Bloody Mask

by Alan Spencer

  "How good is my aim?" Bloody Mask asked the room. "The gun's fully loaded."

  Those up at the ceiling began to cry through their gags.

  They knew what was coming.

  "Keep the camera rolling."

  Bloody Mask fired his first shot.

  The bullet hit its mark. Chad Paulson's rope snapped. The sound of rushing air, his muffled appeals, they both came to an abrupt end. He landed on the first pole. The knife awkwardly jammed into his throat and out the side of his skull. Dead on impact.

  "Whoa-yeah!"

  Dan started to charge Bloody Mask when the psycho held the device rigged to Dan's explosive.

  "Ah-ah-ah. You're going to watch and do nothing like a good audience member should. I'm really disappointed in you, Dan. I thought you'd get into this kind of shit."

  Another gunshot. This one missed and hit Ellen Roth's toe. A burst of blood. She was screaming and screaming. Another bullet fired, and the rope snapped. Ellen's body was hurtling down onto the pole. It caught her right in the eyeball. The knife didn't go all the way through until her body went dead, and her dead weight slid the knife through her skull. Her head kept going down the pole until her body hit the bottom.

  "That'll go in the director's cut, eh, Andy? The full impalement scene. No cutaways. No bullshit! The MPAA can't touch my movie!"

  Bloody Mask fired in a wild succession. A bullet shattered a fan's jaw, then it blasted off his nose. The other hanging fan's rope was nicked. Strand by strand, the rope weakened, and after ten long seconds, the rope snapped. The body was impaled through the chest. The young man was drooling blood through his gag as he grimaced in agony.

  "Get as many close ups as possible, cameraman. It'll make a great still shot for the back cover. The overseas market will love it."

  Dan couldn't stand to listen to it any longer. He was grateful for himself and the victim when the poor guy died.

  "We've almost killed everybody, haven't we?"

  Bloody Mask aimed the gun at Dan.

  "So who dies next? You, Dan? Or how about you, Andy? Any volunteers?"

  A dreadful silence filled the gymnasium.

  Then Bloody Mask pointed his gun at the double doors that Dan hadn't entered through earlier. One of the doors were slightly ajar. Bloody Mask had snuck into the auditorium through those doors.

  "Janey's alive," the killer said. "Of course, you remember your ex-wife, don't you? I suppose you might still care about her, right, Dan? She still has a pulse. She's in room 117 if you're interested in saving her. Better go before it's too late, Dan. What are you waiting for? I'm not going to stop you."

  Dan didn't think. He couldn't. If Janey was alive, he could save her. If this was a trap, and it probably was, Bloody Mask had control over everything regardless. He didn't want everybody in this building to die because of his terrible fucking movie. He didn't want them to die, period.

  He almost dropped the propane lantern, Dan was running so hard. Room numbers came and went in blurs of motion. He was only ten rooms away from Janey.

  What other death scenarios from Bloody Mask did the creep copy for tonight?

  Dan didn't want to imagine it.

  The propane lantern wasn't necessary. Candlelight burned in room 117. Candles were placed throughout the room on desks. A twin size cot was placed in the middle of the room. Janey was there. Her wrists and ankles were tied together. She was sitting on the bed without anything on except a pair of panties and the belt with the bomb that was around her stomach. The bastard wanted everybody to see her breasts, so he moved the belt down.

  Janey's face was smeared with running mascara. Her face had been dolled up with garishly applied red lipstick, white powder foundation, and two pink circles at her cheeks. She had a cut eyebrow as if she'd been punched. Her eyes were haggard from crying and witnessing terror.

  Dan came to her and started to do his best to undo her restraints. The rope was tied with impossible knots.

  "Forget it, Janey. I'm going to carry you out of here."

  "No you won't, Dan Daniels."

  Andy entered the room with the camera rolling. Bloody Mask had the gun trained at Andy's head.

  "This is what's going to happen. Every slasher movie needs a love scene. Tits and blood, right? Every fan demands it. And I demand it. Janey's ripe and ready for it. Look at those tits. I can see her bush through those thin panties. I wouldn't mind having some fun with that body myself. But I want to watch you, Dan. Really make love to her. Fuck her like you did when you two were young and in love. Fuck like you did when you were making your movie. Fuck like it's the only thing that matters."

