Andrew Vs. the 'Fantom'

Andrew had been sitting in his front room for hours. Reading and re-reading the note he shouldn't have received thanks to his now very-heightened (and very expensive) security contract. It had started thundering as soon as he saw it. How could that damned stalker find me again?! He thought to himself over and over again. Once more he unfolded the yellow parchment and scanned the words:

Dearest Andrew

No matter how many times you feel it right to move, I care not for your games! I have found you once again and now you must answer to my demands! I have the mask, Andrew. The one with the inscription that you desire so much.

There is a church on your street. If YOU want this to end, you MUST go there and MEET ME. At 8pm tonight. Please be punctual.

Dearest greetings,
TF
P.S. Tell no one and come alone, I will NOT elaborate further...

He wiped at his face as he read those words. My god! Who is this man?! He thought to himself. A quick glance at the clock gave him a fright when he realised it was close to 8pm. Have I just been sitting in here for three hours reading a letter? He tried to gather his thoughts when he happened to see the corner of his trophy cabinet in the corridor. Looking at his awards and theatre memorabilia always calmed him in moments such as this.

Andrew peaked around the corner to see it. It contained most of the nicer awards he received for the amount of Musical plays he had written. There was one empty space however, that has enraged him ever since the original showings back in '86. He had always wanted the first mask back, the one that held a secret message. An inscription with a secret message from his old friend Michael. A message that he refused to repeat unless Andrew could find the mask but it was no use. Over the years, he believed it to be stolen by a stagehand, there were plenty of back-ups so it was no problem however, that message troubled the writer for too long. He stared at the empty space, realising that he kept it free for a purpose! He knew that one day he might have the chance to retrieve it and perhaps frighten away the ghost of so many years ago! This was to be that day!

After clearing his throat Andrew marched to the front door, straight onto the street. The storm, which seemed to have slipped from his memory, was still raging on but it was too late to grab a coat now. He could see the church from his house, it was near the docks of the River Thames. A river famed for it's rich history, filthiness, mass pollution and raging current. Thinking nothing of his rising dampness and impending confrontation, he marched towards the church determined to retrieve his property. This newfound courage was not to last...

As the writer reached the large centuries old doors of the church, he could feel his spirit draining. Taking in a large gulp, he pushed open the doors to see a large grand room. It was adorned with the finest markings, statues and decorations that only centuries of religious infighting can produce. Andrew noticed that there were no electric lights at all in the church. Instead it was lit with an uncountable amount of candles spread evenly around the room, all dripping with excess wax. It must have been timely to set up so why was the church completely empty? Andrew jumped as a sharp monstrous sound crashed through the air. All of the remaining courage had now fled, he turned to go back through the door only for it to suddenly be locked. He desperately shook it with no luck. He turned back to see someone in a robe sitting in front of a large ornate organ. He couldn't make anything else about them except their attire and the fact they were facing away about to play the hefty instrument. A series of notes came fast at the Writer's ears which had to be covered thanks to the immense volume. Alas, it was for naught as he could hear those dreaded notes all too well. This was the coming of the Phantom himself! The notes came swiftly and just how Andrew always imagined it to play in his head when writing back in the 80s. This stalker was mad but maybe they were a virtuoso as well? A true Phantom. Andrew was almost about to be fully enveloped into the music if it weren't for the stalker's finger slipping and completely killing the rhythm of the song. The writer tutted, only for the stalker's figure to sharply turn to face him. Andrew stared back in horror, trying to make up the face under the shroud but it was no use.