Haley Thistle
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Mask the Slasher: Christmas Special (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2022-11-19 21:00:03 +0000 UTCAll of my friends were dead. That much was certain. Everything else was up in the air, scattered about like the snowflakes in the air. They were all murdered, chopped up, left to rot in the woods or until they were found. But I have no hope that any of us will be found. We will all simply become another statistic, another rumor. We will be whispers heard in the air, barely uttered but oft spoken about. Our families will search, but we will only remain as questions to them. True crime aficionados will use our story for years to come. But as long as I am alive, no one else will have to suffer this fate.
If I keep moving forward, he won’t leave me alone. He’ll keep chasing me. He won’t stop until I am gone. Even if I had sought help or tried to get away; it would be no use. He would keep following me, hunting me, not stopping until he knew I was dead. And after that he would track another victim. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to be the last.
I ran deeper into the woods where the snow had turned to ice and it crunched under my feet if it didn’t make me slip. A winter retreat, they said. It’ll be so fun, they said! Rent a cabin, have ‘friendsgiving’ and a new Christmas tradition, they said. Little did we know what was waiting for us. Not some jovial Santa with gifts. Oh no. It was another big man with a burlap bag.
He always was behind me, stalking amongst the trees, whispering into the mask around his face. For someone so massive he moves silently and quickly, it gives me pause to what he could actually be. Not human, I’m sure that was gone in him long ago. Although I’m not sure he’s demon either, perhaps not yet.
He continually whispers behind his mask, having constant quiet conversations with someone or something. His hulking body is pale and almost gray. His limbs look dusty like a forgotten doll, his dark veins appeared like cracks on the skin.
The snow is falling heavier upon me, and no matter how far I go I always see twinkling lights at the edge of my vision, like the ones we decorated around the cabin. You could see them from the road as you drove up, on the small hiking path we took to find that damn old house. It’s as if the lights are in on it, chasing me just like him, reminding me how good we had it as a final nail in my coffin.
The man in the masl came to me first, appearing just beyond the cabin where my friends and I were staying. He stood there watching me, standing as still as a statue. I hadn’t been wearing my glasses at the time, so I thought he was one of my friends. I waved to him and offered to make him something to eat. He just stood there. I turned for only a moment, I made cookies and I was going to lure them in with one. When I looked back he was gone.
After that, we decided to go find a tree to cut down and put in the house. I was leery since none of these trees were meant to be chopped down, but they said it would be fun. They said it wouldn't harm anything. So we took that path and we found that old house.
“Let's go inside!”
“WWhat? It’s awful! It’ll collapse on us.”
“What are you, chicken? Let’s just peek inside! What's it going to hurt?”
The old house seemed to lean forward over us, casting a dark shadow that sent chills up my spine. Inside the place was fully furnished, covered in dust and decay. The floorboards creaked and groaned from our weight as we walked inside. I could see the twinkling lights on our cabin from the frosted over window.
“Are you sure no one is here?” I asked.
I was met with laughs. “It’s abandoned! Look at this place! I doubt anyone but raccoons have been here since Victoria was in diapers.”
I don’t think it’s that old, but I say nothing to the contrary and continue looking around. That’s when I see them, footprints in the dust.
“Guys?” I called out, but no one answered me. I heard them going upstairs but I stayed downstairs. I began hearing a whispering, a muttering, as if someone was just behind the peeling wallpaper.
Like mice in a trap, none of us were escaping. He wouldn’t allow us any mercy.
Chaos erupted and swallowed us whole. What was supposed to be a fun gathering for Christmas turned into a slaughterhouse. How I was the last to remain, I do not know. All my friends were gone, one by one plucked like feathers from a carcass. My fate was sealed, he would be my shadow until one of us was gone. In my bones I knew he would outlast me, so I went on. I could keep him with me for as long as possible and then no one else would have to suffer.
