The Faceless

Jack Miller, a forty-three year old teacher at Bradbury comprehensive, was getting scared. It was a quarter to nine at night and there was only one way home; a six-mile walk alongside the forest. Jack wasn't a cowardly man by nature, but he was afflicted with acute Nyctohylophobia - a fear of dark wooded areas. He wasn't yet ready to abandon the comforting light of the school behind him. The school. That dratted, hateful school! Glad for an excuse to stay in the school's light a little longer, Jack thought back to earlier that day. His Year 8 class, as usual, had played up. The boys had slouched around and yelled at each other whilst the girls sat chatting ceaselessly into their mobiles, ignoring him completely. It was no use handing out detentions because the students never bothered to turn up. The countless letters he sent to parents were never received - the kids got there first and disposed of the letters - and at parents' evening he was always shouted down by other students whenever he tried to complain about their behaviour. The kids told lies about him; that he was an overly strict, spiteful person who never did anything but shout at them.

The school couldn't afford to expel any students because each was as bad as the next and the school was underattended as it was. The children didn't care when they were given suspensions - they actually seemed to want to be suspended because it meant a few days off school. On that particular night, the Headmaster had asked him to mark some Y9 science tests - Jack was both Maths and Science teacher - the school was desperately understaffed. The tests had taken longer to mark than expected and, as usual, the results were abysmal.

As a result, he had missed the last bus back to town by mere minutes; he even saw it turning the corner when he arrived. So here he was, faced with the far from enviable task of walking the six miles back to his house. There was a shorter route which would cut the distance he had to walk in half, but that led straight through the woods, and while Jack was able to control his fear several metres from the forest, his bravery didn't extend to actually entering it.

So finally he set off, forcing himself to step into the darkness that permeated everything around him. As he walked, he remained optimistic that a passing motorist would give him a lift, but none came by. It was as if they'd all disappeared...or like they were scared. The thought appeared suddenly in his head without Jack's consciously forming it. But scared of what? The Faceless.

Again the thought simply formed itself and even though he didn't know what it meant, a shiver ran up Jack's spine at the words.

"Nonsense!" he said aloud. "I am a perfectly rational man and I know that monsters don't exist. What could there possibly be to be scared of?"

The Faceless. Jack started, knowing now that it wasn't him thinking these things. At least, not on a conscious level. He strode on, unsure of what to do. Then he was stopped in his tracks as surely and suddenly as he would have been if he'd walked into a brick wall. But what stopped him had no physical presence. It was a sound. The sound of a child crying. Boy or girl, Jack couldn't quite be sure, but he definitely knew where it was coming from. The woods. Staring into the dark forest, Jack's heart seemed to turn to ice. Not in there. Never in there. That was the one place Jack wouldn't go.

Then he shook his head and steeled himself against the fear. There was a lost child in there, dammit!

And no matter how scared he was, there was no way Jack was going to run when a child needed help.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and took a step inside the source of his fear. A step into the darkness.

Hours later, Jack Miller was still searching. Though the dark woods terrified him, by concentrating on the task on hand he could ignore the fear. The frustrating thing was that he never seemed to get any closer to the child. No matter what direction he took, its voice remained at the same volume, seemingly the same distance away as before. Although he refused to admit defeat, Jack was getting more tired by the minute and needed to rest. Stumbling to a halt in a clearing, he sat on a fallen log.

After quarter of an hour, the child was still wailing. Still the same sound. Never ceasing. Finally, Jack could take no more.

"SHUT UP!" he screamed into the night. And all of a sudden, the forest fell silent, waiting with bated breath. Jack stepped forwards uncertainly, unnerved by the sudden silence.

"Boy!" he called. "Speak to me! Tell me where you are!"

The sobbing started up again, but this time it was closer. Much closer. Slowly, Jack turned around to see a young boy from Stonewall High with his face in his hands.

"What on Earth are you doing out here at this hour, boy?" he asked angrily. Then, seeing the lad start to cry even louder, Jack relented.

"It's alright, lad," he said in a gentler tone. "You're lost? Don't worry, I'll get you home. Where do you live?"

No answer was forthcoming, so Jack tried again.

"I'm trying to help you, lad. But you need to help me help you. First, I need you to take your hands away from your face and look up. That's it. Just look at me."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the boy lowered his hands. Jack gasped in fear and shock. His heart nearly gave out at that very moment.

