Fiends

The Mask

The Palace Theater screened a different horror classic every Saturday at midnight. Allan Hunter hadn’t missed one in over a year. Tonight, he’d watched the original Nosferatu with Max Schreck.

Though he owned a car, he’d always made the two-mile journey from his apartment to the Palace afoot. The trip to the theater was enjoyable, but it was the return trip that he craved. He knew there were dangers. A more sensible man would drive to and from the movies rather than risk a mugging, or worse. But if he drove, safe and insulated inside his car, he knew he would miss the thrill.

For Allan relished the mysteries of the night.

Apartment windows enticed him. If dark, who slept within? Or who didn’t sleep, but lay awake or made love or stood at the black windows, peering out, perhaps watching him wander by? If still aglow in the deep hours of the night, who was about inside, doing what?

The shops and stores along the way, locked and deserted, intrigued him. If their fronts were barricaded by iron gates, all the better. The accordion gates tantalized Allan. They whispered of the owner’s fear. He often stopped and peered through them, wondering what needed such protection through the night.

Each time a car swept past Allan on the quiet streets, he tried to glimpse who was in it and he wondered, going where? People heading home after work, after a late film or party? A lover on his way to a rendezvous? A wife fleeing her brutal husband? A maniac on the prowl for his next victim? Often when a car went by, he imagined that its brake lights might suddenly flash on, that it might swing to the curb in front of him, that its door might fly open and someone call to him - or leap out and rush him. Just thinking about that gave Allan goosebumps.

And so did thinking about what might lurk in the dark spaces along his route: recessed entryways and those narrow gaps he encountered where two buildings didn’t quite join - and alleys. Such places gave him a delicious tingle. He always quickened his pace to get past them. Often he couldn’t force himself to glance in, appalled by the possibilities of what he might find. Derelicts, or worse.

There were derelicts abroad. Some slept in entryways, or on bus-stop benches. Some, curled in shadows, glared at him as he hurried by. Others shambled along the sidewalks or down the streets, clutching secret prizes. Or trudged behind rattling supermarket carts piled high with bizarre shapes. Allan found no magic, no excitement, in contemplating such wrecks. They scared him, disgusted him. They hardly seemed human at all.

They were the worst thing about walking home after the midnight movies.

Whenever possible, he crossed the street or even backtracked to avoid confronting one. But sometimes he was caught by surprise and had no choice but to endure the stench, the maniacal jibbering, the whiny plea for money.

With such mad, vile creatures lurking in the night, it was little wonder that Allan rarely encountered normal people during his treks home from the movies.

Most of those he saw were in the midst of rushing to or from their parked cars. Occasionally, he spotted someone walking a dog. Once in a great while, a pair of joggers. Never a jogger out by himself, always with a companion. Sometimes a lone man hurrying along. Almost never a woman.

No woman in her right mind, he thought, would wander about the city alone at this hour.

When the woman came into sight as he walked home after Nosferatu, he thought she must be mad - or wildly reckless. Even though she was a block away, he could see she was no derelict. Her stride was too steady as she approached the corner. Her hair, silvery in the streetlight, looked trim and well groomed. She wore a pale blouse, shorts that reached almost to her knees, white socks and dark shoes.

Certainly not a derelict.

A prostitute? Allan had never encountered any prostitutes in this neighborhood. And wouldn’t a streetwalker be dressed in something exotic or scanty?

This woman looked more like a co-ed who’d wandered too far from campus. Or like one of the young teachers at the high school where he taught - Shelly Gates or Maureen O’Toole, for instance. Or like some of the women he liked to watch when he made his weekly trips to the supermarket. Casually dressed, trim and neat and clean.

Allan realized that he had stopped walking.

How strange to see someone like her roaming about at this hour!

She had come to a halt at the street corner, her head turned away. She seemed to be checking for traffic, preparing to cross the intersection.

But then she turned around.

She had no face. Allan’s heart slammed.

What’s wrong with her!

She walked briskly toward him.

No face!

He glanced at the street, tempted to race across and escape. But when he looked at the stranger again, she was closer. Close enough for him to see the shimmer of fabric that draped her face. Silver, glossy. It hung from her forehead, slotted with holes for her eyes and mouth, and fluttered below her chin.

