A/N: Whew, it's been a busy week for me. I just had my first ever job, and it was tiring. I'm pretty much dead on my feet now! I start a new job (since the first one was just a 1 week job) this Friday, so I'm going to be really busy again...

Well in this chapter, we finally get more of Erik! No Amélie here, I'm afraid, but she will come pretty soon.

Thank you to WildConcerto, BlackBloodAlchemist, Shannah-themusician & grapejuice101 for the favs/follows. It is much appreciated. xx

Wild Concerto: Thank you so much! Your review took me by complete surprise, I was really happy to read it! I really don't deserve such praise though haha. I'm trying my best to keep with the spirit of the books, though I have to admit that my Erik is a lot more tame than in the book, the original Leroux is much too maniacal and crazy for my liking (how did he expect Christine to love him when he acted that way, anyway? hahaha). But thank you soo much for your review, I'm really really flattered. Of course now I have to live up to your expectations, the stress is that much more! w

Masked Man 2: Oh, no worries! I didn't see your comment that way at all, I just felt that I couldn't take credit for the idea of the Sultana as the mother haha. I like to build up a long, sappy, love story, so it may be some time before Amélie realises (;

icanhearthedrums: Haha no her name is Francine! Christine doesn't come into the picture until much later, I'm afraid!

xx hazel

Chapter 9: The Opera Ghost

Paris, 1893

Erik did not know why he had left the music box that day. Sentiment, perhaps. A little part of him had probably hoped that the only friend he had ever had would remember him even when he was gone. Sentiment. What a useless feeling it was.

For the past year, Erik had toiled tirelessly over what was to be his home, deep in the fifth cellars below the opera house. When he had been a child, he had not been able to make the place as livable as he would have liked, but now, a grown man, he was finally able to construct a home for himself.

Home. It was a strange word. Erik had never had a place of his own to truly call home. The cellars beneath the opera house could not be considered his own, but at least it would be a place where he could reign, a place where his dark solitude triumphed.

The days melded into each other, a blur of new rooms to make, new walls to be built, or new alterations to be created. Erik wanted his house to be perfect. The cellars beneath the opera house were a veritable treasure trove of furniture and fabric, and Erik spent many a day on his knees in the dusty rooms, flipping through boxes, and pulling off dusty furniture coverings, then lugging the heavy pieces down to his new home. To his great amazement, he came upon a large box one day, containing what seemed to be a dismantled, old pipe organ. Like a child, he excitedly opened the musty box, almost ripping the thin cardboard in his haste. He ran his hands over the contents of the box reverently, feeling the cold metal with awe.

That very day, Erik made the pipe organ his new project. He read the old, faded instruction manuals, squinting at the tiny words, and bit by bit, he built his organ. When he first pressed his fingers to the keys, and the heavenly, rich sound echoed around the cavern, he closed his eyes in joy. He hesitantly tried a few more notes, and each note embedded itself within his mind with more contentment than the one before. Erik had missed the days when he would sneak into the rehearsal rooms late at night, to teach himself how to play the piano. In Persia, music had been his constant companion. He had had no piano there, but he had the melodies in his head that played continuously, calming and soothing him in his most ravaged moments.

When he had almost completed his house, Erik decided that he needed some funds. He stood in his living room, contemplating the house. There was the library, which was regrettably still empty, but would not remain so for long. His old books were still intact, in the storeroom he had left them in so many years ago, and they were waiting to be moved into his new library. He had even managed to smuggle some books from Persia. There was the small kitchen, and the few empty rooms that were meant to be bedrooms. Erik laughed a little bitterly to himself. Why would there be a need for bedrooms when I'm the only one living here by myself?

There was the music room, which connected to the living room via large doors which were wide open. It housed his precious pipe organ. The room was his sacred place. His bedroom was minimal, as Erik did not sleep much. He had lugged down a thick hunk of wood that he had found outside a carpenter's shop, and painstakingly carved it into a bed frame, with the figure head of a large bird, its large wings forming the sides of the bed in a protective gesture.