The child had no face. Where he ought to have had features - eyes, a nose, a mouth - he instead had just a smooth oval of skin. How he had been crying, Jack didn't know, but he could swear the child was staring at him. Staring without eyes. Staring...almost hungrily.

Then Jack realised something even more horrifying. Someone else was crying. Slowly, keeping on eye on the boy, the schoolteacher turned his head. Behind him, a young girl was also covering her face with her hands. And Jack had no doubt whatsoever that she too would be Faceless. He twisted to look in every direction. Everywhere he looked, a Faceless person appeared, seeming to form from the shadows themselves. Some children. Some adults. Even a baby. All Faceless.

And the truly terrifying thing was that he was surrounded by them. Slowly, inexorably, they began to close in, lifting their faces from their hands. Surprisingly, Jack remained completely in control throughout, calculating the weakest point in the circle. The baby was protected on either side by tall Faceless people, but the first child he had seen was flanked only by other children, about seven years old.

The circle was closing in. Just ten metres separated him from them. It was now or never. Jack made a sudden charge towards the three children. Their fingers reached out eagerly towards him, but Jack used his weight and momentum to charge the children aside. One of their icy fingers touched his face and Jack screamed as the skin seemed to lose its solidity. For a second, his skin seemed to stretch away, caught on the child's fingers, but then Jack broke the line and his features returned to normal. So he fled, away from the pursuing Faceless, into the night.

So close. He was so close now. Though thje Faceless followed him every step of the way, Jack was nearly there now. Nearly home. They wouldn't be able to get into his house. His house was secure. He'd heard that of vampires. But these aren't vampires. His subconscious reminded him. Finally! The end of the forest! Civilisation was in sight. His side ached and he felt close to collapse, but Jack had come too far and suffered too much to give up now.

He staggered forwards, his capacity to run spent. But the Faceless were slow. The fastest they could move was at a brisk walk.

They must, by now, have been left far be- A Faceless child lunged at him, appearing out of the shadows.

With a cry he twisted away and started running again, not caring whether or not his heart could take it. He was almost home now. So close. So close to escaping the Faceless.

The Faceless army surged out of the forest, a tide of flesh and bone intent on catching Jack. But, even with so many Faceless on hand, they couldn't catch him. They couldn't run, and so Jack began to leave them behind. Finally. His street. Just down that alley was his home, his sanctuary. A wave of relief broke over him. He was just a few metres away from safety. But then, staggering out of the shadows came the Faceless. They were closer to his house than he was. He couldn't get there in time.

But he had to try. Jack charged forwards again, summoning every last drop of energy he had to get to the door before them.

Seizing the doorknob, he struggled to pull the door open. The Faceless were just a few metres away. He strained harder.

Then, just as the lead one was about to grab him, he recalled something. Something vital. The door opened inwards!

Throwing himself at it, he fell through the opening just in time. The Faceless' fingers swiped the air where he had just been.

Straining to rise, Jack slammed the door shut and locked it. He was safe.

But when it finally seemed that things might turn out for the best, he heard a scraping sound. Dreading what he might see, he peered out of a window to see the Faceless gouging theirs fingers into the wall. As soon as their skin touched the stone, it became liquid. Just like my face, Jack recalled with a shudder. The Faceless were digging their way through.

Shuddering, he turned away and ran through to the kitchen. Seeing a large knife on the table, he seized it before returning to the front door. Leaning forwards, he put his ear to the door so that he could hear what was going on. Suddenly, a hand burst through the door just next to his head and groped around for him.

"Shit!" he yelled, turning and running towards the living room. Throwing himself at the door, he cried;

"Matilda! We have to get out!"

The door crashed off its hinges and Jack stumbled inside. Instantly, he took in the scene; his wife, Matilda, lying prone upon the carpeted floor. A Faceless, crouching over her. And the child, standing in front of him, barring his way. Even as he watched in horror, the Faceless creature crouching over his wife raised its arm before driving it down and into his wife's beautiful face. It dug around, then pulled back. In its hands were held his wife's eyes, which it proceeded to attach to its own face. Then it dug into Matilda's face again, pulling out the ears and nose. It repeated the action, again driving the features into place. Finally, it drove in again and pulled out Jack's wife's mouth. Then, attaching Matilda's mouth where its own should be, it turned to face Jack and smiled. Jack's blood ran cold. A loved one should never look at you like that. He stumbled backwards, turning to run, but as he reached the door a crowd of Faceless staggered into view, their long fingers reaching for him. He cried out in terror, stumbling back into the living room and slamming the door. Immediately he heard the group of Faceless digging their fingers into it. It wouldn't last long, but that wasn't Jack's most pressing concern.

