Inspector O’Hare stepped cautiously into the Phantom’s lair. He took a deep breath of the moldy, musty air of the all-too-creepy cavern he stood in. There was a slight orange glow, provided by a lone candle flickering on its rusty iron candlestick. It illuminated a table, which carried a lavish crimson placemat and skull, tilted on its side. Opposite the table, shrouded in mist from the murky, indigo lake beside it, was the Phantom’s old throne. It was a little worse for the wear, with stuffing cascading out of the maroon cushions and the now-tarnished gold armrests dominated by cobwebs. Across from the throne, an organ sat draped in a thick layer of dust.

He looked toward a set of black curtains directly in front of him. The cool mist swirled around the doorway, and a chill went through the inspector. The last place he had wanted to be was down here in this dark, ominous cave. Why couldn’t he have been asked to look at the bank robbery on 4th street, or the 3-car pileup on Parliament? Even the spontaneous murder of five people would be a more desirable job than this. The inspector brushed aside the curtains, revealing an already half-open iron door leading into a new room. The door wasn’t yet open enough for him to get through, so he shoved it aside, and despite its squeaky, earsplitting protests, it opened.

The room was lit by two candlesticks, both rusted as well, with scarlet candles burning in the smaller expanse of cave. There was a desk with a leather bound book titled, “The Imbecile’s Guide to Torturing Intruders” and another titled, “Murder for Dimwits”. Another skull decorated the desk.

He walked outside of the room. In front of him, an old rope tied into a noose hung from a stalactite. It had moss draped around the circle, where some poor unfortunate soul’s head would be. He turned toward the exit, and with one last look into the room, noticed that the noose was gone. He heard a whoosh from behind him. He turned, nothing there. He took a few steps forward, and a whoosh sounded again. There was a flash of white just to his left. He turned, still nothing. His heart pounded in his chest. The inspector knew he was in danger. He had to leave. Now. He could see the exit just in front of him, a light shining on the damp, dark, gray walls of the cave. He turned to run, and was caught with a rope that had writhed its way around his neck. He struggled, gasping for breath, and a psychotic, menacing laugh sounded from behind him as his vision faded to nothingness.

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