It’s your time, her father’s voice said.
Suddenly, amusement parks along the ocean beach or seeing a big city didn’t matter anymore. A death mask would need to be molded from Rob’s face.
“Anson, let’s notify the village we’re in charge now.”
THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND FACES
Chris Stokes
“When you go down in the woods today, be sure of a big surprise,
For in the woods there lurks a man, with only a mouth and eyes!”
In the tenebrous depths of a desolate forest, there once stood a clandestine house all alone with an uninviting façade.
The only neighbours of the house were a profusion of decaying oak trees and a myriad of forest dwelling creatures.
Over many centuries the house stood without cause, for no one quite knew its history or how it came to be.
But, the legend of the forest had its basis set not on the house. Instead the tale was of its occupant. The owner of the house, they say, was an outcast who lived in the woodland with only his innermost tormenting thoughts for company.
Many years ago, a boy was born into a world of poverty and a world, which in the years to come, would raise him harshly and show him little love.
Over the years he became known only as ‘the man in the woods’ as he was never given a name. His mother abandoned him at a tender age leaving him alone in a world that he already hated.
However, it was not just a name that the world hadn’t given him. The man in the woods was born without a face. It was just one more of the factors that contributed towards him being a social outcast. His facial features were never properly formed, and the flesh that covered his muscles was thin and almost translucent.
As the years passed by and the faceless man matured, he found himself with an obsession.
He had not been gifted with a face of his own, which in turn caused him to conjure an overbearing jealously of those who had.
Behind the doors of the desolate house was a scene of savagery, which had been the product of the faceless man’s socially inappropriate fixation with death.
The walls, the shelves, the cupboards and every other square inch of the house were filled with glass jars.
Within the jars were the treasured possessions of the faceless man which he had accumulated over many years.
Thousands of faces of people young and old filled the jars like maturing pickled onions, following surgical removal from the sadistic social outcast.
In the tales that have been told of the house and the faceless man, they called it the house of a thousand faces.
No one quite knows for sure if the man in the woods has truly been seen, and many people thought that his story was just a legend; or a ghost story for campsites that had been told throughout generations.
But those select few people who could have proved it to be true, never lived long enough to find someone to tell.
~~~
“I think we’re lost Tyler,” the young female screeched as she directed her opinion at her boyfriend.
“Don’t you think I know that, I told you we should never have strayed from that path,” Tyler replied as he searched the forest with his flashlight.
“It’s getting too dark, I don’t like it Tyler, I think we should head back the way we came!” the girl replied. Her name was Suzie and was no more than nineteen years old.
“We can’t head back the way we came, we’re lost, I don’t know what direction to go in, and it’s too dark to see…I probably won’t be able to see you soon!” he shouted in harsh reply.
They continued walking sheepishly, finding their way through tall, overgrown trees and forestry. Branches and dead leaves cracked and crunched underfoot, and the same noises could also be heard in the distance as deer and small animals darted about in the darkness.
“I’m getting scared,” Suzie announced for the umpteenth time since being in the forest.
Tyler didn’t answer.
His flashlight continued searching the darkness. A dull ache had begun to develop in his wrist and he felt tired and cold.
“We’re going to be stuck here all night aren’t we?” Suzie whispered,
“I don’t know…just shut up a moment, I’m trying to think!” Tyler snapped.
The darkness was creeping in closer all around them and the air was getting cooler. The moon had found its place among the clouds in the night sky, but it provided little in the way of light for the two distressed people who had found themselves astray in the forest.
They were about to abandon all hope when Tyler noticed something not too far away in the depths of the woods. Surrounded by a fortress of trees was a lone house with a light flickering dimly on its porch.
“Over there,” Tyler announced before pointing his trembling index finger in the direction of the house.
“What is it?” Suzie asked having now noticed the flickering light herself.
“It looks like some sort of cabin, someone must live there,” Tyler said as he examined what his eyes were witnessing.
“They might have a phone we could use,” Suzie added with slight relief.
“Bit of a strange place for a house though isn’t it?” Tyler continued, sounding more cautious than his girlfriend. “We don’t know who lives there; it might be that there is good reason for them living out here by themselves, whoever ‘they’ are!” Tyler concluded.
“Well what else do you suggest we do?” Suzie continued with a level of anger in her tone. She didn’t wait for a response from her torch wielding boyfriend, and she began her progression through the dense undergrowth. Tyler followed her instantly calling after her telling her to wait.
“Okay, slow down!” he shouted before coming up close behind her with his torch.
The torch was nearly out of power and had become useless in the dark. Tyler patted it on his free hand hoping to get some more energy out of the batteries, but his attempt was useless. He placed the torch in the back pocket of his jeans and continued to walk cautiously behind Suzie.
The house was no more than fifty feet away from them and it looked less inviting than once presumed. The expression of relief on Suzie’s face had now turned to anguish, and her mouth had lost nigh on all of its saliva, leaving it dry and with a peculiar taste.