  Dan could've said many things to the psycho. Go fuck yourself. You'll have to kill me, because I won't do it. I've had enough, and I'm not listening to another thing you tell me, you sadistic asshole. He would've said those things, but Janey was mouthing words to him. She even pointed at her own chest.

  "The light on your bomb just turned off, Dan. It's out of power. Take his gun."

  Dan wasn't sure if what Janey was saying was accurate. He didn't care. It was enough to have a chance to fight this guy on fair terms.

  Dan unbuckled the belt in four nervous jerky motions. He threw the belt at Bloody Mask. Bloody Mask dodged the belt. The psycho reached for the detonators on his own belt. There were two explosions. Two big POPS. Janey's bomb went off. Her body was thrown across the room. She was a flimsy rag doll erupting into blood and screams.

  Dan couldn't hear out of one ear.

  The second pop had been Dan's detonator. Bloody Mask, in a hurry, had accidentally pressed Dan's. The explosion sent Bloody Mask into the chalkboard. The board shattered into pieces. Bloody Mask hit the ground and didn't get back up.

  Andy wasn't in the room.

  Dan stood there and couldn't think of what to do next.

  Janey was dead. Bloody Mask was laying on the ground, his body twisted in an awkward death position. Dan finally figured out what to do next.

  Get the hell out of there.

  After the imminent threat of death was removed from the situation, Dan couldn't avoid the questions piling up his mind. He couldn't think beyond one idea, and that was to locate an exit, or to break through a boarded up window, escape the school, and run to the nearest person or phone and raise hell.

  He searched through three hallways, six exits, and then he tried to peel the cardstock and boards from the walls with no success. Dan searched the bathrooms next. Beyond the standing urinal style bathroom fixture was a set of windows that were at least ten feet up high. He could stand on one of the toilets and escape.

  What would he tell the cops?

  The questions in his mind would be on every third party's lips.

  Would they think Dan perpetrated this scheme for publicity? The idea was insane. There was no money in shot-on-video horror. What would he gain, financially?

  He thought back again to Brian, then he thought to Andy.

  What had happened to them?

  No time, he decided.

  Dan worked up the energy to climb on top of the toilet and reach up to the window. Before he had a hand on the window's handle to open it, he heard the dripping. It was a constant pattering.

  "Come out, or I shoot you. Now, Dan Daniels. We've got unfinished business."

  It can't be.

  No.

  Dan heard the .357's hammer cocked.

  He stepped out of the bathroom slowly. Dan knew he couldn't climb up in time to avoid being shot.

  There he stood in the doorway.

  Bloody Mask.

  And he was bloody everywhere.

  It was as if some monster had taken a big bite out of his side from his ribcage all the way down to his pelvis. Blood was spooling free from both eye and mouth holes of the mask. So much blood, the killer removed the mask, waded it up, and threw it down angrily.

  "No, it can't be you!"

  Seeing the face of the murderer, Dan couldn't process it. It made no sense. This guy had no reason
to be here killing anybody. The son-of-a-bitch had killed his own wife in cold blood. Savaged her, in fact. Dan still saw Trisha with two concave holes in her chest. No Tit Trish.

  "Glen, why did you do this? Your wife, Glen. You don't care, do you? You'll kill anybody. But why, why?"

  Glenn was slumped over one of the sinks. He could barely hold up the .357. The man was weakening. That sinister smile, those teeth colored with blood, Glen was proud and maniacal.

  "You laughed. Everybody laughed. Why did everybody have to laugh?"

  "Laugh at what?"

  "Your movie, Dan. You, the audience, the fans, everybody's busting a gut. You don't realize how many people are still alive because of that movie. Watching Bloody Mask, it was like watching people I knew die for real. It was enough, barely enough, to hold back the urge to murder.

