My sleep was dreamless for the first time in the past month. There was no horrifying darkness, no masked man who was a mixture of both terror and seduction, and most importantly, no pain. Not even the nagging headache that plagued every moment of my life reared it's ugly head, as I began to drift slowly into wakefulness. The soothing scent of melting wax met my nostrils, and a flickering light danced across my closed eyelids. I could hear a romantic melody drifting to me from somewhere in the background. Perhaps I was dreaming after all. No matter. I luxuriated in my suddenly comfortable bed, savoring the feeling of well-being that I was experiencing.
As I emerged from the land of sleep, more of my mental facilities began to switch themselves on. My brain began badgering me to notice something. I wished I could just roll over and shut it off like an alarm clock. I crept in to a higher consciousness and began to realize what my mind was telling me. The music was not in my head. It was in the room with me. But I don't have a piano, I thought dazedly. And I live alone. This is the thought that brought me fully awake and caused me to open my eyes.
What I saw shocked me. I wasn't in my own bed. There was a sheer black curtain surrounding me, and the sheets I lay upon were a deep red velvet. I sat up quickly. Candles on tall, ornate stands flickered beyond the curtain, but I couldn't see much more than that. What in the name of all that was sane was going on?
The song continued to play, echoing off of the walls with a quality that suggested it was live music rather than a recording. I reached out gingerly for a tassled rope that raised the curtains, swinging my feet out of the bed. I shivered as they touched the cold stone floor. Looking around, I realized that I was in what seemed to be a cavern. The walls were stone, and there was a pool of murky green water at the bottom of a few steps. I also noted that the bed I had been sleeping in was a large, gracefully crafted swan. What kind of place was this?
There was a small side table beside the bed, whereupon sat a dining tray. I peeked beneath the silver cover and the scent of hot food drifted out to invade my senses. My stomach grumbled. Ignoring my hunger I stood, seeing a large mahogany armoire standing against the wall before me. A beautiful, yet simple dress had been draped over a chair next to it, a pile of undergarments folded on the seat.
The music continued to weave its' way around the corner. I looked down at what I was wearing. Dear God, had someone seen me in this? Whoever lived here obviously knew of my presence, as they had provided me food and clothing. I blushed a red that surely matched my skimpy lingerie. The only reason I had put it on was because I loved the feeling of the silk on my skin. I lived alone and there was no worry about being seen.
A sudden thought occured to me. Had I been kidnapped and brought here? It was the only logical answer. That could explain the pain in my dream. Perhaps I had been struck over the head to ensure I remained unaware. I slipped into the dress, fighting with the corset. At least it was a front loader, or else I would never have been able to fasten it. I felt much more comfortable fully clothed, even though my breathing was now seriously restricted.
I listened to the music for a moment more before venturing cautiously around the corner. The tune changed suddenly and I stopped short, managing to crash into a small table. My mouth gaped. It was the song from my dream, the song the stranger had sang. His countenance invaded my mind. He was always vaguely familiar to me, but I had never gotten a clear look at him until my last dream. Now that I had been face to face with the man, he was even more familiar. Why?
A thought struck me suddenly. The Phantom of the Opera. I had never seen the film, though I had read the novel. My friend was obsessed with the latest remake and had shown me a few pictures of the decidedly sexy phantom. There was no way in hell I had fallen into a movie.
I slapped myself mentally. Calm down. You don't know the song, it probably doesn't have any relation to the film, I told myself. Just because The Phantom manifested in your dreams doesn't mean he is your kidnapper. But how did the perpetrator know this song? Perhaps he had played it for me in my sleep. Maybe thats why it was in my dreams in the first place.
The music had stopped as I knocked the table over and I hurried to pick it up. As I found my way around the corner, I could see the organ from which the tune had issued. It now sat deserted. Whomever was playing had left, or was hiding. I made my way cautiously towards it. Candles blazed everywhere and I was surprised the occupant of this...this...lair, hadn't managed to burn up the numerous books and papers scattered about. I touched the keys gently. Such beautiful music. Someone who could have that much artistic ability couldn't possibly be a dangerous serial killer...could they?
I snooped around a bit more, glancing at book titles and scattered pieces of parchment that were scribbled on, but not daring to invade the privacy of whoever lived here. A single object caught my eye. I gasped sharply as I reached out to stroke the smooth surface. The mask was beautiful...and I had seen it before. It was designed to cover only half of the face, and there were creases in the smooth white porcelain that gave it a stern look. I couldn't help but marvel at it's stunning craftsmanship.
My mind worked frantically. I knew now who owned this chamber. Erik, The Phantom of the Opera. So I had been correct...But this wasn't possible! He wasn't even real! The Phantom of the Opera, though a terrifically well written story, was purely fiction wasn't it? I pondered this. I supposed it could have been factual, though labelled fiction in the bookstores, but what were the odds? And even if it was a true story, it would have occured hundreds of years ago in Paris. Besides all that, it was impossible for the actual phantom to look exactly like the one portrayed in the modern film.
I felt like swooning, something I would have been loathe to do. Get a grip girl! I berated myself mentally. I hurried back to the bed, sinking into it's comfort. Famished, I drug the table with the food towards me. If it was truly Erik, I didn't think he would poison me. Perhaps he was a murderer of men, but his character in the novel admired the beauty of women too much to slaughter them needlessly. If I had simply been kidnapped (I laughed at the term "simply" that I had just used in my thoughts), and I was still living in reality, then it made no sense to abduct me just to kill me. Why go through the trouble of knocking me out, transporting me, and giving me a bed and clothing?
I ate hungrily, convinced the unfamiliar and delicious dish was something French. I then flopped backwards into the bed. What was the world coming to? I fell instantly to sleep to block out my fear and confusion.