Kevin Lucia's Blog, page 18
December 5, 2019
Into the Abyss - McDonough's Hammer of Truth: FRIEND REQUEST
Into the Abyss reviewer Tom McDonough levels his Hammer of Truth on FRIEND REQUEST, currently streaming on Netflix.
December 2, 2019
Into the Abyss 3: Midsommer Review
CW Briar and Kevin Lucia discuss this summer's folk horror offering, Midsommar, discussing overall impact and effectiveness. Spoilers follow. Note: Into the Abyss will always strive to keep it "PG-13" but Midsommer is a R rated movie with graphic sexual elements, and these elements are discussed - critically - in this review.
November 29, 2019
Saturday Night Horror Movie Club: "Thankskilling."
It's the review you never asked for, but didn't know you needed. In this special Black Friday edition of THE SATURDAY NIGHT HORROR MOVIE CLUB, Kevin Lucia extols the virtues of a holiday classic: THANKSKILLING.
November 27, 2019
Into the Abyss 2: IT Chapter 2, Castle Rock (The Series), Stephen King, ...
In the second segment of Into the Abyss, Kevin, Chuck and Ted discuss IT: Chapter 2, the Castle Rock series on Hulu, and Stephen King writing Lovecraftian fiction. Like, share, and subscribe!
November 25, 2019
November 14, 2019
New Release From Cemetery Dance Publications
When you pursue any kind of art, you do so at the behest of wild dreams. One dream has now been achieved. My Clifton Heights novella, MYSTERY ROAD, can be ordered from Cemetery Dance Publications. 12 years ago I promised myself someday I'd be published by Cemetery Dance, and here I am.Choices are like roads, taking us to destinations both planned and unexpected, but lofty thoughts like that are of no concern to young Kevin Ellison, who only cares about his dreams of basketball glory.
One day, however, while riding his bicycle to shoot baskets with his best friend, he comes across a side-road he doesn't recognize, curving away into the woods.
Intrigued, he rides down this unmarked road and encounters something both wonderful and quietly terrible, something that forever changes his understanding of the world...
"Mystery Road is a talented author’s personal variation on genre traditions. It’s so clearly and elegantly written that I couldn’t help but read the whole thing in one sitting." Mike Thorn "Mystery Road is a beautifully written, poignant story about a man caring for his dying father and the memories that suddenly return to him after decades of forgetfulness." - Char's Horror Corner Published as a Hardcover Limited Edition:
• Limited to just 750 signed and numbered copies
• Personally signed by the author on a unique signature page
• Printed on 60# acid-free paper
• Bound in full-cloth with colored head and tail bands
• Featuring hot foil stamping on the front boards and spine
• Printed and bound with full-color endpapers
• Smyth sewn to create a more durable binding
• Wrapped in a full-color dust jacket
• Limited ONE TIME printing of this special edition
• Retail price just $30!
October 18, 2019
The Mask, Chapter 17
17.
Saturday, October 13th8:00 AM
Chairman of the Town Board, Bob Phillips sat back in his plush leather chair, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it. He looked about as tired and vexed as Sheriff Baker felt.
"Okay," he said, eyes still closed, still rubbing his nose, as if a throbbing ache had settled there, and he could rub it away. "Let's go over it again, from the top."
Sheriff Baker repressed a sigh as he flipped his yellow notepad - now three pages full of notes which didn't make much sense at all - and did just that. He recounted the disappearances of Lester McDonough, Margaret Seaver, Jasper Riley, then of Jasper's mother, and eventually the whole family.
"And there's been no sign of them since. No sign of anything amiss at the houses, cars gone, no evidence of foul play?"
Sheriff Baker shook his head. "It's like they disappeared. Got in their cars and drove off. And of course, all these folks are fairly isolated people. It's not like any of them had many connections in town."
Phillips opened his eyes and offered Baker a wry grin. "And that's how it always works around here, isn't it?" Before Baker could respond, he added, "And there's been desecration up on Hillside Cemetery. But not vandalism. Coffins dug up, broken into, and the corpses...eaten? Is that right? By what, for Godsakes?"
"Jeff Anderson over at Utica PD Forensics couldn't give us a positive ID. Not any know animal, and not exactly...human."
Phillips shook his head, in a gesture of amazement or disgust, Baker wasn't sure. "Shit. I bet Jud Collins is foaming at the mouth, ready to hide up in a tree-stand with a shotgun, at this point."
Baker allowed a small smile, despite the circumstances. "It took some doing, but I convinced him to wait until I could talk to you about approving overtime for someone to watch over the cemetery. His patience is running out, though. It's happened three more times this week."
Phillips waved a hand. "Well, you'll get the overtime, that's for sure. Especially after what happened at The Golden Kitty last night. God, what a mess."
Baker had to agree. He'd received a call from the Webb County Police at 4 AM this morning about the strip club just past town limits, and how it was in the process of burning down. He felt wrung-out because he hadn't been able to get back to sleep, but he wondered if maybe that was a good thing, seeing as how the call had pulled him from a troubled sleep filled with nothing but leering, misshapen masks.
"Any word about what started the fire yet?"
Phillips shook his head. "Since it's just outside our jurisdiction, Webb County Police and Fire are handling it. Thankfully, it appears as if there was only one causality. They're still IDing the body, but the only vehicle in the parking lot - an 85' Dodge pickup - belonged to a Conroy Ortega, and bouncer at the club who lives in Booneville. I'm guessing that's who the body is."
Baker pressed his lips together. As Phillips had said, The Golden Kitty was just outside his jurisdiction, but he'd been called there on a handful of occasions when Webb County had been delayed. He'd dealt with Ortega a few times, and even though he knew little about the man, the bouncer had always seemed respectful and forthright. Protective of the club and the girls, almost as if they were his family. It was an unfortunate loss.
"So, I can't remember - my mind is about shot, and it's not even nine in the morning - but there's been no sighting of those missing?"
Baker tipped his head. "Only one possible. When I interview the Taylor boy, he said the last day he saw Jasper, they split up and went their separate ways because they felt threatened by two adults wearing 'weird' masks. I gave him the physical descriptions of McDonough and Seaver, and though he couldn't be sure because of the distance, he thought they corresponded."
Phillips leaned back, clasped his hands behind his neck, stared at the ceiling and sighed. "Son of a bitch. What the hell is going on? I mean, weird stuff tends to happen here, especially around Halloween, but this...."
He shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. "What about the person this Taylor kid says was chasing him at Kaminsky's corn maze last night? He was wearing a mask, too?"
Baker nodded. He'd received a call last night, around 9 PM, from Cassie Tillman, waitress at The Skylark, clerk at Kevin Ellison's used book store Arcane Delights, and a hospice nurse at the Webb County Assisted Living Center. She and Julie Sanzone - a stripper from The Golden Kitty, he'd recognized her soon as he'd arrived on scene - were with a rattled Scott Tyler, He'd claimed that a teen dressed like Jasper Riley - but wearing the same weird mask - had chased him through cornfield, actually tackling him and wrestling with before he was able to fight free.
