Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Gaston Leroux, ALW or The Really Useful Group. Please do not sue me.

Author's Notes: This started out as a oneshot, but I am now going to develop it into a short story. Please note that Clarisse is extremely young, therefore the idea of Erik starting a romantic relationship with her is sickening. I did not intend this as a love story.

I am terrified that Erik might be appallingly out of character in this story. If he is, by all means, let me know.


The Orphan And The Ghost

Chapter One: A Brief Encounter

Music sounded from the depths of the abandoned opera house. It penetrated every wall, filling the great hollow structure with its haunting melody, dancing about the dusty stage as if mocking it with its former glory. The magnificent Opera Populaire was deserted now, filth littering the marble floor, the paint peeling from the walls. All that remained was an echo of a distant time, when each and every bed in the dormitories was filled, when grand parties were held in the ballroom, when everything was ablaze with vigour and energy.

And when a ghost haunted the shadows.


In the caverns of the opera house, a demon sat at an enormous organ. His fingers were soaked with his own blood, dyeing the ivory keys crimson as his hands flew across the instrument with expert precision. The pain must have been almost unbearable but he hardly felt it. He had ceased to feel pain years ago.

The demon had told the world that he had no name. Some knew him as a monster; one had known him as an angel. But most knew him as a ghost. So henceforth we shall also know him as the Ghost.

The Ghost's music thundered, growing louder and louder, like the creation of the devil himself. The Ghost was bent down, pounding out the notes with inhuman force. Sweat trickled down his forehead and his neck, soaking the material of the fine linen shirt he wore. The song rose to a crescendo…then abruptly ceased.

The Ghost was panting, blood dripping off his raw fingertips, unable to continue. With some effort, he heaved himself off the stool and staggered to the edge of a glassy lake. He surveyed it for some time, before dipping his hands into the cool water. A mist had spread over the surface, like a cloud of lace on satin.

He straightened up, looking thoughtfully at a sleek black gondola tied up at the edge of the lake.

It would be night soon…

The moon beckoned to him as it beckoned to all creatures of the night. He spent many nights gazing at the silvery orb in the sky, from a spot on the roof. The fire had somehow managed to burn straight through the roof before being extinguished; it had become a kind of trapdoor for him, with a piece of rotting wood as its cover.

The gondola glided noiselessly across the rippling water, carrying a single passenger, clad all in black. The light of hundreds of candles illuminated a white leather mask, emotionless and empty: the face the Ghost had created for himself.


The moon was already high in the sky when the Ghost reached the roof, half hidden behind a grey cloud. Her beams of ethereal light shone down, not quite managing to illuminate a starless sky. The Ghost watched from the darkness, hidden away in the safety of the shadows. Yet his golden eyes were visible as two shining points. Wraithlike. Unearthly.

It had become somewhat of a ritual for the Ghost to make his journey here every evening, just to watch the sun go down and the moon rise up from her prison. The moon seemed full of his music. And his memories.

Had it really been so long since he had watched them kiss, just in front of where he was standing now? It couldn't have been more than a few months could it? It seemed like a day ago to him. But hadn't he read about their engagement in the Epoque, followed later by news of their marriage and her pregnancy. Could it really have happened so quickly?

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…

The Ghost sighed and turned away. Strains of their duet reached out from the past and tugged at his heart, refusing to let go. How happy she had looked then, when the boy had picked her up and spun her round and round. How sweetly she had smiled when he bent his head to kiss her. How…

"No!" A single, tortured syllable escaped his lips. He shouted it into the night sky, repeating it until it had died away to no more than a whisper. It was his only means of defence. He had lived too long as a ghost to become human now.

The Ghost was about to leave, when he heard it. It was the tiniest sound, but his sensitive ears still caught it. A small scuffle, as if someone was trying to clamber down from the roof.

He was not alone.

The Ghost slowly turned, every muscle in his body tense. It had been so long since he had heard a human sound. He had never thought to hear one again. He wondered who this unknown intruder was. The Ghost may not have been active, but his reputation had spread far after the downfall of the opera house. No one dared enter the wreck of the building now. He smiled to himself. Perhaps this could be interesting. A chance for him to relive old memories.

"Monsieur? Are you alright?" He jumped at a voice behind him and spun round. From what he could see, a figure was standing at the edge of the roof, where the Ghost would be perfectly invisible. The figure was small and slim, a little too slim, and probably female. The voice that came from it was a child's. A foolish little girl had wandered into his domain. The Ghost didn't know whether to be angry or amused.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" The girl repeated her question, sounding concerned. "Are you stuck?" The Ghost nearly gave away his position by laughing. Him? Stuck?

"No, I'm quite alright," he eventually replied, using his skills as a ventriloquist so that his voice seemed to be everywhere at once, "I'm quite alright, but what are you doing here?" The girl hesitated.

"I'm drawing," she said guiltily, "Sketching Paris. I climbed up here because the view is good." She waved a sketchpad vaguely in the air, unsure of where her companion was. "Where are you, anyway?" Pause. For a moment, the girl thought he had gone away. Then, she heard a voice, coming from a distinct direction now.

"Here. But don't come close. It's not safe."

"So you are stuck. Do you want me to get help?" It took a while for the Ghost to realise that she was offering to help him. He was no longer used to human contact, and the fact that this girl was willing to help him was positively unnerving.

She doesn't know what you are.

"No, I'm not stuck. I'm fine. But you should stay where you are." Although he couldn't make out her expression, the Ghost was sure that she was giving him an odd look.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I am."

"Alright then." There was an awkward silence between them. The Ghost was certain she would run away screaming if she found him out. Why he disliked the prospect was unclear to him. He had had plenty of experience with screaming people. But he didn't want to hear her scream. It would remind him that he was subhuman. Below them.

"So…what's your name?" The girl scuffed her toe on the ground, peering curiously into the darkness. The Ghost backed further away from her gaze, cautiously moving behind a large wooden beam searching his memory at the same time for the name given to him at birth, a name he had tried to deny the existence of.

"My name…is Erik," he said after a lengthy pause. Erik.

"That's a nice name. I'm Clarisse. Or Risse, if you like." They stood for a moment, neither of them saying a word. Erik found a strange sort of pleasure in knowing that someone was so close to him who would hear whatever was on his mind should he care to say it. Clarisse broke the silence with an uncomfortable cough. "I really ought to be going now. The folks back at the Home will be missing me. I mean…" She blushed deeply. "I stay in the orphanage, you see." Erik felt a twinge of pity. Although the orphanage in Paris was not a place where people were cruel to the children, it was undoubtedly a harsh place to grow up.

"I wouldn't want to keep you, Mademoiselle. It was very interesting to meet you here."

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Erik."

"De rien, Mademoiselle."

"Goodbye, then."

"Au revoir."

In stiff formality they parted. Erik watched Clarisse nimbly scramble down from the roof, using the pieces of broken brick and wood as footholds and smiled to himself. He had never had such childlike innocence in his life before.


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