CHAPTER 2 - BEHIND THE MASK
Darkness befell the room from corner to corner, an aura of smothering sinister void. The moon hung high in the sky, a jailed prisoner of the clouds, hidden from site, its natural light blocked. Then, a flash, then two more, quick and intermittent. The sky explodes in a thunderous clap, rumbling following directly after, trailing off as the sound dies down. The inhabitant glances over at the clock, face breaking out in an icy sweat as he lies in bed.
12:44AM. What day is it? That's right. Monday…the 28th…the last day of the month of February. Why is it so cold in this room? A sudden chill shoots through the inhabitant's body, causing an uncontrollable shiver to escape him. His skin feels alive, as if it were made of a million tiny organisms moving in different directions all at once. He gets a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Another sudden bright flash of lightening, followed by an unpredicted burst of thunder that causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. That one sounded close! He thought to himself, wiping a sweat drop from his cold forehead. He shivers once more, then pushes the covers off of him, sitting directly up in bed.
"I can't get warm for the life of me," he says out loud. He glances to his left, fixing his eyes on the open window directly across from him, his twin sized bed completely out of his lower peripheral vision. The red drapes fell victim to the strong winds that completely dominated their movement, pushing back with hard force, their ends waving violently like flags on the hood of a speeding car. The inside windowsill under the doors continued to dampen with each and every drop collecting, some spilling off from the small puddles already visible. "Crap!" he said out loud, noticing the rain coming inside of his room. He attempts to turn his body to the left, his intention being to go shut the window. His back and lower legs were stiff and pained every second he moved. His legs draped over the edge of the bed, the floor suddenly starting to look far away. Was he imagining it?
Man, I feel like I got hit by a truck! He lowers his head as his hand instantly rises to his forehead. This is probably what a hangover feels like. He smiled at his thought, but the smile quickly faded as a random stick suddenly flew through the window and smacked him right in the forehead, the speed being the driving force behind the severity of the impact. "OWWW!" he bellowed angrily. "WHAT THE HELL?" He rubbed the spot tenderly, and brought his hand down under his face. A flash of lightening provided enough quick light to reveal blood on his fingers. "Well, this is just nice," he groaned, more thunder exploding in the sky, sounding farther off this time.
A whispering sound caught his attention. Focusing on it, he realized it was the eerie sound of the wind blowing through his window, through the cracks of his door, and down the staircase. The staircase outside of his room made the creepiest sound whenever the wind managed to find its way in. The sound sometimes sent a chill down his spine, uneasiness finding a place in his soul. Usually, that's when he would turn on his box fan. The roar of the fan was loud enough to block any other sounds that might make him nervous. The sound actually made him feel safe at times. Turning on that fan didn't seem like a bad idea now, but he wanted to shut the window first, before another potential projectile has the opportunity to catch him off guard.
He lurched forward, attempting to put his feet on the floor. As soon as they made contact with the ground, his legs crumpled from underneath him, gravity bringing down the rest of his body. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, tightening his lips as the pain shot through him. His legs were numb beyond comprehension, completely asleep. "That was smart," he said to himself, lying face first onto the floor, arms outstretched.
He now felt the rain on his face. He glanced up at the window again, the swaying of the trees outside informing him that the wind was picking up speed. The streetlight pole outside was slightly moving as well, the scene becoming somewhat reminiscent of a hurricane. It kind of mesmerized him, as he found himself infatuatedly staring at it blankly. Then, another lightning flash. This time, when the sudden bright light disappeared, thus did the illumination of the streetlight, both, gone in a single flash. Crap, does this mean what I think it means? He looked back at the powerstrip next to his nightstand. The button on the front of it was supposed to be glowing, signaling that it was plugged in and on. It was not. "Dammit," he sighed to himself. There went his idea of turning on that fan.
Suddenly, he heard movement, movement he was able to effectively separate from all the other sounds. It was coming from behind him. He instantly got quiet, and let the natural resonance from outside take control of the environment. Fear began to grip at his heart as its thudding increased. He was afraid because he knew what was behind him. Knowing that, he did not want his mind to start running ramped, simply because of the ominous setting. The room was pitch black now, no light whatsoever. His breathing picked up, as more and more foreboding thoughts began to race through his head. He tried to block them out, but they were unrelenting. Then, the movement picked up. He could hear things crashing around behind him. Please God, don't let somebody be in the closet. How could they have even gotten in?
His legs were slowly starting to regain their feeling. It brought him a miniscule of relief, thinking that he might have a chance to use them if he needed to. Then, he heard banging on the closet door, which continued to intensify. He mustered enough strength to turn his body around to see the door moving violently, like a rabid pit bull was trapped behind it. He tried to stand up, but his legs were still not strong enough, and he flopped right back down on the ground. He panicked wildly, his breathing hysterical. He was hyperventilating now, as he crawled in a reverse position, his butt and hands on the ground behind him. He continued moving until the wall where the window sat, brought him to a halt.