"Yes. He thought it might have been Jasper Riley - was wearing the same clothes he'd seen the boy in last - but couldn't be sure. Also..."
"Yes?"
Baker paused before continuing. In his initial interviews with Taylor, he'd sensed the boy had told him everything. Last night, however, he felt like the boy hadn't been entirely truthful about the encounter, with him or the young women he'd blundered into.
He shook his head. "I'm not sure, Mr. Phillips. Just seems like something here doesn't quite fit."
Phillips glanced out his office window and snorted. "Something? Make that nothing fits. At all."
He looked back to Baker, eyes slightly narrowed. "And you're sure you've told me everything?"
Baker hadn't, of course. He'd asked Jeff to keep the weird rubber sample - the organic rubber sample that was alive - off the books and between them, for the moment. So when he nodded and said, "Yes sir," firmly, he was lying through his teeth. However, it was also the normal state of affairs around Clifton Heights. Things too weird he kept off the books, and tried to handle himself."
Phillips' face relaxed. "All right. I'm officially approving overtime for Shackleford and Potter to start watching Hillside Cemetery tomorrow night. Think you can keep Jud Collins pacified until then?"
Baker thought that very unlikely, but even so, said, "I'll do my best."
"Also. I'm authorizing you, as Town Board chairman, to force entry into both McDonough and Seaver's homes. Find out, if you can, where they've gone. Get to the bottom of this, before it blows up. We're used to our fair share of weird happenings, but we haven't anything go over the edge in quite some time. I'd like to keep it that way."
"Agreed," Baker said, putting his trooper hat on as he stood. In addition to searching the two homes, another interview with Taylor was needed. Time to ask the boy straight out what he hadn't told Baker the night before.
Saturday, October 13th8:00 AM
Chairman of the Town Board, Bob Phillips sat back in his plush leather chair, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it. He looked about as tired and vexed as Sheriff Baker felt.
"Okay," he said, eyes still closed, still rubbing his nose, as if a throbbing ache had settled there, and he could rub it away. "Let's go over it again, from the top."
Sheriff Baker repressed a sigh as he flipped his yellow notepad - now three pages full of notes which didn't make much sense at all - and did just that. He recounted the disappearances of Lester McDonough, Margaret Seaver, Jasper Riley, then of Jasper's mother, and eventually the whole family.
"And there's been no sign of them since. No sign of anything amiss at the houses, cars gone, no evidence of foul play?"
Sheriff Baker shook his head. "It's like they disappeared. Got in their cars and drove off. And of course, all these folks are fairly isolated people. It's not like any of them had many connections in town."
Phillips opened his eyes and offered Baker a wry grin. "And that's how it always works around here, isn't it?" Before Baker could respond, he added, "And there's been desecration up on Hillside Cemetery. But not vandalism. Coffins dug up, broken into, and the corpses...eaten? Is that right? By what, for Godsakes?"
"Jeff Anderson over at Utica PD Forensics couldn't give us a positive ID. Not any know animal, and not exactly...human."
Phillips shook his head, in a gesture of amazement or disgust, Baker wasn't sure. "Shit. I bet Jud Collins is foaming at the mouth, ready to hide up in a tree-stand with a shotgun, at this point."
Baker allowed a small smile, despite the circumstances. "It took some doing, but I convinced him to wait until I could talk to you about approving overtime for someone to watch over the cemetery. His patience is running out, though. It's happened three more times this week."
Phillips waved a hand. "Well, you'll get the overtime, that's for sure. Especially after what happened at The Golden Kitty last night. God, what a mess."
Baker had to agree. He'd received a call from the Webb County Police at 4 AM this morning about the strip club just past town limits, and how it was in the process of burning down. He felt wrung-out because he hadn't been able to get back to sleep, but he wondered if maybe that was a good thing, seeing as how the call had pulled him from a troubled sleep filled with nothing but leering, misshapen masks.
"Any word about what started the fire yet?"
Phillips shook his head. "Since it's just outside our jurisdiction, Webb County Police and Fire are handling it. Thankfully, it appears as if there was only one causality. They're still IDing the body, but the only vehicle in the parking lot - an 85' Dodge pickup - belonged to a Conroy Ortega, and bouncer at the club who lives in Booneville. I'm guessing that's who the body is."
Baker pressed his lips together. As Phillips had said, The Golden Kitty was just outside his jurisdiction, but he'd been called there on a handful of occasions when Webb County had been delayed. He'd dealt with Ortega a few times, and even though he knew little about the man, the bouncer had always seemed respectful and forthright. Protective of the club and the girls, almost as if they were his family. It was an unfortunate loss.
"So, I can't remember - my mind is about shot, and it's not even nine in the morning - but there's been no sighting of those missing?"
Baker tipped his head. "Only one possible. When I interview the Taylor boy, he said the last day he saw Jasper, they split up and went their separate ways because they felt threatened by two adults wearing 'weird' masks. I gave him the physical descriptions of McDonough and Seaver, and though he couldn't be sure because of the distance, he thought they corresponded."
Phillips leaned back, clasped his hands behind his neck, stared at the ceiling and sighed. "Son of a bitch. What the hell is going on? I mean, weird stuff tends to happen here, especially around Halloween, but this...."
He shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. "What about the person this Taylor kid says was chasing him at Kaminsky's corn maze last night? He was wearing a mask, too?"
Baker nodded. He'd received a call last night, around 9 PM, from Cassie Tillman, waitress at The Skylark, clerk at Kevin Ellison's used book store Arcane Delights, and a hospice nurse at the Webb County Assisted Living Center. She and Julie Sanzone - a stripper from The Golden Kitty, he'd recognized her soon as he'd arrived on scene - were with a rattled Scott Tyler, He'd claimed that a teen dressed like Jasper Riley - but wearing the same weird mask - had chased him through cornfield, actually tackling him and wrestling with before he was able to fight free.
"Yes. He thought it might have been Jasper Riley - was wearing the same clothes he'd seen the boy in last - but couldn't be sure. Also..."
"Yes?"
Baker paused before continuing. In his initial interviews with Taylor, he'd sensed the boy had told him everything. Last night, however, he felt like the boy hadn't been entirely truthful about the encounter, with him or the young women he'd blundered into.
He shook his head. "I'm not sure, Mr. Phillips. Just seems like something here doesn't quite fit."
Phillips glanced out his office window and snorted. "Something? Make that nothing fits. At all."
He looked back to Baker, eyes slightly narrowed. "And you're sure you've told me everything?"
Baker hadn't, of course. He'd asked Jeff to keep the weird rubber sample - the organic rubber sample that was alive - off the books and between them, for the moment. So when he nodded and said, "Yes sir," firmly, he was lying through his teeth. However, it was also the normal state of affairs around Clifton Heights. Things too weird he kept off the books, and tried to handle himself."
