MADELEINE & ERIK
by J.D. Crawford

Madeleine’s Story
Madeleine.
Dear Reader,
My name is Madeleine. Madeleine Chanté, and I have a story that I need to tell. I sit here, writing this story in my son’s underground home, an old woman with so much sadness, regret, anger, and immense self-loathing that I am shaking. I don’t know how he got me down here ,but I think he has brought me down here to see how he has been living – all alone, far away from the human race. Why does my son live underground? Because of how he is. He has lived on his own down here, for at least two decades – maybe even longer. As you read on, you will understand why. This story that I need to tell is about my poor, dear son, Erik. Only now do I realize how coldly callous I was towards him as he was growing up. My guilt has been overwhelming me for so long now that I need to write my story down in the vain hope of some final closure.

My story begins on the thirteenth day of February 1963, Erik’s birthday. I had gone into labor at around 8am or so, my body beginning to push Erik out into the world. Over the next several hours, my contractions became more intense. As he was being delivered, the surgeons and I were not immediately aware of his deformities because his birth was a breech birth. Erik was born at 2:30pm – but there was no “Congratulations Madeleine, you have a beautiful baby boy” from the surgeons.

When I finally saw Erik, he was far from beautiful, and I hated him instantly at that moment because of that. The whole right side of Erik’s head was missing the top part of the skull, making it look like a giant crater on his head, and the whole right side of his face was gnarled and twisted all out of shape, he was blind in his right eye, and his lips were horrifically scarred and twisted.

Looking back at that sight now, that was nothing; nothing like the hell that my poor Erik has had to live through all his life. And I did nothing to help. Nothing. I only ever made one thing for him. One. A mask.

I was a young, attractive girl, in love with myself and life, but when Erik came along, I turned into a monster; I became such a bitch towards everybody – but worse than that, I was the biggest bitch towards Erik. I just cannot believe how much I hurt my Erik. I am such a fool. My tears are flowing freely now as I write this as I forever ask God – and Erik – to please forgive me.

Nobody knows why he was born this way. He even ran away from me at one time when he was still a very young child. Erik has never forgiven me for how I treated him, and I don’t blame him. From an extremely young age, Erik hated me with such a passion. His hatred towards me over the years became more intense – and then, when he was nine years old, he ran away. I honestly think that, if he had stayed that night and not run away, he would have killed me. Even though he was very young, he had such an immense strength. It was frightening. He could have killed me quickly and easily. Although, personally, I think that he would have killed me slowly, taking great pleasure in watching me die. And I would not blame him.

I cannot continue writing any more now. I am weeping countless remorseful tears, and I can no longer see to write this, so I will stop now. I am going to ask Erik again if he will please forgive me.
Madeleine

* * *

Erik’s Story
Erik.
Dear Reader,
I am Madeleine Chanté's son, Erik. And I use the term ‘son’ very reluctantly.

Gazing at Madeleine, Erik’s eyes narrow and his left hand clasps the lasso under his cloak. “I will NEVER forgive you Madeleine, my ‘mother’, to which I use this term very reluctantly.”

Gazing into Erik’s eyes, Madeleine moves towards him, arms outstretched and tears flowing.

“YOU HYPOCRITE!!!!”, Erik screams at her. “Now you WANT to LOVE me????!!!! When you NEVER could or would? Too little, too late, Madeleine. GET AWAY FROM ME.” With lightning speed, Erik’s left hand shoots out from under his cloak. Twirling his lasso through the air, the noose coils around Madeleine’s head, wrapping itself around her throat. Erik pulls on the noose, tightening it - but not enough to strangle Madeleine, although it is certainly enough to frighten her.

Gazing at Erik with wide-eyed terror, Madeleine stands as still as possible, visibly shaking.

“Soooo, Madeleine. You are sorry are you?”

Madeleine nods her head, her eyes filled with fear for her life.

“HA”, Erik screams into her face. “You could never look at me with love. NEVER. You could never LOVE me. NOT with THIS.” Moving his masked face even closer to Madeleine’s terrified face, he rips off his mask with one swift movement.

Gazing into Erik’s ‘up close and personal’ deformed face, Madeleine lowers her eyes for a moment – but then she gazes right back into his face. As Madeleine slowly reaches up her left hand towards Erik’s twisted right cheek to softly caress it, Erik’s right hand clenches tightly around her wrist.

“DO NOT TOUCH ME MADAM”, he screams. Erik quickly replaces his mask.

Finally, he takes his ultimate revenge upon his mother Madeleine. Still holding onto his lasso, Erik and Madeleine gaze one final time into each other’s eyes and then, suddenly, Erik jerks the lasso up, breaking Madeleine’s neck. Holding the lasso up, he stares at his mother’s hanging limp body. Finally, he drops the lasso, his mother’s rapidly cooling body thudding onto the ground. Removing the lasso from Madeleine’s crumpled body, Erik places it back under his cloak. Attaching some weights to his mother’s body, Erik smirks at her. Once her body is fully weighted, Erik places her body into the gondola. Unfastening the rope attaching the gondola to the dock, he steps into it and, bending down, picks up the oar and begins to pole the gondola to the middle of the black lake. Once in the middle of the lake, Erik throws Madeleine’s corpse overboard. Laughing maniacally, he rows back to the dock without a backward glance.