A mask!

Allan heard himself moan. Chills chased up his back. His scalp prickled.

He leaped off the sidewalk and sprinted for the other side of the street.

What if she comes after me?

He sprang over the curb, dodged a parking meter, and looked back.

She had stopped. Her head was turned his way.

She’s watching me. Oh God, she’s watching me. But at least she’s staying put.

Allan swung his eyes to the sidewalk and hurried for the corner. He didn’t want to see her again, but in his mind she was crossing the street, pursuing him. He had to look again.

Checking over his shoulder, he saw her still standing motionless, still watching him.

At the corner, he rushed to the left. A few strides, and the wall of a Wells Fargo bank sheltered him from the stranger’s view. He slowed and caught his breath.

Safe.

‘Christ,’ he muttered.

He’d walked the night streets countless times, seen his share of weird derelicts, watched hundreds of horror films, read scores of fright books.

But he’d never been spooked like this.

Spooked? Scared nearly widess.

By a piece of silver cloth no bigger than a hanky.

As he walked along, he began to feel ashamed of himself. What a coward, running like that. The woman had looked perfectly normal except for the mask. And the mask itself had been nothing hideous. A simple square of fabric. Possibly silk. Nothing to inspire panic.

She’s gotta be a nut case, going around like that.

Nothing wrong with running away from a lunatic.

But what if she’s sane? What if she only wears the mask because her face is disfigured? She walks at night when there’s almost nobody around to see her, and wears her mask just in case. In case someone like me comes along. So her face won’t gross me out.

And I ran away as if she were a monster.

What an awful life she must live. And I came along and made it worse.

Good going.

Allan considered turning around, going back and searching for her. But he didn’t have the nerve.

He couldn’t get the woman out of his mind. He thought about her constantly: that night as he lay in bed; Sunday as he corrected papers, labored on his vampire novel, read and watched television; all week long. At school, every slender, blonde student in his classes reminded him of her. So did two of the teachers, Shelly and Maureen, even though Maureen was a redhead. They all forced him to remember the woman in the mask, and his shame.

The more he thought of her, the more certain he grew that she wasn’t crazy. She was a sensitive young woman cursed with a hideous face. She led a solitary, lonely life, willing to venture from her home only in the dead of night, and then with her face concealed.

He could imagine the anguish she must’ve felt when he fled from her.

If only he had held his ground. Smiled as she approached. Said, ‘Good evening.’ It was too late for that, however. The most he would ever be able to do was apologize for adding to her misery.

To do that, he would need to find her again.

But he’d spotted her some time after 1 a.m. That’s when he would need to go looking. If he tried it on a school night, he’d be wasted the next day. He had to wait for the weekend.

At last, Friday arrived. Allan awoke feeling nervous and excited. Tonight, he would go out searching for her.

What would he say if he found her? How would she react? She might hate him for running away. How could you do that, you bastard! I’m a human being, not a freak!

Or she might indeed, after all, turn out to be utterly mad.

‘Is something bothering you?’ Shelly asked him during lunch. ‘Me? No.’

‘Are you sure? You’ve been acting strange all week.’

‘I have?’

Shelly glanced at Maureen. ‘You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?’ Maureen, who rarely spoke, studied her sandwich and shook her head. ‘He seems fine to me.’

‘It might help to talk about it,’ Shelly told him. ‘You aren’t sick, are you?’

‘I feel fine.’

‘If it’s too personal…’

‘Leave him alone,’ Maureen said. ‘He doesn’t want to talk about it.’

‘You have noticed!’

Maureen shrugged. Her eyes met Allan’s. ‘You don’t have to say anything. It’s none of our business.’

‘Of course it’s our business. We’re his buddies. Right, Allan?’

He smiled. ‘My buds. Right. I do appreciate your concern, really. Thanks. But it’s nothing. I’m just a little bit nervous about this gal I’ll be seeing tonight.’

‘Ah-ha!’ Shelly’s eyes gleamed. ‘A gal! Go for it, Romeo!’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Maureen said.

‘Anybody we know?’ Shelly asked.

‘I don’t even know her. Not exactly. She’s just somebody I met last weekend. At the movies. She sat across the aisle from me. We didn’t even talk. But if she’s there tonight..