“Go on then, see if anyone’s home!” Suzie said having lost her last ounce of bravery.
Tyler rolled his eyes in disbelief, but inside his mind he too felt fear for what lurked behind the rotten doorway of the malodorous cabin. He breathed deeply hoping to calm his nerves and to slow down the beat of his heart. He shuffled his feet across fallen leaves and rotting bark and progressed towards the door. His hand rose, trembling with fear, and then his knuckles knocked gently on the wood.
There was no going back now.
Tyler stepped backward to re-join Suzie, and they waited with angst for who was going to open it. But the door did not open.
“I knew this was a bad…!” Tyler’s sentence was cut short. Something had struck both Tyler and Suzie across the back of the head with an arduous force.
~~~
The smell that had begun creeping up into their sinuses was strange.
It smelled of rotting flesh, and a metallic scent could also be detected, like the smell of decaying congealed blood in a slaughter house.
Tyler and Suzie were groggy and unable to regain full consciousness. Their eyes were blurred and fresh tears had settled in their eyes.
Pain surged up and down their necks like bolts of lightning, and when they tried to lift their heads to see where they were, their eyes still struggled to focus.
They felt around with their hands and found that they were sitting on wooden chairs, but they were unable to move. Their hands had been bound behind their backs and their ankles had been tied to the chair legs.
“Tyler,” Suzie whispered with croakiness strangling her vocal cords. Tyler at first did not answer, but soon he tried to speak, and initially his words came out voiceless
. “Tyler are you okay? I don’t know where we are,” Suzie continued in a tone of distress.
Finally Tyler found some strength to reply, “I don’t know either, can you move?” he asked before trying to wriggle free from his bonds.
“No, I can’t…where are we?” Suzie replied, with fear apparent in her voice. Tyler didn’t say anything. Instead, another noise was heard coming from somewhere in the dark room.
“Shhhhhhhhhhhh!” the sound was unwelcome and disturbing, and Tyler and Suzie didn’t know where it was coming from.
“Who’s there?” Tyler shouted nervously; although he was hoping there would come no response.
Out of the darkness appeared a man, he was short and was dressed in dark attire. The room was dimly lit; half a dozen small candles had been lit around the circumference of the room which caused the man to be barely visible.
“Who are you…? What do you want with us?” Tyler continued trying to hide his fear.
As the man stepped forth moving into the light, Tyler and Suzie noticed he was holding a large blade.
It was covered in dried blood and didn’t reflect the light. The man moved close to Suzie with his head hooded.
Suzie could feel his breath bearing down on her face, and the smell made her feel sick. The man lifted his hands up towards his head and Suzie flinched.
He slowly pulled his hood backward away from his face, revealing a pair of eyes, a mouth, but nothing else.
Suzie screamed involuntarily and tried to back away from the featureless man before her.
“Nice face, that’s an expression I haven’t seen before!” the man whispered with his mouth contorting into strange shapes. He slowly brushed his blade down Suzie’s face. She winced and closed her eyes forcing a tear to roll down her cheek.
“What do you want sicko!” Tyler shouted trying to avert the faceless man’s attention away from his girlfriend.
“Look around you, what is it you think I want?” the faceless man replied with a voice that sounded preternatural, before pointing the hand that was holding the blade toward the shelves that surrounded the room. Tyler noticed the jars filled with decapitated faces and he too began to feel sick.
“Please…let us go!” Suzie cried as she tried to reason with the maniacal man. But the man paid no heed to her whimpering.
“Why do you do this?” Tyler continued quizzically,
“The faces are my treasures. They are my means of transformation. It is my way of getting back at those who didn’t give me what I should have rightfully had. The faces are my masks!” the man replied with harrowing emotion.
“You don’t have to do this…please!” Suzie said still trying to reason with the faceless man.
But the man did not answer.
He turned away from Tyler and Suzie, unfazed by their pleas.
He pulled forth a small surgical table on wheels which had been filled with medical implements.
As he neared them, the small wheels of the table screeched across the dirty floor. Suzie’s tears started again.
She couldn’t contain her fear and her heart was beating more fiercely than she had ever felt it beat before.
Tyler’s emotions also overcame him, and he was forced to watch on unable to stop him from doing whatever it was he was about to do.
~~~
From outside the cabin all that could be heard were tumultuous screams coming from a distressed male and a female as they fought for their lives.
They were just two more people who wouldn’t be able to prove true the existence of the faceless man.
~~~
If you see the faceless man, don’t express your emotions.
You never know, it may be an expression; he doesn’t yet have in his collection.
~~~
“When you go down in the woods today, be sure of a big surprise,
For in the woods there lurks a man, with a freshly made disguise!”
VARIETY NIGHT
Russell Proctor
Old Harris had seen everything.