Phillips' face relaxed. "All right. I'm officially approving overtime for Shackleford and Potter to start watching Hillside Cemetery tomorrow night. Think you can keep Jud Collins pacified until then?"
Baker thought that very unlikely, but even so, said, "I'll do my best."
"Also. I'm authorizing you, as Town Board chairman, to force entry into both McDonough and Seaver's homes. Find out, if you can, where they've gone. Get to the bottom of this, before it blows up. We're used to our fair share of weird happenings, but we haven't anything go over the edge in quite some time. I'd like to keep it that way."
"Agreed," Baker said, putting his trooper hat on as he stood. In addition to searching the two homes, another interview with Taylor was needed. Time to ask the boy straight out what he hadn't told Baker the night before.
October 15, 2019
The Mask, Chapter 16
16.
Saturday, October 12th3:00 AM
The strange feeling of being watched swept over Conroy again on his final round through The Golden Kitty, making sure all doors were locked, the cash-box secured, and the lights turned off in the restrooms, the girl's changing room, and the upper office. He tugged on the door to the backroom where the booze was stored, found it locked solid, and turned to look out into the empty club.
It had been a slow night. On a superficial level, that might seem like a good thing. Fewer customers jonesing for lap-dances and private one on one sessions meant less trouble. That had certainly been the case tonight. No one had gotten grabby or complained, which meant an easy night for the girls and the bouncers.
And revenue wasn't a concern. The club went through its highs and lows, and it always ended up in the black, eventually. No, something less tangible had bothered Conroy all night. A feeling in the air. A dampening presence, for lack of a better term, which brought with it a cloying sense of unease. It was the same thing he'd felt in the parking lot the other night, only more subtle.
The patrons had sensed it - buying very few drinks, and acting uninterested in lap dances or private sessions - and Conroy could tell the girls had sensed it, also. Usually energetic and maybe sometimes overzealous in their endeavors, they'd acted lethargic and nervous all night long. Their hearts clearly hadn't been in their lackluster performances. Which, of course, hadn't encouraged the patrons any, either.
For some reason, Conroy felt good that Julie had asked for the night off. She'd seemed the most affected by those masked weirdos who'd tried to gang-rush the club a few nights ago, and he didn't like seeing her so uncomfortable and on edge. He didn't know too much about her past (he'd never really asked) but he knew her sobriety was only about a year old. He'd hate to see her relapse.
Which, of course, only brought up the conflict he felt whenever he thought about Julie. He knew firsthand how hard it was to maintain his own sobriety surrounded by booze almost nightly. However, as a bouncer, he simply had to be clear headed as part of the job. Made it easier for him to build walls.
Julie, on the other hand - like a lot of the girls still did at The Kitty - used to get buzzed before hitting the stage as a matter of course. They called a shot of their favorite liquor before their first dance "go juice." For Julie to stay sober, she had to abstain from something all the other girls did every night as part of their routine.
She had to get out of here. If she wanted a chance at staying sober and living a normal life, she had to leave The Golden Kitty and stop stripping.
Which meant he wouldn't be able to see her, anymore.
He snorted. He was ten years older than Julie, at the very least. No way she'd be interested in a grizzled old horse like him, and besides. He wasn't going down that road again with one the girls at The Kitty. Even with both of them sober, and at better places in their lives. He'd drawn a line in the sand regarding that, one he wasn't willing to cross.
He shook his head stepped forward to turn out the lights, head out back, and lock up for the night.
Something scraped quietly behind him.
A shoe on the floor.
Conroy spun, throwing his hands up, balled into fists...leaving his gut completely unprotected from the metal shaft thrust at him. The shaft's jagged end punched into his stomach with a force which didn't seem human, tearing through muscle and ribs, ripping through his back muscles, and out his back.
He doubled over with a gurgling gasp. Hands clutching futilely at the blood-slicked metal. Slipping off, unable to gain any grip.
It wouldn't have mattered if he could've gotten a grip. He couldn't straighten, his torn and ruined insides twisted up and around the metal shaft. Strength left his legs, and he sank to his knees.
He looked down at the shaft blearily, drooling blood. Looked like an old road sign post. They always got knocked down and sheared off by snowplows in the winter. Plenty of them laying around. But who would...
A spasm rippled through him. He coughed up a clot of blood, and gasped in pain. Slowly he raised his head to look at who had done this, though his view titled as he listed slowly to one side as he crumpled to the floor, hands still fluttering uselessly around the metal signpost jammed into his guts.
He saw them, each standing about five feet away. More freaks in masks, the same masks as the other night. Instinctively, he knew they hadn't wanted to touch him, for some reason. Couldn't touch him. That's why one of them had used a shorn road sign post. They couldn't touch him, because...
The crosses.
His cross tattoos.
Sure, his dying brain thought, as his eyelids fluttered. That made sense. He didn't know what those fucking things were...but they were evil. He knew that. And evil things wouldn't be able to touch the cross of the Savior. No way in hell. He actually chuckled a little at that. Which forced more blood up his throat and out his mouth, and sent another icy wave of pain crashing through him. But this one felt more distant, which probably meant he wasn't long for this world, and that was good, so he wouldn't feel anymore pain...
Something wet splashed on his face, and ran into his eyes. Something which burned. He recognized the smell, because it was similar to the one he smelled mowing the lawn all summer, and at the stock car races at Five Mile Speedway...
"No," he croaked through blood-slicked lips as he felt more kerosene being poured on him, all over. "No, p..please...puh..."
The fumes made him choke and gag. He tried to roll over onto his back, and when the road sign post caught against the floor and tore against his guts even more, he cried out in pain, finally.
He'd gotten a glimpse, though. Of a burning match thrown at him. It lit in the vapors wafting before his face, and the world exploded into heat and light, and mind-scrambling pain as the kerosene-soaked skin on his cheeks and forehead exploded.
For a moment - the briefest of moments, which felt like an eternity - he felt his skin bubble, crackle, and ooze off his face. Something happened, however - a blessed coolness spreading over him - and he fell into a darkness which comforted and eased, and did not terrify. His final thought before moving on from this world to the next was that, if God were merciful, the entire club would go up in flames, so Julie could have that chance at a normal she deserved.
Saturday, October 12th3:00 AM
The strange feeling of being watched swept over Conroy again on his final round through The Golden Kitty, making sure all doors were locked, the cash-box secured, and the lights turned off in the restrooms, the girl's changing room, and the upper office. He tugged on the door to the backroom where the booze was stored, found it locked solid, and turned to look out into the empty club.
It had been a slow night. On a superficial level, that might seem like a good thing. Fewer customers jonesing for lap-dances and private one on one sessions meant less trouble. That had certainly been the case tonight. No one had gotten grabby or complained, which meant an easy night for the girls and the bouncers.