‘Whoa!’ Shelly held up her hand. ‘Hold on. One second. She was at that midnight creepshow thing you go to on Saturday nights? And you don’t know her? So where do you think you’ll find her tonight?’ Allan felt heat wash over his face. This is what comes of lying, he thought. He shook his head and forced himself to laugh. ‘Geez, I don’t know. Guess I won’t be seeing her tonight. You’re right.’

‘Boy, you must have it bad. You don’t even know what day it is.’ She nudged Maureen with her elbow. ‘Looks like we’ve got a case of love at first sight.’

‘I don’t even know her,’ Allan protested.

‘She must be quite a fox.’

‘Quit teasing him,’ Maureen said. ‘Let him eat his lunch.’

Shelly laughed. ‘So what’s she got that we ain’t got?’

No face, Allan thought.

But he only shrugged. Then Jake Hanson came to their table and the conversation turned to obnoxious students, as it often did. When the bell rang and Allan got up from the table, Shelly said, ‘Hey, good luck with the fox. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Allan headed for his fifth-period class, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

Finally, the school day ended. On the way home, he stopped off at Blockbuster Video and picked up six tapes. Horror movies. Two of which he hadn’t already seen. They would help pass the time.

He ran one during supper, but his mind was on the masked woman. He hardly noticed the movie. Then he tried to work on his vampire novel, but gave up after an hour. As he sat in his recliner to watch the next movie, he thought, What’s the use? I might as well stare at the wall.

And then he had a very welcome thought.

It came in the form of Shelly’s voice saying, ‘So where do you think you’ll find her tonight?’

Shelly was right.

Why get all worked up when I probably won’t find her tonight, anyway? We ran into each other on Saturday night. Why not wait for then?

Yes!

I’ll stay home tonight, enjoy my movies, go to bed at a reasonable hour…

The feeling of relief was immense.

Then Saturday arrived. The hours crept by. He told himself that he didn’t have to approach the masked woman. He could take a different route home from the theater, and avoid her. For that matter, he could stay home.

And miss the midnight showing of The Cabinet of Dr Cahgari? He’d already seen the film six or seven times. A shame not to watch it again, though. He could always drive his car.

No. I’ll walk. I’ll take my usual route. If I see her, I’ll apologize. And that will be the end of it.

After supper that night, he sat in his recliner and watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, then I Spit on Your Grave. For minutes at a time, he was able to forget about the masked woman. When the movies were over, he took a shower. He shaved. He combed his hair and splashed some Chaps on his cheeks. Instead of wearing his favorite outfit for the midnight show - old blue jeans and his Bates Motel T-shirt - he put on a good pair of Dockers and a plaid sports shirt.

In the bedroom mirror, he shook his head at himself.

What the hell am I doing? You’d think I really did have a date.

Hey, maybe she won’t recognize me dressed up like this. She couldn’t have gotten a very good look at my face.

At a quarter past eleven, he left his apartment. He gave his parked car a long look as he walked by it.

So much easier if I just drive.

He couldn’t.

He had to make an attempt to find her.

Tense and shaky, he walked to the Palace. He usually bought nachos and a Pepsi at the refreshment counter. But tonight he had no appetite. He took his seat. He glanced about at the familiar crowd, fearing that she might’ve come to watch the movie. Then the lights dimmed. He rubbed his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers, and faced the screen.

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari began.

He stared at it. But in his mind, he saw the masked woman. Saw himself approaching her. What if she’s bonkers? What if she’s dangerous? What if she lifts the mask to show me her face and it’s horrible? Worse than anything ever created by Tom Savini or Stan Winston? Worse than the ugliest fantasies of Clive Barker?

He tried to calm himself.

Maybe she won’t show up.

He had never run into her before. Last Saturday night could have been a fluke. She might’ve been out on a special errand, or something.

Maybe I’ll never see her again.

As much as he dreaded the encounter, however, he found himself troubled by the idea of never seeing her again. It was more than a need to set matters right. He’d known that all along, he supposed.

She frightened him, but he longed to learn her secrets.

All the mysteries of the night, so eerie and tantalizing, seemed banal compared to the woman in the mask. She was the ultimate mystery.

