Death Mask

by Graham Masterton

  “Get out of my way,” said Red Mask. He began to push Victoria toward them, so that they had to back off. “Today, I get justice. Today, I get revenge. Today, I get the respect that I deserve.”

  “You don’t deserve any respect, you bastard,” Trevor told him. “You’re nothing but a butcher.”

  Sissy said, “That’s truer than my son knows. You are a butcher. In fact, you’re—”

  “Shut up!” Red Mask roared at her. “Shut the fuck up! One more word from any of you and I’ll cut this kid’s throat right in front of you!”

  He kept advancing along the corridor with Victoria in front of him, and they kept backing away, although Deputy kept snarling and pulling at his leash. Out of the side of his mouth, Detective Bellman murmured to Frank, “I could get a head shot, Frank. Right between the eyes.”

  But Frank said, “No. No way. I don’t think even that would kill him. And he would only have to fall wrong, and—” He made a slicing gesture across his Adam’s apple.

  They retreated all the way along the corridor until they reached the elevators.

  Molly said, “Please—if I promise not to come after you—”

  “Oh, you won’t be coming after me. I can guarantee that.”

  “I’ll do anything you want. Just let her go, I’m begging you.”

  Red Mask pushed the button for the left-hand elevator. The doors opened, and they saw that there was no elevator car there, only an empty shaft with greasy steel cables. A warm draft was blowing softly down it, whistling a sad, reflective tune.

  “You want me to let your daughter go?” said Red Mask, hoarsely. “Sure, I’ll let your daughter go.”

  Oh my God, thought Sissy. The card. The girl falling down the well, like Alice in Wonderland. The card predicted it. He’s going to drop her down the elevator shaft.

  “No!” screamed Molly, but Red Mask forced Victoria right to the very edge of the elevator shaft, still holding the knife against her throat.

  “Let her go, you bastard!” Trevor yelled at him, but Red Mask slid the knife across Victoria’s throat and drew a thin line of blood.

  “I told you! Didn’t I tell you? Shut the fuck up! One more word from any of you, and it’s down she goes!”

  Victoria made a pathetic squealing noise, but Red Mask snarled at her, “That goes for you, too, my darling. Not a word.”

  Then he said, “Molly created me. Molly can destroy me. Now, I can’t have somebody walking the world who has the power to destroy me, can I? But no creation has the power to destroy his creator, does he?—even me? I can’t destroy you, Molly, any more than you can destroy God. There’s only one person who can destroy you, Molly, and that’s you.

  “So this is the choice. If you jump down this shaft here, Molly, your lovely young daughter will be spared. If you don’t, then it’s down she goes, and I won’t spare the rest of you, either.”

  “You’re crazy!” Trevor screamed at him. “You’re completely and utterly crazy!”

  Red Mask pushed Victoria until she was leaning even further over the elevator shaft. “I warned you! One more word and it’s down she goes!”

  Molly stepped forward, with her head held high and both fists tightly clenched.

  Trevor said, “No, Molly—No, you can’t!”

  But Molly walked right up to Red Mask and stood in front of him and said, “If that’s what it’s going to take to save my daughter—all right, I’ll do it.”

  Red Mask stared at her with his slitted eyes. His expression was unreadable, like a painted wooden figure by a desolate highway, far from anyplace at all.

  He took a step back from the open elevator shaft. “There it is,” he told her. “That’s the way down. I have to tell you, this is almost like a religious experience. The fear. The elation.”

  Molly went right up to the edge of the elevator shaft. Her hair was ruffled by the updraft. Victoria was staring at her, appalled, but Red Mask was holding the knife so close to her throat that she couldn’t cry out.

  But it was then that Frank sprinted forward, dropping Deputy’s leash as he did so. He collided with Molly, pushing her past the open elevator shaft, and straight into Victoria and Red Mask. At the same time, Deputy bounded up at Red Mask and sank his teeth into his arm.

  Red Mask fell backward, dropping his knife. Frank shouted, “Grab her!” and Molly wrapped her arms around Victoria. Frank twisted himself sideways so that both of them could roll clear.

  Red Mask picked up his knife and furiously stabbed at Deputy until the dog released his grip on his arm and limped off to the far side of the reception area, bloody and whining. Red Mask clambered to his feet.

