With my eyes staring out of it, the face seemed to come alive. The brown lips sneered back at me. When I moved my lips, they appeared to move, too. The green gobs of goo trembled inside the big nostrils. The spiders appeared to be crawling through the tangled, yellow hair.
It’s only a mask. A really cool mask, I said to myself.
I started to feel a little calmer.
But then a cackle escaped my throat. “Heh-heh-heh.”
Not my cackle!
Not in my voice! An old man’s cackle.
How did that happen? How did I utter such a strange sound?
I clamped my lips shut. I didn’t want to make that sound again.
“Heh-heh-heh.”
Another frightening cackle! In a shrill, high-pitched voice. More like a dry croak than a laugh.
I tightened my jaw. Clenched my teeth. Held my breath so I wouldn’t cackle again.
“Heh-heh-heh.”
I wasn’t doing it!
Who was cackling like that?
Where was the shrill, dry laugh coming from?
I gaped at the old face in the mirror, suddenly frozen in fear.
And then I felt a strong hand grab my leg.
With a choked gasp, I whirled around.
And peered down through the tight eyeholes of the mask.
I instantly saw that it wasn’t a hand on my leg. It was teeth.
Dog teeth.
“Sparky — it’s you!” I cried. But my voice came out in a dry whisper.
Sparky backed away.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Don’t be afraid, Sparky. It’s only me.” My voice! It sounded more like a dry cough.
It sounded like my grandpa!
I had an old man’s face — and an old man’s voice.
And I felt so tired. So totally weak and tired.
As I reached to pet Sparky, my arms drooped as if they weighed a thousand pounds. Both of my knees cracked as I bent down.
The dog gazed up at me and tilted his head. His short stub of a tail wagged furiously.
“Don’t be scared, Sparky,” I croaked. “I was just trying out this mask. Pretty scary, huh?”
I lowered my face and tried to pick Sparky up.
But as I leaned forward, I could see the dog’s eyes go wide with terror. Sparky let out a shrill yip — jumped out of my hands, and went tearing across the room, barking at the top of his lungs. Barking in total fright.
“Sparky — it’s me!” I cried. “I know I sound different. But it’s me — Steve!”
I wanted to chase after him. But my legs felt so weak, and my knees refused to bend.
It took me three tries to pull myself up to a standing position. My head ached. I was too out of breath to run after Sparky.
Too late, anyway. I could hear him barking his head off, already downstairs.
“Weird,” I muttered, rubbing my aching back. I hobbled back to the mirror. Sparky has seen masks before. He knew it was me. Why was he so scared? Was it my weird voice?
How had the mask dried up my voice? And why did I suddenly feel one hundred and ten?
At least, my face no longer felt on fire. But the skin of the mask still pressed so tightly against my face, I could barely move my lips.
I have to get out of this thing, I decided. Chuck will have to wait until Halloween night to be scared out of his skull.
I raised both hands to my neck and searched for the bottom of the mask. My neck felt craggy and wrinkled. The skin was dry.
Where was the bottom of the mask?
I leaned close to the mirror on my closet door and narrowed my eyes at my reflection. I stared hard at the neck of the mask.
Wrinkled skin flecked with ugly brown patches.
But where was the bottom? Where did the mask end and my neck begin?
My hands began to tremble as they fumbled up and down my throat. I could feel my heart begin to race.
I moved my hands slowly, carefully, up and down my neck.
Again. And again.
Finally, I let my hands drop to my side and uttered a weary, frightened sigh.
There was no mask bottom. No line at all between the mask and my neck.
The wrinkled, spotted mask skin had become my skin.
“Nooooo! Nooooo!” I wailed in my old man’s voice. I had to get the thing off me! There had to be a way!
I squeezed the cheeks of the mask and tugged with all my might.
“Ow!” Sharp pain ran down my face.
I pulled the hair. That sent a wave of pain shooting down my scalp. Frantically, I grabbed at the mask, slapped at it, pulled it, tore at it.
I felt each move. Each slap and tug made my skin hurt. Every touch hurt me as if it were my own skin.
“The eyeholes!” I croaked.
I reached for the eyeholes. Maybe I could slip my fingers inside the eyeholes and lift the mask off.
My hands fumbled around my eyes. My trembling fingers searched, poking and rubbing.
No eyeholes. There were no eyeholes.
The rutted, scab-covered skin had melted onto me. It had become my skin.
The ugly, disgusting mask had become my face!
I looked like a horrifying, spider-infested, decaying old man. And I felt as old and weird as I looked!
My throat tightened in terror. I sank against the mirror, pressing my ugly, craggy forehead against the glass.
I shut my eyes. What can I do? What can I do? The question repeated like an unhappy chant in my mind.
And then I heard the front door slam. And I heard Mom’s voice at the bottom of the stairway. “Steve — are you home? Steve?”
What can I do? What can I do? The question repeated and repeated.
“Steve?” Mom called. “Come down here. I want to show you something.”
No! I thought, swallowing hard, my dry throat making a sick clicking sound. No! I can’t come down! I can’t! I don’t want you to see me like this!
“Oh, never mind!” Mom called. “I’m coming up there!”