Mad or sane? What lurks beneath the mask? What possesses her to walk the empty streets? Does she have a tortured soul? What stories might she tell of children shrieking at the sight of her, of heartless abuse, of solitary years locked away from daylight? How does it feel to be shunned?

He could learn the answers.

Tonight.

The lights came up.

Allan walked into the night. By the time he’d walked a block, he was alone.

His mouth was dry. His heart thudded. His legs trembled.

He gave no thought to the windows above the street, barely glanced through the accordion gates of the closed shops, paid no attention to passing cars, looked into dark entryways and the gaps between buildings and the alleys for no reason other than to search for her. As he hurried along, he noticed a few derelicts. He saw them, felt neither fear nor disgust, and turned his eyes away to look for the masked woman.

Finally, he came to the block where he’d encountered her. The sidewalk stretched ahead of him, deserted. He slowed his pace. He gazed at the corner.

Where are you?

Maybe I’m early. No. If anything, Cabinet was five or six minutes longer than Nosferatu. Maybe I’m too late, then.

But if she’d come this way, we should’ve run into each other already.

Maybe she stayed home tonight. Or chose a different route.

He stopped. It was just about here that he’d been halted by the sight of her. She’d appeared from the right, walked to the corner and turned her back to him as if intending to cross the street. It was here that he’d been standing when she turned around.

He waited.

Dribbles of sweat slid down his sides.

I ought to just keep walking. If she doesn’t show, she doesn’t show.

He checked his wristwatch. One twenty-eight.

Give her five minutes.

When he looked up from his watch, she was already past the corner and striding toward him.

He gasped and staggered backward.

Cool it! he told himself. This is it. You wanted to see her, here she is.

The silver fabric shrouding her face shimmered and swayed as she walked. Her hair gleamed in the streetlights. Instead of shorts and a blouse like last week, she wore a dress. It looked purple and shiny. It hung from her shoulders by narrow straps, draped the swells of her breasts, tapered down to a sash at her waist, flared out at her hips and drifted against her striding thighs. It was very short. Her legs looked long and sleek. She wore sandals, not shoes and socks.

Allan’s heart thundered.

She’s gorgeous! Except for that damn mask. What horrors did it conceal?

She must be mad. No sane woman would walk these streets at such an hour - and not in a dress like that!

Don’t just stand here, gaping at her.

He started walking toward her.

Her sandals made soft clapping sounds on the concrete. Her skirt briefly took on the shape of each thigh that swept against it. The ends of the sash swung by her side. The silken fabric clinging to her breasts trembled and jiggled.

Maybe she is a whore, after all.

If so, she might wear the mask merely to conceal her identity. Or to make her look enigmatic. Her face might not be ghastly, after all.

Now, only a few strides separated Allan from the woman.

In the darkness behind the mask’s eye slots, he could see nothing except mere specks of reflected light. A vague hint of lips showed through the slot at her mouth.

I’ve got to say something. Apologize. At least.

He was walking straight toward her, so he angled to his right. Her head turned.

He managed a smile.

They passed each other.

He breathed in her perfume. A scent so strange and delicious it forced him to sigh, to look back at her.

She halted as if she felt his gaze.

‘Excuse me?’ he said. Damn, but he sounded like a scared kid! She turned around.

‘Do you remember me?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes.’ Her voice was low, breathy. In spite of the narrow gap at her mouth, it stirred the mask like a soft breeze.

‘I… I guess I kind of… lost my cool last week. I’m really glad you came along.’ He shrugged. ‘I wanted to apologize.’

‘Apologize? For running from me?’ she asked.

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘What’s your name?’

He hesitated. ‘Allan.’

‘Allan what?’

She wants my last name? Good God, she’d be able to look me up, find me. ‘Hawthorne,’ he lied. ‘Allan Hawthorne.’

She stepped toward him, mask and dress glimmering, and reached out her hand. Allan shook it. But when he tried to let go, her fingers tightened. She held him in a firm, warm grip. ‘I’m Ligeia,’ she said.

The name surprised him. ‘Really? Ligeia? There’s a story by Poe…’

‘I know,’ she said in her strange, hushed voice.

‘I really like Poe.’