And revenue wasn't a concern. The club went through its highs and lows, and it always ended up in the black, eventually. No, something less tangible had bothered Conroy all night. A feeling in the air. A dampening presence, for lack of a better term, which brought with it a cloying sense of unease. It was the same thing he'd felt in the parking lot the other night, only more subtle.
The patrons had sensed it - buying very few drinks, and acting uninterested in lap dances or private sessions - and Conroy could tell the girls had sensed it, also. Usually energetic and maybe sometimes overzealous in their endeavors, they'd acted lethargic and nervous all night long. Their hearts clearly hadn't been in their lackluster performances. Which, of course, hadn't encouraged the patrons any, either.
For some reason, Conroy felt good that Julie had asked for the night off. She'd seemed the most affected by those masked weirdos who'd tried to gang-rush the club a few nights ago, and he didn't like seeing her so uncomfortable and on edge. He didn't know too much about her past (he'd never really asked) but he knew her sobriety was only about a year old. He'd hate to see her relapse.
Which, of course, only brought up the conflict he felt whenever he thought about Julie. He knew firsthand how hard it was to maintain his own sobriety surrounded by booze almost nightly. However, as a bouncer, he simply had to be clear headed as part of the job. Made it easier for him to build walls.
Julie, on the other hand - like a lot of the girls still did at The Kitty - used to get buzzed before hitting the stage as a matter of course. They called a shot of their favorite liquor before their first dance "go juice." For Julie to stay sober, she had to abstain from something all the other girls did every night as part of their routine.
She had to get out of here. If she wanted a chance at staying sober and living a normal life, she had to leave The Golden Kitty and stop stripping.
Which meant he wouldn't be able to see her, anymore.
He snorted. He was ten years older than Julie, at the very least. No way she'd be interested in a grizzled old horse like him, and besides. He wasn't going down that road again with one the girls at The Kitty. Even with both of them sober, and at better places in their lives. He'd drawn a line in the sand regarding that, one he wasn't willing to cross.
He shook his head stepped forward to turn out the lights, head out back, and lock up for the night.
Something scraped quietly behind him.
A shoe on the floor.
Conroy spun, throwing his hands up, balled into fists...leaving his gut completely unprotected from the metal shaft thrust at him. The shaft's jagged end punched into his stomach with a force which didn't seem human, tearing through muscle and ribs, ripping through his back muscles, and out his back.
He doubled over with a gurgling gasp. Hands clutching futilely at the blood-slicked metal. Slipping off, unable to gain any grip.
It wouldn't have mattered if he could've gotten a grip. He couldn't straighten, his torn and ruined insides twisted up and around the metal shaft. Strength left his legs, and he sank to his knees.
He looked down at the shaft blearily, drooling blood. Looked like an old road sign post. They always got knocked down and sheared off by snowplows in the winter. Plenty of them laying around. But who would...
A spasm rippled through him. He coughed up a clot of blood, and gasped in pain. Slowly he raised his head to look at who had done this, though his view titled as he listed slowly to one side as he crumpled to the floor, hands still fluttering uselessly around the metal signpost jammed into his guts.
He saw them, each standing about five feet away. More freaks in masks, the same masks as the other night. Instinctively, he knew they hadn't wanted to touch him, for some reason. Couldn't touch him. That's why one of them had used a shorn road sign post. They couldn't touch him, because...
The crosses.
His cross tattoos.
Sure, his dying brain thought, as his eyelids fluttered. That made sense. He didn't know what those fucking things were...but they were evil. He knew that. And evil things wouldn't be able to touch the cross of the Savior. No way in hell. He actually chuckled a little at that. Which forced more blood up his throat and out his mouth, and sent another icy wave of pain crashing through him. But this one felt more distant, which probably meant he wasn't long for this world, and that was good, so he wouldn't feel anymore pain...
Something wet splashed on his face, and ran into his eyes. Something which burned. He recognized the smell, because it was similar to the one he smelled mowing the lawn all summer, and at the stock car races at Five Mile Speedway...
"No," he croaked through blood-slicked lips as he felt more kerosene being poured on him, all over. "No, p..please...puh..."
The fumes made him choke and gag. He tried to roll over onto his back, and when the road sign post caught against the floor and tore against his guts even more, he cried out in pain, finally.
He'd gotten a glimpse, though. Of a burning match thrown at him. It lit in the vapors wafting before his face, and the world exploded into heat and light, and mind-scrambling pain as the kerosene-soaked skin on his cheeks and forehead exploded.
For a moment - the briefest of moments, which felt like an eternity - he felt his skin bubble, crackle, and ooze off his face. Something happened, however - a blessed coolness spreading over him - and he fell into a darkness which comforted and eased, and did not terrify. His final thought before moving on from this world to the next was that, if God were merciful, the entire club would go up in flames, so Julie could have that chance at a normal she deserved.
October 14, 2019
The Mask, Chapter 15
15.
Blinding fear propelled Scott through walls of cornstalks, as something - the figure wearing the mask, the one which might or might not be Jasper - thrashed behind him. Breath roared in his ears and his heart pounded against his chest. He wanted to scream for help, for someone, anyone, but for some reason he couldn't gather enough breath to make anything more than weak, mewling rasps.
The thing behind him pursued silently, past its fighting through the cornstalks. It said nothing, didn't even grunt or breath hard. It just kept coming.
Scott burst free from the corntalks into an abandoned stretch of maze. He turned to head right, but his foot caught on a rut and he tumbled face-first into the ground.
The figure was on him in an instant. It reached for him, the mask on its face melting, pulsing, and oozing. It loomed over him, and Scott felt he only moments before all he was disappeared forever.
Now, a voice whispered in his head.
He pulled his cross out of his pocket and slammed it against the thing's mask. His fingers touched the slick, gray rubber, and revulsion pulsed through him. It didn't feel like rubber; at all. It felt like the hide of a reptile, but it pulsed with a sick warmth that made him want to throw up.
The thing reacted instantly. It's black mouth opened much wider than it should, and Scott had to forced down his gorge at the tongue which writhed deep in that throat. Its eyes bulged to the point of popping out, and - like in his dream - Scott more felt the thing's scream of pain, rather than heard it.
The smell of burnt rubber and flesh filled his nostrils. Smoke rose from where he pressed the cross into its mask, and the rubber (skin?) blackened, bubbled, and cracked in an outline around the cross.
Scott heaved a knee into its stomach and threw it off. Rolled onto his hands and knees, set to propel himself forward...
It grabbed his ankle.
He looked over his shoulder as it yanked him backward. Desperate fear giving him strength, he flipped onto his back and swung his other foot as hard as he could. His sneaker connected at the thing's temple with a wet thud, and rubber or flesh or something splattered like an over-ripe pumpkin under a sledgehammer.
He rolled back over onto his hands and knees, not sparing another glance, and dove into the corn, running as fast as he could. He didn't stop, until he plunged into another corridor, tripped, and fell at the feet off two women not as old his mother, but much older than high school seniors.
