Disclaimer: This is a non profit story and based off the Legend of Zelda, a Nintendo Franchise.
Fifty. Fifty masks the Happy Mask Salesman owns, twenty-five of which are wrapped separately. And one of which he had scoured the Earth for.
The Happy Mask Salesman can name every single mask he owns by name. He can describe each feature, down to the miniscule cuts from use. He can go in depth about the origins of each one and even explain the side-effects of use. But none, not one of them, has ever had a story like Majora's Mask.
It scares him, actually, to have a mask like that in his possession. But he has it separated from all the other masks, contained in a small silver box with several layers of magical protection, and then locked up. He is... uncertain of what would happen if he simply left it lying out there, but is not keen to find out. Still, he cannot bring himself to throw away the key, no matter how often he tries.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the sun has set completely, and the moon no longer shines above him, he awakes to hear rustling coming from his pack and he just knows. His heart will begin to beat faster, a cold sweat breaks out, but he cannot move. He only lies there in fear, hoping that it will stop soon. And once it does, and he falls asleep again, his sleep is plagued by terrible, terrible dreams.
He supposes any sane man would get rid of the mask. But he can't throw the key away, and he refuses to even consider burying the mask. Not after all he went to acquire it... that is, before the Skull Kid stole it from him.
But it's safe once more.
He just wonders if he can say the same thing about himself.
Note: Admittedly, Majora's Mask was supposedly stripped of power after the end of the game. This basically ignores that.