His house was fine and almost completed, but Erik needed funds if he wanted to continue living in the opera house. He could not depend on stealing the odd loaf of bread from the kitchen for sustenance any longer, as he had once done as a child. His fingers itched to write music, to transcribe the melodies in his head onto tangible paper and ink, but he needed manuscript paper, quills, ink.

That was when the first letter from the Opera Ghost arrived on Debienne's table, written on parchment that Erik had stolen from the manager himself, in black ink, with a black border drawn around the words. The letter lay in a sealed envelope, the seal a bright red with a skull imprinted into the wax, waiting for Debienne to come to the office in the morning to discover it.

"Antoinette!" The door to the ballet room flew open, and Debienne flew in, his tie askew, breathing heavily and bent over with exertion. Upon seeing the rows of curious ballerinas staring at him, he straightened, coughing hastily. "I mean, Madame Giry!"

"What is it, monsieur?" Antoinette asked, annoyed that Debienne had disrupted her rehearsal. "All of you, back to practice! I don't want to come back in to see anybody resting!" She tapped her cane sharply on the floor and the ballet rats hurriedly scurried back into position. Antoinette gestured toward the door, and Debienne stepped out. She followed, closing the door behind her.

"Antoinette, what is the meaning of this?" Debienne demanded, waving a piece of parchment furiously at her. Antoinette looked at him confusedly and reached out to take the parchment from him.

The thin spidery script was something that she recognized quite well, and her face drained of colour as she took in the letter's contents. It was brief and succinct, but the meaning behind it was rather clear.

To the manager of the Palais Garnier

Greetings from the Opera Ghost. I have sent this letter to you in a most amiable manner, detailing a set of instruction which you will read, and follow. If you do not adhere to my instructions, a disaster beyond imagination will befall you. That, I can assure you.

First, you will replace the third trombone. The man cannot hold his pitch for longer than a few seconds and the sound trembles dreadfully, and as such, is dispensable. He must go.

Second, some of the set designers have been skimming money off the set funds to indulge in their vices. The state of some of the set backdrops is deplorable, and you will put a stop to this at once.

Thirdly and finally, I demand a salary for my services. You will give Madame Giry 20,000 francs each month, to be placed in an envelope and brought to Box Five. Box Five is to be kept empty for my own use.

I hope I have made myself clear. I await your favourable response.

Yours, O.G.

Antoinette held the parchment with shaky hands. "What is this, monsieur?"

"I am asking you that exactly!" Debienne said rather indignantly. "Is this your idea of a joke, a clever prank, perhaps? It is not April's Fool, Antoinette!"

"I can assure you, monsieur, that this is not my doing!" Antoinette said sharply. "Are you accusing me of playing a prank to cheat you of 20,000 francs? The gall!" She slammed her cane hard onto the floor, and Debienne winced.

"Well, then what is the meaning of this note? You do not know this O.G.?"

"Of course not!" She slammed her cane down onto the floor again for added emphasis. "What will you do now, monsieur?"

"I'm not giving him what he wants! It must be some stagehand playing a clever trick... eh? Well, I'm not falling for it! I'm not paying him 20, 000 francs! Though I'll let the third trombone go, as Reyer has been badgering me to let him go for quite some time now… though why he would say that I can't imagine, I can't find anything wrong with his playing…" Muttering loudly, Debienne wandered off, shaking the offending piece of parchment. Antoinette stared after him. What are you doing, Erik?