He sat up, barely registering that both the girls - one with long blond hair, the other with short brown hair cut in a bob - were what he or Jasper would've labeled "fuckin hot." All he worried about was the hole in the corn he'd plunged through, and if anything was following him.
*
The boy - probably a junior high student, Julie thought - sat and stared at where he'd come through the corn, panting, face white and sweating. His eyes were wide with terror, and his free hand grabbed at the soil, clenching and unclenching in fear.
For some reason, Julie didn't think he'd gotten spooked by the Halloween corn maze, or that he'd been running from bullies. His terror seemed too large, too awesome in nature to have come from upperclassmen thugs. For some reason, she thought instantly of the weirdos in masks, though she didn't know why.
"Hey," she crouched next to him, checking him over for any obvious injuries, and finding none. "You okay?"
He panted, eyes flicking from the hole in the corn, to her, back to the corn. "I...uh...some...something...uh, someone was chasing me, and...and..."
"Julie, look at this." Cassie muttered. Julie turned and saw her friend bending over to a smartphone lying in the dirt, which the boy had obviously dropped.
As Cassie picked it up, an image - a picture the boy had taken - resolved into clearer view. It was a figure standing in corn maze, and its face...
"What..." Julie swallowed, then rasped, "What's on its face? Is that...."
She looked at the boy. "Was that...was that chasing you?"
The boy offered her a spare glance, nodded, his gaze darting right back to the corn.
"Jules."
Julie turned back to the phone Cassie held. She'd enlarged the picture, so they could see the figure's face clearly. It was wearing a mask, the same exact mask the weirdos had been wearing when they'd tried to get into The Golden Kitty several nights ago.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
Blinding fear propelled Scott through walls of cornstalks, as something - the figure wearing the mask, the one which might or might not be Jasper - thrashed behind him. Breath roared in his ears and his heart pounded against his chest. He wanted to scream for help, for someone, anyone, but for some reason he couldn't gather enough breath to make anything more than weak, mewling rasps.
The thing behind him pursued silently, past its fighting through the cornstalks. It said nothing, didn't even grunt or breath hard. It just kept coming.
Scott burst free from the corntalks into an abandoned stretch of maze. He turned to head right, but his foot caught on a rut and he tumbled face-first into the ground.
The figure was on him in an instant. It reached for him, the mask on its face melting, pulsing, and oozing. It loomed over him, and Scott felt he only moments before all he was disappeared forever.
Now, a voice whispered in his head.
He pulled his cross out of his pocket and slammed it against the thing's mask. His fingers touched the slick, gray rubber, and revulsion pulsed through him. It didn't feel like rubber; at all. It felt like the hide of a reptile, but it pulsed with a sick warmth that made him want to throw up.
The thing reacted instantly. It's black mouth opened much wider than it should, and Scott had to forced down his gorge at the tongue which writhed deep in that throat. Its eyes bulged to the point of popping out, and - like in his dream - Scott more felt the thing's scream of pain, rather than heard it.
The smell of burnt rubber and flesh filled his nostrils. Smoke rose from where he pressed the cross into its mask, and the rubber (skin?) blackened, bubbled, and cracked in an outline around the cross.
Scott heaved a knee into its stomach and threw it off. Rolled onto his hands and knees, set to propel himself forward...
It grabbed his ankle.
He looked over his shoulder as it yanked him backward. Desperate fear giving him strength, he flipped onto his back and swung his other foot as hard as he could. His sneaker connected at the thing's temple with a wet thud, and rubber or flesh or something splattered like an over-ripe pumpkin under a sledgehammer.
He rolled back over onto his hands and knees, not sparing another glance, and dove into the corn, running as fast as he could. He didn't stop, until he plunged into another corridor, tripped, and fell at the feet off two women not as old his mother, but much older than high school seniors.
He sat up, barely registering that both the girls - one with long blond hair, the other with short brown hair cut in a bob - were what he or Jasper would've labeled "fuckin hot." All he worried about was the hole in the corn he'd plunged through, and if anything was following him.
*
The boy - probably a junior high student, Julie thought - sat and stared at where he'd come through the corn, panting, face white and sweating. His eyes were wide with terror, and his free hand grabbed at the soil, clenching and unclenching in fear.
For some reason, Julie didn't think he'd gotten spooked by the Halloween corn maze, or that he'd been running from bullies. His terror seemed too large, too awesome in nature to have come from upperclassmen thugs. For some reason, she thought instantly of the weirdos in masks, though she didn't know why.
"Hey," she crouched next to him, checking him over for any obvious injuries, and finding none. "You okay?"
He panted, eyes flicking from the hole in the corn, to her, back to the corn. "I...uh...some...something...uh, someone was chasing me, and...and..."
"Julie, look at this." Cassie muttered. Julie turned and saw her friend bending over to a smartphone lying in the dirt, which the boy had obviously dropped.
As Cassie picked it up, an image - a picture the boy had taken - resolved into clearer view. It was a figure standing in corn maze, and its face...
"What..." Julie swallowed, then rasped, "What's on its face? Is that...."
She looked at the boy. "Was that...was that chasing you?"
The boy offered her a spare glance, nodded, his gaze darting right back to the corn.
"Jules."
Julie turned back to the phone Cassie held. She'd enlarged the picture, so they could see the figure's face clearly. It was wearing a mask, the same exact mask the weirdos had been wearing when they'd tried to get into The Golden Kitty several nights ago.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
The Mask, Chapter 14
14.
Friday, October 11th, 20198:00 PM
Jasper had been missing for about a week. He'd never come back to school, and the one time Scott had forced himself to walk over to the Riley farm - Wednesday afternoon - he'd found the place abandoned. Though it had felt like something had watched him from the woods the brief time he'd circled the house and the barn, Scott hadn't seen a thing, and hadn't heard a sound.
And no one in town had mentioned a thing, or seemed to care at all. When Scott had approached Terry, Jasper's supposed best friend, asking if he knew where Jasper had gotten to, the skinny fourteen year had shrugged and mumbled, "Hell if I know." Apparently they weren't nearly as close as Jasper had let on.
Sheriff Baker had visited their house once more, Tuesday evening, asking Scott if he'd seen Jasper, or heard from him. He'd said no, and the sheriff had mentioned that he'd visited the farm and it didn't seem as if anyone was there now. He wondered if the whole family had gone somewhere. That's what had sent Scott there the next day.
He hadn't told Sheriff Baker the weird dream he'd had of Jasper Sunday night, of him wearing that weird mask, and sneaking into his house. He hadn't told Baker about waking up to find the front door open, or feeling his cross necklace warm to the touch for some reason. Or, the small blob of what felt like hardened plastic he'd found stuck to the sofa. Sheriff Baker seemed okay for an adult, but Scott still thought the sheriff would wave those things off as his imagination acting up, nothing more.
