ERIK; MY STORY

PART ONE
By J.D. Crawford

CHAPTER ONE

Dear Reader,
My name is Erik; Erik Chanté.
The following story that you are about to read is true.
The following story is a story of love and of tragedy...and of hate.
The following story is the story of my life.

It all began when my mother, Madeleine Chanté, who was very outgoing and confident, first discovered that she was pregnant on the morning of June the first, 1962. She was absolutely ecstatic and eagerly awaited her husband, Charles Chanté’s arrival home from work that afternoon to tell him the wonderful news. He too was absolutely ecstatic when he heard about her pregnancy, and he picked her up and twirled her around in his arms for joy.

That evening, Madeleine and Charles went out for a celebration dinner together.
The months went by, then, one windy day in mid November of 1962, Charles was killed. He was walking under a scaffold during his lunch-break at the construction site where he worked, and a gust of wind blew down a steel rod which fell on him just as he passed. He was killed instantly. My mother never recovered; she loved him so much. Charles was her love, her life, her everything; he was her soul-mate. Since the incident, her whole personality changed; she became very withdrawn into herself; she became rude and aggressive to family and friends...and even strangers. And at even the slightest things.

So unlike her.

Finally, the time came for me to come into the world, and on the 13th day of February, 1963, at 8:00am, my mother went into labor and, many hours later (at 2:30 pm), I was born. My mother was progressing very well with her labor, despite being in immense pain. The doctor and his two nurses helped her through every contraction and gave her medication to cope with the pain. My birth was a breech birth you see, so everything about my appearance was normal ~ until my head and face emerged.

"Come on Madeleine. Your son is almost born."

Finally, I was out; out in the awful, hard, harsh uncaring world (as I very quickly discovered).
Suddenly, an awful silence filled the room. The nurses and the doctor had appeared to become statues. They all just stood there and stared at me. One would have thought that they had never seen a newly born baby before. Well, actually, I guess they hadn't; none quite like me, that is. I guess I must've been one in a million…no…one in a billion. The three faces, bright and rosy only minutes earlier, were now completely drained of color as they all stared at my head and face.

The nurses screamed and ran from the room with their hands over their mouths.
This left only the doctor, Doctor Sebastian, to help my mother. Tearing his gaze away from me, he tied the umbilical cord, then he stared back at me again. He could not stop staring at me.

My mother knew that there was something obviously very horribly wrong.
"What is it, Doctor Sebastian? Is he dead? Oh please, no. Please don't let him be dead. I want to see him. Please help me up, Doctor."

"Mrs. Chant´e, you don't want to see him; believe me. You don't want to see him."

My mother looked at him. "Of course I do. Please, help me up. I want to see my son."

"Well, all right, but I warn you Madeleine; he's not a pretty sight." The Doctor gently sat my mother up in her bed to look at me.

When she gazed upon me, her face contorted as she stared for (what seemed like) an eternity, then she turned her head away and was sick on the floor. Doctor Sebastian called for a nurse to come in and clean up the mess. I lay silent, cold and shivering on the bloodstained bed sheet that covered the bed. I had not yet cried.

A nurse entered the room and cleaned up the mess. As she cleaned up the mess, she looked over towards me with a smile, expecting to see a beautiful newly born infant cradled in its happy mother's arms, but what she saw instead was me. "Aaaahhhh!!!!" She quickly ran from the room with a hand over her mouth, placing the mess in a sterile bin close by and not looking back.

Then, I cried.

CHAPTER TWO

Doctor Sebastian and my mother seemed to become hypnotized when they heard me cry. Keeping his gaze fixed upon me, he felt for the scissors on the table. Shifting his gaze from me back to the cord, he cut it. He roughly picked me up and looked at me with immense repulsion. I'm sure that he was hoping that he would drop me.

I stopped crying and gazed into his eyes and face. He seemed to sway as my eyes focused onto his; then he almost threw me, naked, wet and bloody, into the waiting bassinet beside my mother's bed. Staring down at me, the Doctor brought out a handkerchief and placed it over my face. Apparently, I was not even given the privilege of being worthy enough to be cleaned and dried; and I was even denied a blanket, a towel, or something at least, around my tiny body. I was not worthy enough to be seen and treated as a fellow human being in other human beings' eyes; all because I was born with severe deformities. I was just a naked beast that did not deserve to live.