Suddenly, the door flew off its hinges, a bright light shining vividly, directly into his retinas. He was blinded, temporarily, pain brewing in both eyes. At this point, his legs were wide awake, full feeling returning to them. He mustered enough strength to actually stand up now. Still blinded, he got to his feet, and rubbed his eyes a few times. He then opened him, his vision completely blurry. Then, it started to change, becoming clearer and clearer, till it was at full clarity. Once his vision returned to normal, his eyes were fixed directly onto the opened closet. He saw nothing but a few toppled boxes. His nervousness dropped a bit.
He became frozen in place, afraid to move out of absolute uncertainty. What just happened? He said to himself. He managed to force himself to walk towards the closet, inspecting it to see if there was anything in it. He mentally prayed to God there wasn't. As he got to the door frame to peer inside, he heard a metallic sound behind him that made him spin around instantly. From his vantage point, he noticed something was off with the window. Glancing behind him quickly, he headed back towards it with a leery gait, his anxiety beginning to rise again. As he got closer, he saw why it looked so odd. The screen was missing from it. A bewildered look formed on his face as he put his hands on the sill and proceeded to look out of it. He looked to his left, and then to his right as the rain wrapped wind attacked his head relentlessly. He didn't see anything and sighed.
Suddenly, he felt a set of hands around the top of his head, yanking him upward. His heart rate instantly sped up, the fear returning in one massive spike. The fingers on the hands were now grabbing gobs of the hair on his head. He cried out as he felt his feet leaving the inside floor. "HELLLP! OH MY GOD! HEELLLLP!"
He ascended until he was completely out of his room and his whole body was outside. He dangled three stories off the ground from his hair as he continued to scream for help, his eyes shut, head forced upward. The fear manifested itself into a crying fit as the rain masked his tears. He was really crying. He didn't want to die. Not now. He was too young with such a potentially long life ahead of him. He forced his eyes open, looking straight up into the face of the individual he was sure was about to kill him. The killer sported a clown mask over his face, an evil mask with a rainbow colored afro wig over the top of it. The facial design mirrored a spider web, with a strawberry shaped nose, and a skeleton-like mouth. The eyes were upside down diagonal scalene triangles, which were tinted over with black cloth, hiding the killer's true eyes from site. A clown mask? Was this some kind of sick joke? He hoped it was, but it didn't look like it.
An evil laugh escaped the killer's skeletal mouth. But it was no ordinary laugh. He hadn't stopped at the clown get up. He had a voice box too, that made his voice sound deep and growly. It sent waves of fear coursing through every inch of the victim's body.
Then, he started ascending again, as the killer's arms pulled his victim up once more, closer and closer to his face. The victim was balling like a baby at this point, as the evil laughter continued. He ascended upward and upward, until his face finally met that of his assailant's. The killer let out another evil laugh and let go of the victim's hair with one of his hands, keeping a firm grip with the other. The victim's eyes were back open. The rain showed signs of easing off until it abruptly stopped. Lightening flashed, three times in a row, followed by an earsplitting burst of thunder. The victim couldn't have gotten anymore petrified at this point. His heart was getting the workout of a lifetime. It was the end. He was sure of it.
The killer reached into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny colt .45 pistol, then waved it in front of his victim's face, laughing sinisterly. He cocked the gun, with the same hand, and then dug it into the victim's forehead, the hard metal barrel causing pain to the area. The victim couldn't breathe, as his hyperventilation returned. The killer than began humming a familiar tune, the voice box making it sound ten times more eerie than it might have sounded normally. The tune, was pop goes the weasel, which the killer was humming gleefully. This was the end. There were no more doubts about it.
He got closer…and closer….and closer….the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun….the victim gritted, fully prepared to meet his maker. But then, nothing happened. The killer had stopped the song. The victim kept his eyes tightly shut, his eyelids almost bursting.
"Shawn." He heard the killer say with that sinister voice box. How did the killer know his name? "Shawn." He said it again. "Shawn." It was as if he was trying to get his attention before he was about to kill him. The killer repeated Shawn's name 3 more times, before Shawn finally opened his eyes, and peered into the clown mask. The killer then said Shawn's name one last time before finally pulling the trigger.
BOOM!
"Shawn…Shawn….SHAWN!...WAKE UP!"
The boy's head shot off the desk, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He deeply inhaled, repeatedly for a few minutes, scared and confused. "Where am I?" He said out loud. "Am I alive?" He glanced over towards his best friend, who was the one who had just woken him up. "Sergio, is that you?"
"Mr. Reece." A familiar voice broke the tension. Shawn glanced over at a corpulent woman standing near the white board, markers in one hand, eraser in the other. She wore a tightly fitted white shirt, with a decorative pi symbol on it, the shirt tucked into her tight fitting blue jeans, conveniently missing a belt. She did not look amused as she gazed upon him, disapprovingly.
"Mrs. Holder?" He said, tiredly, still not fully aware he was back into reality.
"Mr. Reece, the next time you come to my class, you better come fully rested."
"Class?" He asked, his memory starting to return to him. "Wait…what did I miss?"
"You missed a test, Mr. Reece, which you now have an automatic zero on."
"Wait…wait…a test? Mrs. Holder, can I please take it right now. How much class time is left."
Sergio sympathetically sighed, grabbed Shawn by the shoulders, and instructed him to look around the empty room. "Class is over holmes."