‘We have that in common, then. Come with me.’ She pulled him by the hand. And kept his hand in hers as she led him slowly down the sidewalk.

‘Uh… Where are we going?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re free to leave, if that’s your wish.’

‘No. No, that’s okay.’

She nodded slightly, then turned her head forward.

Allan hoped to see under her mask, but it curved around the side of her face, hiding her almost to the ear. It hung from a headband, a folded scarf that was tied at the back. The way the silver cloth was tucked in over the top of the scarf, it flowed down smoothly except for a slight bump made by the tip of her nose. Her chin didn’t seem to touch the draping fabric at all.

They walked in silence for a while.

He wished she would say something.

Finally, he broke the silence himself. ‘I really felt awful about running away.’

She stopped and turned toward him. ‘It was this,’ she said. Her other hand came up. Her fingertips glided down the glossy mask, easing it inward. Ever so briefly as the fingers slid down, the mask took on the contours of her face. Though her eyes remained hidden, Allan glimpsed a veiled suggestion of slender nose and cheeks. Her lips appeared for an instant, bare in the opening. Her fingers drifted the fabric against a small bulge of chin. Then she breathed. The hints of her face dissolved behind a silver tremor.

Allan tried to swallow. He wished his heart would slow down.

‘I frighten you, don’t I?’

‘A little,’ he whispered. ‘I guess.’

‘We fear the unknown,’ she said. ‘But we’re enthralled by it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do I enthrall you, Allan?’

He let out a small, nervous laugh. ‘I don’t know. You sure… make me curious.’

‘You wonder what the mask hides.’

‘Yes. And… and why you walk around at an hour like this.’

‘So I won’t be seen.’

‘But why?’

‘My face, of course. Come along.’ She turned away, pulling at his hand, and they resumed walking. ‘I like the night,’ she said. ‘It holds such secrets.’

‘But its dangerous.’

‘Not for me. The mask protects me. People keep their distance. They take me for a madwoman.’

‘I guess… I was afraid of that, myself.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re not, though.’

‘You don’t think so?’

‘Hope not.’

Laughing softly, she squeezed his hand. ‘I think I like you, Allan.’

‘I think I like you, too.’

‘Shall we be friends?’

‘Sure,’ he said.

She looked at him. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah. I mean, why not?’

‘You’re still frightened of me, aren’t you?’

‘A little, maybe.’

‘I won’t hurt you.’

‘It’s just… you know, the mask. If I could see your face… Is it… is something wrong with it?’

‘My face is my own.’

‘How can we be friends if you’re hiding behind a mask, if you won’t let me see what you look like?’

She gave no answer, but led him into an alley. His mouth went dry. His heart slammed. As they left the lights of the street behind, he peered into the darkness. High walls on both sides. Dumpsters ahead. But no lurking derelicts that he could see. Though the alley appeared deserted, he trembled with dread and excitement.

Ligeia halted. She put her hands on his shoulders.

‘Is my face so important?’ she asked.

Oh, God! She’s going to take off the mask. Now. Right here in the alley. In the dark.

‘Is it?’ she asked again.

‘Uh. I guess not. Not really.’

‘You said we can’t be friends unless you know what I look like.’

‘That isn’t quite what…’

‘Suppose I’m not pretty? Would you run from me again?’

‘No.’

‘Suppose I’m horribly ugly?’

‘Is that why you wear the mask?’

‘Perhaps.’ Gently, she rubbed his shoulders. ‘How important is my face to you, Allan? Does it need to be beautiful? Or can you accept me without… passing judgement on it?’

He managed to whisper, ‘Yes.’

‘Yes what?’

‘I don’t need to see.’

She glided forward, wrapped her arms around Allan and drew him close against her. He felt the heat of her body, the push of her breasts, the cool smoothness of the mask against his face. Her lips met his mouth.

Her lips felt wonderful. Warm and moist.

So long since the last time he’d held and kissed a woman. The feel of her shocked him with desire.

But she must be hideous, or why…?

He didn’t care. She smelled of strange, jungle blossoms. Her sweet breath filled him. He slid his tongue into her mouth and she sucked it in deep and writhed against him, rubbing him with her sleek body as her hands clutched his back.

