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The Mask of Deslow Mansion
A Guest Quarters story
By
Gabriel Beyers  Seth Tucker walked along a deserted Jessup Street trying his best not to look at the jack-o-lanterns that adorned the houses, or at the scarecrows that stood in random spots throughout the town.
For every other city in America time had washed the power from these totems, turning them into mere Halloween decorations; a source of entertainment for trick-or-treaters. In Belmount, Indiana time had a way of collecting instead of washing, and on these streets what the rest of the world thought of as a decoration just might save your life. To the outsider the town might seem dead and empty but that was far from the truth. The town's people were still around, hiding, waiting out the clock in fear and prayer. There were things in this town that even the bright noon sun couldn't drive away. Seth rounded the corner and stopped, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment he thought the thing lying face down on the sidewalk before him was a body. Just a scarecrow.
Instead of a raggedy figure forged of old straw-stuffed clothes, this scarecrow was a beautiful young girl born of the most intricately carved wood. She wore a soft white dress, covered in sunflowers, that was shredded as though it had been through a combine. Small traces of dried blood still remained about the tattered collar. Her head had been ripped off and was resting on its stump of a neck near her armless body. The removable scalp was gone revealing a chamber within the head.
It was an old trick, one passed down for centuries. Calf and pig's brains go in the hollow head; a bag of pig's blood around the neck. If you find yourself being chased then pop the bag, open the skull and pray that the blood and brains make an irresistible distraction.
Seth stepped over the scarecrow's torso and as he passed the staring head turned, following him with its blank gaze.
"Seth," the head said with sudden animation. "Third time's a charm." One blank eye winked. "Don't forget the Words. Just might need them this year."
Seth turned so fast that he stumbled in his own feet and fell. The head, now nothing more than dead wood, tumbled over on its side.
Seth got to his feet, taking no time to dust himself off, and went his way, checking over his shoulder every couple of steps.
Halloween was a dangerous time to be on the streets of Belmount (even during daylight hours) but he would be fine. He had been chosen. One of five called to the game. The Mansion would not allow one of the players to be harmed--not outside its walls, anyhow.
The other four players stood just outside the tall wrought-iron gate looking up the hill at Deslow Mansion.
Paul Farrell and Gary Stillions--who were two grades below Seth; neither much older than fifteen--raised feeble waves. Dave Cazee turned as Seth approached; his face screwed tight in disbelief. Seth might have addressed Dave's suspicions had it not been for the last player. Standing to Dave's right, looking both terrified and terrific, was Wendy Lewis.
Seth knew she would be one of the five--the cruelty of the Mansion demanded it--but his heart, prepared or not, broke at her sight.
"Oh, Seth," Wendy said. "You were chosen again?"
The knot in his throat was still too fresh to speak, so he just nodded.
Dave made a low, dry laugh. "What's that make now, three times? No one has ever been called twice in their whole life. You're telling me you've been called three years in a row? You sure you're not just playing hero?" He stepped closer to Wendy.
"Tom, Andrew and now Chris," Seth said trying to control the quiver in his voice. "They're all my friends. Why would I not be called every year?" Seth hoped they couldn't read his eyes. "It's you I'm worried about. You're no friend to Chris. Why are you here?"
Dave's chin rose slightly, his voice dropped a notch. "I had the dream. I saw the vision. If I'm lying then why isn't there someone else standing here with us?"
Seth couldn't argue. No one dared deny the Mansion. If the chosen didn't come, then the Mansion would open its doors, drawing to itself an evil that would consume the time between this Halloween and the next.
The five stood for a moment looking up at Deslow Mansion basking in the noon day sun like a dragon feigning sleep. The massive American castle was filled with tall windows, dark and glistening like black jewels, which tempted the eyes but devoured the courage. No mold held to the brick, no paint peeled. Thief, nor storm, nor time itself had placed a mark on the outer frame. Even the grass was short and free of weeds, though no one had tended it in fifty years. And from somewhere inside came a vibration--a drawing seduction.
It's a Venus Flytrap, Seth thought.
