Creepy - Day 31 - The Halloween Mask

Episode Date: October 31, 2019

Trick or treat...***Written by Slimebeast***See your donation rewards podcast at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQ3SrH_3fsROXFAjomKcUtw***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy Presents The 31 Days of Horror Day 31 Mask It's been nearly a year since I first set my eyes on the Halloween mask. It was a pumpkin, a white one. I'd never personally seen them in any other color than orange before that very moment.

Something about the pallid drooping latex made it seem cold and bloodless. I'd grown about a decade too old to go out trick-or-treating, so instead I took my place at the front door of the house. The job of handing sweets out to the new crop of tiny ghouls had been handed down to me. Thankfully I had my eye device on hand and the music pumping through my earbuds kept me from getting grumpy to abort them. The house was nothing remarkable, but it was nice enough. Just another suburban foreclosure taken by the bank when the previous Haynes family didn't make their payments. My parents snapped it up almost exclusively for the extra bathroom.

I guess I living in close quarters with their adult child, and feel forgive the oxymoron, had worn pretty thin for them. That's what I've been reduced to. An oxymoron. Wasn't supposed to turn out that way. But attending college did very little for my employment opportunities. I barely learned anything, as a matter of fact. Due to equal parts partying and absent professors who couldn't care less.

Who are you supposed to be? I asked the kid in an obvious Dracula costume. I'm a blood guy. his disappointing response. Whop, here you go. I tossed a ridiculously undersized candy bar into his bag. Don't bite any strange an ex. You don't know where they've been.

I got back a face palm. From a child. The old cliche held true that night. Halloween had indeed become generic and overcommercialized. Something that would have horrified my younger self. I saw five more discount drag. An entire coven of weak witches, and more licensed cartoon characters than even I could name. Or see out with the kids, even teenagers who threw on whatever they had lying around.

Putting on your fancy church clothes does not make you a CEO or the president. It just makes you lazy ass. Two tween girls showed up in beauty masks and towels, which was several levels of wrong. It was around 11 o'clock when the stream was. and Nuget-faced beggars finally began to taper off. The candy was almost gone as well, proving my parents were great at planning just about everything in my life. They must have factored in the ten pieces I'd invariably steal over the course of evening.

I thought the job was done. I put away the media player. Then, when my hand reached a flick the switch and turn off the porch light, a sharp sudden knock jarred me out of my walking sugar coma. Actually, it was more of a solid, I'd palm strike and a knock. The frosted glass panes on the door rattled. Shit!

I shouted, startled. It took a moment to compose myself. I mean, sit. Tight. Sit tight, kids. You didn't hear what you think you heard. Quick thinking saved the day. I grabbed the bar and bowl of candy and awkwardly thrust the door open.

Okay, what do we have? There was no one. Not only were there no children waiting at my door, but I couldn't see a family traveling anywhere in the neighborhood. Only the dim lights and the windows of my neighbors confirmed that they were indeed other human beings somewhere else on earth. If you want to play ding-dong ditch, you have to ring the doorbell. I called out, careful to keep from bothering others in their quiet homes.

It's the whole ding-dong part, I added under my breath. I shook my head with a smirk, remembering how Halloween used to be the one night I'd get into any and all trouble I could find. Anonymously sass-talking adults, shoving past other kids, taking any unattended candy I found. That was a complete asshole. As I was about to close the door, I finally noticed the very out-of-place gift that had been left on the doorstep. It was the mask. The white pumpkin was created a look as if its facial features had rotted out as opposed to being carved like a normal jack-o'clock. a lantern. Something about this odd choice in design caused me a moment's pause.

My brain took a jarring, stuttering half-step before it made the progression from disemboweled face on the floor to harmless costume accessory. It's mine now! I called out again, looking toward the bushes. I scooped a jiggling, empty head off at the stone step and closed the door at the smoke flourish. Whoever lost, it would have to come back and beg me to return it. Now least that's how I saw the situation. Weird kids tonight! I called up the staircase to the second floor where my parents had decided to sit out to festivities.

