Completely and Surely a No-Win Entry

If I were a …Phantom’s Son



Ear piercing screams. That is what I hear everyday. It is just like a polite way of saying “Hello!” to me at every meeting. I wave in return, for I am a genteel man. However, they never bothered to wait for my response. I find it extraordinarily amusing. Everyone is so lively! From the maids to the chefs, the old caretaker, dancers and all- They’re extraordinarily energetic at any time of the day! Hold on, my dear friend. We have not acquainted ourselves yet.




I am Erik II. Nice to meet you. I love operas, just like my father.


I rise early every morning, earlier than the idiot birds in the kitchen. The morning air is simply refreshing and inviting, I fail to resist. The mist, too, is beautiful if I wake early enough. The garden is enchanting. It is home to hundreds of vibrantly blooming flowers under the care of green-fingered gardeners. It must feel good to be a flower, to be cared for and all. Although their life is brief, their splendour lingers forever in the deepest of human hearts. I like to think that my apprentice is very similar to a flower. Human lives are brief- Exactly like candles.


I hear the rustle of leaves. I have to go now, before the others see me! They need not see the daunting spectre they fear so much at dawn. I cautiously head back to the mansion through a hidden window to pay a visit to my darling apprentice. My father had always advised me to don a mask and black evening clothes whenever I visit apprentices. He told me it was a family custom. Being the filial son I am, I complied. Besides, it felt quite pleasant to look courteous. I liked to think that I resemble Gaston Leroux’s phantom in his book "Le Fantôme de l'Opéra". I love his works. A great pity he is pushing daisies from six feet below now- Goodness, my apprentice still sleeps! How defiant! She has the best teacher of music yet she dares defy him! No matter, I will lecture her later.


Having spared myself time now, I stroll round the garden once more, picking the most vivid roses to leave in Box 5. Once again, it is customary to leave roses on nights I attend performances. It becomes even more crucial if your apprentice sings that very night. “It’s a polite gesture,” my father explained. I adored my father’s quirky habits and quickly adopted many of them, especially after his untimely death. My father committed suicide. His name is Erik.


He is sinful but I sincerely hope with all my heart that he rests in Heaven. For this very reason, I slip out of the mansion through hidden ways and wander to the tiny chapel in town by the alleys to pray for my dear father’s forgiveness.


My father was heartbroken, you see. He suffered an unrequited love with a woman. Whoever this woman was, I believe she was rather fortunate to be loved by my father. Who was my mother then? I do not know. However, I am not related to my "father" by blood. I was an orphan he rescued from the slums of Paris. I am very grateful for his actions. It is because of Erik I am now Erik II. Father was slightly annoyed at my alias but he eventually gave in for I am his "son". My real name is Jacques, a dull name compared to “Erik”. Many people fear him, that I know. However, I cannot help but admire him greatly. He is truly an angel of music, despite the deformed face behind his mysterious mask.


While I was absorbed in my thoughts, my apprentice sat by my side praying. She comes here often, especially when she is to perform on that glorious stage. This is where I met her, a lacklustre one compared to the romantic tale of how father first spoke to his beloved. I met my apprentice at the stroke of midnight while she was training her vocal chords. She surely must have known that the chapel creates resonation the most. To be frank, her singing could be mistaken as a screech at first. Now look at her. She is the top songstress with everyone at her feet. These are the fruits of my slow and patient guidance towards her voice.


She smiles at me, and I return it. It is very much of a secret one for in our hearts, we know we have plans tonight.


Tonight we shall run, after her final note. I will turn out the lights and “steal” her in the midst of chaos, just like father once did. What differs is that no one will stop us. There is no “Raoul” to interfere with our plans. The Persian has prepared our route. He approves of us. After all, we are engaged officially, in private though.


The sun sets outside this shabby chapel and she hurries back to the mansion. We have to ready our luggage for the great escape. As she turns to leave, the door opens and a scream sounds. That noose my father taught me to make will help us now. Whoever is at the door has overheard us. He or she will have to go for our plan must not be disturbed. My apprentice goes to the back door while I move to the pitiful soul who is about to meet his creator. You will not be “Raoul“, my friend, for you must not. Our talk ends here or I will have to kill you too. I take my leave now. Pray we never see each other in future for you know of the truth of The Phantom of the Opera. In fact, you know too much.