The Mask, Chapter 5

5.
October 5th, 20198:30 AM 
"Morning, Scott. I'm Sheriff Baker. Now listen. You're not in any kind of trouble. I just have a few questions I hope you can help me clear up, and none of them involve you directly."
Scott shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hands clasped tightly before him. Though his shenanigans over the past year had been limited to not doing schoolwork, maintaining a generally surly attitude to both his parents and his teachers, cutting class and sneaking cigarettes and booze, he knew he hadn't done anything bad enough to warrant a visit from the town sheriff. 
At least, he didn't think so. He was pretty sure you couldn't get arrested for underage smoking, and the only time he drank was sneaking beers when his mother wasn't home, or out behind Jasper's ramshackle barn. No, Scott knew he wasn't in trouble. That's not why Sheriff Baker had come to visit him on a Saturday morning.
It had something to do with Jasper. Scott knew it, even felt it, deep down. Jasper hadn't come to school Friday. That in itself wasn't strange. Jasper cut school all the time, especially Fridays. That was when his older cousin Marcus - who lived a life Jasper dreamed about in the "big" city of Utica -  was always hanging around, and it was easy to persuade Marcus to get them beer from the Mobilmart out on Haverton Road.
But Jasper usually called him the night before, to say Marcus was in town, or he'd meet up with him on the way to school. Scott hadn't heard from him at all. When third period rolled around (they had that crusty old fart, Mr. De'Angelo, for Social Studies), he expected to see Jasper sitting in the back like always, smiling his customary shit-eating grin. 
Jasper hadn't been there. Hadn't been in gym, science, or studyhall. When school let out, Scott set off toward Jasper's house. Seemed unlikely, but maybe Jasper had actually gotten sick, or something bad had happened, and he actually had a legitimate excuse for missing school.
Scott's nerve gave out around the library, however. He ducked into Handy's Pawn and Thrift again, instead. The shopkeeper had recently gotten a whole box of horror comics from the eighties, and Scott wanted to look through them. That served as a handy excuse for not going out to the Riley farm to look for Jasper, though he had other aversions, ones hiding just beneath the surface of conscious thought. 
Though he'd never admit it to anyone, Joan Riley, Jasper's mother, made him nervous. He didn't know why. Every time he came over to see Jasper, Mrs. Riley (who insisted he call her Joan), always seemed drunk. She always looked at him oddly. Giving him long, lingering gazes which made Scott squirm in ways he understood instinctively, but refused to consider directly.
Jasper's dad had run off years ago, and though Jasper spoke occasionally about "Mom's boyfriends," none were ever around when Scott was over. That also made Scott nervous, though he wasn't sure why. He also didn't like how Jasper's mother always found reasons to touch him on the shoulder, the elbow, or the small of his back. Her touch made him squirm just as much as her weird looks.
Another reason why Scott elected to visit Handy's instead of going to Jasper's place? He hated to admit it, but he still felt creeped out by those freaks in masks they saw Thursday afternoon. A part of him still thought maybe Jasper had been having him on and it was all a prank, but another part of him remembered too clearly the look of real fear in Jasper's eyes. When he stopped in front of the library and Black Creek Bridge was in sight, he half-expected to see those masked figures again, waiting for him there, just like Thursday.
"Jasper's missing," Scott blurted out, "isn't he?"
Sheriff Baker played it very cool - every inch the professional cop - and just tipped his head. His eyes widened slightly, however, and Scott knew that not only had he scored a hit, he'd also surprised or impressed the sheriff. For some reason, he hoped it was the latter. "Now why would you say that?"
Scott shrugged. "Jasper wasn't in school yesterday. If he's planning on skipping school, he usually tells me first, so we can skip together. We hate that fucking place, y'know?"
"Scott!" His mother scowled. Standing at Sheriff Baker's right shoulder, she was a tall, willowy brunette with tired eyes and a worn face. At one time, Scott would've said she look pretty. Now, after the divorce and the move, she just looked exhausted. Scott knew his behavior the last year had contributed to that. No one would probably believe him, but that often made him feel very bad.
His mother touched Sheriff  Baker on the shoulder - not unlike the way Joan liked to touch him on the shoulder, which made Scott feel weird in an entirely different way - and said, "Sheriff, please excuse my son." She shot him a glance that was the very definition of the cliche if looks could kill. "In the last year or so, he's developed quite the attitude."
Sheriff Baker waved it off, smiling, eyes twinkling. For some reason, that warmed Scott to the man immediately. "No worries. When I was Scott's age, I didn't much like school either." A serious expression replaced his smile, however, as he added, "When was the last time you saw Jasper? And where were you?"
Scott thought. "I think...3:30, 4:00 Thursday? And we were heading out to his place to hang out..."
"To smoke and drink, I've no doubt," his mother muttered, managing to look disgusted and sad, all at once.
Sheriff Baker held up a hand, and his mother fell silent. "So did you ever get there? His mother called yesterday morning. Said he never came home."
"No. We split up. He went the back way to his house, down Kovac Road to the bike bridge over the creek. I decided to check out the thrift shop."
Sheriff Baker flickered  a small grin. "Handy's, huh? Quite a place, isn't it? That shopkeeper's a really interesting fellow. Doesn't seem like the guy to run a shop like that, does he? Knows just about everything about everything." He paused, grin fading slightly. "Why'd you go to Handy's instead of the Riley place?"
