Erik has led you to a comfortably furnished room in his house. There is a fireplace, a few armchairs, rich carpets and many candelabrum here.
Erik has arranged himself in one of the armchairs; his parted cloak puddles around him and spills to the floor. His pristeen tuxedo is neatly creased, but seems somehow unsevere amidst all the wealthy things in this room. His voice seems to float on the air as he tells you,
"You are in my secret house beneath the Rue of Paris. I had hoped you would come, that our passions may fuse and merge - and now you are here with me . . . " He leans forward in his chair, closer to you. "Do not be afraid; I know you are a friend." He rises, and sweeps a deep bow. "Roam freely about my home, to discover and examine all it has to offer." With that, he turns away, leaving you to your own devices.
There are several doors leading to different rooms of Erik's house. Where will you go from here?
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Let me know you've been here . . . please sign the Guestbook.
View the Guestbook or view guestbook entries prior to Jan. 1, 2001.
One of Erik's peculiar inventions notes that you are visitor number since January 20, 1998.