DIE, YOU UGLY, INHUMAN MONSTER. DIE.

(Wasn't I already cursed enough with severe disfigurement? Apparently not. I was cursed with a mother who absolutely hated me and wished me dead; I would never know my father; and, to top it all off, I was born on the 13th!!!!)

The following morning, Doctor Sebastian came into my mother's room. "Madeleine, it is time for you to hold your son and get to know him."

"NO!!!!" my mother screamed. “HOW can you even suggest I do such a thing Doctor?!!!! You've seen it."

IT.

"I DON'T want it. It's HIDEOUS."

"MADELEINE, he is your son. I KNOW he IS ugly, but he is your son."

"It's a MONSTER, Doctor, a FREAK. It's evil. I want NOTHING to do with it, do you hear? NOTHING. Please. DON'T make me take it. Please. Get it away from me." My mother refused to touch me, to clean me, to feed me.

The nurses had to attend to me, although every time I was washed, dried, fed and clothed, I always found something placed over my horrific features. Ten days after my birth, my mother's body had fully recovered, so it was time for her to go home; and to take 'the monster' with her.

A nurse held me out towards her, but she refused to take me.

"MADELEINE, you will take your son...now," Doctor Sebastian said. "You will take care of him, and you will love him. He is your own flesh and blood Madeleine; and he is Charles' son also."

At that, my mother dropped to the ground and wept. She was going to name me Charles after my dead father, but that was impossible now. Yes, I was of her own flesh and blood, conceived through the love that she and my father Charles had had for each other.

"What is your son's name, Madeleine?" Doctor Sebastian asked her. "I must know for his birth certificate."
"That thing!!!!????" my mother screamed, pointing at me. "That thing does not have a name. How can it? Look at it, if you can. It's NOT human," she screamed.

"Madeleine, he must have a name."

"All right. Call it MONSTER."

"Madeleine, please!!!!"

"Name it after yourself then," she snapped at him.

The Doctor was shocked. "Very well then."
In the 'Baby's First Name' column on the certificate, he wrote his name: Erik.

BABY'S FIRST NAME.
Erik.
BABY'S SURNAME.
Chanté.

So, there it was; in black and white; on the twenty-third day of February 1963, I had a name: Erik. Erik Chanté. Then began the first nine years of my life with my hateful, loathing mother.

Dear Reader, you are probably assuming that I cannot remember a lot (if anything) about my very tender years growing up. Unfortunately, I CAN remember; and all too well, I might add. You see, as well as being cursed with extremely horrific deformities, I was also cursed with a photographic memory, so I can remember those very early years of my life very clearly, even though I have always pushed those memories away because I certainly do NOT wish to remember them at all; those harsh, cruel years; but, no matter how much I push those memories from my mind, they always return to haunt me.

The first thing that my mother did when she returned home with me from the hospital on that first day was that she placed the bassinet with me inside it into a dark bedroom and closed the door. It was certainly apparent that all she wanted to do was forget about me, a tiny, helpless baby, only a week and a half old, who depended on her for everything. After leaving me, she went to do some knitting ~ not that I was aware of that at the time ~ and the next time I saw her, she was holding something. Looking down at me, she sat me up and placed whatever it was she was holding over my head and face; a mask.

The first thing that she did after placing me into that dark room was make a mask for me, so as to be spared the sight of me. This mask was the very first item of clothing that I had ever worn. It was the first, and only, thing that my mother had ever made for me.

Hardly surprising that I grew up to loathe the human race. Because of my disfigurement, the whole neighborhood kept away from my mother and I. All too often, somebody would scream obscenities at us and something would be thrown through a window. There would be graffiti scribbled all over the house; on the mailbox, and on the broken ~ and some still intact ~ windows. This happened so many times.

My mother had stopped spending money on getting new windows; it was pointless; they'd soon get broken again. And it was futile to call the police; they were just as bad as the rest of the neighborhood. Vehicles would be driven past our residence at all hours.