He’d worked as a stagehand at the LeBlanc Variety Theatre in Soho for forty years now, and before that he’d been a carpenter, and before that he’d run errands for some of the most renowned actors in the land, working as an odd-job boy at the Regent down in Hammersmith.
He’d seen drama both on and behind stage; he’d waited in the dark for endless hours while the audience was moved to tears or howled with laughter; he’d even held bleeding wounds together when something went wrong and a performer was injured.
He’d seen magicians set up their acts, he’d made running repairs on props and scenery that malfunctioned at the last minute and he’d sometimes even peered at the ladies doing quick-changes backstage without going to their dressing-rooms because there was no time.
He’d seen it all and dealt with it all and the other staff at the LeBlanc came to him for advice because there was nothing old Harris didn’t know about anything or anyone theatrical. So when he opened the stage door on a blustery winter’s night in 1886 the four people on the doorstep seemed unremarkable to him.
It had been raining and he had to push harder at the door than usual because ice had accumulated around the jamb. He’d tried to fix the door a couple of times but it always swelled when it rained and the boss was too mean to pay for a whole new door.
He kicked at some of the ice and half-regarded the people on the doorstep - a short man, a tall woman, and behind them two younger men, maybe their sons or nephews. There was a familial resemblance between the men, but that was hardly unusual, the variety world engaged a lot of family acts.
The younger men might have been twins: high cheek bones, thin mouths, black hair and eyes that sparkled even in the dim stage door lamp. Each of them was undeniably handsome, with fine features that demonstrated what healthy living could achieve.
Harris was used to theatre people being either exhausted grey and lined, or in the peak of health, depending on their ‘act’. Gymnasts and tumblers were fine specimens; singers and, worst of all, actors, were usually drunk, certainly worn out.
“Yes?” he asked, because it was late and he wanted to finish and go home.
The man passed over a gilt-edged card, which announced them as the Medini Family, presenters of Commedia dell’arte in the great Italian tradition.
Harris hated Commedia.
The man bowed. “I am Giovanni Medini. Signore Miller was expecting us.” His accent was genuine enough – too many performers took on European personas to add an exotic flavour to their acts.
“Mr Miller’s gone home,” he said. “It’s two in the morning.” A fine time for the new act to turn up, but maybe they’d just arrived on a boat or something.
Harris didn’t worry about his own reasons for still being there at such an hour. The last show had finished at midnight and all the other acts had long since left, but there was always work to do backstage.
“We will enter now,” said the man, and made to push forwards.
But Harris wasn’t shifting. “Yeah, well, I’ll have to ask you to come back tomorrow,” he said. “Seeing as there’s no one here right now.”
Mr Medini rose up on his toes and straightened his back – it added a good three inches to his frame. “We are the Medinis!” he said, tapping the card which Harris still clutched.
“I can see that. I can also see that it’s two o’clock in the morning.”
The woman hissed. The sound made Harris look closely at her for the first time. The same jet black hair as the men, piled high above a pale but beautiful face. It was impossible to tell how old she was – maybe thirty, but when a late-night cab rolled past and its lantern cast a direct glow upon her she seemed younger still.
Perhaps not his wife, but a daughter or niece?
Then the cab passed and she seemed older again. Harris, of course, knew all about make-up and what lighting could do. He’d wait until he saw her in daylight before he made his mind up.
“Come back at eight-thirty,”
he said, showing them the time on his watch. “What’s Italian for eight-thirty?”
Mr Medini took the card back and placed it into the breast pocket of his velvet suit. Then he turned, and Mrs Medini turned with him, and then the two younger men behind them turned as if they were clockwork and they marched silently down the theatre steps to the street where a large steamer trunk lay on the pavement. They stood beside it, unmoving, waiting.
Harris watched them for a moment, until the chill night air began to make his bones ache. He shut the stage door and went back to sweeping out Mr Miller’s office.
Bloody foreigners, he thought.
~~~
Because Harris left after everyone else each night, it was only fair that he arrive late each morning.
Most of the staff wouldn’t appear until the afternoon and for much of the day there would just be him and Miller in the place. The front of house staff might be there doing the accounts, and occasionally a carpenter or wardrobe person might turn up if something needed fixing, but usually the place was dark and quiet.
It was ten o’clock when Harris returned. He opened the stage door and saw Mr Miller in the small kitchen beside the cloakroom, drinking a cup of tea and proof-reading the latest variety bill for the theatre. He looked up at Harris as he entered.
“Rum lot those Medicis are,” he said. Greeting anyone was something Miller only did for people who had money.
“Medinis,” corrected Harris. “So they turned up on time? I told them to be here at eight-thirty.”
“They were here at seven. Waiting. Still, it shows they’re keen. They said they’d seen you last night.”
Harris filled him in with the conversation. “Are they still here?”
As if in answer, a door slammed in the dressing rooms. “Room six by the sound of it,” Harris said.
“Go and tell them the rules will you?” Miller went back to his tea and proof-reading.
Masks Page 4