Seth drew the group in close. "If we keep our heads and don't do anything stupid then there is no reason that five shouldn't make it back out. Just don't forget the Two Rules of the Mirrors." Gary, Paul and Wendy nodded. Dave stood with his arms folded across his chest. "Look for the Mask. When you find him, grab him. Don't think, just grab. Say the Words fast. Do it for Chris." He pointed his finger at each of them. "Everybody's out before midnight, no matter what. With or without Chris. I mean it. No heroes."
Seth led the group to the front door. The sun was directly over head, and somewhere in the belly of Deslow Mansion a clock struck twelve bells. The door opened. "Watch out for the Tenants," he said as he stepped inside.
The foyer was large and open yet the air felt as dense and unbreathable as swamp water. Rotten furniture, covered in centuries of dust, stood in piles across the floor. The light filtering through the windows fell short and the room was cloaked in deep shadows. Deslow Mansion--beauty on the outside, death on the inside--was a coffin.
"It's so cold in here," Wendy said through chattering teeth. Dave embraced her, and though she allowed it, she seemed uncomfortable and irritated.
Seth faced the double stairways that slithered down to greet each other like the pinchers of a giant spider. A heap of clothing piled on the floor in the area between the pinchers caught his eye. He walked forward, probing with his flashlight, and immediately regretted it.
What Seth thought was a pile of clothes was actually a bloated corpse, broken and knotted; the mouth open in a silent scream; empty sockets staring at the ceiling. The body floated in a black puddle that was its own corruption.
When Seth started vomiting the others came to investigate.
"That's why you're puking?" Dave asked. "It's just a drifter or a thief--not like it's someone you know. I thought you'd been in here before. I heard this place is full of bodies."
"It is," Seth said. He spat on the floor then wiped his mouth. "That one's fresh."
"The Tenants did that, right?" Wendy asked, her eyes glazing with tears.
I doubt it, Seth thought, but he wouldn't say it aloud. The Tenants would kill if they had to. Alex Dufrain, struck lame with fear (or stupidity) had cowered in a corner and refused to run. That was Seth's first trip in--to get Tom Deckard. The Tenants tore Alex apart like a tissue doll.
The Tenants mostly wanted to distract you. To keep you running, get you turned around, so you'd get lost and find yourself in the Mansion after midnight. Then it was the Mask's turn.
At least that was what Seth believed. The legends and myths and old-wives'-tales had interbred so much over the course of the Mansion's life that no one could quite get a grip on the truth.
"Look," Gary said, pointing at the large mirror that spanned the wall between the stairway-pinchers.
Mirror Rule Number One: NEVER BELIEVE WHAT YOU SEE.
The reflection in the mirror was a vision of horror. Gary was gray-skinned; his flesh splitting from the death-swell; his eye-sockets black and empty. Paul's head was missing, leaving a jagged stump for a neck. Seth was burnt black; smoke issued from his charred head. Dave's face and body were mutilated by deep cuts that pulsated and oozed. Wendy's head was split down the middle. A river of black insects poured from her exposed trachea.
Behind the ghastly reflections--rolling in and out like bubbles in a pot of boiling water--were thousands of faces. The fierce gray faces gnashed on each other, fighting for front space like a crazed riot pushing toward a door that ever eluded them.
The Mob of the Mirror. The dead of Deslow Mansion.
Wendy's Aunt Sierra bubbled forward . . . Gary's cousin Scott . . . Dave's older brother Jeff.
"Don't look at it," Seth said just as the face of Alex Dufrain floated by.
The mirror changed. There was no longer a reflection, but a luminous image: a wooden banister and a large chandelier made of deer antlers hanging in the background.
Paul looked up at the same chandelier dangling overhead. "There must be another mirror at the top of the stairs."
Three black figures slithered past the view of the glowing mirror. Seth ran to the center of the foyer, shining his light up the stairs. At the top of the left pincher stood the three Tenants.
The Tenants stood upright like humans, but were too thin to be so. They were entirely black, as though they were fashioned from shadows. Their appendages seemed more arachnid than true arms and legs. There were no faces, no hair, nothing to indicate sex. Their heads were too big for their thin frames, and they moved with a twitching, insectile motion that caused instant repulsion.
"Run," Seth shouted. "Now!"