There hadn't been any more dreams of Jasper, though one more weird thing had happened. Despite his strange dream Sunday night, Scott had once again fallen asleep on the couch Thursday night, watching a stupid horror movie on the Sy Fy channel about a psychotic entomologist who had discovered how to mind-control fire ants. He hadn't dreamed of Jasper again, but he had jerked awake, once again convinced someone had been standing over him.
No one had, but when Scott rolled over, he'd discovered his cross necklace lying on the floor, the chain broken. He told himself it was because it had gotten twisted up in his sleep, and of course the thing would break so easy, he'd bought it at a pawnshop, after all. He'd managed to believe that. Mostly.
Scott drifted through the rest of the school week, staying under the radar. In truth, without Jasper around, Scott didn't feel much inclination to cause mischief. It wasn't so much that he'd liked Jasper, or that Scott missed him. It was more like something in him - the hurt confusion he felt over his parent's divorce - responded to the mayhem Jasper represented.
Without that catalyst around, he'd fallen into a sort of sleep mode. He hadn't gotten back on the 'A train' with his schoolwork, and certainly had no intentions of being the "good boy" again anytime soon. He was simply an inert gas (wow, he'd learned something in Science after all), without the catalyst of Jasper.
Mom, of course, had been delighted over the change. She hadn't said anything, probably afraid she'd jinx it, but she hadn't hassled him about his homework (even though he still wasn't doing it) or his after-school activities all week. In fact, that's what had lead him here on a Friday night, to Kaminsky's Farm. Mom had suggested that maybe he'd like to visit Kaminsky's annual Haunted Corn Maze and have some fun while she worked the late shift at The Skylark Diner.
Normally, Scott would've scoffed at the suggestion. He'd heard his classmates talking about the Haunted Corn Maze, the girls squealing in glee about how "spooky" it was, the boys snorting and calling it a "lame maze with stupid mannequins that didn't look real at all." But for some reason, when Mom had suggested it at the dinner table Thursday night, Scott had shrugged and said, "Sure. Sounds cool."
So here he was, Friday night, at Kaminsky's Farm, wandering through the corn maze as little kids ran by screaming, their tired and annoyed-amused parents staggering behind, trying to keep up. He'd been walking around for about twenty minutes, and he had to admit - while not frightening in the slightest - the maze had a kind of charm to it. Whoever carved it out of the massive cornfield on Hitchens Road had mapped an intricate network of multiple paths, intersections, switch-backs, and dead ends. After about ten minutes of apathetic wandering, he'd found himself far more engaged than he'd thought he would be.
He'd passed some from school. A few clusters of junior high girls clinging to each other, shaking with exaggerated giggles of fear, and a handful of high school students slouching through the maze, pretending they were bored with it all. He'd ignored them, as they'd ignored him. He'd need their company, after all.
But as he turned a corner to see nothing but a long stretch of corn maze, he found himself thinking how empty it seemed, and quiet, also. One moment, he'd heard little kids screeching and parents lecturing them to slow down you'll fall; junior high girls yelping as they scared themselves, and the general background noise of everyone else in the corn maze.
Now, nothing. An almost deafening silence, with the exception of cornstalks rustling in a mild, night breeze. The moon hung high in the night, casting the path ahead in a silvery glow.
Scott suddenly felt very unsure of progressing any further down this stretch of the corn mazes. All the other passages hadn't gone very long before they turned, or split into intersections. This stretch seemed to go on forever, and Scott felt that, if he proceeded down it, for the first he'd be traveling away from the farm and the road, and deeper into the corn field. Away from people.
He didn't like that idea, at all. Abruptly, he wanted to get back to the farm, hop on his bike, and head home.
He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone. It had been on lock-down since he'd started his slide into temporary juvenile delinquency, but because of his at least not troublesome behavior this week, and because he'd biked to the corn maze alone, Mom had let him have it. He thumbed it on, typed in his password, and brought up Google Maps. Some part of him complained he was cheating, and that he should find his way back through the maze on his own. Another part of him just wanted to get on he bike, and get the hell home.
Google Maps loaded for several more seconds, until finally it flashed the message: "Check connection." He looked and, sure enough, he didn't have any bars.
Fine. He'd just turn around and go back the way he came. He activated the flashlight app on his phone (for some reason, it seemed a lot darker than it had been moments before), and turned around. He stepped back toward the way he came...
And saw him, standing at the corner which he'd turned to come this way. A kid about his height, wearing a very dingy and ripped Danzig t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. And also, Scott could see...that damn weird mask, which he and Jasper had seen those two weirdos wearing about a week ago, out on Black Creek Bridge.
The figure didn't move. Just stood there, arms hanging slack. On some level Scott knew that thing had to be a mask (it had to be, right?) but he couldn't help but feel like those bulging rubber eyes were staring at him. Measuring him. Judging him. Taking him in.
Instinctively, he stuck his free hand into his other pocket, and grabbed hold of his broken cross necklace. He couldn't say why he'd felt compelled to stuff it into his pocket before he'd left home, just that he had. And he heeded an instinct to keep it in his pocket, and not pull it out just let. It was like...he didn't want to let Jasper, or whoever the hell that was, know he had it with him. It didn't make sense, but he heeded the impulse, regardless.
Another instinct sparked inside. He thumbed open his phone's camera app, held it up, tapped zoom once, and snapped a picture of the figure (maybe Jasper, maybe not) wearing the mask. The flash illuminated the figure, for a brief instant, and in that glow, Scott realized with horror that mask didn't lay still on the figure's face. It pulsed, and writhed, and moved.
Like it was alive.
The figure on the mask jerked in the camera's flash. Tipped its head, as if curious. Then, it started walking toward him in big strides just short of a run.
Again, for some reason, Scott didn't pull the cross out. Instead, he muttered, "Fuck it," and instead of turning around and running down the long stretch of maze, turned left and plunged into the corn, thrashing his way back toward where he thought the farm and road must be.
Fear spiked through as he heard something dive into the corn and thrash its way after him.
*
"Booga-booga!"
Julie mock-screamed as Cassie jabbed her in the side as they rounded a corner at Kaminsky's Haunted Corn Maze and were confronted with a mannequin lurking half-in, half-out of the corn, dressed up to look like Michael Myers from the Halloween movies. Though she knew it wasn't real and that the knife was mostly likely plastic or rubber, Julie still couldn't repress an instinctual shiver at seeing Michael Myers' iconic, blank-faced mask.
"Stop!" She playfully slapped Cassie's hands away, and shoved her back a few steps. "I swear to God, you don't stop...and I'll ditch you here. You can hang out with Mikey here all by yourself."
Cassie snorted, waving off Julie's threat. "Naw. Serial killers are lame.I'm more of a 'He Who Walks Behind the Rows' kinda girl, myself. Cosmic entities who thrive on ritual sacrifice are way cooler."