  “Do you think that’s going to spare you?” he spat. “Do you think that any of you are going to leave this building alive? You’re going to be chopped liver, all of you.”

  Frank ducked and feinted, but Red Mask kept advancing on him, lunging at him with his knife. He cut the back of Frank’s right hand, and blood sprayed across the floor, and then he stabbed him in the left forearm, and the shoulder.

  Red Mask raised his knife high above his head and was just about to plunge it into Frank’s chest, when Frank seized the lapels of Red Mask’s coat and deliberately fell backward into the open elevator shaft. They both disappeared like a conjuring trick.

  “Oh my God!” Sissy cried out. She hurried to the elevator shaft, with Detective Bellman and Trevor close behind her.

  Both Red Mask and Frank were dangling from one of the steel cables in the center of the shaft. Red Mask must have snatched at the cable with his left hand, and then dropped his knife so that he could grip it with his right hand, too. Frank was hanging beside him, still holding tightly onto the front of his coat.

  “Hold on!” shouted Detective Bellman. “Hold on, I’ll see if I can find a stepladder or something!”

  Sissy called out, “Frank! Frank! See if you can climb down the wire!”

  “Can’t let go, Sissy. Sorry.”

  “Frank, you have to try! I don’t want to lose you again!”

  “You never lost me. You never will. Go get Jane.”

  “Let go of my coat!” Red Mask roared at him. “Let go of my coat!”

  “Get Jane!” Frank insisted. Red Mask’s lapel started to tear off, and he lurched another six inches downward.

  Sissy turned around and said, “Jane—come here, quick!”

  Jane Becker came up and stood beside her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Call him!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Then I will,” said Sissy. “Red Mask! Can you hear me?”

  Red Mask managed to turn his head so that he could see her.

  “There’s somebody here who has something to say to you, Red Mask!”

  Red Mask grunted with effort, but said nothing.

  Jane Becker reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out the postcard of Butcher Buck. “You see this?” she called out, in a shrill, unsteady voice. “This is you.”

  “Tell him!” said Frank. “For God’s sake, just tell him!”

  “You were never a real person! You never existed! I invented you!”

  As preternaturally strong as he was, Red Mask’s hands were beginning to slide down the elevator cable, leaving a dark smear of blood.

  “What the hell are you saying to me?” he grated.

  “You never existed! When Molly asked me who had stabbed me, I described this statue! It’s a wooden statue, in Iowa!”

  Red Mask stared at her over his shoulder. She held the postcard at arm’s length, so that he could see it more clearly.

  “You were never a man, ever. You never lived. You were only made out of wood.”

  Red Mask said nothing. But right in front of their eyes, he began to fade. First of all, Sissy could see the elevator cable right through his hands, as his flesh became transparent. Then his scarlet face began to turn pale pink, as pale as paint water.

  Frank looked up at her, still clinging to the last shadowy vestige
s of Red Mask’s coat. Only a painting like Frank could have clung on so long. He had no more substance, in reality, than Red Mask.

  “Sissy!” he called.

  Sissy said, “Frank! We’ll bring you back! I promise you, Frank! We’ll bring you back tonight!”

  But it was then that Red Mask vanished altogether, and Frank fell. He disappeared down the darkened elevator shaft without a sound.

  Sissy waited, and listened, but she didn’t hear him hit the basement. It was just as though he had vanished, too.

  Molly came up and put her arm around Sissy’s shoulders, and hugged her. “Oh, Sissy.”

  Sissy smeared the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. “I told him we’d bring him back again. I told him we’d bring him back tonight.”

  “We could, Sissy. We could. Do you want me to?”

  Sissy turned away from the elevator shaft. Trevor was holding Victoria tight. Detective Bellman was hunkered down next to Deputy, dabbing at his wounds with his handkerchief. Jane Becker was stroking Deputy’s head.

  Sissy said, “No. He looked at me, Frank, just before he fell, and he shook his head.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Sissy nodded. “It’s time for me to go home, I think. I can lay some flowers on his grave.”

  “Momma?” said Trevor.

  “I’m all right,” said Sissy. “Let’s get out of here, shall we? I could really use a cigarette.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The Painted Man

  Two days later, they shared a last breakfast together, eggs over easy and waffles with blueberry preserves. Sissy’s bag was already packed and waiting in the hall.

