Bloody Mask

by Alan Spencer

  The hammering continued. Then there was a drag of table legs.

  "Almost done. Everybody's here. I only need a few more things. Then it's showtime."

  Dan heard the rattle of chains. A door slammed closed.

  He listened for any new noises.

  Dan heard a collection of sounds. They were all the same and coming from different sections of the building: muffled cries for help.

  Dan tried to cry out, but his mouth was gagged with a cloth. He tried to squirm out of his wrist and ankle restraints. The effortless was pointless, and it made every inch of his body burn in that hollow feverish way. He was beginning to think it had been days he was here, laying on the ground, in some abandoned school. It had to be a school. The chalkboards. The desks. Where else could it be?

  Before Dan tried to do anything else to escape, he froze when he noticed the blinking red dot at his chest. Whatever it was, it was held there by a belt tightened around his chest. In the center, it looked like a square of clay. In the middle of that clay was that blinking red dot.

  An explosive.

  Dan didn't move or make anymore noise.

  The door to the room opened. The masked figure entered. The man had a gas station sandwich and a bottle of water.

  The killer kneeled down over Dan. "You need to eat. We have a tight schedule to keep."

  The killer removed the cloth from Dan's mouth. Dan should've protested, asked a thousand questions, or pleaded for mercy. Instead, he drank the water when the killer fed him, and he ate the sandwich when the killer held it up to his mouth.

  "Good, very good."

  "What's this strapped to my chest?"

  "In good time, Dan. Or should I call you Cletus Collins?"

  Before Dan could process the statement, he was being lifted by underneath the arms.

  "Up you go. On your feet. Work out the needles and pins. Easy. One step at a time."

  The masked man's voice was soothing. Dan refused to forget this man was a dangerous psychotic who had murdered Lucille.

  Was it Brian carrying him? Mitch? A crazed fan? The plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills?

  Who the fuck was it?

  "Whoever you are, you can stop this before it gets out of hand."

  "I've already spent the time and money," the killer said. "I can't stop now. I'm in this until the end."

  Dan's legs were able to carry him better after so many steps. He thought about running from the man until he saw the blinking red dot on his chest. It had to be a bomb. Or was it a psych out? A fake explosive to get him to comply to every demand insisted upon him? He didn't know, so what could he do?

  Nothing.

  The white tiled hallway and the rusted faces of lockers surrounded him. This was definitely a closed down school. Every window was covered by cardstock. It could be day or night, and there'd be no way to know.

  Dan heard muffled calls from a room up ahead. That was the room the killer directed Dan. Opening the door, they entered what had been a choir room. A semi circle of chairs were arranged in the middle of the room. Everybody's moans increased when they saw Dan and the killer.

  "Sit down in the chair next to Trisha," the killer directed. "Don't make me force you."

  Dan did so. Guilt and horror overwhelmed him. Janey, Trisha, Taz, Becky Little, Chad Paulson, Ellen Roth, Mitch the Bitch, and ten fans with Bloody Mask and Gash Masters shirts were in the room. Dan also noticed the body bag on the ground. Was that Brian inside?

  No time to think.

  The masked man stood in front of a dry erase board. He had a black marker in one hand and a .357 Magnum, what looked exactly like Andy's, in the other. It had to be Andy's.

  "Everybody, this is important. I want you to listen up and listen well. Each of you have been hand selected to be in my special movie. It's only for me. I wrote, directed, produced, and cast the film. I want everybody to put their hearts and souls into their performances.

  "And if motivation doesn't find you, let me remind you of a few things. I have rigged a plastic explosive on your chests. If you fidget or try to remove it, they're very sensitive. They could go off on their own. It's not enough for a big explosion, but trust me, it's enough to kill you."

  The murderer had a silver platter of plastic switches. Each were numbered.

  "A little demonstration is necessary. I wouldn't want my actors to plan a mutiny against their director."

  Bloody Mask selected one of the switches.

  The one labeled 5.

  "This is what will happen to you if you go against my script."

  Bloody Mask pressed the red button on the switch.

