"All right, kid, follow me and keep your hand at the level of your eyes," the Persian instructed as he lead Raoul through the Phantom's maze of tunnels.

Raoul obediently lifted his arm. "Okay. How come?"

"There's no time to explain."

They strolled through the seemingly endless maze of tunnels for what seemed like hours in dead silence. After a while, Raoul got impatient and tapped the Persian on the shoulder. "You know, you could have explained to me twenty times by now."

"I'm trying to keep up my air of mystery here, okay?"

"But it doesn't make any--"

"One more word and so help me Allah, I'll go home and let you rescue your own damsel."

"As you wish, Nad…" At the Persian's vicious glare, he corrected himself in mid-sentence. "As you wish, Anonymous-Foreign-Guy-With-Some-Vague-Connection-to-Erik."

"Thank you." The Persian pressed his ear to the wall. "Hey, listen. I hear voices."

The viscount pressed his ear to the wall. Sure enough, it sounded like the commissary on the other side.

"…Hmm," Raoul heard him say. "Looks like the guys who work the lights aren't dead after all. They're only drugged up. I guess the kidnapper got to them. Or maybe the opera was starting to bore them. Monsieur Richard, Monsieur Moncharmin, what do you think?"

"I think I'm getting out of here before the ghost feeds me my own limbs!" Richard's voice shouted.

"Right behind you, buddy!" yelped Moncharmin's voice.

The Persian rolled his eyes. "Whatever." Then he turned to look at Raoul. "Hey, I thought I told you to keep your hand in front of your eyes."

"My arm got tired. What's the big deal anyway? We're chasing a Phantom, not playing Simon Says."

"Shut up and come on. Like I said before, there's no time to explain." He took off down the tunnel again. "So, did you catch the game last night? I …" He paused, suddenly noticing a mysterious caped figure lurking in the shadows. "Uh-oh. Hit the deck, kid!" He flattened himself against the floor

Raoul obediently dropped to the ground. "What? What is it? Is that the Phantom?"

The strange figure made its way closer, and they could see that it had a body made of shadow and a head of fire. "I heard that! You know, Erik's not the only mysterious, shadowy figure around here. But does anybody around here care about that? Noooo!" The shadow paced restlessly. "All those stupid phangirls who come down here, always mistaking me for Erik and pledging their undying devotion. Then when they find out I'm not him, they're gone like a shot! Or worse, they'll follow me around trying to get me to tell them more stuff about their precious Erik! Well, I'm a person, and I have feelings just like anybody else!" He stormed off, leaving a trail of lava-like tears behind him.

Raoul raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What was that thing?"

"That was Bill. He's some kind of shadow monster." The Daroga shook his head wearily. "Erik accidentally conjured him up while playing Dungeons and Dragons with Dracula and me a few years back. He wanted to join Gothic Baddies, Inc., but he just didn't have the business sense, and that fiery head of his kept melting our office equipment, so we told him no. He's still a little bitter, as you can see. Erik tried to soften the blow by hiring him as a rat catcher, but Bill's still convinced he's management material being unfairly overlooked."

"Oh. That's rough." Raoul's ears perked up. "Hey, I think I hear water. The lake must be right around that corner." Raoul raced toward the lake. "I'm a-comin' Honeybear!"

The Persian grabbed hold of his collar and held him in place until his feet stopped flailing. "Hold it, kid. We're not getting to Erik's by swimming the lake. That's exactly what he expects. It'd be suicide. Plus the Jell-o would get us all sticky and probably turn our hair green. But don't worry. I know a fool-proof shortcut that will work perfectly."

"A shortcut?"

"Yes. I have an excellent sense of direction. Follow me."

"I have a feeling that if Christine were here, she'd have several less-than-ladylike words to say about this," said Raoul.

Two wrong turns and three false tunnels later, Raoul and the Persian finally arrived at the secret entrance to Erik's lair. Raoul frowned. "Hey. Isn't this the spot where they found Joseph Buquet's broken, mangled body?"

"Yeah." Nadir climbed inside and jumped down the passage.

"Call it superstition, but this feels like more foreshadowing to me," Raoul mumbled as he followed the Persian through. Leaping down the passage, he fell right into the Daroga's arms. Nadir abruptly dropped him with a dull thud.

Raoul rubbed his head, wincing. "Ow! Dang it, what was that for?"