"Leave, bitch, leave. Leave this town and take your evil Devil spawn away with you. We don't want you here. Go away, far away. Leave us alone. Go back to the depths of hell with your little Devil son, Satan."

All of the children and their parents seemed to think that they would all 'catch' my disfigurement, and they stayed far away from us. When my mother went out, whichever side of the path she walked on, the people of the town on her side would quickly cross to the other side. After another 3 months of this, my mother had had more than enough, so we moved far away; very far away; to Paris.

CHAPTER THREE
*****Paris, a few years later*****

I was not like any of the other children, and not just because I was different in appearance to them. The other boys would play in sandpits and mud, and play with toy cars, make noise, and get dirty. I never did any of those things; firstly, because my mother would never have allowed me to get my clothes dirty, and secondly, because I was very much advanced for my very tender years, and I was not interested in doing childish things. When my mother went out (a lot), Marie (I would've died for her) looked after me. My mother and Marie had been friends for some years. Marie lived with us and kept to herself.

When my mother was out ~ to get away from me more than anything else ~ I read books and studied music and literature, architecture, stone masonry; anything that I could reach.
I had devised ways of reaching the unreachable books to feed my hungry mind and I would have poor Marie in a fit when she saw me on top of the bookcase. I'm sure that I was responsible for the poor woman's heart palpitations.

There was a piano at our residence in Paris, and I began to teach myself how to read and play music ~ all at 5 years of age ~ I played Mozart, Brahms and Beethoven, to name a few, plus the many other great works of the great composers of the earlier centuries. Marie was always amazed by my apparent genius and would sit, mesmerized in her chair, watching and listening to me for hours.

One day, while my mother was out, I began to sing as I played. Hearing "the voice of an Angel" Marie appeared at the door, watching me, her hands clasping her heart. As I was so engrossed in the music, that I was unaware of her presence as she walked to her chair. When I finished the piece, I was startled to hear a pair of hands clapping. Standing, I turned to face Marie. As she continued to clap, I gave her a polite bow and smiled.

"Erik," she said in a whisper. Your voice; you truly have the voice of an Angel."

I thanked her. "An Angel's voice, Marie," I said softly, "but a Devil's face." Then, I began to weep.

"Dear Erik, please don't cry."

Removing my mask, she dried my face tenderly; the way a mother would dry her child's face.
Since my birth, Marie had been my baby-sitter, and she was wonderful to me. Marie was the only real true friend that I had ever known as I grew up ~ she accepted my deformities ~ she never made me wear the mask.

I miss Marie so much. She was how I imagined a mother should be.

*****December 1972*****

After 9 years (almost 10), I had had enough. I always knew that my mother had wished me dead from the very first moment she gazed upon me so, on December the 25th, 1972, I had finally made up my mind that I would run away. This would be my Christmas present to my mother ~ to never see me again.

That evening, my mother went out ~ she had met a man who obviously did not know about me ~ and I was at home with dear Marie.

"Good night Marie," I said to her, and I kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Goodnight, dear Erik, and Merry Christmas to you too," she smiled back at me. Marie watched me as I went up to my room.

I entered my room and closed the door behind me. I did not go to bed; instead, I sat down at my writing desk and wrote a letter.

Dear Marie. "Mum".
I am so sorry to do this to you, but I cannot stand it here any longer. I have been nothing but a burden on you as well as Madeleine since the day I was born. I will find you again...one day, my dear Marie. Please do not cry. It was inevitable that this time would come. I love you Marie.
Take Care,
Your little Erik

I wrote on an envelope 'Marie' in my nicest handwriting, then I placed the letter and some euros for her into the envelope, then I sealed it. I wanted to give her something for Christmas. If only I had had more to give her. I quietly opened my door a small way to see that Marie was reading a book. Perfect. Quietly opening my door fully, I stepped out into the hallway with the letter that I had just written. I quietly opened Marie's door and placed the letter onto her bedside table. Then, under the cover of darkness, this nine-year-old boy, Erik Chanté, slipped silently away into the darkness. I never knew how Marie reacted to my letter ~ until much later ~ but I'm sure that it affected her deeply.