I heard her footsteps on the stairs.
A shock of panic made me lurch toward the door. I nearly fell over. My old legs were stiff, too stiff to move quickly.
I hobbled to the door and closed it just as Mom reached the second floor. Then I leaned against the door, my hand on my throbbing chest, trying to catch my breath.
Trying to think. Trying to decide what to say.
I couldn’t let her see me like this. I couldn’t let her see the mask. She’d start asking questions. And I couldn’t let her see how the mask had changed me.
A few seconds later, she knocked gently on the door. “Steve, are you in there? What are you doing?”
“Uh … nothing, Mom.”
“Well, may I come in? I brought you something.”
“Not right now,” I croaked.
Please don’t open the door! I begged silently. Please don’t come into my room!
“Steve, why do you sound so strange?” Mom demanded. “What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Uh …” Think fast, Steve. Think fast.
“Uh … sore throat, Mom. A really bad sore throat.”
“Let me take a look at you. Are you sick?” Glancing down, I saw the doorknob turn.
“No!” I screamed, pressing my back against the door.
“You’re not sick?”
“I mean, yes,” I croaked in my shaky, old-man voice. “I’m not feeling well, Mom. I’m going to lie down for a while. I’ll come down later, okay?”
I stared at the doorknob, listening to her breathing on the other side of the door. “Steve, I bought you those black-and-white cookies that you love. Your favorites. Do you want one? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”
My stomach growled. Those cookies are my favorites. Dripping with chocolate icing on one side and vanilla icing on the other. “Maybe later,” I moaned.
“But I drove two miles out of my way to buy them for you,” Mom said.
“Later. I’m reall
y not feeling well.” I was telling the truth. My temples throbbed. My whole body ached. I felt so weak, I could barely stand up.
“I’ll call you for dinner,” Mom said. I listened to her make her way back down the stairs. Then I hobbled over to the bed and slumped my old man’s body down onto the edge.
“Now what?” I asked myself. I pressed my hands against my scabby cheeks. “How do I get out of this thing?”
I shut my tired, burning eyes and tried to think. After a few minutes, Carly Beth’s face floated into my mind.
“Yes!” I croaked. “Carly Beth is the one person in the world who can help me.”
Carly Beth wore a mask from the same store last Halloween. Maybe the same thing happened to her. Maybe her mask stuck to her face and changed her.
She got her mask off. She will know how I can get my mask off, too.
The phone stood across the room beside the computer on my desk. Normally, I’d be over there in three seconds. But it took me three minutes of grunting and straining to get my old body to stand up. Then it took another five minutes to drag myself across the room.
By the time I dropped into my desk chair, I was exhausted. It took all of my strength to raise my hand and punch in Carly Beth’s number on the phone.
I can’t go on like this, I told myself. She’s got to help me. She’s got to know how to get this mask off.
After the third ring, Carly Beth’s father answered. “Hello?”
“Hi … uh … could I speak to Carly Beth?” I choked out.
A silence. Then: “Who is this?” Mr. Caldwell sounded confused.
“It’s me,” I answered. “Is Carly Beth there?”
“Is this one of her teachers?” he demanded.
“No. It’s Steve. I —”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t hear you very well. Can you speak up? Why did you wish to speak to my daughter? Perhaps I can help you?”
“No … I —”
I heard Mr. Caldwell speak softly to someone else at his house. “It’s an old man, asking for Carly Beth. I can barely hear him. He won’t say who he is.”
He came back on the phone. “Are you one of her teachers, sir? Where do you know my daughter from?”
“She’s my friend,” I croaked.
I heard him turn again to someone else in the room, probably Carly Beth’s mom. He muffled the phone with his hand, but I heard what he said: “I think it’s a nut. Some kind of crank call.”
He returned to me. “Sorry, sir. My daughter can’t come to the phone.” He hung up.
I sat there listening to the buzz in my spider-filled ear.
Now what? I asked myself.
Now what?
I must have fallen asleep in the desk chair. I don’t know how long I slept.
I was awakened by Dad pounding on my bedroom door. “Steve — dinnertime!” he called in.
I sat up with a start. My back ached from sleeping sitting up. I rubbed my wrinkled neck, trying to rub away the stiffness.
“Steve — are you coming down to dinner?” Dad asked.
“I — I’m not very hungry,” I croaked. “I’m going to take a nap, Dad. I think I’m getting sick.”
“Hey, don’t get sick the night before Halloween,” he replied. “You don’t want to miss out on trick-or-treating.”
“I — I’ll be okay,” I stammered in my hoarse voice. “If I get a good night’s sleep, I’ll be fine.”
Yeah. Right.
I’ll be one hundred and fifty. But I’ll be fine.
I let out an unhappy sigh.
“We’ll bring you up some soup or something later,” Dad called in. Then he disappeared downstairs.
I stared at the phone. Should I try Carly Beth again?
No, I decided. She won’t believe it’s me. She’ll hang up the way her father did.
I scratched my ears. I could feel the spiders crackling around in them. I touched the bare spot on top of my head where the skin was ripped apart. The skin was soft and wet. I could feel the patch of hard skull that showed through.
