Don't Scream 2 Page 3

  I'm glad you found your mask, but can you please stop? I'm on the phone with Evelyn.

  I quickly texted back:

  Stop what?

  She replied:

  Stop tapping on the window! It's super annoying.

  I stared at my phone, panic seeping in. Then my fingers raced across the keyboard, as I typed:

  I'm not at home. I'm at the party store.

  She didn't reply. I grabbed my stuff and ran out to the car, phone pressed against my ear.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when she answered.

  "Ben? I told you, I'm on the phone—"

  "Alicia, I'm not home. Whoever you're seeing out there isn't me. You need to call the police, right now." Memories of the figure I'd seen the night before rushed back to me, and I shuddered.

  "But—"

  "Call the police!" I yelled.

  When I arrived home, the police were already there. Red and blue lights, flashing in the darkness of our driveway. Alicia stood in the driveway, giving her statement, somewhat begrudgingly. "All I saw was someone in a black hoodie, black pants, and a white mask with fake blood all over it. They were over there, at the office window."

  "You didn't recognize anything about them?" the tall, lanky officer asked.

  "I thought it was my husband, but he was at the store, apparently. Look—I'm sure it's just some teenager from the neighborhood playing a mischief night prank. And if it is," she said, giving me a stern look as I walked over, "I don't want to press charges. We were all young and dumb once."

  The officer laughed at that. An annoying, high-pitched laugh that grated my eardrums. "We'll take a look around and follow up with you, Mrs. Breslaw," he said.

  "Thank you."

  Alicia turned to me—arms crossed, lips pressed into a line. "Great. You just wasted twenty minutes of my time. Evelyn is so pissed that I cut the call short."

  "There was some creep tapping on your window!" I shouted back. "What, you wanted to just ignore it?"

  "Obviously just some teenager. I mean, come on, it's mischief night. I'm just happy it was that and not getting TP'd. That takes forever to clean up."

  "Okay. Fine." I hurried past her and set my supplies on the table. Then I set to work ripping open packs of plastic spiders and bats. They fell onto the table with loud, gross plops.

  "I'm going upstairs," Alicia said curtly, leaving me to prepare for the party on my own.

  ***

  Ding!

  Motion detected at your doorstep. 3:17 AM.

  The notification came through on my phone, loud and clear. I tapped on the video feed, half-asleep.

  A man stood on my doorstep.

  He wore all black. Covering his face was the white mask I'd ordered, covered in something dark.

  I jumped out of bed. "Alicia," I whispered, shaking her awake. "Alicia. He's back."

  "What?" she murmured.

  "The man in the mask. He's back. He's standing on our porch right now and—"

  "Is he TP'ing the trees?"

  "No."

  "Then let me sleep," she groaned, rolling over and throwing the covers over her head.

  I know lots of crazy things happen on mischief night. But this crossed a line. A big line. A man standing on my porch in the middle of the night, wearing the mask I'd ordered? Probably the same man who'd stolen the mask in the first place, right off my doorstep?

  This was too far.

  I crept out of the room and peered down into the foyer. Through the glass insert in our door, I saw him.

  He stood under the porch light, blurred and distorted through the glass, but I could still make out the white mask. Stained red with blood.

  Should I call the police?

  Alicia would be mad at me. But screw it. This was too far.

  My fingers slipped over the screen. "There's a man standing on my porch, in a mask," I said, my words coming out as a jumbled string of syllables.

  As soon as the call ended, the figure shifted. Then it receded, until all that remained was the empty porch. I clicked back to the security camera feed; it, too, showed nothing but the empty porch and the shadows of the front yard.

  A sharp knock on the door tore me from my thoughts. I looked down to see two figures distorted through the glass: two figures wearing blue uniforms.

  I let the police in and explained everything. I even showed them the security footage. They scoured the backyard—but they didn't find anyone.

  When they finally left, I retreated back into the bedroom. Alicia, thankfully, somehow slept through it all.