His own hands roamed Ligeia’s back, caressing the skin above the top of her dress, roaming lower, sliding the fabric against her, following her curves down past the sash. He filled his hands with the soft, firm mounds of her buttocks. And knew they were bare beneath the fragile veil of the skirt. Moaning into her mouth, he pulled the skirt up.

Ligeia grabbed his wrists. She forced his hands down to his sides and leaned away, shaking her head. She breathed hard. The mask clung around her mouth, wet.

‘What’s wrong?’ Allan whispered.

‘Nothing. You’re… I’ve got to leave now.’

He took a step toward her. She stopped him, hands against his chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we’ll see each other again.’ She backed away from him.

‘Don’t go.’

Without another word, she whirled and fled.

The moment she vanished from sight, Allan ran to the mouth of the alley. He spotted her to the right, dashing up the sidewalk, her shimmering dress afly, her arms pumping, her long bare legs striding out, her sandals clapping the concrete.

‘Ligeia!’ he cried out.

She didn’t look back.

What if I never see her again?

Maybe that’d be for the best, he told himself. What sort of relationship could we have, anyway? She has to wear that mask. Too grotesque to go anywhere without it.

I’d be better off…

She darted around the corner.

‘No!’ he yelled into the night, and sprinted after her.

The hell with the mask, he thought as he raced up the sidewalk. Who gives a shit! Who gives a shit what she looks like!

He ran harder than he’d ever run before.

Pounded around the corner.

Skidded to a halt when he saw her no more than fifty feet away.

Obviously, she hadn’t thought he would pursue her. She was walking slowly, head down, arms swaying limp at her sides, sandals scuffing along. She seemed lost in her thoughts, crushed by a burden of dejection.

Ligeia, Allan thought. What have I done to you?

He ached to rush forward and take her into his arms and make everything all right.

That might only make matters worse.

Is she upset because I got carried away in the alley? She’s the one who started it. And that dress! Nothing on under it. What did she expect?

Maybe that isn’t it. Suppose she’s falling in love with me and knows it can’t work. Maybe that’s why she fled.

Whatever the reason, she was probably in no mood for Allan to put in an appearance.

He couldn’t just walk away, though.

So he decided to follow her. He crept closer to the building fronts, ready to duck out of sight if she should start to turn around, and made his way forward, matching her pace.

Find out where she lives, he thought. She’s bound to head for home, sooner or later.

He felt guilty, sneaking after her. Spying on her. It seemed like a betrayal. But he kept at it, knowing that if he quit he might lose her forever.

It went well for two blocks.

Then she stopped at a street corner. Though there seemed to be no traffic, she stood and waited for the light to change. As Allan watched, she began to turn around. He rushed forward, dodged into an entry way and stepped on the ankle of a derelict huddled in the darkness. The filthy old man flinched, moaned. With a gasp, Allan lurched away from him and staggered into the middle of the sidewalk.

He jerked his head forward, spotted Ligeia at the corner.

Facing him.

‘Ligeia!’ he called. ‘Please!’

She flung herself around and leapt into the street. Without checking for traffic.

‘Look out!' Allan cried.

The teenager bearing down on her yelped. Ligeia tried to lean out of his way. The teenager swerved, but not in time.

The bicycle slammed into her, tumbled her to the pavement, twisted away and hit the curb, its abrupt stop hurling the kid against the handlebars.

Ligeia, sprawled in the street, started to push herself up.

As Allan ran to help, the kid jumped from his bicycle, let it fall, and hurried toward Ligeia. She was crouched, trying to stand, her back to him. ‘Geez, lady. You okay?’

She looked over her shoulder at him. Her mask gleamed in the streetlights.

‘Yeeeah!’ he gasped, and bolted for his bike.

Even before he got to it, Ligeia was up and running. The kid started to pick up his bike, but dropped it and scampered out of the way when he saw Allan bearing down on him.

Allan hurdled the rear wheel.

Ligeia had already made the other side of the street.

‘Wait!’ he called.

She didn’t look back, didn’t slow down.

She was fast. Not as fast as Allan, but almost. It took all his speed to gain on her.

‘Please! Stop!’

