Humorous? Personally, I think this chapter is more wicked than anything else. Shamefully wicked. But don't pretend like you don't love it. (Heehee)

My apologies to anyone who finds the Leroux references somewhat confusing. Read the book, dangit!

It was some time in the late afternoon when Erik eventually grew bored of his tiresome compositions and found his way into the cozy surroundings of his drawing room. The music had ceased to inspire him, and a skeleton who generally refuses to eat and sleep on a consistent basis only had so much energy to expend.

Besides, Christine had been gone for far too long, and the thought was starting to unsettle him. He sat there, on his sexy leather couch, mulling over how wise it was to let her roam around in his cellars unaccompanied. True… she did know her way back to the surface, but to leave? And without telling him at least? No. That simply wouldn't do.

She said she had wanted to go for a walk. Well, that seemed perfectly reasonable. Yes! Go! Go for a walk, you silly child! It was a welcome reprieve.

The girl would go for her little walk, he would pound on the organ for a few hours, and they would both forget about the lush, velvety casket propped open in his bedroom. Stupid coffin! The horrified and suggestive looks Christine kept tossing him whenever she saw it did nothing to help the situation either. Neither did the fact that he was smack-crazy insane.

"Erik!" the coffin would say. "Oh, Erik? There's room in here for two… if you know what I mean."

Yes! Nothing wrong with Christine taking a little walk by the lake. After all, how much harm could she possibly come to strolling by the shore?

A lot.

At that particular instant, the door to the drawing room opened with a sudden violent crack, and Erik looked up to see Christine standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin, glaring at him with a very irregular expression. He studied her for a moment, wondering if this was some new and ludicrous idea for added sexual tension. Despite her wet and form-fitting appearance, he didn't really think so.

"Hello," she said stupidly.

"Christine," he replied flatly.

A pause.

"May I ask why you are all wet?"

"Yes," she said, a bit unsteadily. "Something… distracted… me. I… fell into the lake. Accidentally."

Silence. The kind of silence that is both awkward and painful. Or painfully awkward. He regarded her strangely behind his sexy black mask (which really needs to be emphasized and I might as well do it here). "Something distracted you… and you fell into the lake?"

"Accidentally," she finished for him.

Hmmm. Overly stiff posture. Heaving chest. Hysterical kind of 'wild-eyed' look that means she is inwardly praying to at least fifteen different deities that he won't come over there and strangle her. Something is obviously amiss.

"And what exactly distracted you, my dear?"

She shifted nervously. "The rocks."

The rocks. How amusing. Next thing you know, she'll be telling him that she thought they were pirate treasure.

"I didn't hear a splash," he remarked pointedly.

"You were composing," she replied instantly.

More staring.

This really wasn't going well.

"I am very cold, Erik," she said after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes, I am aware of that."

Whoops! What he meant to say was… "You must be. The water is always cold this time of year."

"Mmmhmm…" she said, ignoring the subtle suggestion for more sexual tension. My how time flies during these whimsical hours spent in the House by the Lake!

"Perhaps you should draw yourself a bath my dear." Wuh oh! "The hour is very late, and I believe you mentioned another engagement this evening that I expect you won't want to miss."

Another engagement? Oh right! Raoul is in this story. Almost forgot.

"I…"

She didn't seem to have anything else to add.

Indeed, the agonizing and embarrassing scene had carried on for long enough, as well as all half-hearted attempts to repress the copious amounts of sexual tension. Erik decided to go and make tea, and Christine thankfully retired to her room for a steamy bath, grabbing her towel, her soap, and her scissors. Not a single word was spoken between them for the remainder of the day, and whatever was going on in either of their minds, the reader can only guess.

In the end, though, we DID end up getting Christine in Erik's bathtub. Hee.

Now unlike most other Phantom stories that you, the humble reader, may chance to stumble upon in your never-ending quest for phantomy pornography, this one happens to be as special and unique as our naked, bathing Mlle. Daaé. How might it be unique you ask? Simply put, it makes use of many uninteresting characters in the original novel that, while putting a firm emphasis on the Lerouxness of this sordid tale, are boring to just about everybody.

Oh, they're interesting enough in their own right, these secondary and oft forgotten Leroux-ish individuals. But when it comes to that subtle promise of sexual tension, they're about as sexy as Mama Valerius getting a sponge bath. (And if you find that sexy, please continue.)