  "You see, Dan Daniels, my father, my real father, kidnapped me when I was really young. I was only thirteen years old. My father knew how to raise a child. He might not be right in the head, but so what? My father knew he wasn't right in the head. But he knew how to raise a child. He knew I had the same problems as he did growing up. He would wake up from deep sleeps after enjoying dreams of slaughtering people, and he'd want to do it for real. During his day, he imagined everybody he talked to get hacked up into pieces. And he loved it. He loved the sight of blood. The sight of death. He didn't want to just imagine it. He wanted to do it.

  "But my father was committed, and when he escaped, he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure I didn't end up like him. He knew I had the urges. As a real young boy, I cut up frogs. I skinned rabbits for no reason. I shot my neighbor's dog in the head. I watched the pooch twitch as his brains leaked out of his broken face. My father knew what I was going to become.

  "My father didn't want me to be committed or incarcerated. That wasn't a good place to be, he said. So the only way to get murder out of my system was for me to do it once, record it, and watch it over and over again. My father and I picked up a hooker at the edge of town. We called her Candy. He let me have sex with her. He recorded the sex. That cost extra, for father to record son screwing a whore. Candy didn't care. Candy just wanted to get paid. She was just a whore.

  "After I was finished fucking her, I pulled a knife out of my shoe, and I slit her throat. My dad told me to do it again, and again, and again, until I clean decapitated her. I put her head in a pillowcase. After we buried her headless body in the woods, my dad let me swing the head onto the sidewalk until the skull broke. He let me dump out the pieces and look at every gleaming chunky bit of gray matter.

  "Dad kept recording it for me. I kept the tape. I watched it whenever I felt the urge rise up in me, when the dreams, when looking at people die and imagining it in my head wasn't enough, I would watch the video while putting out the tokens I kept from that wonderful killing night. Candy's panties. Her purse. The pack of cigarettes she was smoking. I could re-live the sights and smells. It was like murdering all over again.

  "Then I met Trisha in college. We fell in love, and she told me about a movie she was a couple of years back. I watched it, and it was just like watching that video of killing Candy the Hooker. It helped me become an honest citizen. I was able to start my church, my ministry, and nobody had to know what was inside of me. What I was capable of if I allowed myself to just let go. I even planned deaths based on your movies just to hold back the urge. That's why I had the props, the bombs, everything. I worked hard so I wouldn't kill people.

  "I worked so hard, Dan. Nobody will ever appreciate that. I used your movie, Dan, and that video of Candy, and it saved so many lives. It saved my life. And then you had that reunion party. Everybody fucking laughed. Oh, it pissed me off. That movie means so much to me, and it's a joke to the world.

  "Well, I decided I couldn't hold it back anymore. Trisha showed me the mask she stole from the movie set. She called it a souvenir. I decided to act out my impulses, while wearing the mask. I'd show them what was so Goddamn funny. They didn't laugh, not once, when I dealt with them. No, they don't laugh anymore, do they, Dan? They only bleed.

  "I shouldn't of killed so many people. Now there's no way I can get away this. That's what dad said. You can't get away with murder forever. Even if the cops don't find you, you'll think you've pulled off a big stunt, and you'll want to kill again, and again, and again, and again until they finally do catch you and put you in prison, and I don't want that.

  "But I'm not going anywhere but in the ground, now am I? And so are you, Dan. You think it's funny. Let's see how funny it is when you're d—"

  The shadows came alive behind Glen. They reached out to him, twisted his hand back, forced the gun from his hand, pressed the nozzle to Glen's head, and fired a shot.

  Glen flopped onto the floor, dead for good.

  "Brian, thank God!"

  Dan hugged Brian.

  "What happened to you, man?"

  Brian's face drooped. He was weak, and so pale. Brian had to sit down. He closed his eyes tight and fought what appeared to be a migraine.

  "When my house was burning, Glen got me. He injected me with some drug. Asshole doesn't know what he's doing. I think he gave me way too much. Then I wake up in a body bag. I tried to find my way in the dark. I kept hearing screams, and gunshots, and awful noises. I kept going in and out consciousness. I was so weak. I'm so sorry, Dan."

  "You saved my ass, Brian. You did what you could."

  "No, I'm sorry, Dan."

