(BEING REWRITTEN) An Opera Ghost- A Phantom of the Opera Fan Fiction

Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Okay, new chapter up a day earlier than expected :3 Enjoy all you Phans!

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Screams. Screams of utter horror resounded through the Opera House as the body of a young scene shifter fell, only to be caught round the throat by a noose. It hadn't been the plan Erik had made, no. But the one's he had made where repulsive.

In his original pulsating rage he had planned the Phoebe girl would be the one that would hang, possibly scaring the rest of the ballerinas into belief that Olivier had indeed summoned a demon. Next would have come Angela's punishment of having her tongue cut out of her mouth- which now the thought of it made Erik's stomach turn in disgust. But, it remained true she spoke too much, and was a gossip. Erik just needed a different way to deal with her loose tongue that did not include it being severed. The third was to deliver a letter to Olivier, along with Florence's mask- the only one left unbroken- that said that because of him she had been killed by her master. The Phantom of the Opera. Erik knew a broken heart was one of the worst punishments one could take, even worse than a completely severed tongue perhaps. But, after having one of his own, he could not condemn any other to the fate.

Now that he was calmer, his plan, too, had calmed down quite a bit. He had, indeed, still hung someone... But that was only because he had seen Erik and had come after him. He had no clue why the boy in the first place was running around on the beams above the stage; there wasn't even a performance happening that night or the next.

When the cast on stage and orchestra members off had finally calmed down, Erik let the body fall with the noose to the ground. The memory of a song once sung by Madame Giry suddenly entered his mind, and morbidly, Erik recalled it.

"Those who speak of what they know," he sang out, causing all in the audience to feel a chill run don their spine, "Find too late that prudent silence is wise. Ballet rats and stable boys, hold your tongues! And keep your hands at the level of your eyes." The last line was a hiss. And due to the gasps he heard, his point was well made. Still, he felt a need to continue as all the attention was now with him.

 "There is no need to fear my  Little Opera Ghost," he continued singing lightly, "She walks with you no more. Her mistakes made her useless to me and for that she has dearly paid for." Looking down from the shadows with his masked face, he saw how horrified the ballet rats were. Some were shaking. He glanced around to find Meg, who looked wide eyed to the rafters. She hadn't actually believed that Erik had killed Florence, did she? Surely not; she knew how he loved his darling daughter so, even if he was at the moment furious with her.

"Who is speaking?!" a brave ballerina piped up. Erik's eyes shot to where a pale faced Madame Giry was holding Angela back by the shoulders. The child looked angry, and this intrigued Erik. Why in the world was she not cringing from him as the rest did?

"I am the Phantom of the Opera," Erik replied in song, "Brave Angela, I presume I speak to you." Angela paled at his words and stepped back into the arms of Madame Giry.

"Y-you! You were her master! And you killed the little opera ghost!" Angela shouted back at the rafters. Erik smirked, almost amused with the girls bravery. "How dare you kill her! She was innocent!" Those words irritated him, the smirk disappearing from his face.

"She is mine to do as I please, foolish ballet rat," Erik growled, his words still a song, "She is not dead, but she will not reappear. I can now assure you of that." And with those final words, Erik turned on his heel and vanished through the trap door from which he had came.

"Oh no! What has he done with her?!" Angela cried out amongst the now roaring chaos. The ballerinas were terrified, some crying over the body the other stunned sceneshifters were staring at horror. What if they had chosen to go up to the rafters to fetch the forgotten tool belt instead of the one whose soul was now at rest?