Author's Notes: This chapter is going to be different than the others. This chapter is going to be much longer than the others, so it might even seem like it's own story at times. Even though I've made these chapters so far short, sweet, and to the point...I wanted to do something special for the last chapter. By the way, there is another Phantom of the Opera reference. And this chapter is going to give you clues to the fic that Im planning on having up soon. Though this chap might not be exploring the effects of that certain Christmas, there are definite references to it. I hope no one gets pissed off at me for doing this, but since this is the last chapter, I wanted to do something special. Thanks for the reviews, by the way. Now sit back, read the words, imagine the scenes, and enjoy the show. Keep in mind that this isn't Jack, but...an impression of him. Like his ghost.

"You're crazy."

"Come on, Shirley! You're the best damn journalist in town!"

"I said no."

"Come on, you have to!"

Once again, Shirley Meadows and Harry Bough were at it again. On and off for the past three days or so, Harry had been arguing with Shirley, top reporter for The Gazette Daily. As of now, they were both in Shirley's place. Harry looking desperate, as usual, and Shirley keeping her cool..sipping on a Sprite. She lived a surprisingly simple life style, considering her social status.

"Please Shirl, Im begging you!" Harry pleaded. He was a stout little man, with a rat like face and a little snow on the roof.

Shirley watched him, almost feeling pity for him. Though she remained silent.

Harry paused, and regained himself. He did this often. Resorting to pleading, then quickly gathering his composure as if it had never happened. He watched Shirley for a moment, thinking of what to say. She was the type that once her mind was made...it was almost settled for good. Keeping this in mind, he took a deep breath and spoke again.

"You've covered stranger things before. The Christmas Fiasco, for one."

Shirley raised her eyebrows, listening. Ah yes, the Christmas Fiasco. She was possibly the only person that got the story straight, using the facts and not some nonsense. Evil Santa Strikes! Was just one of the many headlines that lead people to believe that the skeleton had either been from outer space, or a demon from Hell itself.

Harry went on.

"Look at the pictures Shirley, at least. Mrs. Rollins specially requested you," Harry said, taking a deep breath again, sighing as he gathered his hat and coat.

With a click of the door, and a final glance, he was gone.

Shirley was quiet for a second, setting down the can and glancing at the envelope that sat on the coffee table.

I hate you. You owe me BIG TIME, Harry!

She wrinkled her nose, turning from it. This story was strange all right. A haunted theater, people claiming to see a tall figure with a white face. Some even going as far as to call it the "Phantom of the Opera." Of course, the theater had quite a history with this "Phantom" if Shirley remembered correctly.

I can imagine the headline for this. He's Here! The Phantom of the Opera!

She giggled to herself at that.

She had been requested because of the story she did about the Christmas Fiasco. Getting all the facts straight makes Shirley a popular girl, and the Gazette Daily a dependable piece of paper. Though this Rollins woman...She wanted her story out. Shirley figured that it was to lead more people to the theater, and probably thought that perhaps the theater hadn't had the audience that it used to, if you can dig that. The stories...probably fake.

Years of journalism had taught Shirley that there was a lot of frauds out there, and you had to be careful who you could trust. Get a fact wrong, and people bash you and your story. Sometimes even the paper itself.

Pictures? Look at 'em Shirley Girl. Could it hurt? No! Stop being such a brat and look!

Shirley snorted, walking briskly over to the coffee table, taking the envelope and ripping open the top. Inside were four pictures.

She pulled them out.

One showed the outside of the theater, which was a strangely beautiful building. Shirley wrinkled her brow, studying the picture.

Where is-Oh, there.

The outside of the theater held a rather large garden, the shrubs looking in dire need of a good clipping. Off to the left, there was a tall figure hidden in the shrubs. He (or she...or even it) was thin; too thin to be a normal person. He was gazing up at the theater, his lanky arms at his sides.

Shirley frowned, looking at the neat handwriting on the back of the picture.

"Outside the theater, taken during a showing of Chicago."

The next picture showed the inside of the theater itself, the seats and balconies that the audience sat in. The inside of the theater was breathtaking, Shirley was stunned by how beautiful it was.

I've gotta do research on this place! Royalty might've even came here...