She had to be hurting. A patch of skin over her right shoulder blade was scraped raw. Her skirt was torn, and drooped away from the scuffed cheek of her buttock. Her pumping arms showed Allan abraded elbows. Her whole body must be afire with pain.

‘Why are you doing this?’ he gasped.

‘Leave me alone!’ she cried out.

‘No! You need me! I need you!’

‘You… don’t know me!’

‘I know you’re lonely. I know I care about you. We can’t lose each other. Please.’

‘You’ll hate me!’

‘Bullshit!’

‘I’m…’

‘I don’t give a flying fuck if you look like Godzilla!’

Reaching out, he grabbed her left arm. She tried to twist free of his grip. ‘Stop that!’ he snapped. And tugged her to a halt. Turned her roughly toward him.

Clutching both her upper arms, he pushed her backward and pinned her against the accordion gate of a pharmacy. It rattled as she hit it.

‘Settle down.’

She quit struggling. She gasped for air. Her breath gusted out the front of her mask.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘You shouldn’t have run.’

‘Obviously.’

The remark made his throat tighten. He drew Ligeia gently against him. And her arms wrapped around him. He pressed his face against the mask, felt her cheek through its slick fabric. They held each other for a long time.

Then Ligeia whispered, ‘I don’t want to lose you so soon. Before we’ve even…’

‘You won’t.’

‘You haven’t seen my face.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Think so, huh?’ She squeezed Allan hard against her, then eased him away. ‘I… I’ve got to show you.’

He nodded. He felt as if his heart might crash out through his ribcage. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I do. Better that you see it now, than…’ Ligeia quit without finishing. She raised her hand to the headband across her brow. Hooked it with her fingertips. Peeled it back. The mask slid up her face.

More than her mask was coming off.

Her hair, too.

Oh God!

Her arm dropped to her side, mask and wig clutched in her fist.

Allan gaped at her.

She stared at him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. After a few moments, she said, ‘At least I’m not Godzilla.’

She let the mask and wig fall. Reaching up with both hands, she unpinned her hair. She shook her head, ran her fingers through the flowing red tresses. Her green eyes shimmered with tears.

‘Maureen?’

‘Don’t hate me,’ she said in the voice he knew so well, a voice so different from the breathy tones of Ligeia. ‘Please.’

‘How could I hate you? But I don’t… Why? Why the mask? What’s going on?’

‘I just got tired of the buddy treatment, Allan.’ A tear fell from the corner of each eye. They made silver trails down her cheeks. ‘Day in, day out. You never… I’m not your buddy. I never wanted to be your buddy. So maybe it made me a little crazy and…’

‘A lot crazy. Something might’ve happened to you, wandering around at night like this.’

She sniffed and rubbed away the tears. ‘I just wanted you to notice me.’

‘God, Maureen.’

‘I wanted to show you that I’m a woman.’

His throat tightened. ‘I always knew you were a woman. But it never entered my mind that you might want to… get involved with me. You never said anything. You never gave me any reason to suspect it.’

‘I know. I know. I wanted to. I just couldn’t. But then… I guess it was seeing Phantom of the Opera a few weeks ago that gave me the idea. I thought, what if he doesn’t realize it’s me? What if I’m a stranger he meets in the night? A mysterious, seductive masked woman. The way you’re into spooky stuff, I figured it might work.’

‘It sure worked, all right.’

‘Too well, I guess. Back in the alley, I just couldn’t… let it go any further. It wouldn’t have been right. It wasn’t me you wanted. It was Ligeia. Not plain old ordinary me.’

‘She was… the most exciting woman I ever… She was fantastic.’

‘I guess you must be awfully disappointed.’

‘I don’t know. I suppose so. It was the mystery, you know? It was the unknown and being afraid of who she was, what she might look like under the mask. Now that it’s you…’

‘It was always me.’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘It was. It is. I am Ligeia.’ Crouching, she picked up the mask and wig. She put them on and took hold of Allan’s hand.

‘I don’t think that’ll work.’

‘Won’t it?’ she asked, her voice low and breathy.

‘I know it’s you.’

‘Do you?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know nothing.’

Allan felt a chill crawl up his spine.

She led him along the sidewalk. ‘Maureen is a spineless, pitiful creature of the light. I despise her.’