 Scott opened his mouth, but for some reason, paused. He didn't know why, but he definitely didn't want to say anything about Mrs. Riley, and he also wasn't sure about telling Sheriff Baker about the two people in masks. He didn't exactly think the man wouldn't believe him, but the thing was so bizarre...he wouldn't believe it if someone told him. 
But the timing of events seemed impossibly coincidental. Jasper and him run into two weirdos wearing masks, the weirdos start walking toward them, they split up, the weirdos disappear, Jasper doesn't come to school the next morning. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots. 
Also, Scott had really gotten into horror movies over the last year. He spent all weekend watching them on Netflix and Vudu when before, he used to do homework and chores. He knew this moment well. This was when the kid who doesn't trust adults because he's been burned and hurt and blah blah blah doesn't tell the authorities a crucial piece of information that only leads to a ton more people getting killed, maybe even him.
Fuck that noise, he thought, and said, "It was because of the weirdos in masks."
*
10 AM
Joan Riley sat on the front porch of her decaying old farmhouse, sipping Wild Turkey from a jelly glass. She'd been drinking since she rolled out of bed around nine. Normally she waited at least until noon, and then she started slowly, on a few beers with lunch. But when she'd forgotten, for a moment, about the circumstances and called for Jasper to get his ass out of bed and started on his chores, only to hear silence in return, reality came crashing down on her, and she decided the hell with it, and proceeded to get her drunk on earlier than usual.
The world knew hundreds upon thousands of women like Joan. At one time, she had a body and face all the boys (and a good number of the men) in her hometown of Booneville wanted to get a hold of. Even a teacher or two. She remembered this one Math teacher in eleventh grade, a short, wiry middle-aged man with a busy mustache and receding hairline. She didn't have to do any homework that entire year, because of their "extra credit" sessions after school.
She'd had it made. All the boys wanted her, all the girls hated her because of it. All she had to do was find the right guy who had enough money, and didn't treat her too bad, and she'd be on easy street. 
Of course, that never quite happened. The "right guy" either pissed his money away, or started beating on her, pissed his money away AND started beating on her, or ended up doing something stupid and getting sent to jail (that had happened to her twice). Suddenly, she was in her mid-thirties, married to a farmer and "self-employed mechanic" (Jack Riley had been a wizard with anything mechanical...when he wasn't drunk, high, or whoring around), with three kids, and one on the way.
Jack took off after she had Jasper. Why, she never figured out, but in all fairness, at that point she didn't much care. When she discovered that, with the children she still had, as a single unemployed mother with no job skills, she could cobble together an existence out of food stamps, food banks, and welfare (and whatever she could get from Clifton Heights hill men who'd gotten tired of their wives), she settled into the half-life she still lingered in today. She'd found that with just the right amount of whiskey and boot-leg moonshine, almost anything could be tolerated.
Which was why she felt so confused about how she was reacting to Jasper's disappearance. More than likely, Jasper was off drinking, smoking, or raising hell. Took after his father, sure enough. The thing was, he usually was doing all that with Marcus, and Marcus hadn't come around this weekend. Where was he, then?
She thought maybe he might be with that new boy he'd been hanging around, but they usually always came here, so they could drink and smoke out behind the barn.
Joan took a sip of her whisky, smiling in a lazy, contented way as she thought about Jasper's new friend  - Scott, or Steve? Whatever,  he reminded her so much of Jack. The way Jack had looked and moved, back when he'd been fit and mostly sober, and so finely crafted, he set a girl's heart and mind racing. 
She liked Jasper's friend because of how he reminded her of Jack; liked the way he looked, and she liked looking at him, too. A dim part of her thought that was wrong; she being old enough to be the boy's mother, but that part had gotten weak and listless, like a limb left in a cast too long. It barely protested anymore when she stared at the boy just a little too long, thinking of doing things with him that she shouldn't be thinking, or finding excuses to touch him lightly here or there, on the arm or shoulder, or his back.
Out of nowhere, a sudden wave of revulsion crested inside her at the lascivious train of thought. Her she was, sitting on her front porch, with her boy out missing somewhere - maybe hurt, or kidnapped, or worse - and all she could do was think unspeakable thoughts about a child.
She tossed back the rest of her whiskey with an angry gulp. Winced slightly at the fire which burned down the back of her throat. Steadied her grip on the arms of her chair, to push up so she could stand, go inside and get something stronger, some of that hill-brewed hooch she got in "payment" for her "company...."
She stopped, arrested in place, at what she saw standing in the driveway, not five feet from her front steps.
It was Jasper.
It had to be. She recognized his worn jeans, his scuffed engineer boots, and that rock t-shirt with the sleeves torn off (what the hell kind of name for a rock band was Danzig, anyway). She knew it was Jasper, it had to be, except she didn't run down the steps toward him, she didn't call out his name, didn't move, because of...of the mask he wore.
It looked hideous. Long stringy black hair which looked disturbingly real. Bulging eyes which poked out opposite directions. Gray rubbery skin which looked diseased. And worst of all...a gaping black mouth which looked wide enough to swallow her head, whole.
"Jasper? What...where have you been? Why are you wearing that...that horrible thing?"
Her son said nothing. He just stood there, the mask's idiot bulging eyes staring, hands hanging slack, next to his sides. The longer she stared at the mask's yawning black mouth, the more certain she felt that, if he could, Jasper would be screaming.