Looking in the seats, her eyes traveled up to one of the balconies...At first, she saw nothing. But finally her eyes pin pointed the face. The white face that appeared in the darkness. The body couldn't be seen all that well..but the face..oh Lord, the face.

Her eyes lingered over that face, and felt a chill race down her spine. The cold hand of fear gripping her spine.

Wait..wait...Shirley, it's only a picture! Take it chilly...cool your jets...Cool as a moose..And just about every other phrase for "Calm down!" that came from your nephew.

Shirley took a deep breath, not even bothering to look and see if there was any caption for this photo, but flipped to the next.

The next showed an actual performance. The stage was large, the actors and actresses stood about it, performing what Shirley thought was Hamlet. Nothing jumped out at her just yet.

Finally, there was the shadow.

The shadow that stood over to the left of the stage, the same form that had been outside the theater during Chicago.

She couldn't see the face though, and a part of her was relieved.

Flipping to the next picture, her heart skipped a beat.

The picture was of the rafters and catwalks that cris-crossed above the stage. The form...the "Phantom" was seen almost perfectly. Walking across the one of the catwalks, though he was looking straight into the camera...

He has no eyes! No eyes! Eyes...eyes...no eyes!

Shirley shuddered, quickly stashing the pictures into the envelope.

She decided quickly to take the story. For years to come, she would wonder why those pictures had such an impact on her.

"I'll take it," She told Harry over the phone the next morning.

And there goes the neighborhood.

Stepping out of her car, into the cold winter morning air, Shirley stared up at the Theater. She shuddered, not being able to help herself. She wrapped her coat around her tighter, snapping the car door shut and starting up the path, through the tall gates, and up to the doors of the theater itself.

The Phantom lives there.

Shirley was able to contain another chill as she came to the tall doors. Was everything here larger than normal? Probably so. Before she grabbed the handle of the theater entrance, she glanced around the garden. Someone took the liberty of cleaning it up a little, she noticed.

Nope, no Phantom here.

Before she could touch the cool metal of the handle, the door creaked open eerily. Shirley stood in place, gazing inside the theater. The lobby itself was something to behold. Red velvet, marble, the whole shebang. Taking a wary step inside, Shirley listened and watched...almost straining herself.

"Mrs. Rollins?" She called,"it's me, Shirley Meadows. From The Gazette Daily?"

Nothing.

Oh, shit.

"Please, is anyone there?" She called again, getting silence in return. Silence suddenly so loud that it could make your ears ring.

Taking a few more steps inside, she let out a thin cry as the large door slammed shut behind her.

Wind. Or an automatic door..it had to be!

She was almost begging that it was so.

Though something told her that it wasn't true...

Within the lobby was a tall and grand staircase, marble statues of lions at the base. Their eyes were cold, unforgiving as they stared at her. Shirley stared at them back for a moment, the sudden image of those lions coming alive and attacking her coming to her mind.

You're being stupid!

Of course she was. Straightening her back, holding her chin up, she gathered herself. Suddenly looking the part of an ace reporter.

"Hello?" She called again, a little louder this time. The terrified part of her was telling her that speaking so loud would wake the lions, but she didn't listen.

Taking a few more steps inside, the clicking her heels against the marble floor suddenly very loud indeed. Her eyes scanned the lobby for a few seconds, marking the doors' locations. Just in case.

She waited a moment for an answer, then sighed softly through her nose. Did Rollins even know of their meeting? No, maybe not. Shirley frowned, wrinkling her brow as she sometimes did. There was nothing but silence. The woman stood, waiting and hoping that Rollins would appear.

"Im sorry, Dear," The woman would say, coming down the staircase. She would be an elderly woman, though she looked far younger than what she really was,"I apologize, I was just working in my office and didn't hear you."

Okay, time to bail. Screw this, you can try to contact the old broad later. Come on honey, no one's here.

The Phantom is.

Shirley shivered, deciding then that it would be better to just call, and set up a meeting else where. Anywhere but here. Turning on her heel to the door, she suddenly heard something behind her.

And felt the weight of a stare upon her.

Turning her head slowly, she looked around for a moment, expecting to see the old woman, but saw nothing.

The staircase! The top of the staircase!

