Microhorror Writing Contest

The Mask Fell

The earth above hadn’t settled and was sodden from the rain that fell during her burial. Biding her time had been difficult, she hadn’t wanted to rise from her grave in full view of her children, but if she waited too long then she would have been trapped there. Her undead strength was enough to split the casket and push a way through the soil above. She tore through the sod like it was wet newspaper, and pulled her cold body into the chill afternoon air.

The graveyard was empty, she could make her way out of here discreetly, but paused to wrap torn cloths from her shroud about her face. She wore the mask to hide her identity, not from her killers but from her family who believed her buried and gone.

From here she had to track her way back to the Golf Club where she knew Tony and his friends would be. Somehow they had escaped suspicion, and perhaps the Fates knew that justice would not come in any expected form. Her doom was to wake up, and to remember.

She had no heartbeat, and was cold throughout. No anxiety or fear affected her, there was no air to be stolen from her lungs. Even rage was absent from her mind, she was just doing what had to be done.

The track from the cemetery was slick with mud but her passage was easy enough. Two dog walkers came hurrying towards her, thinking that she was a woman in distress, but as they neared they realised the truth. They turned and ran. Covered in filth and dirt her cold blue body, wearing only a torn shroud and makeshift mask, was the stuff of nightmares. Even if they had stopped to look they would not have seen her face, let alone recognised her.

As she approached the 19th Hole, the bar of the Golf Club, she could see Tony Samson braying into a wine glass. He was holding court and leading the boasts of his latest conquest. He was known as a ‘player’ but only by the men. The women of Cheshunt knew exactly what he was; a predator and a rapist. For too long he’d got away with his crimes.

At first his friends laughed as they saw her approach, a drowned rat of a woman crossing the green. Then they fell silent. Just on the other side of the glass they now saw a dead woman, slick with dirt and leaking fluids, but, more importantly, a familiar figure.

The glass door opened easily and she walked into the bar. As she approached her killer she moved as if to take off her mask, but then she saw him; her husband / widower was there too. They knew each other, and were friends. For a moment she halted, he must have known.

The mask fell. The screaming began.