The old abandoned house stared down at Erik. He was thankful for his current solitude – he was sweating from mental pressure and didn't want to be seen in a state of weakness. Soon, though, he began to calm down enough to insert the key into the ancient door's lock, open it, and step into the dusty, old house.
It was exactly as Erik remembered it. Well, not exactly. There was no Marie Perrault at the door; she was nowhere to be found. The man walked through the house checking for a sign of life; nothing was found. He soon reached his own bedroom's door and opened it a crack. It was as if a tornado had came through – the bed was in pieces, the window was shattered, everything was broken! Apparently the town's children attacked after Marie left, Erik thought grimly.
Indeed, that was the way it looked. His heart throbbed at this revelation; the room he had been confined to in his earlier years had horrible memories, yet it still was his room, the room which he had sung, drawn, invented, and composed. Closing the door, Erik was once again in the hallway, but this time with a much more broken heart.
Walking down the hallway, he came across the dining room, the place he celebrated his fifth birthday. The scars on his wrists ached a bit at the memory, but he put his feelings aside and continued to the next room.
After exploring the house, Erik was extraordinarily tired. It wasn't physical; it was the mental pain inflicted on him by his memories. He wanted nothing more than to torch the place to the ground, but the satisfaction wouldn't have lasted long, and would've soon been replaced with remorse.
Pushing his idea to the farthest, darkest corner of his twisted mind, Erik came across a problem; where was he to sleep? His bed was in shambles, his mother's bed was out of the question. That left the couch; surely it would do well.
He arrived at the living room, strode into the space, and stretched himself out on the couch. Uncomfortable, small, and musty all described this "bed". Knowing this, Erik braced himself for a restless night.
Madeleine stood in front of Erik, her whole figure imposing. She stood as if waiting for an answer; her arms were folded across her chest, her foot was tapping. Next to her stood a terribly nervous Marie Perrault, and they both stood, staring at Erik. The child looked scared, as if the answer to the question Madeleine had asked stood behind his mind's reach. He began to shake as the mother raised her hand and slapped him. The hand was ice cold, as if his own hand was slapping him. Why hadn't he known the answer?
Erik awoke at dawn from the nightmare. Sleep had not been willing to release him from its bonds, claiming him prisoner to his own memories. He rose from the couch, freshened himself up in the bathroom, and sat down bored. He had no plans for the day – how could he? He had just moved here...perhaps the townspeople would drop in for a visit and wish him welcome...
But that thought was ridiculous. The people were afraid of the house, thinking it were haunted. Of course it was silly for the current resident to be afraid; he was the thing they were afraid of. The thing with the demon's head, like the young boy had said.
Erik felt the sudden urge to see his bedroom again. Opening the door once more, he felt a question hop into his head. What a question, Erik thought. Why hadn't I thought of it yesterday?
He then turned his thoughts to finding the answer. Why had they left the rest of the house in order and only destroyed his room?
Determined to find the answer, Erik sat on the piano bench in the parlor. He sat until he found a few theories, but none seemed like they were the real answer. Soon he felt very overwhelmed, so he turned on the bench and opened the piano lid.
The sight that met his eyes was an outrage! The keys had about an inch of dust and grime on them, while their actually coloring was more brown than white.
Most of the keys were chipped a bit. Erik felt a twinge of hatred for whoever was left in charge of this once beautiful instrument. He set his hands onto the keys and turned his resentment into captivating music.
It was well into the afternoon when Erik heard a knock on the door. Surprised, he stopped playing a felt himself stand. He walked to the entry door and readied himself. Though these last few days had made him be social, he still didn't like being around people.
The sight that met his eyes when the door was opened was the same little boy who had followed him the day before. Confused, Erik invited him in.
Once again, Erik uttered the polite word to this little child - "Hello".
AN: Mwahaha! Cliffhanger! I think I might just leave you hanging for a while. But please, review! Your comments inspire me to write!
Me: Erik ran away, so now my muse is gone! Isn't that scary?
*falling-down sounds coming from closet*
Me: Oh, do be quiet, Nadir! Erik does not know that you're here, and I intend to keep it that way!
Nadir: *muffled sounds*
Me: Well, at least the gag is working!
AN: Erik, please do come back! If anyone has seen him, please PM me. Reward is the next chapter!