Mask

Chapter 9: Silver(RW)

What's this? I wondered, staring at my small hands. The chubby fingers couldn't've belonged to any more than a four-year-old. I glanced around to find out where exactly I was.

It was dark out. The sky was clear, not a cloud, star, or even the moon in sight. However, while the sky was clear, tendrils of fog weaved through the tall grass that reached for as far I could see. A feild?

A pair of slightly bigger -but still childishly small- hands wrapped around mine, pulling me along as they started to run somewhere. I looked up at the kid holding my hands. A too-large cloak that was darker than the night sky entirely covered them. I had no way of knowing their gender.

I wasn't sure where they came from but didn't feel it was necessary to know. Oddly, I felt relaxed around them, as if I'd held that same hand many times before. It felt familiar.

Wait, where are we going? I wanted to ask, but I couldn't get the words out. So, giving up on speaking, I tried to see the face of the child whose hand was linked with mine.

No luck.

Suddenly, for a second everything blinked an empty grey. When the grayness disappeared, the scene around us had changed.

We were in a graveyard. And the child with me? Well, they were no longer the petit kid from before. The cloak -which looked almost endearing with its awkward fit before- now looked sinister on this older figure.

I stared at the hand holding mine, it flickered. My eyes widened. Bone? They turned back as if to check on me, and when the little me finally saw its face-

it was a skull.

-

I woke up with a start, head pounding. When did I even fall asleep?

Last I checked it was past midnight and I was still mulling over the incident from before. In the time between then and now, my shock finally wore off.

I felt tense all over. Ghost tingles on my neck, the same place he snapped hers as easily as if it were no more than a mere pencil.

The image of her eyes as they glossed over was etched deep into the back of my eyelids every time I blinked- as if he personally carved it into my memory with a burning knife.

I don't think I can ever forget that.

"Ah-Achoo!" I sneezed. Groaning, I rolled over in my bed, massaging my warm, aching temple. As if things weren't bad enough already, I just had to go and get sick too. Great. I puffed out a slow breath.

But really... What do I do? I knew the right thing to do was report what happened, but in all honesty, I was scared. And even if I did report it, what proof did I have when I witnessed her snapped neck go back to place with my own eyes?