  Victoria said, “I’m going to send you an e-mail every single-bingle day, Grandma.”

  Sissy smiled. “I shall look forward to it. Don’t forget to send me some pictures of your play.”

  Molly handed Sissy a small blue velvet bag. “Souvenir,” she said.

  Sissy opened the drawstring and looked inside. It was Van Gogh’s ring.

  “Make sure that you never give it to an artist,” said Molly.

  Trevor came in from the backyard, and saw it. “Maybe you should melt it down. We don’t want the same thing to happen to anybody else.”

  “No …” said Sissy. “Wherever it originally came from, whatever its power is, I don’t think it’s mine to destroy it, do you?”

  “I don’t know. The next person it brings to life could be a whole lot worse than Red Mask.”

  “Well, that’s fate for you. If there’s one thing the DeVane cards have always shown me, it’s that everybody’s life is made up of choices and accidents. Good choices and bad choices, nasty accidents and happy accidents. This ring brought Red Mask to life, but it also allowed me to see Frank again.”

  She stood up and took her coffee cup to the window. Out in the yard, Mr. Boots and Deputy were playing together, chasing cicadas. Deputy was still limping a little, but otherwise he looked fit.

  “By the way,” said Molly. “Freddie Bellman called me this morning. I asked him about Jane Becker … whether he was going to arrest her for killing George Woods.”

  “And?”

  “He said that whatever Jane might have admitted to, he’s forgotten it. So, officially, the CPD is still looking for a man who answers the description of Red Mask.”

  Molly put her arm around Sissy, and the two of them stood looking out of the window—at the sun shining through the vine trellis and the Shasta daisies nodding in the breeze.

  “How about planting some roses?” said Sissy.

  “Roses? I don’t think so. But—look—I have something for you. Another souvenir.”

  She went through to her studio and came back with a sheet of cartridge paper. She turned it over, and it was a watercolor painting of Frank standing on the seashore at Hyannis.

  “I didn’t wear my necklace while I was painting it, so don’t worry.”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Sissy. She held it up to the light and admired it. It was so well painted that she could almost imagine Frank talking to her.

  “You want a quick smoke before we leave?” asked Trevor.

  Sissy shook her head. “No, thanks. Your father wouldn’t approve.” And then, much more quietly, “Would you, my darling?”

  JACK KETCHUM

  AUTHOR OF RED AND THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

  Lee is a veteran who came back from the war a changed man. He’s haunted and scarred. And his grip on reality is weakening, especially since his wife and son left him. He keeps to himself, deep in the woods. But today he’s not alone. A group of weekend campers have intruded on his fragile world. For Lee this means he’s back in the war. For the unsuspecting visitors it means a fight to stay alive.

  “Who’s the scariest guy in America? Probably Jack Ketchum.”

  —STEPHEN KING

  ISBN 13: 978-0-8439-6187-4

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  1-800-481-9191

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  Finalist for the Bram Stoker Award!

  JEFF STRAND

  They first met in boarding school—Alex, shy and nervous, and Darren, constantly scribbling in his journal. They became best friends in college. Alex always knew Darren was a little odd. He didn’t know his friend was murderously insane until Darren asked Alex to join him in his blood-soaked fun. They could be a team, hunting and slaughtering human prey. Alex doesn’t want any part of it. He’s no monster. But Darren is twisted, deadly… and determined. And he won’t take no for an answer.

  “MARVELOUSLY CREEPY!”

  —Publishers Weekly

  ISBN 13: 978-0-8439-6253-6

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  “A voice reminiscent of Stephen King in the days of ’Salem’s Lot.”

  —Cemetery Dance

  Finalist for the Bram Stoker Award and author of The Reach

  The biggest news in the small northern town of Jackson was the reopening of the local hydropower plant. Until the deaths. First a farmer was found horribly mutilated in his field. Then a little girl disappeared from her home. Deep in the woods a deputy came upon a chamber of horrors straight from a nightmare. And through it all, one child is haunted by visions of the mysterious “blue man,” a madman who brings with him blood and pain and terror, a terror spawned by forces no one can understand.

  ISBN 13: 978-0-8439-6287-1

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