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“It was your great grandfather’s, you know – one of his most treasured possesions. They say they even found it with him when he died.”
Mark examined the mask carefully. It was wooden and splintered around the edges, with holes for the eyes and mouth – it didn’t look as though it should be worn.
“He used to say it had special powers.”
The Markopans didn’t have much money. It came as no surprise to Mark, then, when his birthday was accompanied by a somewhat underwhelming array of randomly acquired tat. He gave a weak smile and put the lifeless mask back on the table.
“Well – perhaps it’ll bring you luck, eh?”
100 Years Earlier
A sudden breeze extinguished the two candles on the desk, and there was a sharp hiss from the back of the room as the third was suffocated by two delicate fingers. All was silent except for the now heavy breathing of the man at the desk, who had frozen – poised, with his quill still pressed against the page.
“Who… who’s there?”
The room was pitch black, and the old man’s breathing got progressively heavier. A sudden tap on his left shoulder caused him to jump and look round sharply. In one swift movement, the intruder seized the quill from the writer’s hand and stabbed it firmly into the right side of his neck. The old man tried to call out and struggle, but the killer’s grip on the man’s mouth and the quill was too strong. Eventually, the writer stopped writhing and fell limply off the chair as he was released. Leaving only the tiniest of pauses, Mark Markopan moved towards the hidden door in the middle of the room.
As the heavy wooden trapdoor swung open, the room was flooded with light. The mask lay in a small hollow in the floor, that was hopelessly guarded by the wooden door. Mark picked it up with trembling hands, and examined the exquisite piece of craftmanship before him. The light started to dim, and concentrated on the corpse that lay by the chair. Mark walked slowly over and nudged the lifeless body purposefully with his foot. There was no response, and so he turned his attention towards what the old man had been writing. It read:
“My fears have finally been laid to rest and my hard work has paid off. I am no longer bound by the restraints of reality or mortal life; I am no longer one man. The mask is hungry…”
Blots of ink and deep red blood obscured what else had been written. Mark looked down at the now dark mask, and held it up to his face. He twitched slightly, tucked the mask into his long, dark coat, and then sprinted across the room before jumping gracefully out of the open window through which he came.
Present Day
The mask started to glow. It was 2 AM and Mark moved groggily as he blinked and opened his eyes. Squinting, as his eyes had not yet adjusted to the brightness, he looked at his alarm clock to check the time. After a few seconds of tired and clumsy confusion, Mark realised that the light was coming from the mask – emanating from the eye and mouth holes. He stood up and took it from the shelf. Upon his touch, the light began to dim, and Mark heard a faint voice;
“You must help me. I am a prisoner within the confines of this mask – only an honest soul can free me and return my spirit to peace. Please, put on the mask.”
His heart was beating quickly now and his grip on the mask was weak and shaky. His mind was suddenly alert and awake, racing with questions. Who was communicating with him? Could it be his great grandfather? The mask looked so much more alive and mystifying now. He began to wonder if his grandfather’s stories were true… Slowly and nervously, Mark raised the mask to his face. It was dark again now, but he continued, weakly.
Mark inhaled in a subtle, grey wisp of air from the mask, and the mask absorbed one from him. He twitched, and the light from the mask flashed momentarily, brighter than before. The old man had just got a little older. He returned the mask to the shelf, and fell back into bed.
“The mask is hungry…”
Mark examined the mask carefully. It was wooden and splintered around the edges, with holes for the eyes and mouth – it didn’t look as though it should be worn.
“He used to say it had special powers.”
The Markopans didn’t have much money. It came as no surprise to Mark, then, when his birthday was accompanied by a somewhat underwhelming array of randomly acquired tat. He gave a weak smile and put the lifeless mask back on the table.
“Well – perhaps it’ll bring you luck, eh?”
100 Years Earlier
A sudden breeze extinguished the two candles on the desk, and there was a sharp hiss from the back of the room as the third was suffocated by two delicate fingers. All was silent except for the now heavy breathing of the man at the desk, who had frozen – poised, with his quill still pressed against the page.
“Who… who’s there?”
The room was pitch black, and the old man’s breathing got progressively heavier. A sudden tap on his left shoulder caused him to jump and look round sharply. In one swift movement, the intruder seized the quill from the writer’s hand and stabbed it firmly into the right side of his neck. The old man tried to call out and struggle, but the killer’s grip on the man’s mouth and the quill was too strong. Eventually, the writer stopped writhing and fell limply off the chair as he was released. Leaving only the tiniest of pauses, Mark Markopan moved towards the hidden door in the middle of the room.