‘Hey, come on. You don’t have to do this.’

‘I belong to the night.’

‘Cut it out, okay? I’m glad you’re Maureen.’

‘I’m not Maureen. Call me again by that vile name at your peril.’

‘Oh, for godsake.’

She pulled him into the darkness of an alley. She pushed him against a brick wall.

‘This is ridiculous,’ he muttered, his voice trembling. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

She lifted his hands to her breasts. He felt them, warm and firm through the slick fabric. She rubbed his palms against her stiff nipples.

‘You’re making me nervous. I wish you’d stop this. We’re gonna have to look each other in the face, Monday morning.’

‘You won’t be looking me in the face. I’m Ligeia.’

‘Come on, we both know you’re not.’

She released his wrists. ‘Lift my mask,’ she whispered.

His heart kicked. ‘What for?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘I don’t need to see. I know who you are.’

‘Then why are you afraid to lift the mask?’

‘You already took it off.’

‘That was in the light. I am a woman of the darkness.’

He tried to laugh. ‘You’re pretty good at this. But I think we oughta get going.’

‘I showed you Maureen. I didn’t allow you to see Ligeia. The true face of Ligeia shuns the light. But you may look upon it now, if you have the courage.’

‘I’m not afraid.’

‘Then lift the mask.’

He stared at the fabric draping her face, tried to see her eyes and mouth behind the black slots. ‘I know it’s you,’ he murmured. But he thought, What if it’s not?

Ridiculous. Crazy.

But he couldn’t force himself to lift the mask.

‘Who am I?’ she asked, her breath stirring the cloth.

‘Ligeia.’

‘Yessss.’ She pulled him forward against her.

They embraced, they kissed, they squirmed breathless as they caressed and explored each other. She winced once when Allan touched the scrape behind her shoulder. He whispered, ‘I’m sorry’ into the warm pit of her mouth. Then he was on his back on the alley pavement. Maureen straddling him, bare to the waist. As he squeezed her breasts, she sank down and impaled herself.

Afterward, she lay on top of him and kissed him through the mouth slot of her mask.

He sighed. He’d known Maureen for three years. Three years wasted, he thought. So much missed.

‘I must leave you now,’ she whispered.

‘No. I’ll walk you home. Or we could go to my apartment.’

‘Not tonight, my darling.’ She pushed herself up, and Allan sighed with a feeling of loss as he slid out of her. Standing, she raised the top of her dress and arranged the shoulder straps. ‘Farewell.’ She turned away.

‘Hey! Don’t leave!’

She ran from the alley.

Allan knocked on the door of Maureen’s classroom ten minutes before the start of first period Monday morning.

‘Come in.’

He entered. She pushed back her chair and stood up, smiling. She wore a sleeveless, yellow sundress. She looked radiant. The sight of her made Allan’s heart race. How could he have known her so long and never realized how beautiful she was?

Her bright green eyes watched him as he approached her desk. ‘Good morning, Ligeia,’ he said.

‘Huh? Ligeia?’

He grinned. ‘Still up to your tricks.’

She frowned with confusion. ‘What?’

‘Saturday night was great. The greatest.’

‘Oh? You got together with your mystery woman?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Must’ve gone pretty well.’

‘You oughta know.’

Her frown deepened. ‘How would I know?’

‘How about having dinner with me tonight?’

The frown vanished. A corner of her mouth curled up. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘What about this other gal of yours? Ligeia? You just met her, and now you want me to go out with you?’

‘She won’t mind.’

‘She must be very understanding.’

‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again. Not till next Saturday night, anyway.’

‘You some kind of a two-timer?’

‘Yep.’

The door opened. A couple of students came in.

‘Look,’ Maureen said, ‘we can talk about this later. I’ve gotta get the spelling list onto the board.’

‘Fine.’

He turned away, nodded a greeting to the kids, and paused at the door.

He looked back.

Maureen, facing the chalkboard behind her desk, wrote ‘fantasy’ with her right hand. Her left arm hung at her side.

Allan stared at her elbow.

She looked back at him. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Your elbow,’ he murmured.

She smiled. ‘Just had a little mishap over the weekend.’ She rubbed the dark crust of scab, then turned again to the chalkboard.