  A girl in her twenties wearing a Bloody Mask shirt was startled when the explosive on her chest made several beeping noises. She had dyed clown red hair, smeared gothic make-up, and a terrible twisted expression. The moment only lasted three seconds.

  The pop sounded like a firecracker dud. What resulted wasn't a dud. Out between her shoulder blades, a large gout of blood bloomed. Bone, flesh, and meat were turned into sizzling debris. Her eyes fluttered into the back of her head. She was instantly dead.

  Everybody moaned in horror through their gags.

  "Silence—silence on my set! Or else somebody else gets it!"

  When every quieted, Bloody Mask continued.

  "I have a handful of scenes I've written for my movie. I will separate you into rooms so you can read over your scripts. This means I have to free you from your restraints. Don't forget, you try anything, I will hit the switch. If you do as I tell you and give each scene your best, I will set you free. Think about what I'm saying—"

  One of the fans, a butch man who had blood running down the side of his head, managed to slip one foot from the rope around his ankles. The fan lunged, and Bloody Mask quickly picked up the .357 Magnum, put the fan in a headlock, and pressed the nozzle to the man's temple. Squeezing the trigger, Dan winced seeing the bullet go into one side of his head and out the other. The fan was dead weight, slamming into the ground with a hollowed head.

  "Anyone else who doesn't want to be in my movie?"

  Bloody Mask pointed the gun at each of them, moving about the room like a human snake. He played the nozzle down cheeks, along breasts, and pressed the nozzle against Mitch the Bitch's groin.

  "No more problems, anyone? Very good. Now that you understand I'm in complete control, you will take direction better.

  "First, I'll need Dan, Trisha, and Mitch for wardrobe and make-up."

  One by one, Bloody Mask carried them to separate rooms. Dan was the last to leave of the group.

  Dan was placed in a classroom. Hanging from a pencil sharpener installed in the wall was a set of clothes. A sheriff's shirt and a set of dark brown pants. There was also a holster with a cap gun.

  "I'm going to untie you, Dan. You're going to put the clothes on, and you're not going to give me trouble. You won't disturb the device around your chest. If you do, you know what'll happen."

  One on of the desks was three stapled together pages.

  They were lines for a scene.

  Bloody Mask noticed Dan regard the pages. "Oh, yes, that. You're Cletus Collins, the dumb sheriff. Play the part well, you get to live. Everybody else will be playing their part as well. Do your best to stay in character.

  "I'll keep you locked in the room until your co-stars are ready. I've got some prepping to do. The door to the room will be locked. If you try to remove the cardstock from the windows, I'll hear you. I'll set the bomb off if there's any indication you're trying to escape. Understand?"

  Bloody Mask removed Dan's gag.

  "Yes, I understand."

  Dan was terrified of the mysterious person. He tried to read into the man's build, the eyes, and the way he talked, but the person talked in a deep, forced growl. He couldn't tell if it was somebody he knew or a complete stranger.

  Bloody Mask cut off Dan's restraints with a knife and left the room. Dan could hear the door lock from the other side.

  Dan studied th
e room. Yes, he could tear the cardstock from the walls, open a window, and crawl free. But the bomb could go off. It was homemade. The thing could explode without anybody meaning for it to happen. That's why Dan was extra careful when putting on his wardrobe.

  Dan thought again about attempting an escape. He couldn't decide anything without a negative outcome, and that's what convinced him to look over the typed up pages of the screenplay. When Dan read the script, he couldn't believe this was really happening.

  Dan waited for what felt like an hour, maybe longer. Time dragged on, every crucial moment a slug of indecision. He pictured peeling off the cardstock from the windows, breaking the glass, and running like hell. One touch of the button, and boom, his heart would be exploded.

  Back and forth, he considered many things: escape, stay where you are, be smart, play it safe, run for your life, do something, lives are on the line, so do something, damn it.

  If I hadn't made this movie. If I hadn't agreed to be a part of the re-release of Bloody Mask, none of this would be happening. I'm the one who should be in danger, nobody else.

  Dan was close to shouting, Kill me instead, let the others go, when the door opened. It wasn't Bloody Mask standing there. Andy was holding a digital video camera. The red dot wasn't blinking.