I can’t recall how long it’s been. Everything seems so far behind me except for him. The woods have become a ceaseless void of trees and dirt and snow. The longer I go, the shorter my journey feels. He lumbers behind me, dragging behind him that sack. He keeps whispering into his mask and it often feels as if he is whispering into my ear.
The mask is wooden and old, splitting in places with paint worn or chipped off. Ratted fur clung around the edges, matted with dirt and blood, and falling off in places. At one time I’m sure the mask was quite cute and looked like the face of some animal. Now it was disfigured and grotesque, nothing but a whispering beast.
In the rotting house I had found myself in a room filled with old, wooden toys. There was a work bench with carving tools, old wood chips littered the floor around it.
“A toymaker,” one friend said as she picked up a toy. “Weird.”
“Why is that weird?” I asked.
She rolled the old toy over in her hand and shook her head. “I…I don’t know. Just-” She stammered, confused as to why she said that. “It feels weird. Doesn’t it?”
I always felt weird in any situation, so I wasn’t sure how to answer. So I didn’t.
There were claws marks on the door and under the bed where I had hid. From there I saw him again, dragging her away in his sack. Blood oozed from the bag, flowing into the claw marks on the floor as he stood before the bed. As I watched he lifted the bag and slammed it, slammed it, slammed it onto the ground in front of me. Blood splattered against my face, into my mouth, and it was a miracle I didn’t scream. My mouth was wide open though as if I was. It felt like my face was ripping apart. The sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking would become a constant lullaby in my dreams.
He set the bag down and walked out of the room, dragging it back behind him as he went. The blood no longer oozed, but it seeped out like watercolor on a brush.
I climbed trees in order to rest, as for some reason he either couldn’t or refused to go up any height. He would circle around my tree, whispering and throwing his huge body into the trunk. My breath came out in thick white clouds, but his breath didn’t come out at all. Snow fell upon us both, and the lights twinkled in the distance.
“You could easily kill me, I don’t know why all you do is follow,” I told him. I looked down from my perch and he was staring up at me, head bent back and his neck twisted at an odd angle. The bloody bag was set on the ground beside him, stained, frozen, and a wooden toy attached to the straps.
“You killed everyone else. What for? What did we do?” I hugged my knees tighter to my chest. “We just wanted to have a good time!”
The mask said nothing, he only breathed. He went back to pacing circles around the tree, kicking it, sometimes hitting is sack upon it.
“Yeah, she’s weird but what are we gonna do? Tell her to shove off. She planned this whole thing.”
I heard friends whispering through the walls, and I held my breath to listen.
“Yeah, I know, but she keeps bringing things to a screeching halt. I love the girl, but maybe not on a trip like this. You know?”
I knew I was always the last thought in the friend group. But I had never heard it out loud before. I went outside, taking off my glasses as I started crying. When I put my glasses back on, there was a wooden toy set on the railing of the porch. It was a small cat, curled up into a loaf. The grain of the wood was used as stripping on the cat. But the eyes…the eyes were scratched out and gouged. That’s when I heard screaming and I ran back inside.
I was under the bed, mouth wide open as blood splattered onto my face. There was screaming from downstairs. The door was rattling and wouldn’t budge. The screaming grew louder as I came to the stairs. They shattered the glass in the door and I climbed over it, crunching over the shards as I ran off the porch and into the woods. I reached into my pocket and rubbed the smooth round body of the carved cat.
I came face to face with him back in that room with all the carved toys. I came out from under the bed, shaking and disconnected. My mind wasn’t processing things and I barely noticed him as he came into the room. I wobbled as I turned, looking up at him until it strained my neck. Rather than run, I stood there and began crying before him.
He stood there and watched me, his strange masking hiding whatever was happening on his face. I could see the twinkling Christmas lights in the hollows of his eyes. I ran towards them, going through snow and briars until I fell. I landed face first in the cold snow and my mind snapped back into place. I screamed, and that’s how he found me again.