  I locked the door and dragged a dresser over it for good measure. Then I collapsed into the bed. I didn't fall asleep until the sky brightened with dawn and the birds began to sing.

  ***

  "Aren't you excited for the party?"

  I stared out the window like a soulless zombie. I'd slept all of three hours, and the fatigue felt like a train driving over me, again and again.

  But I couldn't nap—there was so much to do. Spider cupcakes and monster fingers to bake. Decorations to hang. Candy bowls to put out.

  "Will you hang these streamers in the office?" Alicia asked, handing me a tangled mess of black, orange, and purple.

  "But no one will be going in there."

  She quirked an eyebrow at me. "You told me you wanted this to be the best party ever. That you wanted every single room decorated, just in case."

  "Okay, okay," I said, forcing myself out of the chair. I took the streamers from her and entered the office.

  There, on the desk, was the mask.

  Mouth twisted into a smile. Gaping holes for eyes. Dark red splattered across the plastic.

  "Alicia!" I shouted.

  She rushed into the room. "Where... where'd you get this mask?" I stuttered, breathless.

  "It was on our doorstep this morning."

  Relief flooded through me. He wasn't in the house. It was just on the doorstep. My entire body shook as I fell into the chair.

  "Why don't you rest for a bit before the party starts?" Alicia said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I'll call you down when everyone's here."

  I nodded.

  Alicia thought I was overreacting. Maybe she was right; maybe I was letting a mischief night prank by some dumb teenager mess with my head. I lay down on the bed, ignoring the dings of my phone on the nightstand, and closed my eyes.

  It seemed like only seconds passed before Alicia was back in the room, asking me to come downstairs. "Everyone's here," she said. "And they want to see you." I followed her down the stairs.

  And froze.

  Every single person in the room wore the mask.

  Black clothes with that white mask over their faces, covered in splatters of blood. Gaping eye holes, a twisted mouth.

  I felt dizzy. The room pitched before me, and I gripped the banister for balance.

  "Ben? Are you okay?"

  I swayed, trying to steady myself. "Why... why are they all wearing that?"

  "They said you asked them to."

  "What?"

  "You didn't?"

  "No," I said, as the crowd blurred before me.

  "They said you left the masks with a note, saying they should wear them to the party. A lot of people canceled because of it. Families with kids, mostly." She turned to me. "You really didn't do it?"

  "Why would I?!"

  Alicia shrugged. "I don't know. You were obsessed with this party from the beginning. And the mask. I thought maybe..." She trailed off. "If you didn't put the masks in their mailboxes, who did?"

  Him. The man who had been tapping on the window. The man who had been standing on our porch last night.

  The man who stole my mask.

  As my mind swirled with questions—who he was, why he'd do this—a memory popped into my head. The promo code, and the "SELECT YOUR SCARE" message.

  Had I somehow chosen this?

  I stared into the crowd. Fifty masked faces stared back at me. All identical. Anyone could be him. Or n
o one.

  Before I could think, a hand pulled me into the crowd.

  "Ben, hey! How's it going?" a familiar voice asked behind the mask. Eddie Huntley, the blond-haired man that lived three houses down the street.

  "It's good," I said, faking a smile.

  He continued to talk, but I only pretended I was listening. I looked across the crowd. All the masked faces were turned towards each other, bobbing and nodding in conversation.

  Except for one.

  Who was staring right at me.

  I broke away from the conversation. "Hey—hey!" I shouted, pushing through the crowd. His gaping eyes stared back at mine. Soulless. Empty.

  I grabbed the mask and ripped it off.

  And stared into the face of Marie Chandler. The wife of my rich, luxury-loving neighbor. "Ben! Great party. Love the masks," she said in her elegant, soft voice. "Really adds a creepy flavor to the whole thing."

  "Th-thanks," I stuttered.

  "Hey, have you seen David? It seems I've lost him."

  I shook my head.

  She continued staring into the crowd.