  "Just do as he says," Andy's panicked voice spoke at a whisper level. "He's a psychotic. The man's right behind me with a gun. If you don't play along with the scene, he'll shoot me in the head. He said he'll murder my family too. Please, Dan, just do as he says. Play the part. Read your lines. For the sake of everybody here."

  Dan couldn't say what possessed him to play the part. Andy's face and his words, or it was the moment he saw Bloody Mask standing four feet behind them with that huge .357 magnum. On his belt, he had each plastic detonator hanging. Everybody's life was in Bloody Mask's hands.

  Bloody Mask commanded the scene. "Sheriff Cletus Collins, I want you to walk down the hall to room 107. Inside is the scene of the crime. When I say action, you recite your lines. I hope you memorized them. If you forget them, ad lib them. Become the sheriff. Be the sheriff.

  "And action!"

  Dan walked to room 107. Nervousness swelled inside of him. What if he did something wrong? Would the bastard set off the explosive? Maybe a bullet would be sent his way to remind him of his motivation to act?

  He opened the door and entered the crime scene. This was another emptied classroom. Mitch was standing there dressed in a deputy's uniform. He wore a face haggard with apology and bewilderment; a face that said what the fuck is happening to us?

  "Lines, people!"

  Bloody Mask emptied a round into the ceiling.

  "The next one goes into somebody's head."

  Mitch's lips were trembling. The rest of his body soon followed. Dan had to act fast, because Mitch was close to having a heart attack.

  Dan did what he could to save them.

  "Deputy, I was called out of bed for this shit. This better be good. The dispatch didn't tell me what was going on. My wife actually slept with me tonight. It's been months. I was sleeping like a baby in a pool of warm milk."

  Mitch's eyes doubled.

  "Deputy, speak up. I ain't paying you to shove your thumb up your asshole. This is Sheriff Cletus's town, and I'll be damned if somebody's going to kick up trouble here. So give me your report, Deputy."

  Bloody Mask nudged Andy in the back with the .357 Magnum. Andy pointed across the room to the tall pile of desks. They were thrown together, hiding one part of the room from their vantage point.

  Dan understood and pointed in the same direction. "Is that my crime scene over there, Deputy?"

  Mitch slowly nodded his head. The man couldn't force out a single word. Mitch was turning to jelly. It was hard to believe this was the same man who'd tasered him in the parking lot at Debby's.

  Dan walked towards the pile of stacked up desks. That welling nervousness turned into a hard boiling of blood. He had to keep playing the part. It was the only thing that would keep him alive until he could come up with a way of escaping.

  This psycho will not let you live.

  Closing in on the desks, there was a small section of tiles left open. Dan heard the roar of the propane lantern. What that light exposed had him gasping in repulsion.

  The sight nearly knocked him off of his feet. His gag reflex wanted to kick into overdrive, but his instincts refused to put himself in a vulnerable position. In bloody, clotted finger paint style words on the tile floor, it spelled: NO TIT TRISH.

  And there was poor Trisha sprawled out on the floor. She was naked. Blood covered her from top to bottom. Bloody Mask had painted her with her own blood. Dan could see the finger trails, and the way he had grasped her naked flesh. Such perversion and cold-hearted brutality. Both Trisha's breasts were carved out crudely as if used by a dull, ill-equipped blade. Her chest was two concave holes filled with blood. Trisha's eyes stared on at nothing, as if she'd somehow vacated her body before dying.

  Andy had his camera pointed at Dan's face.

  Bloody Mask was behind him. The murderer was expressionless beneath the mask. The way his arms and legs moved, he was a giddy child.

  Andy whispered to Dan. "You have to say your lines. Say, "What did the killer do with her tits?" Please, Dan. I know it's sick. I'm so sorry."

  Dan's first attempt, he nearly burst into tears. If he hadn't cast this woman, this kind human being, she wouldn't be dead in such a gruesome fashion.

  Say the lines.

  You have no choice.

  More will die.

  They'll die anyway.

  Well what the fuck am I supposed to do to stop it?

  The .357 was cocked and pressed to Andy's skull.

