This is a bit new for me so please tell what you think of it.


Revenge and Memories

Ange sighed as she bent over to pick up an old box from the attic floor and moved it to the growing pile by the ladder. She winced as she straitened back up. My back! Ange laughed to herself, I would try cleaning out the attic on my own when I'm 59.

She shook her head at the amount of junk and 'treasures' she had collected in over the twenty years she had lived in this house; most of it had gotten a one-way trip to the attic. "Well, time to get another box for that yard sale Greg insisted on having." Ange told the dusty, empty air. As she moved to get another box, Ange tripped on something that she hadn't seen hidden in the dust and shadows of the old attic. "Dammit!" she muttered as she climbed back to her feet, using an old cane to help her up.

"Now what in the name of Muses could of tripped me this time?" Ange questioned the cane as she attempted to find the cause of her fall. Her eyes fell upon a pair of black clad legs protruding from between two boxes. "Eureka! There you are my little culprit!" Ange said to herself triumphantly as she poked them with her cane.

"Now, I wonder what the heck these go to, knowing my attic it could be practically anything. I swear that everything that's ever gotten lost finds it's way to this place!" Ange grumbled good-naturally to herself as she worked on moving the heavy boxes.

"Hello, what have I got here?" She whispered in awe as she finally got everything out of the way. Staring back at her was a full black mask that had unnerving yellow eyes that seemed to watch her every movement, even though they were glass. The figures form was dressed in elegant 18th century evening clothes and leaned against a tall, old mirror that was covered with a dust-cloth.

Ange started to reach forward to remove the mask, but stopped for a second, it had seemed as if the figures eyes were begging her not to remove it. "You sir, are one of the odder things I have found in my attic." She told it, straitening up and putting a hand on her hip.

She imagined that it replied back to her, "Your a fine one to talk Ange."

"Is that so?" Ange asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Indeed." The figure said, "Your a phan who went sane."

Ange blinked, she thought she had actually heard a voice and seen the lips (which the mask didn't cover) move. "What the hell? How'd you know that!" Ange muttered.

"Really my dear, it's shameful that you don't recognize me. And after being obsessed for so long." This time Ange could have sworn that she heard him make a tutting sound.

"What the hell is going on here" She paused for second before saying a name she hadn't uttered in 15 years, "Erik?"

The figure came to life and stood and bowed to her, "The one and only Madame House." He frowned, "Unless you feel that you must include the other versions of me that have popped up. Such as that travesty of a movie." Erik grimaced.

Ange would have laughed if she hadn't thought she was going mad. She had to be, inanimate objects were not supposed to bow or talk to you! "I must be insane..." She told herself, "This has to be my imagination!"

"Now, that's just insulting Madame. For I am far more then just a figment of your imagination." He was leaning nonchalantly against the mirror, his arms folded against his chest. "We used to know each other so well Ange. You could have called us the best of friends."

"This isn't real. It can't be happening. I must be dreaming!" Ange pinched herself, hoping she would wake from this cruel nightmare.

"That won't work, my dear. For this is no dream, it is reality. And you always did tell me, 'Reality is reality, no matter what it holds or what we wish to change in it. For reality refuses to change to fit ones whims Erik.' Is that not what you said to me? Oh so very, very long ago?" He asked her, an all knowing smirk on his face.

Ange grew paler, she had only ever said that to one person. And that person was dead. "What are you?" She asked, fear in her voice as she backed away from him.

"I am something stronger then a muse and weaker then a person." He gave her another smirk and then frowned, thinking of a way to express it, "You could say, that I am a phantom given corporal form."

Ange tripped on the cane, falling on her rear. This was all too like something that had happened to her 16 years ago. It had happened after her first husband's death in a car accident, she had been devastated. Three weeks after the funeral Ange had been rummaging though junk shops when she had come across something of a peculiar nature, as often happens in such places. In the very back of the store she had found a replica of Erik, the Phantom. It had been a perfect likeness, from it's full black velvet mask and mysterious golden eyes to the dramatic black cloak and dress-clothes.

Ange, being as obsessed as she was, had been unable to pass it by and had bought it for a reasonable price. She had taken it home and put it in the red leather chair that was next to her bed. It had started talking to her. And Ange had talked back. The figure had been a comfort, it had reminded her of her husband who had been much the same.

Then one day, a few weeks later, it started to move around. Erik started trying to control her, forbidding her to leave the house or use the phone. He had then started threatening her when she didn't do as he demanded. Finally Ange had been unable to take anymore, one night when Erik was sleeping she had taken a butcher knife and cut off his head. But before she had done that she had told him those exact same words, "Reality is reality, no matter what it holds or what we wish to change in it. For reality refuses to change to fit ones whims Erik."

Afterwards she had burned it, to prevent him from coming back or some poor soul coming across him that had no idea of what they had found. Then she had moved away as far as she possibly could.

Ange's eyes widened as she finally realized what stood before her. "Your dead! Your supposed to be dead! You were supposed to never come back!"

"Ah, but that's the thing about never, my dear. It never works out how it's supposed to. After all, what is supposed to stay hidden forever never has. Why should Erik be any different dear Ange?" Those were the last words that she heard on this earth before a noose casually slid around her neck and snapped it.

---------------------------------------------------

An hour and a half later Greg House returned from work to find his wife dead. On her chest he found a note written in red ink, in a barely legible child's scrawl expressing the writer's deepest sympathy's for his loss. The note was simply signed, O.G.

So, let me know if you like or hate it.