Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

Hand Inside the Mask

The light hangs from the ceiling, gently swaying by its cord as the shade forces the light downward onto the desk before him. Sydney wipes a sea of sweat from his brow with an old, musty cloth, then presses it against the underside of his jaw, targeting the porous places of his overly sweaty body with precision. He stuffs it into his armpits, one after the other, then lets out a gasp as he tosses it to the side and gulps cool mouthful after cool mouthful of the ice-cold water from his glass.

He slams it on the bench and lets out a gasp of satisfaction, then takes another, less fulfilling breath and studies the crudely constructed mask that sits before him. He scrunches his nose and rubs his eyes with the backs of his fists. He hisses and grumbles, blinking his right eye in quick succession, before grabbing the cloth and pressing it forcefully into his socket, soaking up the salt-enriched sweat stinging his eye.

He grimaces and mutters incoherent words to himself before picking the latex mask from the bench and studying it with wide-open eyes. He turns the mask over, studies the back of it, peers through the neck hole, then places his hand inside it, turning the mask to face him once again.

Fierce eyes stare out toward him from inside the blank eye holes.

“What game are you playing at, Sydney? Why are we down here, in the musty crusty? You promised me a night out on the town! You promised me control—not that you’d stick your hand up my clacker and use me as a fucking puppet!” the mask spits.

Sydney’s bottom lip trembles as he curls one side of his mouth, sucking in the other and biting gently on the soft flesh.

“I-I-I,” he stammers, as a fresh sea of sweat cascades down his already salt-scarred brow.

“Y-Y-You what? You realised you’re a gutless cunt? You realised you’ve got no balls? You thought you’d screw me over after all I’ve done for you!” the mask screams as it thrusts forward, headbutting Sydney with bloody ferocity.

Sydney tumbles in a mess of arms and legs to the floor, a trail of red following him to the ground and painting a line directly from his nose to his throbbing fist. The mask lies on the ground, silent and still, a crimson splash covering its bulbous forehead.

Sydney scrambles to his feet, looking down at the mask with trepidation. His breath falters as he picks it up again, his trembling fingers setting it carefully back on the bench. He stares at it, his eyes widening, the corners of his mouth twitching with unease. He swallows the dry lump in his throat, hesitates, then shoves his hand into the mask once more.

His nose screws up as he pulls a pistol from his jacket, pressing the muzzle against the mask’s bloody forehead. He laughs—a jagged, wild sound that cracks the air.

“What the fuck do you think that’s gonna do, kid? I’ll be back—and I’ll be meaner than before. I’ll probably get you to fondle your sister before we chop off her head, and—”

The words cut off as Sydney pulls the trigger. Latex and blood explode outward, splattering the walls and floor. The shredded mask drops to the ground with a sickening thud, limp and lifeless.

Sydney screams at first—horrifying, guttural sounds—but they twist into deranged, breathless fits of laughter. He stumbles back, gripping his bleeding stump as crimson streams pour down his arm, pooling at his feet in thick, sticky puddles.

The door above shakes with heavy thuds, muffled voices shouting his name.

“Sydney!”

He gasps, his chest heaving as his gaze shifts to the cracked, dirty mirror hanging on the far wall.

In the reflection, he sees himself wearing the mask—its hollow eyes staring back at him.

He drops to his knees, his bloodied fingers fumbling for the pistol. With a trembling hand, he raises it to his temple as tears cascade down his cheeks.

The door upstairs bursts open just as he squeezes the trigger. The sound is deafening, and his head snaps to the side, blood and bone splattering the walls as his body collapses to the floor.

The voices on the stairs rise into horrified screams, but the reflection remains, staring out from the cracked glass, silent and still, watching the chaos play out below.