The Man Behind The Mask

March 16th, 2014

*To whomever is reading this; I have decided to record my story on the pages of this book. I can no longer bear the memories with no one to share the burden, nor do I know what will happen to me in the following months. -Ariel Foster*

March 16th, 2014:

             For years I have been haunted in my dreams, haunted by this creature. It's the same apparition every night; I return home a quarter to eight, greeted by my fiancé Brandon. He's made dinner, a lovely assortment of veggies and pasta. Once we've finished the elegant meal, we retreat to the living room to spend the night leisurely. Brandon insists we watch an old horror film, usually something like that of the Twilight Zone. Yet, no matter how horrible it is, I'm always horrified by what I see. By 10 it's time for bed, we go about our nightly routines. Change clothes, wash face, brush teeth, just a simple mundane routine. Crawling into bed, I find that Brandon is already fast asleep under the covers. I drift in and out of sleep, like my mind wants rest but my body wants escape. By two in the morning I've given up all hope of rest, opting for a hot cup of tea instead. As I climb out of bed I notice the window, red drapes billow around the frame. We don't own drapes. I slam the window shut, securely latching it afterwards. Making my way over to Brandon, who has yet to stir, I place a hand on his shoulder. Any attempt at waking him is in vein. Finally, I turn him over, hoping the sudden movement will do the trick. What I find, is anything but pleasant. His eye sockets are hollow, filled with a black sludge that oozes down the side of his face. His mouth contorted into a toothy smile.

            Scarcely have I continued from this point. Always awaking in a cold sweat, screaming louder than I could ever fathom. Last night though, last night was different. After trembling in horror at the thing that my love had become, a tall leathery figure slithered in through the window.

            "What a shame." He says, voice low and smooth. "Ariel dear, it looks like you need a new lock."

            His voice sends icy chills down my spine. Never do I have a chance to respond to him before the entire room is engulfed in black ooze. I wade my way through the substance, which grows thicker by the second. Just before I reach the door, I am ripped under. The last thing I feel, is tar filling my lungs. Minimal is the word to describe the creatures look. He stands seven feet tall, skin black as char, with the texture of old leather. His arms hang down far longer than anyone, or thing, I've ever seen. His face concealed behind a white mask. Elongated cat-like ears are perched atop his head, adding a fair six inches to his height. Two red orbs shine in place of eyes, red as roses, bright as sun, alluring as a spinning wheel. Tomorrow Brandon and I will be going to pay a visit to a therapist. Maybe they can help me make sense of this.