There was no reply, and I reasoned that they had failed to stay up awake at this late hour. I got back around to turning off the porch light and made my way to the living room, darkening each overhead light as I passed. I liked nights for the most of the night. part, because it was a calming time when I had full run of the house. Plopping down on the couch, I tossed the white pumpkin face on the coffee table. I turned down the television and sank back into a glassy-eyed stupor. With the jar-a-jig, explained the on-screen pitch man. You can avoid these meal mistakes and so much more.

Late-night programming wasn't my thing, especially not infomercials. I cast a quick glance toward my gaming console and considered a late-night session. Getting at a short casual round didn't seem appealing either. When I played, I was in it to win. With my fatigue, that could mean staying up all night in search of a single victory. Another bang echoed through the house. I jumped, flinging the remote through the air. My surprise quickly turned to anger as I realized the kid must have come back for his crappy mask.

I grabbed the thing up again and contemplated the idea of throwing in the trash and going to bed. Coming! I shouted. Break down the door, why don't you? As I passed the sliding glass door that led to our backyard. I noticed something that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was the word, boo, crudely scribbled on the glass and it looked like dog crap. You gotta be kidding me!

I stormed over to the door and peered into the blackness. Someone, somewhere I was messing with the wrong adult child. It was then that the smell wafted to me. It wasn't the rain stink of animal feces. It was sweet, familiar, and comforting. It was chocolate. Only moderately relieved I turned away from the back to aren't fully intended to give the kids outside a solid piece of my mind.

It was until I was nearly out of the living room that I thought about that strong smell. Going back through my thoughts, I came to a distressing conclusion. The writing was on the inside of the glass. I could have done any number of things at this point. I could have leapt out the back door into the yard calling for blood. Could have gone for the front door and picked up the kid by his collar, scolding all the while. In that moment, however, I took the third option.

Mom! Dad! I flung the mask down and ran upstairs screaming like a banshee. Get up! There's someone in the house! When I opened up their bedroom door, you know the crashing plate, really. They weren't there. The bed was made. The lights were off, and the room was empty.

Are you still awake? I shouted sprinting down the upstairs hallway. Did you hear what I said? I pulled open the door to Dad's cramped home office, fully expecting to see him hunched over some boring paperwork, brow furrowed. When I entered, however, I witnessed an entirely different sight. Dad was on the desk, seated.

Knees pulled up to his chest and wrapped with his arms. His papers were strewn all over and were torn and crumpled. Not a single photo on the wall hung straight, and a few had their glass broken out. Dad? I whispered as he simply sat on the wooden pedestal, visibly shuddering. He looked up at me slowly, like a child waking up from a dream. On his head he wore the same type of pale, horrible mask I had held in my hand just moments earlier. He muttered, long strings of thick saliva dangling from the mask's mouth.

Finishing up the Schweitzer report. He jerked his head to one side, turned his face upward, and let out a demented, agonized scream. I backed out of the doorway, nearly toppling over the railing between myself and a nasty drop to the first floor, propping myself on that rail, then the walls. I hurried to the bathroom where I'd last seen my mother preparing for the night. Mom! Something really terrible is... Again, my entry was halted by disorienting sight. Their mom was, sitting on a stool in front of the mirror over the sink.

The mirror was broken into a spider web of cracks from what looked like a straight-on headbut. She sat quietly in her bathrobe. Its collar and shoulders stained with flexor red. She applied lipstick to the asymmetrically gaping mouth. her white mask. Mom! I screamed my brain once again lurching along like a smoking jalopy. She turned slowly, just as dad looked at me.

She instantly threw the lipstick onto the tile floor as if she were enraged by my mere presence. Why aren't you in bed? She demanded nonsensically. Why aren't you asleep? Awkward motion. Mom stood from the stool and wrenched along Jacobi's feet. a glass from the mirror.

Her blood trailed on the length of the reflective blade as she raised it over her head and ran for me. Why aren't you a slea? She shrieked in a shrill tone I'd never heard from her before. I barely slammed the door shut in time. All at once I felt the same dreaded experiences of child when I was about to be punished. Mixed with a level of terror that only comes from knowing your life is about to end in the most unpleasant way you can think of. I know my phone and stared at dialing 911.