  Brian's face was grave looking for a new reason.

  Dan hadn't seen Brian pick up the .357.

  Brian aimed the gun at Dan.

  "Glen kind of beat me to the punch. I bet you thought Glen cut up my mother. Glen found my mother's corpse, because I'm the one who killed her. I axed her to pieces the morning of the reunion party. I was going to frame you, Dan, then I was going to collect on Lucille's life insurance and make the sequel. Then with all the publicity and people feeling sorry for me, it would work out. People would help me make my movie. I would get money, and attention, and the movie would do well this time. A real movie.

  "It's not my fault, Dan. Don't say a word. If you say a word, I'll shoot your fucking mouth off. I tried several times to get you to commit to making the sequel. Then I knew the only way to make a sequel was to kill my mom, and to kill you."

  "But you said your mom had saved up money to give you for another movie," Dan said, refusing to be quiet. "You're not making sense."

  "I lied about that. I only told you that so you'd say yes to making another movie. I had to know if you were serious about making another movie, but no, you weren't. You're as wishy-washy as a high school girlfriend. I tried my best to break into movies a long time ago, and I failed miserably. This was the last chance to make something of myself. I don't want to work at a fucking grocery store for the rest of my life. This was the only way out. I couldn't live like I was living before you came back to town. I refuse.

  "I'm sorry, Dan. I'll blame Glen for your death. Just know you died for a good cause. Bloody Mask 2 will be an excellent film."

  Dan was helpless, and even against the sinking feeling of betrayal and shock, he shouted dozens of things to save his life. Then the last thing Dan thought when the gun went off: Who is coming up behind Brian?

  We're still putting everything together, but so far, it's clear Glen killed everyone. From your statements earlier, and what happened at the school, Glen wanted to replicate his favorite movie. And like you said, Glen was upset people were mocking the movie he loved so much. I did some digging around. Glen had a father who was committed to an insane asylum. He had a mental breakdown and murdered a handful of people with an axe. Why he lost his mind, nobody really knows. I guess his brain was born with a defect, and it finally got the best of him. But his father escaped the asylum, kidnapped his son, and took him on a cross country drive. He said he had to raise the boy right and get the sickness out of him by doing the bad things when Glen was young so he wouldn't do bad things when he t
urned older. I don't want to go into any further details, for your sake. You've been through enough already. You're lucky to be alive, pal. And I'm glad you are alive. We're going to keep putting the facts together, and I want you to know you're safe here at the hospital. Thank you for being so cooperative, especially after all that you've been through. It'll be good when you can put this all behind you. I've got a lot of calls to make while the investigation's still running. Just rest and get better. We'll keep you informed. No you just rest up and start feeling better.

  Two Months Later

  Glen's house remained unoccupied ever since the killings. No realtor could sell it. Colorful graffiti marked the outside. Go ahead and count the number of severed heads, bloody pairs of tits, apologies to God, and lines of junior high level profanity. It was late enough at night, I could sneak into the backyard and use a crowbar to pry off one of the wooden boards covering a back window. I set the board down quietly and crawled into the empty house. Every piece of furniture, picture on the wall, or evidence anyone ever lived here was gone.

  I only wanted one thing.

  Glen's stash.

  A man like Glen who was taming the killer inside him into submission had personal vices. I remember every word Glen said that night about a video of father and son killing a hooker. It made me think what else did Glen have hidden?

  A man's stash, what was ultimately a snuff video, wouldn't be kept in boxes, or put on a shelf, or kept hidden under the bed. When a man was married and hiding these vices, he had to be creative. Even a lockbox or a steel safe would've drawn attention. Honey, why did you buy the safe? What's inside? Yeah, but I can take a look inside, honey, if there's nothing interesting in there? I mean, what do you have to hide?

  A man like Glen would have to create a spot to hide his incriminating things. The attic wouldn't be good on a VHS tape. Winter and summers would've destroyed the tape. And the image quality would've gone to shit. Normal VHS tapes didn't age that well anyway. Throw in humidity, extreme cold, and extreme heat, and kiss your murder tape goodbye.