move of her body, an elegant, high necked blouse underneath, and a tight but equally as lovely bun in her honey colored hair. As I said, she was beautiful.

"Madame," Erik chocked out attempting to swallow the lump in his throat, "can they-"

"No, Erik, they can't see you, they can't feel you, and they can't hear you. These are but shadows of the past; take heed and listen to what they have to say!"

Erik's lips twisted into a snarl. It irked him greatly of just sitting back and watching the show, no Erik liked to take action! He echoed the same musical sigh that his younger self had given. For now I'll I have to bare it.

Erik's mother, Madeline, did not enter much into the dreary room... My bedroom has always been the point of no return for my mother. Erik mused to himself.

"Erik," his mother voice said demanding respect, "you know very well where I will be for the rest of the day so I wish to make sure that you know where you will be."

His younger self was unresponsive and kept his eyes fixed on the window.

"Are you listening to me, Erik? Answer me now!" Her beautiful, white face shot a cold look onto her son.

"I am to stay in my room and pretend I don't exist while you and Mademoiselle Perroult have Christmas dinner," he replied still not breaking his gaze from the window.

"What in Heaven's name are you staring at?"

"I'm not looking for anything, Mama," he said innocently despite the demons in his eyes, "I'm listening. The Christmas carolers sound so beautiful this year."

His mother did not move, if anything she became even stiller. She was but a statue in the attic.

"There is no one there, Erik. No one is singing."

"I can hear them," he whispered.

Erik closed his eyes and he too couldn't hear anything. "Maybe I was more damaged than I thought when I was a boy"

Madame Giry's face metamorphosed into a scowl. "If Christmas sprit is damaging, then yes you were definitely damaged."

At that point, his mother had left the room, leaving her son, or rather sons in this case, behind.

Erik lowered his eyes from the little form that was still perched on the bed.

"What is it?" Madame Giry said placing a ghostly hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing, it's just there was a boy who wanted to sing me a carol for a couple of francs and well…I wish I had given him something that's all," he sighed reluctantly.

"Come, we have many more shadows to see."

Erik looked back at his childhood home longingly with tears silently flowing from his yellow eyes as they were plunged into the glowing light once more.

I can't say that I'm proud of this chapter but it's going to be hard showing Erik's past and such. R/R! I'll do better with posting :)