Three days went by without a problem. For those three days, Erik laid on the couch in a light slumber, but never awoke until the forth day when the doorbell rang. Opening his eyes, he noticed crossly that the windows were open, curtains open, and sunlight was flooding the room. He, overcome with sudden nausea, stumbled passed the coffee table and reached for the curtains. Tugging them closed, he heard the doorbell once again.

Spinning around, he briskly walked to the door, straightening out his clothes as he took each step. Then, as he reached for the doorknob, he raised his other hand to his face to reassure himself that his mask was still on. Thankfully, it was.

Gently opening the door, Erik took in the sight before him. The young Erik Aucoin from days before stood there, along with three other children. The new members stared at the masked man before them with awe, wonder, and something else. Was it fear? Excitement? Respect? As Erik stared back, it wasn't with any of these emotions. It was with plain dislike. However, his eyes betrayed nothing as he invited them into his house.

Trying not to take notice as they gawked at the furniture and paintings, Erik led them into the living room. As they all sat, Erik suddenly felt his stomach topple over. What do those kids want?

As young Erik Aucoin introduced everyone, Erik took notice of each boy and examined them carefully. The Aucoin boy had short, straight blonde hair, much unlike his own. The boy's face was quite unblemished, a perfect pair of ocean blue eyes looked from each person to another has introductions were made.

Another boy, Ronald Leroy, had light, sandy hair. Coffee brown eyes stared at the full face mask covering Erik's face. His face was also perfect, which Erik despised.

Arnold Roux had piercing green eyes. His flaming red hair fit his name wonderfully, and his face had quite a few freckles on it.

Charles Grosvenor was the last boy. Dark brown hair, almost black, covered his head, and his eyes were a light shade of green, almost yellow. Erik hated the boy for being what he should have been. He silently cursed his face, the source of all his unhappiness.

Sadly, once introductions were done, the questions came, erupting from each boy's mouth.

"Why did you buy this house?"

"This house is haunted, didn't you know that?"

"Why do you wear that funny mask?"

"Have you heard the story about the demon?"

Alerted by the amount of chatter in his preferably silent house, Erik shushed the boys, saying, "Quiet! I cannot answer any of these questions when they come three at a time! Now, ask them orderly." He articulated the last word with annoyance. Why should he have to answer the questions? Why did he have to do any of this? Oh, yes, that's why – he needed to fit in so that nobody would get suspicious. Rewards like this have very high prices to pay, he thought viciously.

Seething inside, calm outside, he readied himself for the questions. Then the first boy spoke;

"Why do you wear that funny mask?"

Erik was ready for this. In reply, he spoke confidently, "That is of no concern of yours. If you must know, I had an incident when I was younger."

The next boy went, asking, "Are you scared of the demon?"

"No, of course not! That foolish nonsense about the demon is nothing more than a tale gone wrong."

"Monsieur, you must believe! The demon won't be happy if you don't..."

"Ha! The demon you speak of so often must be happy to finally have someone who doesn't believe with their heart and soul that its real – it now has a new challenge. Believing makes it much too easy for it. It's probably bored out of its wits by now!"

"If you say so, Monsieur... but don't say I didn't warn you when you get attacked!"

Like there is anything to attack me, the masked man painfully thought. They thought of him as a demon. It hurt him so much that even as a child he was a horrible monster, worthy of nothing good. He frowned.

Charles spoke next. "Do you live here alone?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

"No."

"That's strange. I would get bored if I didn't have my older brother with me."

You wouldn't get bored if you spent your whole life locked away, Erik thought resentfully. Something about this boy ticked him off... was it, perhaps, the fact that the boy had all the privileges that had been denied to Erik so long ago? No, that probably wasn't it... everyone else had them... but didn't he hate humanity? They all strutted around, heads held high, taking everything that happens to them for granted. Associating with people, living in a nice house... those things that Erik had desperately looked for as a young man. Half a century after his birth, he finally realized that he was always meant to be alone. Life was cruel.

Life was very cruel.

After all the boys left for home, Erik let out a sigh of relief. The boys were irksome and irritating, annoying and aggravating. He vowed to never again let them into his house, but subconsciously knew that he would have to, for the sake of "fitting in". He had lied to the children so that he could "fit in". He felt horrible for doing that, and knew with an air of disappointment that he never would fit in. Life is cruel, he angrily raged in his head. Why him? Why did he have to be stuck with this accursed face? He hadn't done anything wrong to receive it – all wrongs he did were in some way related to his face. The rosy hours in the Mazenderan were, in fact, quite the fault of his face. Had he been born normal, he would never have discovered his talents or learn to kill. He would have grown up in Boscherville with his mother loving and caring about him. The little sultana would have had to find some other way to satisfy her hunger for murder.

In an attempt to drive away the thoughts that ate at him, the thoughts that tumbled and tumbled around in his head making things unclear to him, Erik placed himself onto the piano bench and rested his fingers on the keys. What to play, what to play... what will make me forget? Just to forget for now...

His thoughts rumbled in his head shaking his sanity. Finally he decided on a piece and played. On and on, he played. Sometimes he played the same piece over again, sometimes he modified the ending so that it would be longer, and sometimes he simply switched to a new song. He didn't care what he did – he was voluntarily hypnotized by the music that erupted from the beautiful, black and white piano in front of him.

He played and played. He played because he was certain of one thing.

As soon as he stopped, he would be immersed in those horrible, terrifying thoughts once again.

AN: There you go! Hope you like it! And Thaovyphantran, I won't say if Christine will make her appearance in this story. Actually, I have something special in store for Erik... and he won't like it. :)

Me: Wow, AN, you just ruined the beautiful moment.

Erik: And you broke reality.

Me: By talking to something that doesn't exist? I'm just plain awesome!

AN: I don't exist?

Erik: I'm just confused...

Me and AN: Good!

Erik: *O_O*

AN: What? Do I have something on my shirt?

Erik: Holy $&%, it just talked to me! *runs into closet*

Me: What's wrong, Erik?

Erik: YOU'RE BENDING REALITY, THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!

Me: Oh! Oh, okay. Bye! *walks away*

Erik: Nadir, you did not see anything.

Nadir: *muffled sounds*

Erik: No. That gag will stay on. *walks out of closet and locks the door*

AN: Okay... so this is just a tad bit weird. Anyway, I will conclude by straightening out this detail;

In my story, "the rosy hours of the Mazenderan" means that the time in Persia was bloody. I'm not saying that this is what Gaston Leroux meant; I'm just saying my view.

I haven't begged for reviews before, so I won't now. But, you know, an author loves reviews. But I'm totally not begging for reviews.

Anyway, next chapter will come out in approximately some time.

Just kidding. Expect it by tomorrow night.

And don't you dare think I am begging for reviews.

LOL