At this particular moment in time, when Christine was indeed naked and bathing in the room next to Erik, something a might sinister was lurking in the spooky depths of the Opera cellars. So sinister, in fact, that it could defy all laws of God and man. It is a thing so abnormal, so wrong, that humanity itself lies helpless in it's twisted, malevolent grasp. To look upon it is to stumble back in mute terror, sickening and unadulterated revulsion having permeated every essence of your soul. What perversity of creation could have allowed the formation of such a thing? What fevered brain would dare to suggest something so deranged, so monstrous, that it would shake the very foundations of this, our human existence?

"Monsieur, I beg you! Please!" came the girl's pitiful wail. "He is after me! He is after me! He has taken advantage of me and I desperately need you to save me! To help me! To make love to me!"

The curious apparition (a Shade if you will) sighed deeply, taking the girl gently but firmly by her soft and supple shoulders. "Mademoiselle, please try to CALM DOWN. I understand that you are in a great deal of duress at the moment, and I will be more than happy to take you back up to the managers' office. From there, you can contact the police superintendent and…"

"No!" she moaned, crushing her willowy frame to his warm cloak. "Oh, no, no, no! They cannot help me! I am all alone in the world! All alone!" She buried her sweet face into his chest and sobbed pitifully. Strangely enough, it sounded somewhat like the desperate moans of an inexpensive prostitute. "Please, Monsieur! If you only knew what that scoundrel has done to me. What he continues to do to me! I've lived in misery and in fear for so long, I know of nothing else! Oh! If only there were someone as emotionally and physically scarred as I am! Someone who could terrorize me and undress me in lustful yet tender violence!"

Behold: the ultimate horror of mankind. (Did you honestly believe I was talking about a squid?)

He ran his hand over the back of his neck, trying to keep some semblance of his character. Which was severely being tested right now. "Mademoiselle… I am aware of the fact that you are obviously in some sort of danger, and that you seem to be the victim of hateful and incomprehensible abuse. Really, you have my deepest sympathies. You have everyone's sympathies! We all feel sorry for you. But whatever rumors or mystical fantasies you've conjured up about a safe haven in the bowels of the Opera are pure lunacy."

"But what am I to do!" she sniffed, placing her lily white hands on her rosy cheeks. "The beast will kill me! If I don't hide here, who will find me and save me from that awful, awful man? Who will rescue my troubled heart and show me how to love again? Who will have SEX with me?"

If it were actually possible to hear a person cringe, it's a fair guess that you would be hearing it right now. As a side note, this isn't exactly what I would classify as sexual tension. It's more like sexual perversion.

His jaw tightened. Services to the State be damned. I am NOT getting paid enough to put up with this.

"To be frank, Mademoiselle, most people who care to venture down in these cellars wind up dead. In as many horrible and gruesome ways as you can think of. Drownings, strangling, tortures, and several others that I would never dare to suggest to your… delicate nature. Mark my words- this is not a suitable place for you to hide. The bones and corpses of all who have gone before you should obviously be a testament to that."

She clutched one hand to her aching bosom. "Bones? Corpses?" Her flaming emerald eyes suddenly lit up with luminous wonder. "Are any of these corpses well-endowed musicians who enjoy sexually terrorizing young women?"

He stared at her. He continued staring at her.

Is anyone else finding this precious?

"Mademoiselle," he said slowly, now unable to hide the tinge of nausea that had crept into his voice. "For the love of all that is sacred and holy, PLEASE go back where you came from."

She glared at him, uncomprehending, then twisted her adorable, cream-colored features into a lovely little frown. "No!" she stammered, stamping her little foot on the ground. "I will NOT go back. NO, NO, NO! YOU can't make ME do ANYTHING that I don't want to, unless it pertains to violent sex. Which I will want to do anyways." The silky raven locks of her hair fell angrily in her face. "Now you listen to me, you silly excuse for a random little bit of Leroux… and you listen GOOD! I am just as confident and stubborn as I am helpless and vulnerable. It's all part of my adorably subtle charm. I am beautiful, talented, and frightened… and no one but NO ONE is going to rob me of my shining and pointless moment of glory in this lame idea of a Phantom story. I've managed to make it this far, and I am NOT going back until SOMEONE makes love to me. Do you hear me? I want sexual and emotional fulfillment! Immediately!"