Seth pushed the paralyzed group down the hallway to the right. The floor was littered with broken furniture and debris (remnants of the few dark souls that had managed to call Deslow Mansion home). The shadows devoured their flashlight-beams. It was like trudging through a nightmare cave, knee-deep in mud.
Seth drove the group past several doors, around turns and twists until they emerged in a massive dining room. A long wooden table, shimmering as if freshly polished, stood in the middle of the room. There were no chairs, but the table was set with china and silver, perhaps awaiting some ghostly party. A skeleton--its clothes long since turned to dust--slept in the corner of the room.
The group paused for a moment, catching their breath, not yet realizing their number had diminished.
"Where's Dave?" Wendy said, suddenly realizing he was gone.
"I told him to stay close." Seth started back, but Gary and Paul stopped him.
"You can't go back," Paul said. "It could be a trap. We have to keep moving and hope for the best."
Seth started to argue, but Paul was right.
A set of swinging doors at the far end of the dining room led into the kitchen. There were puddles of tarnished silver scattered about. A long-dead wood stove, plucked from the wall, rested on its side. Standing in the corner like a punished child was a tiny spiral staircase.
Seth mounted the stairs, followed by Wendy, then Paul. Just as Gary took hold of the rail his flashlight swept across the endless absorbing blackness of the Tenants.
"Oh shi?"
The closest Tenant smashed Gary in the face. He fell backward, landed on his side, then rolled to his feet, somehow holding onto his flashlight. He turned and ran through the door closest to him.
Seth, Wendy and Paul didn't wait to see the fate of their friend. They tore up the stairs like four-legged beasts. An icy hand caught Paul's calf. He jerked free, but not before the monster shoved its fingers through his jeans, into the flesh. *** Gary ran without destination. He took whatever door or hallway presented itself. He moved through dozens of rooms, all connected like a giant rat-maze.
He found a room that had just what he was looking for: another staircase (though not a spiral). He stopped at the top of the stairs to listen, but was deafened by the pounding of his own heart. His face burned. He could taste blood. His nose was broken.
The solitude reached out and choked him. He had to find his friends. Alone he was dead. He checked his watch: 4:32 p.m. Could that be right? His father had warned him that time behaved differently in the Mansion, but he didn't think it would be like this. Minutes and seconds had become the sands of a broken hour-glass and every movement caused more to slip though his fingers.
In a long, windowless room his flashlight caught the glimmer of a doorknob. Gary moved through the gloom, bouncing his light back and forth. He was looking to the side when he should have been looking down. He tripped on a tear in the carpet, fell on his face, dropping his flashlight and extinguishing it.
Gary crawled in blind panic trying to locate the only hope he had to escape this room. There was so much clutter. A shoe. A table leg. A doll's head. Then something shaped like a horseshoe, except one edge was sharp and jagged. He ran his fingers along the edge and then it hit him.
Gary threw the jawbone. He expected to hear it hit the wall, or even the floor. Just silence.
I'm in trouble, he thought.
Gary turned to crawl the other way and his hand brushed the cold metal of his flashlight. He clicked the button and the light spilled onto a creature wearing a pale thespian Mask of Tragedy. *** Seth, Paul, and Wendy stumbled around somewhere in the inner part of the third floor. There were no windows and the darkness was as sticky as tar. Paul's adrenaline had kept him moving, but now that the Tenants weren't on their tails his injured leg was starting to slow him down.
"Wait," Wendy said to Seth. "Paul needs to stop."
"I'm fine," Paul said, trying to limp past Wendy, but she pushed him against the wall then knelt to examine his leg. Her hair smelled of coco-butter. He wanted to touch her face.
The bottom of his jeans was soaked with blood. Wendy ripped the material away from the wound as gently as she could. "Give me your belt." Paul wiggled his belt free. Wendy wrapped the belt around his leg, just above the wound, and as she tightened it a lightning bolt of pain ran from his knee to his neck.
Seth was busy checking the room with his flashlight. There were three doors counting the one they came through. The room was covered in broken furniture and discarded clothes.
You'd have to be one evil bastard for the Tenants to let you live in this place, Paul thought.
Their terrible reflections along with the Mob of the Mirror watched them from a tall vanity mirror in the corner. Every now and then Seth's flashlight would pick up the glow of bleached-white bones mixed in with the debris.