"Jasper? H-honey? Where have you been? Is...is that mask you got yourself for Halloween?"

No answer.

No sound. Save her own rasping, wheezing breathes, her heartbeat thudding against her ribcage, and a slight wind rustling the trees.

She forced a smile, faking upbeat, good cheer. "Well, if it's for Halloween, it's certainly a horrible looking thing. Makes my heart pound just to look at it."

Jasper remained silent. For a moment, Joan wondered idly if perhaps Jasper was silently laughing behind that hideous mask, barely holding in his usual horse-like laughter at her fright. Any moment, he might lose it, starting barking and breying like a donkey, whip that mask off, and and crowing over the way he was making her almost piss her pants. In fact, a part of her was desperate for this, and was willing to endure any indignity from him, should that happen.

Seconds passed. Minutes.

It didn't. He just continued to stare at her silently, only...was he now swaying? Back and forth, like hay or goldenrod in the wind? Her fear escalated to near-panic levels, and she stoked her anger to try and bury it. She stood straight, scowled, and spoke in what she hoped was a firm, authoritarian voice. "All right, Jasper. You've had your fun You get that damn fool thing off and get yer ass in here. I ought beat it black and blue for the worry you've  caused me. I had to call the police. Had to beg that stuck-up smarty pants Sheriff Baker just to come out here last night and poke around a little, him all the while giving me the stink-eye, like I was a horrible mother. That's all cause of you, hear me?"

Nothing. Still Jasper stood still, the mask's bulging eyes staring, its gaping mouth howling silently. Fear clamored inside her and clawed at her heart, so she let her anger loose full bore, to try and push it aside. She dropped her empty jelly glass, bawled her hands into fists, and let the fire burn white inside her, just so she wouldn't feel so damn scared of a stupid dollar-store rubber mask. 

She took a step forward, growling, "Don't you be thinkin I'm scared of you with that mask on, or that you're too big for me to give a whipping to, Jasper Lowell Riley." Her hands moved to unfasten her belt, which she'd used on just about all her boys, at one time or another. "When I got done with you, won't be able to walk straight for a...."

It happened so fast, her eyes couldn't track it. Something dull grayish-silver flashed past her eyes from behind her. She felt little, at first, past a stinging line across her throat. Then, the stinging turned to burning. And she couldn't breathe. No matter how hard she gasped, she couldn't seem to get any air.

She tasted blood in the back of her throat.

A hand grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her head back. Something cracked dully, and now, her neck and her chest felt very warm and wet, while her fingers and toes got very cold. And still she tried to breath. Gurgling, spitting bloody bubbles from her lips.

Her bowls let go, about the same time as her bladder. While the one hand held her head back, the other grabbed her shoulder and pushed her down. She thudded onto her knees bonelessly, only those hands keeping her from falling over, face-first, into the dirt.

Jasper loomed over her, bending close. He gently took her face into his hands - oh so gently, so lovingly, in a way none of her sons had, not even Jack had, back in the good days. And she saw that she, indeed, had been right. The mask's mouth opened, wider and wider, its stretching blackness filling her world. 

She felt no fear, however. Oddly, a sense of peace. As that black mouth stretched impossibly wide and oozed rather than closed over her head, even  as she felt her skin burning and maybe even dissolving, she didn't fear, or hurt, at all. She felt herself join something inconceivably vast and all-encompassing, becoming part of an all. As the mask consumed her, as her very being become one with it, she rejoiced in the pain, and the burning, and the dissolution.