Erik stared at the piano; he was sure he had closed it. He was positive he had closed it. He blinked down at the yellowing keys of the piano; sun was streaming through the windows again and all appeared to be well. However, some things cannot be seen, they must be felt.

It was a sense really, the same sense which Erik had relied on years ago when he had been in Persia; the sense which told him who to trust and when he was being followed, and when he was not alone.

As he stared at the uncovered keys of the piano, Erik's heart began to race. Suddenly he did not want to move; he felt as though everything in the room was hanging in a delicate balance and by moving he would throw this balance into chaos. He felt his heart pound hard; something he had thought he would never feel again.

"You are being an idiot," Erik reprimanded himself and in one fluid motion he slammed the cover of the piano keys shut. He felt the sound of the cover shutting reverberate off the walls of the room. For a moment he just stood; silent and listening. Then he quickly turned on his heel and hurried out of the room.

He pulled the door shut and took a deep breath,

"There is nothing to be afraid of," He told himself, "I have nothing to fear; there is not such thing as ghosts,"

However as he thought this the whole house emitted a mighty creak; not uncommon in old houses such as this, but unsettling all the same. Erik knew he was being foolish; he had lived all his life in dark, shadowy places all others did not dare to tread and now he was afraid of a sunny music room filled with Christine's things.

"I must just be tired," Erik told himself over and over again, "I must be imagining things,"

All the same, Erik did not enter the room for the rest of the day. He had an eerie feeling about it.

The problem was that he had left all of the things which reminded him of Christine inside of the room. With nothing else to do, Erik set about making the rest of the house livable. He did not do it because he particularly liked the house and wanted to renovate it, nor because he counted on living in the house for many years; he simply wanted a distraction.

It was harder to think about sprits and strange music in the night when there were other things to do; the floors needed sweeping, the windows washing, and of course there was an army of dust to battle with.

Erik did not enjoy this work in any way, but he had nothing else to do. His mind would not allow him to simply sit idle; what was more when ever he did sit down and rest, the strange quiet of the house became increasingly known to him. It was not a pleasant feeling, to know one is completely alone and far out in the countryside; especially when one believes that there may be something lurking in the music room.

He worked hard at scrubbing the grime off of the kitchen cabinets; he retrieved water from the river and a cloth he had found in a closet. However, as hard as he tried he could not clean away the built up layers of mold and grime.

"I cannot make this go away!" Erik shouted frustrated, and had anyone been watching him they would have thought him a fool for allowing tears to run down his face. However, anyone who knew more knew this;

Erik was thinking about his past; he could not make it go away. He could do what ever he pleased, he could move, change his habits, but he was still the same Erik.

He loathed this same Erik; this failure that could never make anyone care about him. Erik slumped to the kitchen floor and let his emotions wash over him. He could not make the hurt of his past go away; the rejection, the terrible pain he had inflected upon others, the agony of heartbreak…

Erik let his cleaning cloth fall to the ground and he buried his face; half of which was still covered with the white mask, in his hands. He wept for all which had gone wrong in his life; and as everything had gone wrong in his life he wept for quite a while,

"You pitiful creature!" He screamed at himself; and the truly sad fact was that pitiful creature had been the nicest thing anyone had ever called him, "You don't deserve to live!" he shouted, and then he bound up the stairs; passing the music room he was too preoccupied to notice the door creak open as he passed. Of course; there may have been a sudden draft in the house, causing the door to be blown open; but of course it could have been something else as well.

Erik did not think about any of this. He dashed up the stairs and into the room he had previously designated as his own. He rummaged through his things, looking for his small pistol.

"I don't deserve to live," He said slowly as he took the pistol in his shaking hand, "I only cause pain, no one will ever care for me; I will be doing everyone a service, I need to end this life I have led," he sighed, and he pointed the pistol at his head,

"This is the right thing to do," he whispered, "I am a worthless carcass, everyone knows it; my mother should have drown me," he closed his eyes and let the tears fall down his cheeks. When he remembered that he was still wearing his mask he reached up and took it off, "I do not deserve the dignity," he muttered, "If anyone ever should find me they should see me for the loathsome creature I am,"

Erik moved his finger to the trigger and pressed the pistol barrel hard to his temple; it felt cold and harsh, just as everything else in his life he had experienced had felt,

"My dear angel," Erik said out loud, knowing he only had minutes left to live, "My dear Christine; I love you above all else and I hope that where ever you are you do not hear my troubled cries lest they disturbed your happiness," he choked back a sob,

"Loving you, my darling Christine, was the greatest experience of my wretched life; and I only wish I had caused you no pain; I was cruel to you, but never again, I am going to kill myself; end this pathetic life of mine…I am going to kill myself and though I know no one can hear me and that no one will care that I am gone I want to think you Christine, and promise you that you do not need to worry about me returning anymore; I am killing myself…now…"

And there was a loud bang in the old house.