It did not take long for Erik to carry out the threats that he had spoken about in his letter to Debienne. By noon, the entire opera house was gossiping about the resident spectre, and Debienne was quite beside himself. During one of the ballet rehearsals in the morning, some backdrops had creaked ominously and shifted around as though somebody was carrying them, but all the stagehands had been elsewhere, and the ballet rats had squealed loudly before dashing off, helter-skelter, screeching that there was a ghost in the opera house. Following that, mysterious thuds could be heard echoing from all around the theatre, accompanied by what sounded like high-pitched, maniacal laughter, even though nobody could see anybody in the theatre who could have caused those sounds, and a thorough search around the place revealed nothing. Antoinette heard the thuds and the laughter, and knew that it was Erik, as they had spent many an afternoon in the past acting out different voices in the stories they read, but even she shuddered to hear the spooky laughter in the theatre.

The final straw came, perhaps, during La Carlotta's rehearsal after lunch. La Carlotta's rehearsals were always in the afternoon, as the diva refused to wake up any earlier to attend rehearsals which she felt were a waste of her precious time anyway. As the rest of the performers milled in slowly after lunch, La Carlotta swept into the room in one of her bejeweled gowns, the aubergine colour clashing rather nastily with her bright orange hair and the low neckline threatening to expose more of her bosom than the opera house members deigned to see.

La Carlotta had once been a fine singer, perhaps years before Erik had even entered the opera house, when she had just debuted at the young age of fifteen, a rising star in an Italian opera house, who took the opera goers by storm with the quality of her voice and her flaming orange hair. But being the diva that she was, La Carlotta enjoyed resting on her laurels, believing that her voice was incomparable, and that it was simply impossible for her to be replaced. To put it honestly, La Carlotta's voice was past its prime, a mere shadow of its former glory. She had, in her many years of indulgence, allowed her voice to slowly deteriorate and her beauty to fade, and all that remained of La Carlotta's former glory was a rather plump woman who enjoyed squeezing herself into tight dresses with even tighter corsets, and who could not carry much of a tune any longer.

Erik had always disliked Carlotta and her overbearing, diva ways. She thought that the opera house was fortunate to have her as their prima donna, and believed herself to be the very best. When he had been a child, her voice had been passable. Now, as she stood on stage, her voice straining to hit the higher notes, Erik winced and stuffed his fingers into his ears. The conductor, Monsieur Reyer, tapped his baton sharply on his stand, causing the orchestra to come to a standstill, and La Carlotta to glare at him angrily for having disrupted her song.

"Signora, please! You're hitting the wrong note!" Reyer said exasperatedly.

"What are you saying, conductor? I, La Carlotta, am incapable of hitting the wrong notes! How dare you!" She screeched back at him, before muttering several Italian expletives under her breath. Reyer said nothing, but grimly lifted his hands once more, gesturing with his baton for the orchestra to start the music again.

And once more, La Carlotta opened her mouth to let out an off-tune warble, but this time her rendition was cut short by the loud thump of a sandbag which had mysteriously fallen out of nowhere and landed onto the floor directly beside her. Had it been a few inches to the left, La Carlotta would no doubt have been hit by the heavy sandbag. La Carlotta did the only thing she could think of doing—she let out a loud shriek, and threw the shawl from her costume off her shoulders."It is the ghost!"

"Yes, signora, perhaps the ghost appreciates fine music and can tell an off-tune note when he hears it." Reyer said dryly. "Shall we begin again, then?"

Erik decided then that he rather liked Reyer. La Carlotta, on the other hand, was having none of it. She stamped her foot petulantly on the floor.

"I will not! I will not be performing in this opera house until the ghost has left!"

From up in the rafters, Erik threw his voice around the room, allowing his maniacal laughter to echo off the walls. La Carlotta shrieked again, and ran off the stage into the arms of Piangi, the primo uomo, sobbing hysterically. Erik smirked.

La Carlotta refused to continue rehearsing, even though Debienne tried his best to cajole her. She staunchly put her foot down and declared that if Debienne did not follow the Opera Ghost's instructions such that he stopped tormenting the employees of the opera house, specifically her— since nobody else mattered as much as she did— thenthe Palais Garnier would have to look for a new prima donna. And just like that, La Carlotta unwittingly helped start Erik's tyrannical reign over the opera house. It did not cpme as a surprise to Erik that La Carlotta, with her overbearing ways, had been the deciding factor which caused Debienne to make the choice to give in to the Opera Ghost's demands, but Erik was not going to complain about that anyway.