As the heavy wooden trapdoor swung open, the room was flooded with light. The mask lay in a small hollow in the floor, that was hopelessly guarded by the wooden door. Mark picked it up with trembling hands, and examined the exquisite piece of craftmanship before him. The light started to dim, and concentrated on the corpse that lay by the chair. Mark walked slowly over and nudged the lifeless body purposefully with his foot. There was no response, and so he turned his attention towards what the old man had been writing. It read:
“My fears have finally been laid to rest and my hard work has paid off. I am no longer bound by the restraints of reality or mortal life; I am no longer one man. The mask is hungry…”
Blots of ink and deep red blood obscured what else had been written. Mark looked down at the now dark mask, and held it up to his face. He twitched slightly, tucked the mask into his long, dark coat, and then sprinted across the room before jumping gracefully out of the open window through which he came.
Present Day
The mask started to glow. It was 2 AM and Mark moved groggily as he blinked and opened his eyes. Squinting, as his eyes had not yet adjusted to the brightness, he looked at his alarm clock to check the time. After a few seconds of tired and clumsy confusion, Mark realised that the light was coming from the mask – emanating from the eye and mouth holes. He stood up and took it from the shelf. Upon his touch, the light began to dim, and Mark heard a faint voice;
“You must help me. I am a prisoner within the confines of this mask – only an honest soul can free me and return my spirit to peace. Please, put on the mask.”
His heart was beating quickly now and his grip on the mask was weak and shaky. His mind was suddenly alert and awake, racing with questions. Who was communicating with him? Could it be his great grandfather? The mask looked so much more alive and mystifying now. He began to wonder if his grandfather’s stories were true… Slowly and nervously, Mark raised the mask to his face. It was dark again now, but he continued, weakly.
Mark inhaled in a subtle, grey wisp of air from the mask, and the mask absorbed one from him. He twitched, and the light from the mask flashed momentarily, brighter than before. The old man had just got a little older. He returned the mask to the shelf, and fell back into bed.
“The mask is hungry…”
Page:
“It was your great grandfather’s, you know – one of his most treasured possesions. They say they even found it with him when he died.”
Mark examined the mask carefully. It was wooden and splintered around the edges, with holes for the eyes and mouth – it didn’t look as though it should be worn.
“He used to say it had special powers.”
The Markopans didn’t have much money. It came as no surprise to Mark, then, when his birthday was accompanied by a somewhat underwhelming array of randomly acquired tat. He gave a weak smile and put the lifeless mask back on the table.
“Well – perhaps it’ll bring you luck, eh?”
100 Years Earlier
A sudden breeze extinguished the two candles on the desk, and there was a sharp hiss from the back of the room as the third was suffocated by two delicate fingers. All was silent except for the now heavy breathing of the man at the desk, who had frozen – poised, with his quill still pressed against the page.
“Who… who’s there?”
The room was pitch black, and the old man’s breathing got progressively heavier. A sudden tap on his left shoulder caused him to jump and look round sharply. In one swift movement, the intruder seized the quill from the writer’s hand and stabbed it firmly into the right side of his neck. The old man tried to call out and struggle, but the killer’s grip on the man’s mouth and the quill was too strong. Eventually, the writer stopped writhing and fell limply off the chair as he was released. Leaving only the tiniest of pauses, Mark Markopan moved towards the hidden door in the middle of the room.
As the heavy wooden trapdoor swung open, the room was flooded with light. The mask lay in a small hollow in the floor, that was hopelessly guarded by the wooden door. Mark picked it up with trembling hands, and examined the exquisite piece of craftmanship before him. The light started to dim, and concentrated on the corpse that lay by the chair. Mark walked slowly over and nudged the lifeless body purposefully with his foot. There was no response, and so he turned his attention towards what the old man had been writing. It read:
“My fears have finally been laid to rest and my hard work has paid off. I am no longer bound by the restraints of reality or mortal life; I am no longer one man. The mask is hungry…”
Blots of ink and deep red blood obscured what else had been written. Mark looked down at the now dark mask, and held it up to his face. He twitched slightly, tucked the mask into his long, dark coat, and then sprinted across the room before jumping gracefully out of the open window through which he came.
Present Day
The mask started to glow. It was 2 AM and Mark moved groggily as he blinked and opened his eyes. Squinting, as his eyes had not yet adjusted to the brightness, he looked at his alarm clock to check the time. After a few seconds of tired and clumsy confusion, Mark realised that the light was coming from the mask – emanating from the eye and mouth holes. He stood up and took it from the shelf. Upon his touch, the light began to dim, and Mark heard a faint voice;
“You must help me. I am a prisoner within the confines of this mask – only an honest soul can free me and return my spirit to peace. Please, put on the mask.”
His heart was beating quickly now and his grip on the mask was weak and shaky. His mind was suddenly alert and awake, racing with questions. Who was communicating with him? Could it be his great grandfather? The mask looked so much more alive and mystifying now. He began to wonder if his grandfather’s stories were true… Slowly and nervously, Mark raised the mask to his face. It was dark again now, but he continued, weakly.
