After a time Erik noted that the sky, thought still dark, was growing a bit lighter. His hand was throbbing and he turned and re entered his house. Wincing as he moved his hurt hand, Erik tried to light a candle in order to see his hand to clean it better. However, as soon as he lit the candle the flame blew out.
Frustrated, Erik threw the candle stick to the ground. It rolled in an odd arc and did not stop until it hit the door of the music room. The candle stopped and then the music started again.
Erik sat completely still in his chair; he was not imagining things; this was really happening. He swallowed hard; he had never believed in ghosts and had laughed thoroughly at the people at the opera for believing in his phantom story.
However now there was something going on that Erik did not understand; there was something in the music room and it had a hold over the whole house. Erik felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a shiver ran up his spine,
He could be out of the house the next day and find another house, one that was not haunted. He did not even have to pass the room to get upstairs; he could sit at the table until dawn came and then go and get help for his hand and find another house.
The music was still playing, and to make the situation more frightening there was a light coming from the room…
Erik was about to run out of the house and began to walk to Paris at that very moment when he stopped,
"No," he said in a shaky voice, "I am not going to run away; I am done with running and hiding,"
Erik strode to the door, he stopped just in front of it; he was never very good at facing his fears; his fear of the public, of rejection, of loneliness; none of these he had been able to conquer.
Not this time Erik thought, "I refuse to be afraid of anything any more," he said out loud and he pushed the door open,
The music stopped the moment the door opened; but the light did not fade. There was a candle lit in the middle of the room. Erik walked toward the candle and picked it up; he waited for a moment but nothing happened.
Erik carried the candle out to the kitchen where he finally succeeded in cleaning his hand. It was dawn before Erik climbed the stairs to his room. As he passed the music room the piano began to play again. Erik had to admit that though the melody was nice the music was eerie; but he was determined that even if life had beat him so far, this apparition of death would not conquer him yet.
When he entered his room he saw the pistol on the floor. He stared at it; to him it represented his greatest moment of weakness when he had been ready to give up. Erik picked up the pistol and threw it angrily against the wall; he had no hope left it seemed at the life he wanted, but he was not going to go down without a fight. Erik promised himself at that moment that he would fight out his existence until the bitter end no matter what that meant.
Erik lay down on the old bed and shivered in the chill dawn and looked at his situation from a logical standpoint;
"I am alone," he said to himself, "I have no one left to care about and no one to care about me; but if I care about me than I will have both; someone will care about me and I will care about someone,"
"Now I just have to convince myself that that is true," Erik grumbled as his eyes closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep plagued by Christine and strange music.
In the music room; the piano played an old tune and a strange mist danced through the room.