Julie shook her head, laughing, and feeling good for perhaps the first time in a week. After getting home from her Thursday morning A. A. meeting, she'd talked to Cassie (leaving out the part about her odd but not entirely unpleasant encounter with Marty, for some reason) about how she'd been feeling working at The Kitty, admitting that - though it seemed stupid - she still couldn't shake the feeling that those weirdos in masks would come back.
Cassie suggested that she ask for a night off. Kittering would balk, but Conroy really ran the show, and Cassie said - with a knowing wink - that Conroy would never say no to her. Julie had blushed, insisting that she and Conroy were work friends, and that nothing else existed between them.
But she also knew Cassie was right. So Thursday night, after her last dance, she asked Conroy for the night off Friday, and he'd given it to her with a soft smile and gentle look in his eyes which made her wonder if Cassie was on to something, after all.
It had been a wonderful idea. Cassie suggested they visit Kaminsky's annual corn maze for some good old fashioned Halloween fun. It would offer some safe shivers, and take her mind off the weirdos in masks.
At first, Julie had balked. While not a recluse, she tried to visit town as little as possible. She'd never once recognized anyone from The Kitty in town, or felt as if anyone recognized her. Even so, she sometimes felt like, the rare times she went into Clifton Heights proper, a fluorescent light blazed over her head reading: Hi, I'm a Stripper, and I Take My Clothes Off In Front of Strangers For Money!
But Cassie's will had always proved to be indomitable, and it wasn't long until they were squealing and giggling through Kaminsky's corn maze, clutching at each other like silly fools when they encountered mannequins dressed like Freddy Krueger, Jason Vorhees, mummies, Frankenstein, and even one Julie thought might've been Pumpkinhead, but she wasn't sure.
It had been a perfect night. They'd bought warm cider and donuts before embarking on the maze, and while slightly chilly, the night wasn't too cold at all. The maze's corridors were lined with intricately carved pumpkins lit with small LED lanterns (obviously a bunch of candles lining a cornfield maze was probably considered a fire hazard). Some little kids had even dressed up in Halloween costumes early, so every few minutes pint-sized witches, mummies, and goblins would prance by, their beleaguered but bemused parents in tow.
"Y'know," Julie linked arms with Cassie, "this was a great idea. Just what I needed, honestly. Thanks for talking me into it."
Cassie nodded, smiling impishly. "Of course it was a great idea. It was mine. I always have great ideas. And, hey - not a single person has come up and offered to slip a dollar under your belt. I told you there was nothing to worry about."
Even though they were alone in their particular stretch of maze, Julie shushed Cassie with a hiss. Cassie laughed and nudged her with her shoulder. Julie was about to jab Cassie's with a playful smack, when the cornstalks rustled from their right, and exploded as a form burst from the corn and hurtled toward them.
Chapter 15
Friday, October 11th, 20198:00 PM
Jasper had been missing for about a week. He'd never come back to school, and the one time Scott had forced himself to walk over to the Riley farm - Wednesday afternoon - he'd found the place abandoned. Though it had felt like something had watched him from the woods the brief time he'd circled the house and the barn, Scott hadn't seen a thing, and hadn't heard a sound.
And no one in town had mentioned a thing, or seemed to care at all. When Scott had approached Terry, Jasper's supposed best friend, asking if he knew where Jasper had gotten to, the skinny fourteen year had shrugged and mumbled, "Hell if I know." Apparently they weren't nearly as close as Jasper had let on.
Sheriff Baker had visited their house once more, Tuesday evening, asking Scott if he'd seen Jasper, or heard from him. He'd said no, and the sheriff had mentioned that he'd visited the farm and it didn't seem as if anyone was there now. He wondered if the whole family had gone somewhere. That's what had sent Scott there the next day.
He hadn't told Sheriff Baker the weird dream he'd had of Jasper Sunday night, of him wearing that weird mask, and sneaking into his house. He hadn't told Baker about waking up to find the front door open, or feeling his cross necklace warm to the touch for some reason. Or, the small blob of what felt like hardened plastic he'd found stuck to the sofa. Sheriff Baker seemed okay for an adult, but Scott still thought the sheriff would wave those things off as his imagination acting up, nothing more.
There hadn't been any more dreams of Jasper, though one more weird thing had happened. Despite his strange dream Sunday night, Scott had once again fallen asleep on the couch Thursday night, watching a stupid horror movie on the Sy Fy channel about a psychotic entomologist who had discovered how to mind-control fire ants. He hadn't dreamed of Jasper again, but he had jerked awake, once again convinced someone had been standing over him.
No one had, but when Scott rolled over, he'd discovered his cross necklace lying on the floor, the chain broken. He told himself it was because it had gotten twisted up in his sleep, and of course the thing would break so easy, he'd bought it at a pawnshop, after all. He'd managed to believe that. Mostly.
Scott drifted through the rest of the school week, staying under the radar. In truth, without Jasper around, Scott didn't feel much inclination to cause mischief. It wasn't so much that he'd liked Jasper, or that Scott missed him. It was more like something in him - the hurt confusion he felt over his parent's divorce - responded to the mayhem Jasper represented.
Without that catalyst around, he'd fallen into a sort of sleep mode. He hadn't gotten back on the 'A train' with his schoolwork, and certainly had no intentions of being the "good boy" again anytime soon. He was simply an inert gas (wow, he'd learned something in Science after all), without the catalyst of Jasper.
Mom, of course, had been delighted over the change. She hadn't said anything, probably afraid she'd jinx it, but she hadn't hassled him about his homework (even though he still wasn't doing it) or his after-school activities all week. In fact, that's what had lead him here on a Friday night, to Kaminsky's Farm. Mom had suggested that maybe he'd like to visit Kaminsky's annual Haunted Corn Maze and have some fun while she worked the late shift at The Skylark Diner.
Normally, Scott would've scoffed at the suggestion. He'd heard his classmates talking about the Haunted Corn Maze, the girls squealing in glee about how "spooky" it was, the boys snorting and calling it a "lame maze with stupid mannequins that didn't look real at all." But for some reason, when Mom had suggested it at the dinner table Thursday night, Scott had shrugged and said, "Sure. Sounds cool."
So here he was, Friday night, at Kaminsky's Farm, wandering through the corn maze as little kids ran by screaming, their tired and annoyed-amused parents staggering behind, trying to keep up. He'd been walking around for about twenty minutes, and he had to admit - while not frightening in the slightest - the maze had a kind of charm to it. Whoever carved it out of the massive cornfield on Hitchens Road had mapped an intricate network of multiple paths, intersections, switch-backs, and dead ends. After about ten minutes of apathetic wandering, he'd found himself far more engaged than he'd thought he would be.
He'd passed some from school. A few clusters of junior high girls clinging to each other, shaking with exaggerated giggles of fear, and a handful of high school students slouching through the maze, pretending they were bored with it all. He'd ignored them, as they'd ignored him. He'd need their company, after all.