Just before dinner time, Antoinette was called over to Debienne's office. She was shocked when he handed a thick envelope over to her with a resigned look on his face.

"What's this, monsieur? Is this… goodness, this is money! What in the world is it for?" She exclaimed.

"It's no use, Antoinette. My opera house will go to ruin if I allow that Opera Ghost to continue playing his tricks around here! La Carlotta will not sing if I do not make it stop. Without La Carlotta, we are nothing. Already many of the stagehands are threatening to quit and take their services to another opera house, as they feel that having a ghost against us is bad luck for the theatre." Debienne shook his head. "I have to think about the opera house and its future! Now take it and bring it quickly to Box Five. I do not wish for any more unfortunate accidents today."

Antoinette held the envelope tightly in her hand as she made her way up to Box Five, silently seething inside. Once inside the box, she rapped on the wall sharply.

"Are you in here somewhere, Erik? Get out here at once!" She called. Almost immediately, as though he had been waiting for her, as though he had known that Debienne would cave in, the door swung open and Erik walked in silently on padded soles, closing the door behind him. Antoinette turned on him harshly.

"What is the meaning of this, Erik? Do you mean to drive our opera house to ruin? Do you mean to ruin me?" She snapped, brandishing the envelop. Erik frowned and snatched it from her hands, pocketing it neatly.

"Of course not, Antoinette. I am merely putting my skills to good use in this opera house. I'll provide the manager with a list of instructions regularly on how to improve the productions, and the profits will roll in, even greater than before. Of that you have my promise, Antoinette."

"Why, Erik," She asked through gritted teeth, "would you not choose to apply for a job just like any other normal man instead? I'm sure Reyer would be greatly pleased with some assistance."

He scoffed. "You know that would never happen."

"Pray tell me why indeed, do you think that you are incapable of holding a job like a normal man?" She snapped back, crossing her arms. "I would love to hear whatever brilliant reason you have conjured up for yourself."

Erik scowled at her. "A job like a normal man? Might I remind you, Antoinette, that I am not a normal man!" He ripped his mask off and bared his teeth at her in anger. Antoinette almost winced at the sight of his ferocious face, but she stood her ground. She would not be intimidated by this boy whom she had saved from the claws of death, regardless of whether he was ugly or not. She slammed her cane sharply onto the floor and looked him in the eye fiercely.

"As I have already told you time and again before, Erik, you have the right to be a normal man. You are standing in your own way of living a normal life." She told him flatly. Erik only scoffed again at her statement, and turned to leave.

"Either way, Antoinette, it does not matter, since this is my own choice. If you do not help me, I will find some way to do it by myself, but of course, I would prefer that you help me."

"You seek to ruin yourself!" Antoinette called after him sharply. "If you are not careful, you will ruin yourself, and the opera house will crumble along with you!"

"The opera house will only see improvements under my control, Antoinette." He called back confidently, perhaps a little haughtily. Antoinette hit the ground with her cane again angrily, fuming. Ah, that damnable pride and stubbornness. What are you doing, Erik?

But despite her anger, Antoinette knew that she would not be able to find it in her heart to refuse Erik. The world was a fool for not recognizing the boundless genius in Erik, his eagerness to share his talents with the world, and the contributions he could give. To Antoinette, Erik was nothing short of a genius, talented, perhaps insane at moments, but nevertheless a true wonder. Her heart went out to the young boy who had only sought to share with the world what he could do, only to be cruelly rejected for the freak that others viewed him as. She only prayed that one day, Erik would find peace.

A/N: Next chapter comes with fluff, so please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know what you think! It would make my day (: