I do not own The Panthom of the Opera or any of its characters.

Final Chapter

In which the authoress hastily concludes the story because Christmas Eve stories should end on Christmas Eve.

Still later that evening:

Neither Erik or Vader knew where the DeChagny's lived, and Madame Giry had forgotten, or at least that's what she was claiming. The search was not going well. Madame Giry had identified several buildings as being the home of Raoul and Christine, but in each case they had turned out to be taverns. It was devilishly difficult to get her out of a tavern once she'd gotten into one, Erik found. It didn't help that Vader seemed to have developed a taste for brandy as well, and liked to sit at the bar telling old boring Clone War stories.

Now they were hovering above the city of Paris, engaged in a heated argument.

"It is too as sleigh!" Vader insisted.

"It is not!" Sneered Erik.

"Is."

"Not"

"Is!"

"Not!"

"Well," grumbled Vader, "I suppose it's technically a Tiberian Shuttle, but we painted it red, and put some rathah festive bells on it, so……."

"Nonetheless, Monsieur, it cannot be considered a sleigh…it is not even drawn by eight tiny elk…."

"Reindeer!" interrupted Vader. "And you ah distracting me! I am using the powah of the force to locate the DeChagny residence!"

"That's ridiculous," Erik said.

"Youh lack of faith disturbs me, Erik….ah! You see? My powahs have detected the presence of the DeChagny home!"

Directly below them stood a large manor house. On its roof was an enormous revolving sign. "DeChagny" it read in bright flashing lights.

"Oh, Darth", burbled Madame Giry, "How ever did you do that?"

Erik snorted in disgust and asked "Do you suppose you are sober enough to land this uh, sleigh without killing us?"

It was apparent from the way Vader glared at him, that if anyone was going to be killed within the next few moments, it would be Erik. Erik wisely melted back into his seat, and pretended to examine the control panel.

Vader turned his attention on Madame Giry "The landing area is small, and descent must be accomplished with delicacy," he explained, "I must concentrate, now".

"But of course, Cherie," giggled Madame Giry, as she sat down on the control panel, depressing several critical buttons with her derriere.

The shuttle…um…sleigh jigged up and down a few times, and then dropped like a rock. It landed with a crash on the manor house's roof, knocking the "n" and the "y" from the flashing sign. The sign now read "DeChag". Erik liked it much better that way.

The next problem was how to get off of the roof, and into the house. Erik wanted them to slide down a rope and stealthily enter through the basement window. Vader wanted to levitate them all down, and blast open the door with the power of the force. Madame Giry ended the debate by falling down the chimney. With no other plan, the two men followed suit.

Christine was putting the last of the hearts and angels and bows on the tree, when she heard the large crash from above. She looked over at Raoul who was kneeling in front of the fireplace.

"Raoully-poo", she said sweetly, "Perhaps you'd better start the fire later. I think Santa is here!"

"As you wish, my little Squishy Cakes," smiled Raoul as he blew her a kiss.

Suddenly muffled shrieks came from the chimney, and a dense cloud of soot rose into the air, settling over Raoul.

"Mush Muffin, I told you we should have had the chimney cleaned," Christine sighed. They both stared in surprise as Madame Giry dropped into their fireplace.

"Hoopla and Merry Christmas!", whooped Madame Giry, as she rolled across the floor. Raoul was just helping her to her feet when another figure emerged from the fireplace. Raoul put a pretty little scowl on his face. It was Erik! How dare he! He reached for the poker, ready to duel. Before he could utter his challenge, a brick fell from the chimney, and one more person appeared in the fireplace. This one was tall, dressed in black, had a cape and wore a mask…what the? Erik's already here, so who the devil is this?

As if reading his mind, the black clad entity spoke to him. "Ah you Christine? Do you know any Christmas Carols?"

"Don't mind him," said Erik. "He's drunk".

"And who the Hell is he?"

"Oh, Monsieur, he is Erik's Santa!", hiccupped Madame Giry.

"Hah! It figures," giggled Raoul.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Monsieur DeChag?" asked Erik indignantly.

"Monsieur who?"

"Never mind, you'll find out", snickered Erik.

Christine hesitantly approached the tall black clad figure. "I am Christine, Monsieur", she said timidly.

"Khooh-Keeh, Khooh-Keeh…..Christine, I am youah fathah!"

"Daddeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Darth, you devil! You never said you had a daughter….how sweet!" Madame Giry gushed, "Why she looks just like you, too! Does she drink brandy? Does she have any?"

"He's not your…ow! Stop that!" Erik yelled, as Raoul poked him in the eye with a candy cane. He quickly grabbed another from the candy jar, an jabbed Raoul in the solar plexus with it. "Have at you, Demon!" Shrieked Raoul, and made a feint toward Erik's ear.

This is the scene which greeted Meg as she returned from the kitchen with more hot cocoa-coca. Erik and Raoul were engaged in a deadly candy-cane duel, Christine was hugging a huge sooty man. ( At least she thought it was a man…it was hard to tell with that black shiny thing on its head.) Her mother…what was her mother doing here? Her mother was happily draining a bottle of brandy, and opening all of the presents under the DeChagny's tree.

"Stop this! Stop this at once!", she cried. It's Christmas Eve! Can't we all behave like adults? Everyone paused and looked at her abashedly, except for Erik, who took the opportunity to poke Raoul again.

"Ow! Stop that!"

Meg directed her glare at Eric, who dropped the candy-cane and stepped away, trying to look innocent. You can imagine how successful he was.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on here?" She asked, knowing already that no matter what kind of answer she got, it wasn't going to make any sense.

"Meg!" Cried Christine, "This is my father! He came back from Heaven so I could teach him Christmas Carols."

"Christine!" Yelled Raoul, "That thing is not your…..oof!" Erik tripped the Vicomte, and snickered wickedly as Raoul crashed to the floor hitting his head on an end table.

"Oooh! Look at this!" Squealed Madame Giry, I got a bottle of Eau De Fop Aftershave Lotion!"

"Madame Giry" Christine said sharply, "That aftershave isn't for you, it's for….." It was to late. Madame Giry had already drunk the bottle dry.

"Oh, this is disgusting! And to think you would all behave this way on Christmas Eve!", said Meg.

Well, to make a long story even longer, everyone (except Raoul who was unconscious), agreed that Meg just didn't seem to have the proper Christmas spirit. So in the spirit of giving, Erik donated his Punjab lasso, and they hogtied her and locked her in the closet. She yelled and hollered for a while, but everyone was having such a good time singing the Christmas Carols which Christine taught them, and opening the rest of Raoul's presents, that no one heard her. Some one finally noticed the inert Raoul, and they felt a little guilty that he wasn't having fun, too. So, they dressed him up in an elf costume, carried him outside and propped him up against a street lamp. Needless to say, when he woke up the next day, he was one confused Vicomte. Madame Giry remembered the case of brandy she'd left in the shuttle. She and Vader left to get it, and reappeared hours later holding hands. Erik didn't want to think about it.

Everyone agreed this had been the best Christmas Eve ever.

"I got my father back!" explained Christine, who is unfortunately a rather dim bulb.

"How does 'Madame Vader, Dark Lady of the North Pole sound to everyone?" Asked Madame Giry. Behind his mask, Vader blushed and khooh-keehed softly.

Erik said nothing, but smiled happily. He'd gotten rid of the Vicomte, at least temporarily, and had spent time with Christine. She hadn't even screamed or fainted.

Vader was satisfied that his first assignment had gone well. Surely Emperor Santa would be pleased. He strode over to the fireplace and beckoned to Madame Giry to join him there. She walked unsteadily to his side, and he made a slight gesture. Up the chimney they rose, unnoticed by the occupants of the room. The shuttle engines came to life, the craft gently rose from the rooftop, and headed north.

Shortly after their departure, Erik excused himself, and headed back to his lair. It was going to be a long walk, but he didn't mind. As he passed the elf who was leaning against the lamppost, unconscious, he even wished him a Merry Christmas before he kicked him.

And that dear readers is the end of the story. It has to be, as it is Christmas Eve, and Christmas Stories should never continue until Easter. Have a very merry Christmas, and may your Santa be very, very good to you!