A Phantom Christmas Carol - *Phantom of the Opera*

Chapter Six

A/N:  As always, video has differences from written work, to account for clips used, and is still playing catch up to story. lol  Once YT allowed 15 min. for video, it catches up pretty fast, at times bleeding over into next chapter - I think this starts with chapter 8... For video clip - words within asterisks (*) are unspoken thoughts.  Also, when you get to the end of the video, you might want to click on the screen to stop it and start it to read all that is there - (when words begin in red) I should have made the text longer there and didn't. (sorry) I got better with this as these videos continue, so at least it doesn't happen often. Clips from "Phantom of the Opera," "A Christmas Carol- the Musical," and "Granuaile's Dance" by Máiréad. I needed someone who resembled Meg and seemed ethereal (fairy-like and looked it too) and is also a great musician/ dancer. I immediately thought of the violinist for Celtic Woman. :) Also there's a small bit from "The Snow Queen" in there too. Songs (in order) intro from Phantasia, music for story: Pans Labyrinth- "A Princess", Bioshock- "Welcome to Rapture," and Secret Garden- "Nocturnal." Also a snippet from Blood- "Father Time" (the clock chiming)

One Last Chance

VI

Without realizing how it had happened, the Phantom once again found himself standing in front of his organ and staring at the great pipes across from him. He blinked several times while his mind adjusted to familiar surroundings. Sheets of his musical composition still littered the stone floor. His empty goblet sat on the table where he had righted it. A short distance away lay the Punjab lasso, a lifeless pile of hemp.

"A dream ... it was nothing more..."

Yet how many men slept while standing? He had never acquired the peculiar habit of walking in his sleep and doubted he'd begun to do so now. "If it was no dream..." he murmured, "the events of the past I witnessed must be genuine. My mother's rejection was not complete. In her own manner, she cared for me and for whatever reason, others have shown me compassion. There were actually those who showed me kindness and did not treat me as a monster ..."

Flabbergasted by his discoveries, he felt an odd sense of liberation, as though a segment of his soul had been stretched taut his entire lifetime and ultimately had begun to relax.

It lasted but a moment.

He snorted at his mind's foolish meandering and picked up the scattered music. "A matter of one hour elapses, and I've become maudlin. The Opera Ghost developing a soft spot for mankind? Unthinkable." He gave a derisive laugh. "What foolishness! I glimpse moments from a past with souls long departed, and assume those from this present life will look upon me with similar compassion. Compassion! Ha! Insipid fairy tales, delivered care of a ghost – nothing more! Even Christine, my life and breath these nine years, could not bear the sight of me once she encountered the truth of my affliction ..."

He closed his eyes, pushing back the anguish of that day.

"I have stood in the shadows and witnessed how those who live and perform in this theater regard me. To them I am nothing but a fool, an imbecile too ignorant to reason or discern what goes on within these walls. They truly think they can pull the wool over my eyes."

Viciously he threw down the papers he had just collected. He badly needed the release of his music.

The moment his callused fingertips touched the smooth keys, something melted the pervasive chill inside his body and he let his eyes fall shut, giving vent to the powerful music that raged within his soul. The chords intensified, growing rapid and gaining in volume, until he felt as if the very walls might tremble from the booming reverberations.

Snippets of the boyhood to which he'd been a reluctant witness merged with the recent past, until images of his mother, Christine, Nelly, and Arabella whirled in a mental kaleidoscope of color, as swift as the concerto he played. He clenched his teeth together and pounded out the chords while tears he felt helpless to control trickled down his cheeks. With one, final, strident chord, he slammed his fingers on the keys, suddenly feeling hollow as his fevered symphony trickled away into nothing.