Mark inhaled in a subtle, grey wisp of air from the mask, and the mask absorbed one from him. He twitched, and the light from the mask flashed momentarily, brighter than before. The old man had just got a little older. He returned the mask to the shelf, and fell back into bed.
“The mask is hungry…”
Mark examined the mask carefully. It was wooden and splintered around the edges, with holes for the eyes and mouth – it didn’t look as though it should be worn.
“He used to say it had special powers.”
The Markopans didn’t have much money. It came as no surprise to Mark, then, when his birthday was accompanied by a somewhat underwhelming array of randomly acquired tat. He gave a weak smile and put the lifeless mask back on the table.
“Well – perhaps it’ll bring you luck, eh?”
100 Years Earlier
A sudden breeze extinguished the two candles on the desk, and there was a sharp hiss from the back of the room as the third was suffocated by two delicate fingers. All was silent except for the now heavy breathing of the man at the desk, who had frozen – poised, with his quill still pressed against the page.
“Who… who’s there?”
The room was pitch black, and the old man’s breathing got progressively heavier. A sudden tap on his left shoulder caused him to jump and look round sharply. In one swift movement, the intruder seized the quill from the writer’s hand and stabbed it firmly into the right side of his neck. The old man tried to call out and struggle, but the killer’s grip on the man’s mouth and the quill was too strong. Eventually, the writer stopped writhing and fell limply off the chair as he was released. Leaving only the tiniest of pauses, Mark Markopan moved towards the hidden door in the middle of the room.
As the heavy wooden trapdoor swung open, the room was flooded with light. The mask lay in a small hollow in the floor, that was hopelessly guarded by the wooden door. Mark picked it up with trembling hands, and examined the exquisite piece of craftmanship before him. The light started to dim, and concentrated on the corpse that lay by the chair. Mark walked slowly over and nudged the lifeless body purposefully with his foot. There was no response, and so he turned his attention towards what the old man had been writing. It read:
“My fears have finally been laid to rest and my hard work has paid off. I am no longer bound by the restraints of reality or mortal life; I am no longer one man. The mask is hungry…”
Blots of ink and deep red blood obscured what else had been written. Mark looked down at the now dark mask, and held it up to his face. He twitched slightly, tucked the mask into his long, dark coat, and then sprinted across the room before jumping gracefully out of the open window through which he came.
Present Day
The mask started to glow. It was 2 AM and Mark moved groggily as he blinked and opened his eyes. Squinting, as his eyes had not yet adjusted to the brightness, he looked at his alarm clock to check the time. After a few seconds of tired and clumsy confusion, Mark realised that the light was coming from the mask – emanating from the eye and mouth holes. He stood up and took it from the shelf. Upon his touch, the light began to dim, and Mark heard a faint voice;
“You must help me. I am a prisoner within the confines of this mask – only an honest soul can free me and return my spirit to peace. Please, put on the mask.”
His heart was beating quickly now and his grip on the mask was weak and shaky. His mind was suddenly alert and awake, racing with questions. Who was communicating with him? Could it be his great grandfather? The mask looked so much more alive and mystifying now. He began to wonder if his grandfather’s stories were true… Slowly and nervously, Mark raised the mask to his face. It was dark again now, but he continued, weakly.
Mark inhaled in a subtle, grey wisp of air from the mask, and the mask absorbed one from him. He twitched, and the light from the mask flashed momentarily, brighter than before. The old man had just got a little older. He returned the mask to the shelf, and fell back into bed.
“The mask is hungry…”
Not my usual cup of teaburger but well written :) Nice to see you writing too.
Hmmm, very mysterious, and considering it wasn't the longest of pieces, not bad either. Can't see it winning, but a very good attempt all the same Mav(erick).
I admit, I had to read the last paragraph twice - though it's likely that it's simply because it's 10:45 at night.
But yes - it was very good. No complaints about it at all, good read.
But yes - it was very good. No complaints about it at all, good read.
Just gave the last paragraph a bit of an edit. Sounds a bit better, now.
Good writting. I somehow think I'm never going to finish my entry, but that is no great loss, I dout it would be good anyway ;p
The last paragraph is a bit clearer now. I wondered about on first read, and ever so slightly backtracked like Azul.
Oh, and I love the title. Good stuff.
Oh, and I love the title. Good stuff.
Thanks for the replies, guys - it's a better response than I was hoping for. It was never meant to be a work of art - I did it under timed conditions as a bit of practice for my narrative writing in my GCSE English Paper (which I had this morning) - but hey, perhaps it's in with a chance.
* Darn missed one
That was a nice little piece to read.
Thanks.
* Makes note to add to my list of contestants.
That was a nice little piece to read.
Thanks.
* Makes note to add to my list of contestants.
I liked that a lot - considering it was so short, there was a nice atmosphere and mystery.
Nice to see you writing, Mav - do it more often.
Nice to see you writing, Mav - do it more often.
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