No, the worst thing was that the child and the Faceless who was Jack's wife were advancing, forcing him backwards, towards his wife's corpse.

Then, just as it seemed he had nowhere else to go, they stopped. The child stepped forwards, the older on standing back. Jack's fists were clenched. He had cut off all circulation in his hands, but still he dimly felt something hard in his right hand. Looking down, he recognised the knife. And with that thought came a sudden realisation. These things were responsible for his wife's death. He had a knife. There were dozens of them clawing their way in, just waiting to be killed. With a roar he slashed at the boy. Just as the knife was about to hit it, the Faceless raised both hands and caught the knife. Snarling, Jack twisted the weapon, slicing open the boy's palms. But what was released from the cut was not blood, but rather shadow. And for a moment that shadow seemed to form a face. A face Jack recognised. He stepped back in horror.

"Peter?" he whispered. Peter. Jack's own son. Chosen as the bait because his father wouldn't be able to stand by whilst hearing a familiar voice apparently in distress. He couldn't kill his own son, even if he was Faceless. Instead, he turned to the thing wearing his wife's face. It smiled at him sweetly, like she used to, but deep down he knew that it wasn't her. The thing was just using her. Using her face as a mask to hide behind. Wrestling with what his senses were telling him, he lifted the blade for a second time and made a half-hearted swipe at the abomination. Although he attacked without any vigour, the creature facing him was too slow to avoid the attack, and the knife sliced through the flesh on its face. It shocked Jack at just how easy it was to part the skin, to wound, to injure...to kill. One of his wife's eyes popped open. Her cheek split like an ovveripe melon. A scream rent the air as surely as the knife cut through her perfect mouth.

A wave of shadow poured from the wound, gushing out just like blood. The creature sank to its knees at the same time as Jack, he weeping, it screaming.

The sounds mingled in the night air, creating a sound of sorrow and pain, of a broken heart and broken flesh. Even the Faceless outside paused to listen, bowing their featureless heads in respect. As shadow rushed from the wound, so the creature's essence seemed to pull away with it. Finally the corpse dissipated into black smoke, leaving nothing behind. For the last time, Jack saw his wife's face, staring at him out of the darkness, then it too was gone.

Jack remained on his knees, alone in his torment. The child stood alongside him, but he didn't notice. He had lost everything. His wife, his son, his old life.

Now all he knew was terror, pain and darkness. And he couldn't take it. All Jack wanted was a release. Slowly, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he rose to his feet. With deliberate, purposeful steps, he approached the door which separated him from the tide of Faceless. Without hesitation, he threw it open. Yet the Faceless beyond hung back, reluctant to approach him.

"Come on!" he cried, and lunged at them, expecting and hoping that tha creatures would tear him to pieces. But instead they seemed to sink back into the darkness, becoming immaterial. And Jack realised that they were afraid of him. He had killed one of their kind at the moment of its triumph. This in itself was enough to make them wary but now he stood facing them, tears coursing down his cheeks but with grim determination in his heart. But now, slowly, one by one, they were solidifying again, massing together, and despite the hatred Jack felt, he also felt fear. They had been scared. Now it was his turn.

And then they came at him, fingernails carving furrows through the air itself. Jack's resolve finally gave out and he backed away, throwing the door shut before twisting to face his Faceless son. The child's face was turned toward him and although Jack was less scared of one Faceless than a whole swarm of them, he couldn't bring himself to kill his own son.

A new sound reached Jack's ears. The same sound which, it seemed, had created this entire nightmare.

Weeping. But this time it wasn't coming from his son. It was far worse than that. Jack watched, transfixed, as his wife's supposed corpse sat up and climbed to its feet. She too faced Jack, then raised her hands in a clawlike pose and stumbled towards him. Once again he looked at the knife in his hand. Strangely, it was stained with shadow, like it would have been with blood if he'd stabbed a person.

But he couldn't coat it with more. Not of his wife. Not of his son. He let it fall to the floor and walked to meet the Faceless person. This pain had to end. He couldn't bear it. And this, this seemed a fitting finish. His wife stopped, and took his face gently in her hands. Once again he felt his flesh losing its form, its substance.

And he welcomed it.

Jack Miller stepped forward and embraced the darkness.