II
I lived with my grandfather most of my life. He told me that my parents had a big fight, and they ‘accidentally’ both were stabbed with a knife. I never questioned him. My parents were both liars, as far as I can remember. I was ten when I moved in with my grandfather. He was a liar too.
I guess that’s why I killed him. I was twenty years old. He was bound to die anyway. He was in his upper eighties with arthritis in his hands and left foot. He was completely blind and as poor as a beggar.
Just like my parents had done, I ‘accidentally’ slipped a knife through his throat. There was a certain rush that I received when I dug through it. I could feel the knife slicing vocal cords. I savored the blood upon my hands. It tasted sweet. It was my first kill. I wasn’t as skilled as the Mask Maker was, though. He knew how to cleverly cut the skin to the right size and bleach it to the exact tone of color he desired.
I keep bring up the Mask Maker, but I’ve not told you who he is. I’m sorry.
I first heard of him from Lucy Phillips, the bartender’s daughter, down in the pub in the city. She works with her father. I’m a usual there. I rarely drink, though. Usually, I sit and wink at Lucy. Sometimes she’d come and sit with me when it was her break.
“Hello,” she said as she sat across the table from me.
I grinned and nodded. “How are you?”
“Ugh. Burning. It’s hot in here,” she complained, fanning herself with her slender hand. I laughed and agreed.
“What’ve you been up to, Mr. Wells?” she asked, glancing into my eyes.
“I told you to call me Joseph, ma’am,” I said, sipping a mug of cold water.
“And I told you to call me Lucy.”
We sat in an awkward silence for a few, long, miserable moments.
“Have you heard about the killings around town? It’s quite frightening, actually,” she spoke in a hushed tone.
“Killings?” I asked. “What killings?”
“They don’t know his real name, but everyone calls him the Mask Maker,” Lucy said, fanning herself. “Have you heard of him before?”
“No. I’ve been out of town on—” I thought for a moment. “Business.”
If killing your grandfather constitutes as business.
“Well, some older folks around here have been disappearing,” Lucy said. “Later, though, their bodies are found. And what else – their faces are gone!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The faces are sliced off. There’s no skin left on ‘em! As I’ve said, it’s quite frightening.”
“Why would someone shave someone’s face off?” I asked, puzzled.
“There’s a reason he’s called the Mask Maker, Mr. Wells. He makes masks out of the skins and wears ‘em! That way no one knows who he really is! Quite clever, but quite frightening.”
“How grotesque,” I muttered. “Who all has been killed?”
“You know the grave digger? Ah, I forget his name. Isn’t it Forggin or something? Roger Forggin?”
I shrugged and said I didn’t know who that was.
“Well, he was the first one. He showed up days later in one of his graves he dug, his face covered with blood. Dead as a doornail.”
“Anyone else I might know?” I asked, too much involved the story to notice anything else.
“Uh, Father Ross? You know, the Catholic priest? He was found in his church, crucified, like Jesus himself! His face was all cut apart and such, but still.”
Father Ross had been my priest ever since I could remember. When I began to mature and take on a mind of my own, I left the Catholic church, due to lies it was teaching.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not sorry at all.
“Yeah. It was quite a shocker to his wife. Ah, I’m so horrible with names.”
“Emily Ross,” I reminded her. Her face lit up.
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Well, Miss Lucy, I have to get—” I caught myself just in time. I was about to say ‘I have to get home’, but if I did, Lucy would know I was going home to find my dead grandfather. And I had no intention of reporting him dead. That would only bring police and accusations. Maybe even prison time.
Or the electric chair.
“I have to get to the supermarket, and then I’m off on another business trip. I’ll see you around, Miss Lucy.” I was glad that I pulled it off believably.
“Oh, of course. Sorry to keep you so long,” she muttered, and stood up, wiping the table with her apron that was tied around her.
“Ah, before I go, Miss Lucy, do you know where I might find this Mask Maker man?”
“Why on earth would you want to find him?” Lucy shrieked. I blinked and took a step back.
“For no reason. Well… to avoid him, I expect.”
“If I knew where he was, Mr. Wells, I would’ve reported him to the police and had him arrested!” She turned her back on me and returned the bar, where she served a man a glass of liquor.
I nodded to her, but she didn’t motion back.
I stepped out of the door with every intention of finding this Mask Maker.