"Why does this have to happen?" Wendy asked. "Can't someone help us?"
"Who?" Seth asked. "Even if you told someone, and they didn't lock you up, what could they do? Belmount has been this way for hundreds of years."
Paul shuddered.
The room came alive with creeping shadows. The mirror was glowing again, showing a window-view of another cluttered room.
"It's doing it again," Wendy said. "Are they coming? What do you see?"
Seth stared at the mirror for a long time. "I think it's all right. I don't see the Tenants."
Paul slid down the wall onto the floor. "Why do you think it's only on Halloween?" he asked Seth. "Every other day the town is normal, and every other day no one can come in this place and hope to make it back out. But on Halloween the whole town goes ape-shit, and it's the one day the Mansion will let you walk back out the door. The only day the Mask stops . . ." The pain in Wendy's eyes caused the words to die in his mouth.
Seth didn't answer, but he had to know something. No one had ever been called three times--not even twice. He had to know something. Seth turned around as though he knew what Paul was thinking, picked up a skull that was staring at him and threw it into the mirror. The skull passed through the glass then skipped across the floor of the cluttered room.
After a few minutes of awkward silence they all decided it would be best if they kept moving. Wendy was helping Paul to his feet when one of the Tenants stepped through the same door the group had entered by. Seth made for the door in the adjacent wall, but the second Tenant stood in the way. Paul turned his light on the last door, but it was hopeless. The third monster was waiting.
The Tenants stepped in--tittering and clicking like three giant praying mantis--tightening the noose around them.
"Get to the mirror," Seth whispered or maybe his voice had abandoned him.
Wendy pressed her back against her friends. "Are you crazy?"
"It's all we got."
"They're too close," Paul said.
A loud concussive bang echoed through the house. Five more blasts, like giant firecrackers, followed. The Tenants paused. The one closest to the mirror turned and scurried out the door.
"Now," Seth shouted, pushing Wendy and Paul.
Mirror Rule Number Two: DON'T GO THROUGH THE GLASS.
As they ran for the mirror the remaining two Tenants moved to intercept. Wendy hit the glowing glass with no resistance, but before Paul could touch the mirror there was a flash and the room beyond changed. Paul tried to stop, burying his heals into the hardwood, but Seth shoved him hard from behind. They tangled in each other's feet and fell through the glowing glass. *** Gary screamed and scuttled away, all the while keeping his flashlight tethered to the thing before him. Its skin was like the smoky substance of the Tenants, but more sinewy. The groaning Mask of Tragedy attached to the head glistened like fog in the light. The creature made no aggressive moves, but instead studied Gary with a primal curiosity, tilting its head slightly. It was then that Gary noticed the eyes. There was no color; just snow-white orbs vanishing behind black lids.
Gary stood to his feet. His stomach was a knot of writhing slugs. He could run. No one would know. But what if no one else found the Mask? Chris would be trapped in the Mansion for another year. One year was Hell; two . . . well, everyone remembered what it did to Tom Deckard.
Gary ran through the Words several times in his mind. It was so stupid. It was just a nursery rhyme--one that had been handed down for who knows how long. How was this going to help Chris?
Gary pushed all thought out of his mind. Chris was his friend.
Courage.
He reached out and put his hand on the Mask of Tragedy. It felt cold and fleshy like snake skin. The Mask didn't resist, in fact it seemed to enjoy the contact. Gary closed his eyes, fighting the urge to run. "One to?"
An explosion erupted in the room.
Gary stumbled backward. His ears were ringing and his lungs felt like they were full of ash. He stood, dizzy and wobbling, staring at the doorway, trying to get a lock on what he was seeing.
There was another beam of light focused on the Mask. Someone was standing in the doorway, a revolver in his hand. A thin trail of blue smoke issued from the barrel.
The Mask turned toward Dave. Dave emptied the gun, but the last five bullets were as ineffective as the first. The Mask backed into the shadows. Dave and Gary tried to follow with their flashlights, but it was gone.
If Dave heard the Tenant coming up behind him, he wasn't quick enough to react. It slammed into his back sending him into the air, causing a head-on-head collision with Gary.