  Ding. My phone chimed. I slowly pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. Motion detected at your doorstep. 8:32 PM.

  I tapped on the camera feed.

  There he stood.

  David?

  Who else could it be? He was missing, and there was the masked man, standing on my porch. Heart pounding, I fought my way through the kitchen, through the family room, and over to the front door.

  Now the porch was empty.

  I opened the door and stared out into the night. But beyond the halo of light the porch created, everything was a murky mess of shadow. I shut the door.

  The lights flickered.

  And then they went out.

  The room plunged into darkness. Shouts and murmurs sounded across the party. Masked faces whirled about in confusion. "Turn the lights back on!" a woman shouted angrily. Cell phone flashlights flicked on, twinkling among the crowd of shadows.

  Ding.

  Motion detected at your backdoor. 8:35 PM.

  I stared at my phone in horror as I heard the back door creak open. Followed by heavy footsteps. I ran through the family room, and into the kitchen.

  The back door hung open, but he was gone.

  Blended into the crowd.

  Stay calm, I told myself. Get the power back on. Then you can deal with finding the culprit. My head pulsed with pain as I considered the two options. Either someone flipped the master breaker... or someone cut the power lines.

  I decided to check the master breaker first.

  "Alicia," I said, fumbling my way in the darkness towards her. Thank goodness she wasn't wearing a mask like the rest of them. "Keep everyone calm, okay? I'm going to check the breakers in the basement."

  "Okay," she said, biting her lip. "You think maybe the fog machine was drawing too much power?"

  "Uh... yeah."

  No need to get her worried.

  Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I stumbled to the basement door. I opened it. The stairs loomed before me, stretching into the pitch black below. A shudder ran through me. "Maybe it was just the fog machine," I muttered to myself, descending the steps one-by-one. We had a menagerie of Halloween decorations out on the lawn, and it was possible that they blew a fuse.

  Then why would the whole house be without power?

  I forced the question out of my head and continued down the stairs. I made my way to the breaker box, my footsteps clicking against the cement.

  The master breaker was flipped.

  Someone intentionally walked into the basement and flipped the switch. My heart pounded in my chest; my hand shook as I reached out and flipped the switch back. The lights flickered to life, including the lightbulb above my head.

  For a second, silence.

  Then someone grabbed me roughly from behind.

  I whipped around, thrashing against strong arms. A white mask stared back at me, smeared with blood. Gaping, empty eye sockets.

  I tore away and jumped back. My body collided with my workbench. My eyes scanned it—there was my hammer, lying on the wood.

  I grabbed it.

  The figure jumped forward. Laughter echoed from beneath the mask, along with a voice. "I got you this ti—"

  I lifted the hammer.

  And smashed it into his skull.

  The man immediately crumpled. He fell onto the floor, head smacking against the tile. I crouched over him. Then I reached over and pulled the mask off.

  It was David.

  Footsteps sounded behind me. Then shouts, then screams. "Call 911!" someone cried.

  But David was perfectly still.

  ***

  The police carried him out in a body bag.

  The guests were gone. The masks were strewn across the floor, the couch, every room of the house. A few were completely crushed, stepped on in the chaos. The back door still hung open, letting in gusts of cold October air.

  I didn't sleep a wink that night. The image of David's face burned into my mind. I'd heard his wife explain to the police, in broken sobs, that he'd been planning some sort of prank on me at the party. He hadn't visited the house, or stalked Alicia; he'd only planned a scare at the party. She didn't know what it was until the lights went out.

  He was innocent.

  I spent half the day sleeping, the other half drunk. When night rolled around, Alicia pulled me off the couch. "Sit out on the porch with me," she said.

  "Why?"

  "It isn't good for you to be inside all day, like this."

  I followed her out, beer in hand. We sat on the back porch, facing the forest. "Ben, you can't... you didn't mean to," she forced out, glancing in my direction.

  "No. I didn't mean to."