“Ohhhh.” Another long sigh.
I’ve got to think, I told myself. I’ve got to think of a way out of this.
But I felt so weary, so sleepy.
I pulled myself up and slumped to the bed. A few seconds later, I fell sound asleep.
* * *
I awoke to bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom window.
I blinked several times, startled by the bright morning light. Morning. Halloween morning.
It should have been a happy day. An exciting day. But instead …
I reached up with both hands and touched the sides of my face.
Smooth!
My cheeks felt smooth. Soft and smooth.
I rubbed my ears. Small ears. My ears. No spiders!
I raised both hands to my hair. And touched my hair. Not the stringy, old man’s hair.
Hesitantly, carefully, I touched the torn spot on top of my head where the skull showed through.
Not there!
“I’m me again!” I cried out loud. I let out a long whoop of joy.
No old man’s mask. No old man’s voice. No old man’s body.
It had all been a dream. A horrible nightmare.
Still blinking in the light, I gazed happily around my room.
“I dreamed it all!” I cried.
Going down to that dark store basement. Pawing through the carton of masks. The man in the cape. The mask of the old man. Sneaking it home and trying it on.
The mask sticking to my skin. Refusing to come off.
All a dream!
All a horrifying nightmare that was over now.
I was so happy! This had to be the happiest moment of my life.
I started to jump out of bed. I wanted to leap around my room, to dance for joy.
But then my eyes blinked open. And I woke up for real …
… I woke up for real.
And knew that I had only dreamed that it was all a dream!
I grabbed my face — and felt the craggy wrinkles, the heavy scabs. I rubbed my nose and brushed the green gobs stuck in my nostrils.
I had dreamed that the mask didn’t exist.
I had dreamed that I had my own face back. My own voice and body.
All a dream. A wonderful dream.
But now I was really awake — and really in trouble.
I pulled myself up and brushed the stringy, yellow hair out of my eyes. I have to tell Mom and Dad, I decided. I can’t spend another day like this.
I had slept in my clothes. I staggered to my feet and dragged my old body to the door. I tugged open the door — and saw a note taped on the other side.
Dear Steve,
Hope you’re feeling better. Mom and I
had to go visit your aunt Helen this
morning. We left early to beat the
traffic. We’ll be home in time to help
you with your hobo costume. Love,
Dad
My hobo costume?
Not this year. Besides, since I was now at least one hundred and fifty, I was a little old to go trick-or-treating!
Crinkling the note in my hand, I made the long trip down to the kitchen, holding on to the banister, taking one step at a time. I had a sudden craving for a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a cup of hot milk.
“Oh, no!” I croaked. I was starting to think like an old man!
I made myself a breakfast of orange juice and corn flakes. I carried it to the table and sat down to eat. The juice glass felt strange against my fat, brown lips. And it was almost impossible to chew the cornflakes with just one long, crooked tooth.
“What am I going to do?” I moaned out loud.
Then, suddenly, I had an answer.
I decided to go ahead with my plan to terrify the first graders. Why shouldn’t I pay back those bratty kids for all the trouble they gave me day after day on the soccer field?
Yes! I decided. When Mom and Dad get home, I’ll greet them and sho
w off my old-man costume. They won’t know it isn’t a costume. They’ll think it’s really cool.
Then, later, I’ll go to the spooky old Carpenter mansion to meet the kids. And I’ll scare the first graders out of their masks!
And then what?
Then I’ll find Carly Beth. It won’t be hard to find her. She’s having a Halloween party at her house after trick-or-treating.
I’ll find Carly Beth and get her to tell me the secret. I’ll get her to show me how to remove this horrible mask.
Then I will be a very happy guy.
Sitting there alone in the kitchen, struggling to choke down my cornflakes, it seemed like a really good plan.
Too bad it didn’t work out the way I hoped.
When Mom and Dad returned home that evening, I hobbled downstairs to greet them. They both gasped when they saw my ugly, scabby face.
Mom dropped the bag she was carrying. Her mouth fell open to her knees.
Dad’s eyes bulged. He stared at me for a long time. Then he burst out laughing. “Steve — that is the best costume!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s disgusting,” Mom said. “Ohh. I can’t stand that open patch on top of the head. And that horrible hole in your tooth.”
Dad walked in a circle around me, admiring my new look.
I had put on the patched, black suit that I wore as my hobo costume. And I had found one of my grandpa’s old canes in the closet, which I leaned on now.
“It’s great!” Dad declared, squeezing my shoulder.
“I bought the mask at a party store,” I croaked. It was almost the truth.
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. “The old man’s voice is very good,” Mom said. “Have you been practicing?”
“Yes. All day,” I replied.
“Do you feel better?” Dad asked. “We didn’t want to disturb you this morning since you weren’t feeling good. Your mom and I had to leave so early …”
“I’m feeling much better,” I lied. Actually, my legs were trembling and my whole body was drenched in a cold sweat.
Feeling weak, I leaned harder on the cane.
“Yuck! What’s that in your hair?” Mom cried.
“Spiders,” I told her. I shuddered. I could feel them crawling over my head and in my ears.