Yikes.

Sexual and emotional fulfillment?

He glared at her for a long, hard minute.

The girl, admittedly, was exceptionally (and appallingly) beautiful. That fiery auburn hair hung in unruly curls over her porcelain features, and those bright blue eyes sparkled like rubies in the… well… however eyes manage to sparkle several stories below ground. She was also practically naked. Or half-dressed, I guess. And let's not forget that she was standing there, fairly well begging him to take her for a happy tumble on the cellar steps. There was no persuading her otherwise.

Well then, there was really only one thing left to do.

Turning her chin up with his hand, he looked deeply and sincerely into those sparkly, seductive eyes before giving her head a sharp, jolting twist that successfully snapped her neck.

Snap.

The girl's body slid clumsily to the floor, and he took a careful step back to avoid breaking her fall.

Thud.

Woo. That didn't look pretty. So much for exceptional beauty.

Scratching at his chin slightly, he debated on whether or not it was too early in the day for a little drinky. Hmmm. Nope. This whole ordeal was definitely deserving of a swig of the ol' liquid numbness. Taking his flask from out of his pocket, he unscrewed the cap and hastily swallowed a burning gulp of the damnable stuff. Sweet merciful heavens, but he hated Monday mornings. It wasn't often that he was forced to kill these desperate, horny women. He rather preferred to leave that up to the crazy, skeletal bastard that haunted the place.

It was only fitting, after all. The sick-ugly carcass was REALLY the one they all wanted to get in the sack. Though goodness knows why. Who would have thought the Paris Opera was a breeding ground for so many beautiful and battered necrophiliacs?

Crackers. Another body. What to do, what to do?

He really didn't want to have to haul the girl clear down to the wench pile. (A rather endearing name he had given it, if you ask me.) The smell of all of those rotting women was getting pretty dreadful, and he was hoping he wouldn't have to make any trips down there before lunchtime.

LUNCH!

He took out his pocket watch. Sure enough, it was just past one o'clock in the afternoon. Holy smokes! Feeding time! How could he have forgotten?

Of all of the many obligations and responsibilities he had been given, feeding time at the lake was a tip-top priority. At least, it was one of the few things on his agenda that was somewhat enjoyable to him. (Well, that and drinky time.) The northern shores weren't too far away, and though the girl seemed a might scrawny for a proper meal (with the exception of her bountiful bosoms), she would qualify at least as a suitable, high-protein snack. Hmmm. They usually weren't this fresh, though. Would that make a difference?

He kicked her slightly with his foot.

A pity his back was feeling unusually sore at the moment. Probably had something to do with that fiasco back at the Opera stables. (Which, again, will merely be alluded to.) She didn't LOOK too heavy, but the thought of heaving her on his back made him, understandably, very ill.

Meh.

He could just drag her down. The girl was dead, after all.

"You wouldn't mind, would you Mademoiselle?" he smiled, picking her leg up from off the ground. "Not that I actually require your permission, but it IS the gentlemanly thing to do. And I am always a gentleman. Besides, you'll absolutely LOVE where we're going. I don't know about sexual fulfillment, but you'll definitely be doing some filling!"

The remarkable and sinister little apparition started dragging her down the cellar steps, whistling a familiar tune and heedless of the fact that most of the girl's skin was being scraped off of her arms and face.

"You know," he continued warmly, "I don't normally have the opportunity to share pleasantries with people down here. They come, I take them back. They die, I haul them off to some forgotten part of the catacombs. Not a great deal of company to be had, unfortunately." He hopped off of the last step, giving her leg a sharp and unfriendly tug as he yanked her haphazardly off the staircase. "Oh, I don't want you to misunderstand me! There are plenty of bodies scattered hereabouts, but not exactly a lot of conversation going on- if you take my meaning. Still! Ha ha! I find myself enjoying your acquaintance more and more by the minute! Little did you know how much lovelier you'd be in death than you were in life. Whoops! Mind the rocks, Mademoiselle."

Tsk. Too late. But one less eye wasn't going to hurt anyone.