I completely unsure what to say. A blood-red hand came down hard on the phone, knocking it out of my grasp. Stunned, I looked up to see my father standing over me. No phone privileges. He groaned, sounding if the words were bubbling through a mouthful of something I didn't want to see. A single fist rocketed toward me. I lowered myself just in time as my father's knuckles passed through the drywall inches from my face.

Moving to escape. I was instead caught by the other hand. The letter opener clenched and it jab through my side as easy for it piercing a water balloon. When he roughly withdrew the improvised weapon blood sprayed out, painting the floor wall. I screamed. This time it was a wordless, mindless howl that came from some primal place. A fresh wound in my gut. I made my way down the stairs, stumbling and falling as I did so.

I landed at the foot of the staircase with heavy thought. There I was reunited with a mask that had been left for me. It laid where I had thrown it, and its empty, mocking stairs seemed to say, "'Bet you're glad you went up there, huh?' The thrust at the front door. "'Away!' I yelled, crawling away from the noise as best I could. "'Lean me alone!'

"'Police officer!' A gravely authoritative voice came from beyond the door. "'We received several complaints about the noise. "'Open the door!' "'Oh, God!' I pulled myself to my feet and a hobble to the door, hunched over in pain. God! With my last ounce of strength, I turned the knob,

leaving streaks of my blood across its shiny gold surface. Standing at the door was a tall, well-dressed man in dark green, though he was wearing a nice suit, his costume didn't seem to say CEO or the president. A necktie that was little more than thorny braided vines hung from his neck like a noose. On his head he wore the mask I'd seen three times. at night, though his was a vibrant green and seemed to have a more jolly expression. Trick-or-treat. He said, Snidly, couldn't fight.

All I could do was collapse with a soft whimper. Aw. Looks like someone's already tricked you. The Maskman's sounded anything but empathetic. Well, don't worry. I'll make sure you're safe from now on. And there, things are a bit fuzzy. I must have blacked out and awakened several times as a masked man went to work.

Remember blood, bunch of stitches, and the cold surface of a kitchen countertop. Remember the basement? In my head striking the wooden stairs as someone dragged me by my feet. I saw the secret doorway at the basement wall. One that no one in my family had found over the months we'd spent living in the house. Most of all, I remember what the masked man said. Forgive me for not making proper introductions. He dragged me to the middle of the stone floor and took a key ring from a hook.

The name is Samuel Haynes. You can call me Spooky Sam. Now I admit it's a nickname I gave myself, but I think it fits. He walked over to the bar door and placed a key into the lock. As he pulled the door open, a human corner. Corpse fell forward, landing almost face to face with my elbow paralyzed body. This is my house, you see? The people down here were my friends.

He rolled a corpse to one side. Hell, they were my family as far as I'm concerned. My little trick-or-treaters. Ah, the fun we had together! My mother stepped into view joining the strange man. I hadn't even known she was down there. Unfortunately, things got kind of complicated. I had to go away for a while, and I couldn't really ask a neighbor to come by and feed them.

I'm sure you understand. The masked man chuckled as he led my now obedient mother into the cell, closing her in and locking the door tight. I could hear the man opening another cell, though I couldn't turn my head to look. I heard the soft fall of another corpse, followed by the heavy footsteps of my dad. Another click the lock told me he'd been stored away as well.

I'll miss them. Even though I have you now, the man sighed. He stepped into view again, this time holding the mask that had been left for me earlier in the night. He turned it inside out and dabbed a wet cloth. got against the interior, right where his nose and mouth would be. This probably doesn't make much sense to you right now. The man flipped the mask right side out again.

But that's only because... He slid the latex over my head. The strong smoke of chemicals invaded my nostril. You're not in your right head. But once I could see why it happened. I could see why it had to be that way. I was just a nobody, a 20-something failure with no future. Then Spooky Sam appeared to me and gave me purpose.

It makes sense when I think back on it now. I thought the masks made my parents insane. Now I know it's the other way around. We're the only ones with a solid grip on reality. Everyone else is bonkers. So, as I said, it's been about a year since all that happened. What a long year. What a long wait.

Sam says it's almost time to come out and play with people. Almost time for trick or treat. From all of us are creepy. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes. please visit us at creepy pod on Twitter Instagram all stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wikia.com are protected by a creative commons license some rights reserved unless otherwise stated