Dave was first on his feet. He cursed at the beast while dry-firing the gun. In desperation he threw the gun at his attacker. He backed into the corner where Gary was using both walls to keep himself vertical.
"Make a break for the door," Dave said. "It can't get us both." Gary's head was full of stars going supernova, but he managed to give a sluggish nod. Dave counted to three, and then they separated.
The Tenant hesitated then reached out for Gary. The pause was enough. Gary peeled around behind the Tenant, but not before taking a hit to the ribs. Gary's side blazed but he didn't slow down. He pushed out the door and followed Dave's flashlight like a beacon. *** Wendy watched the mirror for a long time, hoping it would start glowing again. Nothing but her evil reflection and dead faces.
She knew she was in the basement (which made things seem worse, though she couldn't explain why). The walls were block instead of plaster. The air was moist and dank. The only door in the whole room stood ten feet above her head. The stairs leading up were gone, disintegrated into toothpicks. Only the handrail remained like the sting from a slap.
She tried to think, but she was bogged down--caught under an avalanche of hatred and depression. Poor Chris. A whole year in this place. What would he be like when they got him out of here? Not the same, that was for sure. No one was ever the same.
Wendy went to the handrail, kicking aside the skull Seth had thrown through the mirror. She tucked her flashlight down the front of her pants so that the beam pointed up. She grabbed the rail with both hands, pushed her feet against the wall and began working her way up.
Her hands were slippery. Her back and arms burned. It had looked like a much shorter journey from the floor. When she was even with the bottom of the door, she let go with one hand and reached out. No good. She worked her way higher. The rail wobbled more and more with every step.
Wendy was near the top, but her position kept her from getting a firm grip on the doorjamb. She let her legs slide down, rested her body flat against the wall, then wrapped her hand around the edge of the door.
The handrail broke free.
Wendy caught the threshold with her left hand. Her hand tingled and burned but she held tight. She grabbed the threshold with her right then hung there for a moment, crying.
Stop crying or you're gonna fall, she thought.
She pulled her chin above the edge, her wrists popping, her elbows wobbling uncontrollably. Just when she thought she might get her weight over the threshold the beam from her flashlight spilled across a white face, frozen in a silent groan.
Her hands released instinctively and she hit the ground hard. She lay gasping for air, her eyes spilling tears. She pointed her flashlight at the door. The Mask stood for a moment looking down at her then turned and walked away. *** "These damn rooms all look alike," Paul said. He kicked a pile of trash and unearthed a long white femur. "We're going in circles."
Seth bounced his flashlight around the room. "Maybe." He looked out the window. The sun was long buried in the horizon and town's curse was in full power. "I think we're on the top floor."
A light flickered outside the door. Seth covered the end of his flashlight with his hand. The darkness laid on him like the claustrophobic cloak of Death. Another ripple of light washed across the doorjamb.
Two figures holding flashlights of their own passed the doorway.
Paul called out, too excited to remain silent. "Gary, you made it!"
Dave and Gary nearly crumpled in fright.
Dave stormed in probing the room with his light. "Where's Wendy?"
"We got separated," Paul said. Dave paced back and forth while Paul explained about the Tenants and the mirror.
"When was this?"
Seth looked at his watch--10:36 p.m.--and was disturbed by the time. "I don't know. A while ago. The sun was still up, I think."
"You idiots," Dave said. "Why are you just poking around? We're running out of time. We have to find her."
Paul limped forward, his fists knotted. "What doya think we're doing?"
Seth held him back. "Take it easy. We don't have time for this. Kick each other's asses tomorrow. We've got bigger problems right now. The Tenants have split up. Wendy's somewhere in this house alone, and we still haven't found the Mask."
"Two outta three ain't bad," Gary said.
Gary had barely finished his tale of the Mask and Dave's gun before Seth threw Dave against the wall.
"You moron!"
Dave punched Seth in the stomach, then kicked him in the face when he doubled over. Paul reached for Dave, but was too slow. Gary caught Dave with strong right to the head, dropping him to the floor. Dave rolled to his feet, started back into the mix, then backed away.
Dave stood at the door. "I don't have to explain myself to you. This place hasn't taken from you what it took from me. And I won't let Wendy?"