"In all honesty," he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I think I prefer the dead to the living. Less noise. Fewer dramatics. Why just the other day I was talking to Mikael, this agreeable little chap whose been in the lower dungeons since before I can even remember. We were discussing politics and- oh! Do be careful with your ear there Mademoiselle! That's going to… ah… never mind. Where was I? Oh yes! Politics! As I was saying…"

The rest of their journey passed by pleasantly enough as he chatted with the lovely young woman about all sorts of different topics of interest. He had a devil of a time getting her past some of the more jagged spots on the shoreline though, and practically had to yank her arm off when it got caught in an unbearably tiny crevice near the cellar gate. Arg! Damn it all! If he wasn't more careful, there wouldn't be anything left for feeding!

Oh goody. The northern shore. Just in the nick of time!

After pulling her a few feet up towards the bank, he came to a quick stop and dropped the woman's leg unceremoniously on the ground. It was probably the only chunk of her that was still somewhat intact. Thankfully, the lake had been closer than he had expected. Or maybe he had simply lost all concept of time getting caught up in politics and the current popular fashions in Paris. Carrying on a charming conversation with such a beautiful, tattered companion had been more enjoyable than he thought.

He stretched his arms briefly, casually glancing at the girl slumped near his feet. Goodness! Those rocks were certainly sharp! Me oh my. Well, it was probably all for the better. The scent of blood would draw the creature to the surface more quickly. Either that or the girl's over-powering rose-scented perfume.

Guggle guggle.

"Lunchtime my little friend," he replied to the guggling with a cheerful grin. "I hope you've brought your appetite!"

Yes. Snack time had officially arrived. And already somewhat tenderized. Mmmm. Perhaps he should offer some sort of eulogy? It seemed appropriate. He had sort of snapped the girl's neck and all. But the girl seemed to be very forgiving. She hadn't even thought to mention the whole neck-snapping incident during their entire conversation. Such a lovely, lovely girl.!

"Mademoiselle Sex-fiend, it was a pleasure," he spoke as he picked her up from the ground, preparing to heave her a good distance off into the water. "Let me assure you, my dear, that in death, you will serve a far greater purpose than you have in life. Best wishes, and the like!"

Okay. On the count of three. 1-2...

He practically stumbled off balance.

With a valiant and miraculous effort, he was just able to catch himself from tumbling backwards as the girl, having been released a second too early from his grasp, flew headlong into a nearby wall. Good freaking hell! What on earth had caused our cool and collected Shade to make such an inelegant little spin at the moment when he was about to make squid food of Mademoiselle Sex-fiend?

Footprints! Wet footprints on the shoreline!

His eyes went wide as he stooped to pick up his fallen felt hat from off of the ground. The body of the girl was crumpled over at a warped angle near the cellar wall, her one eye taking in the entire scene with a lopsided grin. Shucks. You know, she really was much more charming when she was dead. Too bad our temporary protagonist had completely forgotten about her as he studied the wet and intriguingly small footprints that seemed to emerge from out of the water.

Crackers! Someone had been here! Fairly recently in fact! But… but who?

Suddenly, as if answering his own question, he caught sight of a length of dress material, torn off and lying wet on the ground. Dress material! A woman? Who fell into this part of the lake and survived?

Impossible! It was completely and utterly impossible.

Unless…

Oh, snatch.

He looked up into the dark and menacing catacombs, trying to discern how far the footprints trailed off to from the little shore. Merciful crap. They led down to the Southern end. There was no way he could follow them. Not without incurring the wrath of a bony, strangling nutcase.

Crap, crap, crap.

He tossed an anxious glance out on the water, then looked back into the darkness.

Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. NOPE! This was not good. Not good at all.

He wanted to set aside his impending fear of… well… of whatever it was he was fearing. Wet footprints didn't necessarily mean anything. Perhaps the creature wasn't even in this part of the lake at the time. Or maybe It wasn't even hungry. And the girl, in all probability, was most likely dead by now. Aha! Yes! The girl was dead! No need to panic. The masked chuckle would have strangled her the moment she showed up at his doorstep, begging for sex. Even as we speak, her body was probably heaped on top of the wench pile… making a meal for all of the scurrying cellar rats. YES, YES, YES! Everything was a-ok.

A-ok.

Yessir!

Guggle guggle.

He glared at the lake. Guggling. Happy guggling. And not the kind of guggling that suggested the creature had been feeding. This guggling, to his everlasting horror, was much, much worse.

Definitely, positively, completely and inarguably MUCH WORSE.

Crackers.