  "What did the killer do with her tits?"

  Dan was breathless spitting out those words out.

  "Cut! Very fine, except for you, Mitch. Saying you choked is an understatement. You about ruined my scene. If it weren't for Dan's thinking on his feet, everything would've been shit. I'm keeping you around, Dan. I couldn't decide, but now I know you're up for it.

  "Okay, let's get prepared for the next scene."

  They heard a crash from the other room.

  Bloody Mask grabbed Dan and pressed the gun to his head. "Let's go. Follow the noise, or Dan here gets a bullet through the brain."

  Everybody hurried out of the room. One of the fans, a skinny woman who slipped her restraints, had somehow unlocked the door. She was running down the hallway. Dan thought he was going to grab the detonator. Instead, he aimed the gun.

  Boom!

  The shot clipped her kneecap. Down she went with a wild scream of pain.

  Bloody Mask let her writhe on the ground, clutching her ruined leg. The man checked the room. "Very good, everybody. Nobody escapes, or you die. I'm going to make an example out of this bitch. Keep up the creative energy, people. I'm liking it. This movie's going to come together rather nicely."

  Dan, Mitch, and Andy stood there for a moment unsure of what to do. The hallway was silent except for the poor girl's mewls.

  "Okay, everybody back in the room with everybody else. If you try anything, I will hear it. I'll pick a person at random to explode. Your lives are in each other's hands."

  The gun pointed back to the room full of hostages. Dan followed Mitch and Andy inside. The door closed. Nobody knew what Bloody Mask was going to do next.

  "Who is this guy?"

  "It's you, Dan. You're doing this."

  "It's not me. I'm in as much trouble as you're in."

  "How do we know that? We can't. We don't."

  "It could be anybody wearing that mask. A fan, a psycho, or anybody."

  "What about Brian?"

  "Brian's in the body bag."

  "Whoever's in there, they're not breathing."

  "How do we know it's not Brian wearing the mask and somebody else is in the bag?"

  "So what if it's him? So what if it's somebody else? The situation's the same. We're all dead."r />
  "I refuse to play this sick fuck's game and then let him kill me anyway."

  "Then you want to die like James, having his heart blown out his chest? We'll die just like him. Wait, you invited us here, Andy. We operated the fan webpage for years, and you contact us out of nowhere for this reunion party. This is you. You're holding the camera. You're safe. You're fucking safe. It's you."

  "It's not me. I swear to you. I've got a bomb strapped to my chest too."

  "That means nothing. It's probably a dud."

  "Shut the fuck up. This is real for me too."

  "You set us up, Andy."

  "It isn't any of us."

  "Somebody has to be helping the lunatic."

  "How did he get all of you guys here?"

  "The fucker drove that van with the face on the side. We thought it was Dan Daniels wearing the mask. He welcomed us in the van for shots of whiskey. We went for a ride, and the dude tells us stories about filming, and suddenly, everybody feels sick. He poisoned our drinks. He put a sedative in the whiskey. We wake up here, and why am I telling you this? It does nothing to help us."

  "I'm not staying in here. If we can climb out a window, and run fast, maybe we can get out of range of the signal. He can't activate the bomb."

  "All you have to do is remove the belt."

  "But if you do that, won't it go off?"

  "I don't know."

  "Then I don't want to die in the process of finding out."

  "You're dying anyway."

  "Fuck it, I'm doing it."

  "No, Steve! Don't! You'll get us all killed."

  "I don't care. I'm not staying here another second."

  "Stop. Don't take off the belt!"

  "Who the fuck is going to stop me?"

  * * *

  The door to the room shot open. A loud pop, then something shed sparks and made a fizzing sound. Smoke consumed the room. Blinded, Dan was on the ground coughing up his lungs and doing his best to sift through the smoke to see what the hell was happening.

  The killer was wearing a gas mask. He didn't have the mask from the movie on anymore. It didn't help identify the killer. Smoke obscured everything. Dan caught a baseball bat swing. He was clubbing the guy who was trying to take his belt off from his chest. One blow to the head, the man went down. The other fans in the room and the actors were attacked next.