CHAPTER FOUR

I did return to my mother's house, but it was years later. I had become a man. The house was just the same as it had been all those years ago, although it needed painting. I saw a woman on the front porch weeping. "Marie!" I whispered softly. She was older, yes, but I could still see that it was her. I moved effortlessly towards her. When her eyes gazed upon me, I could see that she was about to scream.

I was wearing a different mask now ~ I had disposed of the knitted child's mask some time ago, so I suppose I really frightened her. "Marie," I called to her softly. My voice told her that it was me.

"ERIK!" she called out to me. "You heard the news."

I stopped. "News? What news Marie?"

"About your mother, Erik."

"What about her?" I had venom in my voice.

"Oh Erik. She died 3 days ago. I thought that's why you had come."

Well, that was that. I had come back to my mother's house; 3 days after she had died. Marie and I went in to the house and into my mother's room, where she still lay peacefully. Marie was noticeably older but, to me, she was (still) beautiful; she always had been. I gazed down on my mother's lifeless body. For the first time, I saw a resemblance. I could have kissed her at last; she would not have recoiled from me, but instead, I just placed the back of one hand against a dried, withered cheek. Her flesh was ice-cold, but I kept my flesh pressed to hers. Finally, I turned to gaze at Marie.

"Thank you Erik for Christmas 1972. I still have the note that you wrote to me. And thank you for the money that you gave me. Thank you. Please let poor Marie give her little Erik a hug.” (‘Little Erik.’ I was now a man, and I stood close to 6 foot tall, which was very unusual for the Chanté family.) She reached out her arms to embrace me. I hesitated, backing away from her like a frightened child. Embracing was unknown to me.

She moved slowly towards me, smiling tenderly. "Erik."

I backed away from her until I could back away no more. Because somebody was always wanting to see beneath my mask through my years of growing up, I had developed an extreme sensitivity about my disfigured face, and it had become a ritual of mine to protect my face from being exposed by curious fingers. I threw up my arms to keep from having my mask ripped from my face, turning my face to the right to protect myself. "NOOOO."

Marie’s eyes moistened with sadness. "Oh, Erik."

My eyes moistened and my lips trembled. Marie embraced me, and the feeling that rushed through me was a feeling that I had NEVER felt before, and I have never forgotten it. I felt warm, glowing, and alive. I was filled with such euphoria. With the death of my mother, I left Marie and the house behind forever. I began a journey. Where I was going, I did not know. I just knew that I needed to find a life elsewhere. There were many countries in this world. I would find a place.

I journeyed to many different places over several years, stealing clothes and bread and fruit and vegetables to stay alive, and occasionally, I killed a lamb or a calf for meat. I was never caught because I could blend in to the shadows so easily. I didn't need to steal to stay alive though; with my disfigurement, I could easily have had a so-called 'easy' life, just by simply exposing my disfigurement to the prying eyes of the public, and being paid exuberantly for it, but I refused to be put on display in freak shows. I was much happier being a thief than a freak. Finally, under the cover of darkness, I made my way back to Paris, annoyed and angry at not having found a place out there to call my own.

Once back there, I found a place to sleep, and laying down, I drifted off to sleep. The following morning, I washed myself in a small lake, all the while ensuring that I was not being watched. Removing my clothes, I washed them, using the plants close by for soap, then I rinsed them and hung them over a tree. Removing my mask, I washed my face, especially ensuring that I was not being watched. If somebody were to see me now, they would honestly think that they were seeing a 'living corpse' before them. Aaaahhhh!!!! How frightening for them!!!!

Since it was a warm day, my clothes dried quickly. Putting them back on, I then resumed my mask. Opera music began to sound in my head. Yes, that was what I needed; that would help to calm me down and to get my thoughts together. Then BOOM!!!! it hit me.

"Of course!!!! The Paris Opera House." Why hadn't I thought of that before? "Erik, you must be getting old." Yes, it would suit me very nicely. Perfectly, in fact.