"Sorry. I just don't want to end up getting slashed in some tabloid like those poor managers. "

"Oh." Raoul spotted a noose made out of catgut lying on the ground just under the passage. "Hey, a lasso!" He picked it up and began to twirl it with a flourish. "I've always loved rope tricks. Here, watch this one! I call it the Chagny Cyclone."

"Put that down!" The Persian snatched the lasso away. "This is not a toy! It is an instrument of unholy death! Show a little respect!"

"Spoilsport."

The Persian's eyes darkened as he looked around the room. "We've got bigger problems right now, kid." He indicated the walls around him.

Looking closely, Raoul could see that the walls were lined with all kinds of mirrors. "Cool, a fun house." He began to make faces at himself in the mirrors. "Hey, look at this one! It makes us look like dwarves. Hehehe!"

"This isn't a fun house, Raoul! This is a very serious situation, and…" The Daroga trailed off, watching his warped reflections with a chuckle. "Actually, I've got to admit this is kind of fun."

"You're not supposed to be having fun, you insufferable imbeciles! You're trapped in my torture chamber! Now get down on your knees and quake with fear, damn it!" Erik's voice thundered from the other side of the wall.

Nad…uh, the Persian…later wrote down everything that happened after that in a manuscript of his own. And since I'm getting a serious case of writer's cramp, I'm just going to staple his document onto the back of mine and be done with it.

--Gaston Leroux

Erik had never let me or any of the other Gothic Baddie Gang into his house before. We'd always had to break in when he wasn't around. Needless to say, I had encountered several of his rather severe security devices in the past. The paint buckets he rigged up over all the doors, the snares surrounding his refrigerator, the camouflaged pit full of spikes right in front of the cabinet which held his paper clip collection. But I think that the creature in his lake topped them all.

I'll never forget my first run-in with it. It was just a day or two after I had heard Erik was living under the opera house, and I was going to track him down so I could convince him to leave. Our good friends Jekyll and Hyde had told me mere days before that they were in need of a third roomie. Or a second, depending on how you looked at it. The point was, they had a gorgeous penthouse right around the corner, with cheap rent, plenty of room, a tennis court, and a nice big swimming pool for Nessie. There was no need for Erik to be rotting away in some moldy catacomb under a theater.

I jumped into the lake and began to swim toward his house. I was halfway there, when the clawed hand of some horrendous creature grabbed me by the ankles and began to drag me underwater. Luckily, Erik was there to pull me out. "What are you doing, Daroga? You know what a terrible swimmer you are. Hell, you've almost drowned in bathtubs."

"Where I come from, there's so little water we have to fill our swimming pools with sand." I defended. "What was that thing?" I gasped, struggling for breath.

"That's the Siren. I found her in an exotic pet store and thought she'd be good company for Nessie." Erik explained. "But that's not important. What are you doing in Erik's lair? Erik didn't invite you. You may be Erik's friend and have saved Erik's life, but if you keep going behind Erik's back, Erik might flip out and go 'Hillside Strangler' on you."

"Don't try to change the subject. That thing could have killed someone, and you promised me you'd try to cut down to five murders a year. And stop talking about yourself in the third person. You sound like a caveman."

"Shove it."

"I didn't come here to bicker with you. I came here to find out if you're the one responsible for the big chandelier crash the other day."

"You should appreciate what I did. That chandelier didn't match the wallpaper at all."

"True enough, and it also clashed horribly with the carpet, but that's beside the point."

"Just trust me. I've really mellowed out these past few weeks."

"And why is that?"

"You know how you're always saying I need a girlfriend? Well, I found one. Her name is Christine and she loves me, so there!"

I couldn't imagine what kind of chick Erik could have met while moping around in a basement. "Is she blind?"

"No," snapped Erik.

"Is she inflatable?"

"No! Just back off! I'll see you at the Gothic Baddies Reunion '81 next week." And with that, he dove into the lake. "Nessie! Siren! Fetch my friend here some floaties and escort him to the other side of the lake."

I spent the next day or two spying on Erik and Christine. This wasn't as easy as it sounds, since there was this lovelorn nobleman hanging around trying to do the same thing, and I had to keep avoiding him. Still, I managed to catch a glimpse of Erik kidnapping Christine.

I went to see him a few days later, this time riding to his house on Nessie, who kept that creepy Siren away from me. "Erik," I said sternly, "don't you think you might be coming on a little too strong? Am I going to have to call your mom on you again?"

He glared at me, clenching his fists and began to huff and puff angrily. However, before he could threaten to blow my house down, I patted him on the back. "Listen, buddy, I'm just looking out for you. I mean, kidnapping a helpless girl to keep you company might seem like a good idea right now, but after a few months locked up in a dark basement, she might get cranky and stab you in your sleep."