But as he turned a corner to see nothing but a long stretch of corn maze, he found himself thinking how empty it seemed, and quiet, also. One moment, he'd heard little kids screeching and parents lecturing them to slow down you'll fall; junior high girls yelping as they scared themselves, and the general background noise of everyone else in the corn maze.
Now, nothing. An almost deafening silence, with the exception of cornstalks rustling in a mild, night breeze. The moon hung high in the night, casting the path ahead in a silvery glow.
Scott suddenly felt very unsure of progressing any further down this stretch of the corn mazes. All the other passages hadn't gone very long before they turned, or split into intersections. This stretch seemed to go on forever, and Scott felt that, if he proceeded down it, for the first he'd be traveling away from the farm and the road, and deeper into the corn field. Away from people.
He didn't like that idea, at all. Abruptly, he wanted to get back to the farm, hop on his bike, and head home.
He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone. It had been on lock-down since he'd started his slide into temporary juvenile delinquency, but because of his at least not troublesome behavior this week, and because he'd biked to the corn maze alone, Mom had let him have it. He thumbed it on, typed in his password, and brought up Google Maps. Some part of him complained he was cheating, and that he should find his way back through the maze on his own. Another part of him just wanted to get on he bike, and get the hell home.
Google Maps loaded for several more seconds, until finally it flashed the message: "Check connection." He looked and, sure enough, he didn't have any bars.
Fine. He'd just turn around and go back the way he came. He activated the flashlight app on his phone (for some reason, it seemed a lot darker than it had been moments before), and turned around. He stepped back toward the way he came...
And saw him, standing at the corner which he'd turned to come this way. A kid about his height, wearing a very dingy and ripped Danzig t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. And also, Scott could see...that damn weird mask, which he and Jasper had seen those two weirdos wearing about a week ago, out on Black Creek Bridge.
The figure didn't move. Just stood there, arms hanging slack. On some level Scott knew that thing had to be a mask (it had to be, right?) but he couldn't help but feel like those bulging rubber eyes were staring at him. Measuring him. Judging him. Taking him in.
Instinctively, he stuck his free hand into his other pocket, and grabbed hold of his broken cross necklace. He couldn't say why he'd felt compelled to stuff it into his pocket before he'd left home, just that he had. And he heeded an instinct to keep it in his pocket, and not pull it out just let. It was like...he didn't want to let Jasper, or whoever the hell that was, know he had it with him. It didn't make sense, but he heeded the impulse, regardless.
Another instinct sparked inside. He thumbed open his phone's camera app, held it up, tapped zoom once, and snapped a picture of the figure (maybe Jasper, maybe not) wearing the mask. The flash illuminated the figure, for a brief instant, and in that glow, Scott realized with horror that mask didn't lay still on the figure's face. It pulsed, and writhed, and moved.
Like it was alive.
The figure on the mask jerked in the camera's flash. Tipped its head, as if curious. Then, it started walking toward him in big strides just short of a run.
Again, for some reason, Scott didn't pull the cross out. Instead, he muttered, "Fuck it," and instead of turning around and running down the long stretch of maze, turned left and plunged into the corn, thrashing his way back toward where he thought the farm and road must be.
Fear spiked through as he heard something dive into the corn and thrash its way after him.
*
"Booga-booga!"
Julie mock-screamed as Cassie jabbed her in the side as they rounded a corner at Kaminsky's Haunted Corn Maze and were confronted with a mannequin lurking half-in, half-out of the corn, dressed up to look like Michael Myers from the Halloween movies. Though she knew it wasn't real and that the knife was mostly likely plastic or rubber, Julie still couldn't repress an instinctual shiver at seeing Michael Myers' iconic, blank-faced mask.
"Stop!" She playfully slapped Cassie's hands away, and shoved her back a few steps. "I swear to God, you don't stop...and I'll ditch you here. You can hang out with Mikey here all by yourself."
Cassie snorted, waving off Julie's threat. "Naw. Serial killers are lame.I'm more of a 'He Who Walks Behind the Rows' kinda girl, myself. Cosmic entities who thrive on ritual sacrifice are way cooler."
Julie shook her head, laughing, and feeling good for perhaps the first time in a week. After getting home from her Thursday morning A. A. meeting, she'd talked to Cassie (leaving out the part about her odd but not entirely unpleasant encounter with Marty, for some reason) about how she'd been feeling working at The Kitty, admitting that - though it seemed stupid - she still couldn't shake the feeling that those weirdos in masks would come back.
Cassie suggested that she ask for a night off. Kittering would balk, but Conroy really ran the show, and Cassie said - with a knowing wink - that Conroy would never say no to her. Julie had blushed, insisting that she and Conroy were work friends, and that nothing else existed between them.
But she also knew Cassie was right. So Thursday night, after her last dance, she asked Conroy for the night off Friday, and he'd given it to her with a soft smile and gentle look in his eyes which made her wonder if Cassie was on to something, after all.
It had been a wonderful idea. Cassie suggested they visit Kaminsky's annual corn maze for some good old fashioned Halloween fun. It would offer some safe shivers, and take her mind off the weirdos in masks.
At first, Julie had balked. While not a recluse, she tried to visit town as little as possible. She'd never once recognized anyone from The Kitty in town, or felt as if anyone recognized her. Even so, she sometimes felt like, the rare times she went into Clifton Heights proper, a fluorescent light blazed over her head reading: Hi, I'm a Stripper, and I Take My Clothes Off In Front of Strangers For Money!
But Cassie's will had always proved to be indomitable, and it wasn't long until they were squealing and giggling through Kaminsky's corn maze, clutching at each other like silly fools when they encountered mannequins dressed like Freddy Krueger, Jason Vorhees, mummies, Frankenstein, and even one Julie thought might've been Pumpkinhead, but she wasn't sure.
It had been a perfect night. They'd bought warm cider and donuts before embarking on the maze, and while slightly chilly, the night wasn't too cold at all. The maze's corridors were lined with intricately carved pumpkins lit with small LED lanterns (obviously a bunch of candles lining a cornfield maze was probably considered a fire hazard). Some little kids had even dressed up in Halloween costumes early, so every few minutes pint-sized witches, mummies, and goblins would prance by, their beleaguered but bemused parents in tow.
"Y'know," Julie linked arms with Cassie, "this was a great idea. Just what I needed, honestly. Thanks for talking me into it."
Cassie nodded, smiling impishly. "Of course it was a great idea. It was mine. I always have great ideas. And, hey - not a single person has come up and offered to slip a dollar under your belt. I told you there was nothing to worry about."
Even though they were alone in their particular stretch of maze, Julie shushed Cassie with a hiss. Cassie laughed and nudged her with her shoulder. Julie was about to jab Cassie's with a playful smack, when the cornstalks rustled from their right, and exploded as a form burst from the corn and hurtled toward them.
Chapter 15