I could never get close to the lights again, but he was always near me. He dragged around that sack and whispered into his mask. However long it had been it was just the two of us.
I rubbed the carved cat in my pocket and looked down from the tree. He was growing tired and his pacing had slowed.
“Did you make these?” I asked. I held the cat out and he became still. He looked up at me, focusing on what was in my hand.
“It’s nice. I like how it feels in my hand. But what happened to the face?” I looked into the scratched out eyes of the cat. “Can you not look into eyes or something?”
He kept whispering.
“I have a hard time with that too,” I muttered. I rubbed my thumb over the missing eyes of the cat then gazed back down at the base of the tree.
He lowered his head and threw his shoulder into the tree, shaking it, but not enough to lodge me free.
I braced myself upon the limbs, then relaxed and eased back. “Why do you only chase me? Shouldn't you kill me too?”
His whisperings become sharp behind the mask and he begins wandering around the base of the tree.
“I keep trying to give you reasons for existing, but what’s the point? You exist, that’s all there is to it.” I pressed my forehead against my sore knees and took a breath. “You took everything from me, all I have is you now.”
There was a quiet from below. His whispers stopped, his movement ceased. I peered down at him, seeing he was only a few inches away from the tree and staring deep into the bark.
His hand smoothed down the tree, digging his dark nails in and pulling down moss and chunks of bark. He peeled away until there was a smooth spot and he left claw marks behind. He was carving the wood, etching something into the tree.
“The room with the toys was yours, wasn’t it? You made them yourself.” I looked back at the wooden cat. “You’re talented. Tortured artist, right?” Why was I making jokes at him?
He whispered and snarled under his mask, continuing to carve into the tree. Woods chips fell into the snow, making little ‘piff, piff, piff’ noises.
I glanced down. “What are you making?”
Whispers, whispers, whispers, if only I could make out what he was saying. Whispering and carving, that's all he was doing.
I lowered my head back down onto my knees, trying to rest a moment longer. He’d eventually stalk away and I would be able to get down. I don’t know why he bothered to leave.
I was under the bed, eyes focused upon the dried blood in the claw marks. I rolled over, seeing his back was turned to me as he carved away at his desk. He mumbled and whispered, his words caught by the mask and pushed back into his mouth. I laid there watching him, his shoulders moved, his arms flexing every so often. The wood chips hit the floor, adding to the piles already there.
On the floor, just within my reach, was a mask. I reached for it, seeing the wood was still fresh. It was shaped like a cat’s face, only more angular and the eyes were deep pockets. Blood stained the face, making stripes where he had carved into it. I put it on and through the eyes I saw the twinkling lights all around me.
I crawled out from under the bed, pulling myself up to look at all the lights. I wasn’t paying attention, I was simply in awe. It wasn’t until his hand wrapped around my arm that I returned to my senses.
I stood there frozen in his grasp as the lights faded away. They receded, going behind him and into the distance again. I pulled myself away, freeing myself from his grasp. We stood there, silent and still facing one another. He whispered into his mask, but then I heard something come louder from behind it.
“What?” my voice shook. “What did you say?”
He twitched and fidgeted. He said it again, grunting under the wood.
My throat was tight and my mouth was so dry. “Please, speak up.”
His voice rattled, a deep moan came from under the animal-like mask. He shivered and his fingers flexed out wide then contracted back into a fist. “Good girl.”
My whole body tingled at his words. I lost my breath for a second and didn’t realize I hadn’t started back until I grew dizzy.
“What?” I whispered back.
“Guh-good girl,” he repeated. “You…are good.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Good? Why?”
He tapped his mask, not elaborating on anything.
I touched the mask around my face. “I don’t understand.”
“Stay,” he breathed. He laid his big hand over his chest. “Stay.”