Footnote from Erik:
I am finally very happy now. I have found a lady, Jaime, who, like me, was born with a horrifically disfigured face. We met when I had gone up to the surface one evening, mainly to get some fresh air into my poor lungs. I only venture up to the surface at night when humankind is asleep in order to avoid getting stares, whispers, and pointing fingers.
And, regarding things like food, clean clothes, and toiletries, because of my rare, unique gift for musical compositions, I have become quite the wealthy gentleman, so I can afford a very good living and, with my fortune, I employ several servants to see to all that for me, so Jaime and I can spend a lot of time together. (I will not have my dear wife Jaime doing household chores like a wife.) She is so very much more to me than “my wife”.

So now, back to how I met my Jaime, the love of my life. I was walking along on that moonlit evening, keeping to the shadows. After ten minutes of walking, I heard a woman weeping. Finally, I found the source of the weeping and stopped. Of course, I didn’t realize why she was weeping. I thought that, perhaps, she had been betrayed by a lover or some such scenario. But I soon realized that she was very much like me. I watched her silently, concealed in the darkness. She was hunched over as she wept. Finally, she gazed upwards and brought down the hood of her cloak. Then I saw her – in all her - beauty. She was not wearing a mask so I could see her face very clearly in the moonlight.

“Why, Lord? Why? Why do you curse me? All I have ever wanted is just one friend. One friend who would love me. My own parents deserted me. And so have you. Why, Lord, why? Why have you deserted me too?”

I thought that I would never feel compassion for another human being. But on that evening, I did. Deep down, she touched me. I called out ever so softly to her from the shadows, “Mademoiselle?”

She reacted with an instinct that I knew all too well. She quickly covered her face with her hood, turning away. “Go away”, she sobbed.

“Mademoiselle”, I said again. “Please do not be afraid”. My voice soothed her and, as she turned around to face me, keeping her whole face completely hidden from me, I stepped out from the shadows and moved towards her, removing my hat as I did so. In the moonlight, my white mask shone with a bright iridescence. I continued on, speaking comfortingly to her. “I sympathize with your plight, Mademoiselle. I too have been cursed, and because of it, shunned and abused all my life.”
Behind her hood, she gazed intently at my white mask. I let her stare at my masked face for as long as she desired. “Yes, Mademoiselle”, I said softly. “I too am unfortunate.” Ever so slowly, I began to remove my mask, although, as I removed it, I covered my disfigurement with my right hand. The young woman watched intently, wiping her tears away.
Very slowly, I began to move my hand away from my face. As the scars on my forehead began to appear, the woman moved slowly forward.

“You are like me, Monsieur?”

Without a word, I nodded, moving my hand further away. Finally, my face was fully exposed to allow the woman a full view. Under the moonlight, my face looked really bizarre.
For the first time ever, there was no screaming, fainting or running away. I smiled at her. “I will gladly be your friend Mademoiselle, if you would like.” I could sense that she was beginning to trust me. Replacing my mask and hat, we sat down on a park bench together and began to talk until the dawn.
******************************************************
And Jaime and I have been together ever since, and we are both very happy. I am even a father now; something that I thought would always be denied me. Thankfully, God spared our son, Michael, the Chanté curse that befell my father and I. Michael has normal vision in both eyes and no deformities, although Jaime’s and my deformities are not a family curse – it was just something that happened. It is possible though, that Jaime’s deformity was caused by rubella, which her mother had somehow contracted during the critical months of her pregnancy and, regrettably, severely affecting Jaime’s development. Unfortunately, our daughter Erika was not so lucky; she, like myself, was born with facial disfigurement; and her deformity is worse than mine. Although her head has no deformity as mine does, she has disfigured lips, and part of her skull is exposed.

We have a motto, Jaime and I: Inward beauty is much better to have than outward beauty. Or: I would rather be beautiful on the inside than on the outside. (Although, in our case, a little outward beauty would have been nice.)

READER COMMENTS

Never dissemble to a man testing the strength of a Punjab lasso.
Etienne

I think this story is truly interesting and I want to read more, no matter what the results are. I feel neither for nor against matricide, but am truly entertained by this story.
Jo-ann McMahon

Hello Jo-ann.
Thank you so very much for your complimentary note about my "MADELEINE & ERIK" story. I am so happy that you thought it "truly interesting", and that you was "truly entertained by this story", and that you "want to read more". That means a lot to me. I actually wasn't considering writing more to this story. However, if you want to read more from me, there are some other stories on the site. Part Two of "Erik; My Story" should be posted soon. Part Two is called "Erik The Phantom Of The Opera Finds Love And Acceptance At Last". Thank you again, dear Jo-ann. Take Care.
The Phantom's Phriend Forever,
Jaime.