"Don't worry, Daroga. I've planned a whole bunch of fun things to win her over. I'm going to sing her all kinds of neat campfire songs, and cook her my famous blackened chicken, and introduce her to all my bobble-head dolls. In a week or two, she'll be putty in my hands, and that's when I'll pop the question." Erik's eyes sparkled. "I've already written a song for our wedding." He blew on a pitch pipe and broke into song.

"Ring out the bells upon this day of days!

May all the angels of the Lord above

In jubilation sing their songs of praise

And crown this--"

I clamped a hand over his mouth. "All right, all right, I get the freaking picture. Look, I'll make you a deal. If she leaves and then comes back to you willingly, I'll stop trying to meddle in your unorthodox love life. Deal?"

"No prob. Christine and I are going to the masquerade ball tonight, after which, she'll be coming back to me through the mirror in her dressing room."

"Well," I agreed, "that's definitely iron-clad proof that she's with you willingly. I mean, it's not like she'd feel pressured into going back to you, even if she is going to be inside the theater which you control with an iron fist, with you standing right across the room the entire time. It's a deal."

So, I went to the ball, and Christine returned to Erik just like he said. "Well, what do you know?" I thought in amazement. "I guess there really is a woman or two in the world who can be turned on by a mysterious masked bad boy with a brilliant mind and artistic soul. Huh. What's next? Chocolate-flavored milk?"

Then I, ahem, overheard Christine talking to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, saying something about how she couldn't go for milkshakes with him because "the singing skeleton man would fly into a jealous rage and kill him with his own drinking straw." It didn't take long for me to put two and two together, and I started to get worried.

When Christine was kidnapped during the opera that night, I grabbed the vicomte and set off for the lair. The viscount was a nice enough kid, but kind of a pest. He showed an unusual aversion to walking around with his hand in front eyes for no apparent reason, and kept politely asking me for an explanation. What's wrong with that guy, anyway?

The rest of the Gothic Baddie crew just got a look at what I've written thus far and started whacking me over the head. Apparently they're not going to let up until I write in an explanation, so here it goes.

Back in Persia while we were at Manzenderan A&M, Erik did a semester abroad in India. While he was there, he took up the sport of strangulation. He was dang good, too. Got to be team captain after only two months. He was so skilled, in fact, that the sultana wanted him to strangle for Persia in the Olympics. Then we realized the modern Olympics wouldn't be starting for another couple of decades. Oh well. The point is, if you keep your hand in front of your eyes, it's easy to get out of the noose when he slips it around your neck. I learned this the hard way during several drunken brawls at the frat house.

We snuck through the tunnels, and everything went fine until we took my short cut. Then we figured out where we were, and everything went fine again until we fell into Erik's torture chamber. It was lined with mirrors, which we tried to calm ourselves down with by making funny faces into them. We were just starting to forget our troubles, when we heard voices in the next room.

"All right, Christine," said Erik's voice. "Let me put it this way. If you don't marry me, I'm going to have to get ugly." Then a few seconds later. "Damn it! Let me rephrase that. If you don't marry me, I'm going to have to get, uh, murderous! Yeah! Murderous! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Erik, I know you've gone to a lot of trouble, but getting dragged off, tied up, and repeatedly threatened isn't my idea of a romantic proposal. Just a little advice; maybe with your next girlfriend, you should try writing 'Marry Me, Baby' on the scoreboard at a football game," Christine's voice answered.

"Aw, come on, marry me! We'd have tons of fun together. We wouldn't have to stay locked up in the basement here, if that's what's bothering you. My buddies Jekyll and Hyde told me their building is renting. I've even got a mask rigged up to make me look like a regular guy. We could have a perfectly normal life."

"Another little tidbit of advice, Erik; next time, maybe you should try moving above ground and acting normal before you try to win the girl over."

"OH MY GOD! YOU DON'T LOVE MEEEEEE!" Erik bawled in horror.

"Wow, what was your first clue? I thought you said you were a genius."

Erik sounded deeply offended. "I am a genius. All the term papers I used to sell for extra money in college got A pluses. And I--oh, listen there! That little oven timer means there's someone in my torture chamber." He paused. "And using an oven timer is going to seem really ironic later. A joke only a genius could have thought up at random like that! See what a clever wit I am? Christine? Oh, stop playing hard to get, girl!"