Shirley froze, hand halfway to the handle. Eyes going wide, heart skipping beats.

There was a figure hidden in the shadows on the upper floor, just at the top of the staircase. Though thin, she figured it to be a man. Or male, at least. She couldn't see his face very clearly.

The form of the man could easily be compared to that of the "Phantom's."

Ah, maybe this guy wants to confess!

Shirley grinned, or at least tried to. Turning back around and looking up at the figure, she felt relief flooding into her.

"Hello, Im Shirley Meadows from-"

"I know."

She stopped with her introduction, and stood with her mouth slightly gaped.

Close you mouth, you look like a fish.

Shutting her mouth, Shirley nodded.

"I came here to do a story on the Phantom, and I was wondering where Mrs. Rollins-Hey, wait!" She started, then interrupted herself.

The figure had turned and was starting to walk out of view, into a hall to the left.

Okay, I got someone. Finally. Don't let him get away, Shirley Girl!

Shirley walked quickly to the staircase, hurrying up the steps and pausing when she got to the top. The man was no where in sight. She looked down the hall to the left, noting how strangely small it was. Well, small for this place. She thought it was possible that the dressing rooms where down that hall. Turning down the hall, she kept a look out for the man.

"Hello? Sir?" She called, getting no answer.

The Phantom! The Phantom of the Opera!

Stop being such a dimwit!

Shirley paused, an open door on one side of the hall. The door was cracked, light spilling out into the hall. So, that's where he went. Well...no use hiding. If he wants to confess, that's fine. She could keep his name confidential, after all. Walking up to the door, knocking on the surface, she waited.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

"Hello?" She said, taking the handle and opening the door.

It was indeed a dressing room. A vanity, several dressers, and a large mirror stood. Simple. But there was no sign of the man. Yet, at least.

Screw this! Im out of here!

NO! Get the story and THEN YOU CAN GO!

Shirley sighed, cursing Harry, and took one last glance around the room. Eyes settling on the large mirror, she studied her own reflection. How ghostly her pale face looked in the light of the oil lamp.

Oil lamps...damn, this place is old.

Shirley humored herself by making a few poses in the mirror.

Im a famous actress getting ready for a show tonight. I play a journalist that's just a tad bit freaked out.

She grinned, shaking her head. Then something came to her mind that struck her as both somewhat ironic, and strangely funny.

Im Christine, and my Angel of Music is going to appear in the mirror and take me away to his underground lair. Wouldn't that be a top selling story? Top Journalist Gets Kidnaped! Alleged Phantom Accused! Wouldn't that be ironic?

Yep, it sure would.

Walking up to the mirror, she touched the surface, feeling the cool glass under her fingertips.

"Well, Phantom, I do believe that Im a little scared. Im leaving. Nice to meet you," She said with a slightly sarcastic tone, turning to the door.

The door suddenly slammed shut with a loud bang.

Shirley let out a cry, running to the door, wiggling the knob. Nothing. It wouldn't open.

"Oh, God, please," She whimpered, the sudden feeling that she was being watched came over her. A cold wave that made her neck prickle.

She didn't want to.

But she did.

Looking over her shoulder at the mirror, she found that her voice was no where to be found when she tried to scream.

There he was, the one they called "The Phantom". So tall and thin, his hands white as bone...coattails fluttering in some unfelt wind. In the mirror...watching her.

He face...Those eyeless sockets settled on her. That bone white face.

With a sudden surge of horror, she realized that he was a skeleton.

Letting out a small whimper, she backed herself against the door.

If I get out of here alive, Im going to kill Harry. He owes me BIG TIME for this shit!

The Bone-Man watched her, looking as though he was mildly amused.

"The pleasure is mine," He said, nodding.

His image faded from the mirror, and was replaced by Shirley's own terrified form.

The doorknob gave way, and her voice came back in all its glory.

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE THEATER

A first hand account of the mysterious Phantom!

This certain edition of The Gazette Daily sold more than any other copy.

EDIT: I've decided to rewrite this story. The chapters will all be the same little stories, but more well-written. Thanks to those who reviewed this story. Im working on a couple other things at the moment, so it'll take some time. But I promise to have it up asap. )