"We all love her," Seth said, cutting him off. He wiped the blood from his mouth, wiggled his teeth, then stood up. "Every guy in this room--in town--is in love with her. But she loves Chris. She always will."
Dave shook his head with stubborn defiance. "I'm here for her. Chris can be damned for all I care."
A Tenant charged into the room, hit Dave from behind and sent him into the air for the second time. Dave flew to the window in the far wall like an arrow then vanished in an explosion of glass.
"Out the window," Seth shouted.
Seth crawled away from the window, giving Paul and Gary room to flee, while probing the edge of the roof with his flashlight. There it was, almost directly in line with the window, wrapped around the lip of the gutter: a hand.
Seth slid down the steep roof, turning to his stomach as he went. The thick rigid shingles tore through his shirt, gnawed at his flesh. The shingles began to break loose and his downward speed increased. He let go of his flashlight so that he could use both hands to slow himself and the green metal light spun ahead of him, skipped the gutter, then jumped over the edge. Seth pressed his hands hard into the roof and through the burning pain he felt himself slow. His hands slipped over the edge, caught the gutter; his back wrenched as the inertia tried to force a flip. His knees lifted and for a minute he thought he would follow his flashlight. His weight settled and he returned to the ravenous shingles.
Seth grabbed the collar of Dave's shirt in his right hand while steadying himself with the left.
"It's climbing out of the window," Gary shouted.
Seth looked back. Paul and Gary were sliding down the roof toward him, but the Tenant was invisible against the dark roof.
"Don't worry about us," Seth said grunting out the words. "It's coming for you. Get to another window. Find the Mask. Find Wendy."
Paul and Gary turned to climb the roof but the shingles spun loose under them like mud beneath bald tires. Instead of going up, Gary and Paul moved sideways, then used the vertical edge to help them climb.
They stopped halfway up and Seth could see why. The remaining two Tenants stepped over the peak; the third moved in behind removing their escape.
Paul looked over the edge at the black ocean below then back at Gary. Gary just shrugged. The two boys screamed as they leapt from the roof.
The Tenants started down the roof.
"Come on," Seth said. "Pull yourself up."
Dave pulled his chin above the rim. There was a soft creaking sound just before the gutter broke loose. Dave fell into the night dragging Seth with him. *** The pile of broken furniture, trash, and boxes full of who-knows-what wobbled like Jell-O beneath Wendy's feet. Three collapses had left her worn out and bruised. Her mountain of refuse brought her just out of reach of the door's threshold. A six inch jump. If she slipped, the mountain fell, and there wasn't enough time before midnight to build another one. Even if her mountain held, though, she wasn't sure she had the strength to pull herself out.
She stood with her hands and forehead resting against the wall. Please, God, get me outta here. She jumped. The mountain collapsed.
Her hands found the floor above. The downward momentum jolted her against the wall hard enough to clank her teeth together. Her left hand slipped and for a moment she thought it was over. Somehow her right hand stayed.
She closed her eyes as she pulled her head over the edge. The Mask might be there, or worse, the Tenants. She wiggled and squirmed until her torso was over the threshold. She rested before pulling her legs out.
Wendy hobbled up another set of stairs and wandered into the foyer of Deslow Mansion. The big mirror became luminous showing a glass door somewhere in the house. And standing between the two stairway-pinchers, bathing in the mirror-light, was the Mask. *** The twigs and leaves of the large maple tree were like cat-scratches, but the limbs and boughs were Buicks. Gary worked his way over to Paul who was hanging like a piece of wet laundry. "Midnight? How much time?" Gary asked, rending every word from his exhausted lungs. "Ten minutes, maybe." Gary pointed to a window below. "Keep going?" "To the end."
Gary and Paul climbed down to a lower limb, kicked in the window, and re-entered Deslow Mansion. *** From a tiny balcony on the second floor Seth watched a sky full of stars playing peek-a-boo behind dark blue clouds. The dull ringing in his ears melted into the singing of crickets. Everything was peaceful, and though he knew there was something important he should be thinking about, it was a splinter buried too deep.
Dave, who was covered in broken shingles, sat up like the returning dead. Then Seth remembered.
Seth jumped to his feet and Dave (perhaps startled) did the same. A spectral light filtered through the filthy glass of the French-doors. Seth rammed his shoulder against the door. The door held. He gave it another shot.
