Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.
Just So You Know:
I have in here a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth. It the play the main character, Macbeth, sees a floating dagger dripping with blood and it guides him to kill Duncan, the king.
Erik vs. The Imaginary CroutonThe Phantom was sitting at the organ playing a doleful little tune.
The rat-catcher had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared and now, as the only permanent inhabitant of the cellars, his humble abode became the only food source for the rats within at least a five to ten mile radius. They had been scurrying around the fifth cellar in droves, nearly bowling over Erik as he stepped out his front door earlier that morning.
Confused as to why there were little balls of fur scurrying around anywhere he tried to put his feet and disgusted at their sheer numbers, he had whipped out his lasso, an old bag, and a mallet and threw himself into the writhing mass of rats.
The melee that had ensued rivaled the Helms Deep battle scene from Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.
The victor rose, dripping, from the lake and went inside his house to finish off the remaining rats.
Annoyances eradicated, he slunk to the organ and plopped himself down onto the bench with a wet little squelching sound.
There he had remained until, tiredly, he looked up from composing and happened to find a crouton floating a few inches away from his mask.
Image not registering for a few moments, he calmly bent his head down and went back to composing.
Then, as if he was just stuck in the rear end with a red-hot fire poker, he jumped up, the bench clattering to the ground behind him.
The crouton was floating there still, looking as innocent and crunchy as the day it came out of the factory.
It…it poked me!He scurried back and dove behind his coffin.
After a few minutes of tense silence he poked his head over the edge and looked toward the organ.
It was gone.
I must have been imagining it.
Relieved, he sunk back down and leaned heavily against the coffin's side.
As he turned his head, though, he found the little bugger floating right above his shoulder. Cursing, he leaped over the coffin and raced to the other side of the room.
The crouton slowly bobbled after him.
But before it reached him it halted, hovering at eye level above Erik's beloved, match-with-anything, Persian rug.
He eyed it suspiciously.
It jerked, as if someone had slapped it, and then lowly little droplets of blood appeared on its surface that, to the horror of the Phantom, dribbled off of it and onto his rug.
At the sight of a crouton dripping blood on his precious Persian carpet and facing the possibility of having just lost his grip on reality, Erik started to hyperventilate.
Frantically, he tore off his mask and threw it at the blood-drenched cube of bread.
It frisbeed past it, landing with a thwump on top of a book that was laying carelessly on the floor. The Phantom stared at it for a second, puzzled as to how it got there, and then recognition dawned – last night he had been reading Macbeth!
He looked back to the crouton.
It was now spasming and sinking slowly to the floor.
Cautiously he approached it.
The crouton, sensing that he was near, feebly tried to float/wobble over to him, but it only got a few feet before dropping to the ground.
Erik slowly put his finger out and pushed at it.
It went straight through.
He snatched his hand back and crouched, watching, as the crouton proceeded to go into its death throes.
It rolled back and forth across the carpet, bouncing a little and spewing more blood.
It twirled around on one of its corners like a top.
It jerked back and forth.
And finally, it collapsed dramatically, giving a few twitches and shakes for good measure.
He snorted.
That was some of the worst acting I have ever seen in my life.
But, technically, if it is an allusion it is coming from inside of my head and that would mean that I was doing the acting.
Or was I?
A small popping sound that was emitted by the dead crouton stopped his musings short.
As he watched, it disappeared into thin air.
Well that's a relief.
But…wait…
It left its blood! It left…ON MY CARPET!He jumped up and shouted,
"I want that blood gone, do you hear me? If you could make the damn crouton disappear then make this mess vanish also!"
For added affect, he slapped his face. Hard.
Obviously, his brain must have got the picture because the blood disappeared with the same popping sound.
Still hopping mad, he plopped down into a nearby chair and glared at the spot where the crouton and blood had vanished and then at the book laying half opened across the room.
He stayed there until he was sure that the little pest-illusion was gone for good and then he stalked off, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure that no croutons were following.
WINNER: The Crouton
LOSER: Erik
