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For a moment, my breathing stops, and everything inside me rebels at what I know will appear.
My ears are ringing, so maybe that’s why I don’t understand the noise for a moment—scuffling, like sounds of a struggle. There is the sliding of feet then something hitting a wall. I hear a muffled yell, more feet, and then nothing but silence. I manage to turn my head to fully face the door, awaiting what will appear there.
Did . . . Did Roger fall?
I can only hope, but I know fate isn’t that kind, not to me.
The door slowly creaks open again, and the wood smacks against the wall of the attic so suddenly, I would flinch if I were able to. I peer through the darkness, my heart beating erratically like a trapped bird as I wait for his mocking face to appear framed in the doorway.
Only, what I see isn’t Roger.
No, a head slowly appears in the opening, making my eyes widen at the sight. The face is covered by a creepy mask that makes my heart beat even more frantically. It’s pure white but stained with blood and dirt as if it’s an antique. The eyes are wide, black holes with cuts above and below. The cheeks are round, like apples, and bright red, leading to a macabre smile with red lips and big teeth. It has the word “Ha!” written across the forehead above thin arched brows.
It’s horrifying, and as I watch, the masked face tilts to the side with that mocking grin. I should be screaming and trying to get away, but as I stare at the mask, I can’t help but smile. I take in every detail, and something about it settles the fear inside me, morphing it into amusement and the feeling of . . . safety. It isn’t something I’m used to experiencing.
The person behind the mask doesn’t speak, but slowly, almost gently, a large hand appears and reaches inside the dim light of the attic. Their fingers are spread and held out to me in invitation. The skin is tan, like they spent hours in the sun, and the nails are covered in chipped paint, the skin marred with scars. They are so imperfect, unlike Roger or the life we must present. Maybe that’s what calms me further as the pain seems to ebb away for a moment.
They wait with their hand silently held out to me, and something in me knows what it wants.
I must decide.
The hand represents a chance to escape from here, to escape the death that awaits me. It’s my decision. I can stay and die or I can take the hand. I don’t know if fate sent this person or if my pain called to them, but as I stare into the mask, I realize I don’t care.
I won’t die here.
Swallowing my blood, I manage to roll onto my side and then to my stomach. It takes every bit of strength I have in me. Gritting my teeth against the agony, I grip the wood and, with my eyes on the mask, I drag myself forward. My nails rip and break as I wedge them into the gaps between the floorboards. Each excruciating inch only makes me want to scream, the sound catching in my throat before it can escape, but I don’t stop, leaving a gory display of blood in my wake. The dragging sound of my body is loud in the barren space, and they wait as I struggle, the hand still and patient.
My leg gets caught on something, and it stops my progress. With a whine, I slowly turn my head back to see the hurt one caught on a box. I kick it, once, twice. A whine leaves my throat at the pain that blooms from the movement, and when my leg is free, I spy the bright red drag marks along the floor, stretching out from the dried darker puddle I was lying in.
Turning back, I breathe a sigh of relief when I find the masked stranger still there, waiting patiently. They aren’t helping, but they aren’t leaving either. After all, nothing is ever that easy. They are telling me without words that if I want to live, I have to fight for it, and I will.
I keep pulling myself forward, using the strength in my arms despite my shaking muscles. I won’t last much longer, but I won’t give up.
I drag my body toward the light until I can’t move any farther. When I’m nearly at their feet, the character kneels, bringing their hand closer to me as if they know I can’t stand. With the last of the strength I have in my dying body, I slap my bloody hand into their waiting palm, the joker card held between my skin and theirs. I hadn’t even realized it was still there, stuck to my palm with my blood.
Their smile only seems to grow, and I know this mysterious savior is proud of me.
I made my choice.
I chose to live.
What now?
Chapter
Six
For a moment, we just stare at each other, neither prepared to move. I don’t have the strength, and whoever this is lets the silence stretch out between us.
I’m jerked forward so suddenly, a shriek escapes my lips, and I fall through the attic opening, down the stairs and plummet below, landing right in waiting arms. My eyes widen as I peer into another masked face, this one scarier than the last. It’s a clown mask with a bright red nose and a red, grinning mouth, but its black eyes are lined with blue that cascades down its cheeks. On its forehead is a small spade symbol. Their strong arms hoist me higher until I’m held firmly within their grasp despite the murderous clown mask. I turn my head, laying it on their shoulder warily as the other jumps from the opening and turns to us with a nod, holding up the card so the red catches the light.
Some sort of silent communication seems to pass between them, and then the one holding me turns and heads down my hallway, making it seem small. It’s then I realize how truly big the one holding me is. He’s practically a giant, and he carries me downstairs effortlessly, straight into my living room.
There are two more massive figures here who are also wearing masks.
One has heart-shaped eyes and a kissing mouth with slashes across each cheek. The other is diamond shaped with red diamond cheeks. It has a creepy smile just like the others, and the person wearing it casually leans back against my fireplace.
The one with the hearts circles a chair in the middle of the room, and my eyes widen when I see Roger tied to it. His eyes are wide and terrified, and his mouth is stuffed with an apple with razors piercing the red skin of the fruit. His hands and legs are bound to one of the dining chairs with barbed wire, and it cuts through his clothes, drawing blood that drips to the rug below.