"What are you doing?" Dave asked.
"That mirror," Seth said, speeding up his assault. "I can see Wendy." He kicked the door, but it held. "I can see the Mask."
Dave threw his weight in with Seth's. One side came off its hinges and spun across the floor.
Seth ran, with Dave at his heels, and jumped into the mirror. As he passed through the liquid glass membrane a loud crack filled his ears. Seth landed face first on the tile floor of the foyer--just missing the corpse--but Dave did not.
Wendy was saying the Words. Seth threw her to the ground before she could finish. This was Seth's third trip. Everyone wondered why, but he knew. When Tom Deckard was trapped, Seth had found the Mask in the kitchen. He left the Mask standing there and later it was Andrew Gillespie who sacrificed himself. When they went in to get Andrew, the Mask had been in a bathroom on the third floor. Once again Seth had walked away and it was Chris who had paid the price. Deslow Mansion hadn't forgotten Seth's sins and never would. Seth wrapped his arms around the Mask. Not for Tom. Not for Andrew. Not even for Chris. But for Wendy . . . "One to go.
"One to stay.
"You run home.
"It's my turn to play." Deslow Mansion shuddered. The walls creaked; dust fell from the ceiling. The flesh of smoke that coated the Mask lifted away as if by a breeze. It hung in the air like a funnel-cloud, twisting and mutating. Large oil-like drips began to fall onto Seth. The slivers of liquid smoke serpent-crawled across his skin.
Seth pulled the Mask of Tragedy from Chris's face. The green irises returned to Chris's eyes just as the brown of Seth's disappeared. Chris's face, withered and ghastly, began to plump and take on color. He let out a guttural groan that broke into a wailing. Wendy pulled Chris onto her lap and Seth was thankful. Chris was starting to feel like something horrible to touch; a disgusting beast worthy of death. And as he looked upon Wendy the lust of her death filled him, too.
Paul and Gary ran into the room stopping in front of Seth, who was now mostly enveloped by the black, dripping cloud. Seth rubbed his withering face. Somewhere in the Mansion a massive clock began to chime the twelve strokes of midnight.
"Get out of here," Seth said, his voice mingled with pain. "Hurry!"
Seth lifted the Mask of Tragedy. He had always thought there was some significance to the Mask; some magical connection. But as he felt the cheap plastic in his hands--saw the faded price tag on the inside--he realized the mask was nothing more than a tacky heirloom bequeathed to the cursed.
Seth placed the mask over his face. Andrew wore the mask for a year and hasn't spoken since. Tom had been trapped behind it for two years. Four months after he escaped the Mansion he hung himself in his closet. Scratched into the drywall was the message: THE DEAD STILL TALK TO ME.
Seth screamed.
Paul and Gary grabbed Chris by his arms and dragged him out the front door. Wendy stopped just outside the threshold and turned. Seth (now completely the Mask) stood looking at her with unholy interest.
The twelfth bell tolled. The door to Deslow Mansion shut. *** Dave stood waiting for the Tenants to attack, but the more the invisible clock chimed the more they thinned from existence. Then Dave was alone in the silent dark.
He ran from the room, down two floors and made it to the top of the stairway-pinchers without hindrance. He looked over the rail at the empty foyer.
Something moved to his left. A tormented wail filled the air. He turned to see a rush of black smoke and the Mask of Tragedy. His last thought--this side of the Mob of the Mirror--was how his name would be listed among the dead (beneath his brother's) carved into the jack-o-lanterns that would help protect his family's house next Halloween. END  Gabriel Beyers lives in southern Indiana with his wife, son, daughter and two dogs. He spends most of his days wrestling with the two diaper-dwarves that have recently invaded his home, or going around trying to fix whatever the dogs have destroyed. He enjoys landscaping to the full extent that his wallet will allow, and has a deep love for marine aquariums. Oh, and when he has time, he tries to get the strange worlds of his heart down on paper. Right now he is shopping his debut novel around the agent world while keeping his fingers tightly crossed.
Story by Gabriel Beyers, Copyright 2009
Image by Rory Clark, Stopped Motion Photography, Copyright 2009 |
