The following short story takes place in the same world as Melody & Macabre, specifically during the events of the minicomic "Dia de los Muertos." This is intended as a horror, rather than a black comedy. Enjoy.
I love Halloween. The frightening things we see, the spectres creeping in the night, and candy.
Then there are the masks. Those lovely masks.
They can range anywhere from cute to frightening. Few of the latter are really seen in the Holiday, as most who wear costumes tend to be children or their parents, or adults going to Halloween parties to get drunk, and get laid, and wearing humorous or sexy outfits depending on their personalities. All in all, it's a big disgrace to the Holiday.
This particular Holiday, I'd encountered a good number of masks in all niches, but oddly, I was not as interested in them as usual. Not as I drove to the store, when I heard of yet another murder.
Last night, in Harridan County, a woman was killed. At a very inopportune moment, no matter who you ask, as a man encountered the victim and her assailant only after her heart was cut out. He saw the killer dash off, and got a fairly decent glimpse of him. He commented on his appearance to be "like Death."
On my way home, I'd considered this individual. A strange one, without a doubt. While working in the dark was good, he seemed to kill on the spot, leaving a mess and evidence. He also probably had to have many of his own costume, as the one he wore would undoubtedly be covered in blood. To top that, he didn't even wear gloves. He'd have to be a very sloppy serial killer, and a lucky one at that. If not for being a complete nobody, he'd have been caught immediately.
Then there's the motivation, linked to his moniker. If he knew what Death thought of the theft of his identity and possessions, he would soil himself. The same would probably apply if he knew what I knew.
It's a shame that he'd not waited a day for something special to do on the Holiday, but given his modus operandi, I'm not particularly surprised. It's all so sad lately. And after so many missing children as of late….
Shaking off these thoughts, I pulled into the driveway. Trick-or-treaters had not begun their route around the neighborhood, but I knew they would be out by nightfall. I grabbed by bags of candy and rushed for the door. Ignoring the usual sounds of home, I poured the candy into my large bowl and practiced my false smile. A mask of my own.
It's not that I don't enjoy my yearly Mask Watch, tallying the many I see and paying attention to the various styles given, but as I have pointed out, the holiday has fallen into a rather childish habit of quite cutesy costumes unworthy of the adoration with which many parents drown their children. The teeth-rotting treats could be done without, also, but it's well worth the money to see the masks. And, if I'm lucky, inspiration for my own. I consider it one of my most beloved hobbies.
Before the first trick-or-treaters arrived, I set up my boombox outside with the usual scary soundtrack. Some may use it for thematic effect, but I use it to drown out the noise.
Not a bad night. Power Rangers, no interest there. Female costumes rarely have anything of interest. The classics appeared, at least, in their cheap plastic molds of the Mummy or Frankenstein's Monster. The real show came by the end of the night, when the teenagers would brave humiliation with masks often worthy of honest smiles. Mixed emotions from the Scream costumes.
At this point, the flow had already slowed to a trickle, and soon after died out altogether. With a sigh of exhaustion, I turned off the soundtrack, turned out the porch light, and went inside.
It was finally time for the other favorite hobby.
First, I changed from my sweatsuit into something more fitting. I browsed the costumes. A nice farmer's outfit, perhaps. Button up the plaid shirt. Pull on the overalls. Some nice leather boots, it's a shame they'll be ruined. Gardening gloves to keep the hands clean, that's the key. Picking up my straw hat, I moved to my mask room.
While not particularly full, I knew I'd soon have to get rid of some before my next move. Westward, to Harridan. How many times have I been to the coast? It would be nice to live there again.
I had a nice collection, at any rate. A number of manufactured masks, as well as a good few of my own creation. Tonight, it would be a homemade piece. I pulled it off its stand and examined it. It was made of simple burlap, but sewn and twisted into a sly Jack-o'-Lantern grin.
Jack-o'-Lantern. That's another I should work on.
I pulled it over my head, tucked it into my collar, and checked myself in the mirror. Go ahead, put on the hat. Nice. No need for straw. Even scarier than the store-bought masks.
I headed down to the basement. I was used to the clanging, though the silence afterwards was always a bit more soothing.
Since it was a special occasion, I'd managed to find three for tonight. Not the youngest I've had, but young enough for this occasion. Samael wasn't the only to pretend to be a Dark One.
"You know," I said, smiling beneath the mask, "the noise is less likely to attract attention tonight." I lurked through the darker areas of the basement, past the boy hanging on meathooks, past the other with his fingernails and toenails replaced with carpenter's nails, and halted before the girl, her hair having been plucked one-by-one just this morning. She seemed the livelier of the three. I ripped the duct tape off her mouth in one painful jerk.
"Please, mister," she gasped. "Let us go."
"Ah, now, I can't have that," I said. "After all, you know where I live. You've seen my face."
"But we haven't!" she argued.
"Ah, that's right. I am not as foolish as some. Even good old Jack."
It might have not been safe at the moment, but I suddenly found myself daydreaming. Jack the Ripper. While I had admired the homage the Death-Impostor offered, I was a bit upset that he would outshine my own offered when I last visited Null City, years ago. I was lucky enough to find a hooker in a neighborhood, appropriately named White Chapel. There, I performed a fitting homage to the true master, from the artwork upon her, to the organ and letter - written word-for-word from his original - to the police chief at the times. The bastards kept the press quiet, and as I sadly didn't think to follow it up - I was a novice in those days - I hadn't seen the fruit of my labors. Even so, my graffiti was up for a good week before being covered over by crude gang signs. "Jack is Back!" it proclaimed. But after so long, I'd learned differently. I am so much better than he.
I pulled myself out of my reverie, chuckling to myself. I then saw the girl again, her eyes pleading. "I'm sorry, my dear, what were we talking about?"
"That... that I want to go home," she stammered.
"Ah, too bad," I said. "We have so much fun in store for tonight. Tell me, have you heard much about that horrible man in Harridan County?" She said she didn't.
"It's a shame," I sighed. I took the time to walk to the boy with nails for nails, and picked up a scalpel. "He uses a rather crude way of torture, that doesn't truly last as long as it should. He will cut or gouge the eyes out" - at this, I jammed the unbladed end through each of the boy's eyes in turn, to which he screamed through his tape, and she screamed aloud, much to my frustration and delight - "and he then cuts out the heart, in a rather coarse way." I sharply raised my scalpel, enjoying the girl's terrified gasp, then place the scalpel down to move back to her.
"He's a fool, but he will be dealt with soon enough. No, not by me," I added quickly, responding to an unasked and unthought question, "but I'm certain the one he's masquerading as does not appreciate it. Not for glory, but the souls he's stolen. The one I portray, however, delights in all suffering. At any rate, this isn't always my mask."
I thought for a moment, calculating the many ways to kill, the many masters to imitate and perfect, the many new styles to invent, the traditions that work so well, the gods who delighted in such gruesome acts.
"Please, mister... I won't tell anyone... just let me go."
"Please, my dear," I whispered, smiling again beneath the twisted grin of my most beloved mask. "Call me the Boogeyman."
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