He killed everyone. He put them into that bag of his, and he killed all my friends. They said it would be fun. They said we would be closer. They said I had to plan it. They said I needed to be quiet. They said I didn’t understand. They said I should just listen to them. And he killed them.
“But you-” I stopped and breathed shakily.
“Good girl,” he moaned.
“No…no I’m-I’m not.” I shook my head as he approached. He laid his big hand upon my head. He stroked my hair and I didn’t recoil from the touch.
“You should be grateful,” they said. “We still invited you along.” I sniffled and his hand cupped the back of my neck.
“What? You want to be left alone? How would that make us feel if we did that?”
I laid my head upon his chest and he placed his arm around me.
“We’re not selfish. Just join us.”
I hit her across the face for saying something. I don’t remember what, only that it had been the final straw. They’d talked like this to me behind my back for so long. I believed we were friends, I believed that’s how it always worked. But I snapped. She started to yell at me when she was taken from behind, hit to the ground where her face smashed into the wood floor. She dragged herself towards me before she ripped into the shadows and the door slammed shut.
I walked away from the footprints in the dust.
The house was cold, and outside the lights had grown hazy and blurred. His hands stroked down my body, and the crispness of the air made my nerves stand to attention. My bareskin ached as he touched me. His strong hands pulled away my clothes. I felt the dusty sheets against my back and I didn’t care. He grabbed me roughly, pulling me close, making me touch him in return. His whole body was hard and rigid like carved wood.
His moans and whispers under his mask grew more rapid. He placed my hand upon his groin and my fingers curved around the stiffness inside. I clutched him, forcing my hand down upon him. He cried out, animal-like and excited.
He pushed me back down upon the bed, holding me there with his strong grip. His hand pressed to my throat, while the other removed his clothes, snapping loose the straps of his overalls. They slipped away, falling off until he kicked them down below his knees. The metal clanked against the bed frame and his skin brushed up with mine.
“Good girl,” he moaned. “Good girl.”
I sighed, eyelashes fluttering. His cock was flush against my thigh. Strange, I think, that it should end like this. All the running, all the chasing, and I want him like this. I didn’t want to be found anymore. I didn’t want this to end. If it was going to be just the two of us, then let it be.
I let out a pleased gasp that made his body quiver, I felt a wetness upon my thigh and then he moved himself away. He pushed open my legs more, his one hand still on my throat. He eased between my thighs and leaned himself over me.
The twinkling lights glowed behind his back, wrapping around us like a canopy. His heavy body laid into mine, his carved wood slipped inside. I lost my breath and clutch onto his wrist. The monster that he was, all around and through, somehow fit inside me.
“Good girl,” he moaned again. His hips thrusted, my body buckled. He was strong and rough, but he coaxed from me a pleasure I’d never felt before. I let him take me, I wanted him to. Behind our masks our voices were muffled, but we could hear each other clearly.
He pressed deeper, going still for a moment before moving again, taking me as much as he wanted. He removed his hand from my throat and placed both my hands around his neck. He nodded, huffing as he placed himself in my hands.
I gripped and he cried out, not in pain, but elation. He moved harder inside me, pushing me down into the bed until it felt like it might break. I tightened my hands around his neck again and he buckled, nearly falling on top of me.
He breathed hard, wheezing while remaining still. I traced his mask with my fingertips. He looked into my eyes, and neither one of us flinched away.
I had never been his prey. He had never been hunting me. He was protecting me and keeping me safe. I was his mate. That’s all anyone wanted during the holidays, wasn’t it? Someone to hold them? To love them?
“Good boy,” I whispered to him.
He whimpered, curling his body into mine until I felt him tremble with his release. I shivered, losing my breath. He continued to move, thrusting into me until I began to tremble as well.
“My mate,” I moaned. “Mine alone.”
We will be whispers heard in the air, barely uttered but oft spoken about. They will come and search for us, but we will only remain as questions to them. True crime aficionados will use our story for years to come. But as long as we are alive, we will suffer this fate together.