I made my way to the Opera House; to see it up close would chill me with excitement.
I was clad in a black robe with the cowl completely over my head to keep my masked face hidden from prying eyes. Arriving at the Opera House, it was even larger than I could believe. I had read stories about it and seen pictures of it as a boy, and chilled with excitement at the thought of one day exploring here. I could very easily remain hidden from all of society in a huge place like this, and I had always loved opera so, what better place than THE PARIS OPERA HOUSE to call home. Paris has always been known as 'the city of love', but I was not expecting to find any for me. I would never find or experience love here; or anywhere else, for that matter.

That afternoon, the opera 'Faust' was rehearsed. I began to explore my new home as 'Faust' played above me. It was absolutely incredible; I could hear everything; and the underground lake was here that I'd read about in books as a boy. I would be kept busy making my home here. Nobody would ever find me here, which was how I wanted it ~ I'd make certain of that.

Now that I had a place, I fell asleep ~ I was going to be very busy over the next months, and I had to ensure that I was up to it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Some months later, the Opera House had finally opened to the public, and I had everything exactly how I desired ~ except for the love of a woman. I had stolen things, which worried the managers of the Opera House terribly. They were sure that an 'unseen force' had suddenly appeared. How right they were. I began to have some fun with the managers ~ could I not hypnotize people with my voice? I decided to give these two a try.

Ghostlike, I began to call out to them during production rehearsals, "André - Firmin." I noticed them both visibly stiffen with a sudden fright, which made me chuckle. Even the hair on their heads stood on end. My voice did not let me down. I began to command them to pay me 20,000 euros a month, and to leave it in Box 5, which I warned them to NEVER sell to anybody, or they would have to deal with the 'unseen force'.

Why Box 5? Well, I'd always liked that number, so I thought, "Why not?"

Using the power of my voice, I commanded André and Firmin to completely obey me.
I had such fun manipulating them both, and I got so carried away, that I would begin to laugh maniacally.

"Aaaahhhh, this Opera House is haunted," they would both scream, shaking in their boots, making me laugh heartily. André and Firmin would clutch each other tightly in fear, looking all around them for me, and of course, NEVER seeing me.

After I'd had my fun with the managers, I decided to go to Box 5 to check things out. The Box was small, but comfortable. I moved to the seat in this Box and sat down. It was the most comfortable seat that I had ever sat in; the luxuriously soft cushion of the red fabric; I could quite easily have drifted off to sleep sitting on that seat. I could see the stage very well. I watched the rehearsals with a critical eye. Suddenly, the door to MY Box opened, making me swiftly move from my seat. Tense, I crouched down at the back of the Box in total darkness, hardly breathing. The shadow of a woman moved towards my seat, placing something onto it, then she turned to leave. Only when the door closed did my tension ease.
I moved silently to the seat and looked down on it. I almost burst out laughing there and then. On the seat, there was an envelope, and written on it was '20,000 euros'. I just could not believe it. I had actually received 20,000 euros from complete strangers, which I really wasn't expecting to. I was just joking around. Finally, I made my way back to my home, which took me far too long, as I had to ensure that I was not seen...or heard.

Picking up a long beam of wood that I had fashioned into an oar a few days earlier, I waterproofed it with a solution that I had stolen from a prop room. I would replace the solution before it was missed. When my work on the oar was completed, I began construction on a gondola so that travel would be easier and faster. The way things were at that time were too awkward for my liking; with the lake there, I had to go around, which took up valuable time and energy but, with a boat, I could take a shortcut over the lake, which would be much more convenient for me.

There was also one large dressing room that was not in use. This room had a very large mirror in it, which I could make into a door to allow me fast access to and from my home, although before I could begin work on installing a pivot system, I needed to know how the frame and the mirror were structured. Once I knew the intricacy of the mirror, and what lay behind it, I could begin. When complete, the mirror would open and close by my hand, and my hand alone, allowing me easy access from my home to the outside world and back again.
If anybody was to stumble upon my place now, they would drop through a trapdoor that would drop them right into a torture chamber, where death would be their only escape.

Note: To read the continuation of this story, please see:
"Erik The Phantom Of The Opera Finds Love And Acceptance At Last".

READER COMMENTS

Well written and explains alot.
Etienne