  "The funeral's in three days. Maybe we should go." She reached out and squeezed my hand.

  "I don't know if I can face Marie," I said, stumbling over my words. "Or any of them. I—"

  My words caught in my throat.

  There, on the edge of the treeline, stood a familiar figure. Dressed in all black. Wearing a white mask splattered with blood.

  I stood up. Alicia grabbed my hand, but I yanked it away. "Get the hell off my property!" I screamed.

  The figure didn't budge.

  Fueled by alcohol and anger, I leapt off the porch and strode across the backyard. "Ben—please don't—" Alicia called after me.

  "Take off your fucking mask!" I screamed, closing in on the figure. He still didn't move. "A man is dead because of you and your fucking games!"

  Alicia jogged after me, turning on her cell's flashlight. "Ben, please, stop!"

  But I didn't stop. I didn't stop until I was inches from his face, until I could smell his sordid breath in the air. "Take off your fucking mask," I growled. "I want to see who you are, before I smash your stupid little head."

  He just stared at me with those gaping eye sockets, plastic mouth twisted into a smile.

  "Oh, you don't believe me? You should. I killed someone last night. Smashed his head right in. I'm a murderer now. You hear that?" I leaned in, my face inches from his. "I killed someone because of you! And I'll kill you, too, if you don't take that fucking mask off!"

  He didn't move.

  "Fine!" I shouted, spittle flying from my mouth. "I'll take it off myself, then."

  I reached up. Grabbed at his jawline. Pulled.

  It didn't come off.

  I stumbled forward. Grabbed harder. Pulled harder. "No. No, no, no..." I took a step back, my heart pounding.

  It wasn't a mask.

  I watched in horror as his mirthful grin contorted into an angry scowl. "Run!" I screamed, taking off across the grass. Alicia followed, screaming her lungs out. I whipped around to see the figure chasing us full speed across the lawn.

  I ran as fast as I could. I didn't stop until I was inside the house, closing the door.

  That's when I realized.

  Alicia had stopped screaming
. The backyard was empty—both of them were gone without a trace.

  Except for Alicia's phone in the grass. The flashlight shined up towards the sky, shimmering and sparkling in the shadows.

  ***

  I haven't seen Alicia since that night.

  It's been a week. I didn't attend David's funeral, though I suppose I am now in the same boat as Marie Chandler. Her husband is gone; so is my wife.

  The police suspect that I killed David on purpose. After all, our playful little rivalry was well-known among neighbors. They also believe I had something to do with Alicia's disappearance, and to fill in a motive for me, rumors are flying that Alicia and David were having an affair.

  I've been advised not to leave town. So, as much as I would love to leave this all behind, I'm stuck here. With my guilt. With the past.

  I leave you with a warning. The masked man—whatever he is—is still out there. And so, I beg you: don't trust anyone who wears a mask. Who hides their face behind a grotesque facade of plastic.

  Because it might not be a mask, after all.

  FACEAPP

  "FaceApp" is an app that shows you what you'll look like old. This afternoon, I downloaded it, after a healthy dose of peer pressure.

  "Come on. I want to see what you look like," my husband said, a grin on his face.

  Sure he did. He still looked handsome, with the spattering of silver hair and distinguished lines on his face. Me? I'd probably look like an old hag.

  The app loaded. I took a photo and scrolled through the options. I tapped "Age." Then "Old."

  The spinning icon showed up as it loaded. I held my breath.

  The image appeared.

  I froze.

  It didn't show me with gray hair, or wrinkles, or yellow teeth. No — it was so much worse.

  My skin stretched over my cheekbones, thin and papery, a sickly shade of gray. My eyes were clouded white, the pupils barely visible. My dark brown hair had no gray — but it was tangled and knotted around my face. Half my teeth were gone.

  I didn't look old.

  I lookeddead.

  "What? What's wrong?" Alex asked.

  I quickly slid the phone out of his view. "It's nothing. Just... don't want you to see me like this."

  That part was true.