4. The Masked

Chapter four

The Masked

THE SETTING SUN PAINTED THE sky with shades of orange and pink, casting a magical glow over the streets. Lanterns carved with intricate pumpkin faces illuminated the path ahead. It was that particular time between day and night when the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

The streets were alive with the sound of children's laughter as they darted around in their costumes—some scary, some whimsical—all adorned with care and creativity. Freddy, Jason, and The Joker were popular choices. These young trick-or-treaters brought their iconic characters to life. The joy and excitement of the occasion were palpable, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

As I walked through the streets, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. Halloween was always my favorite holiday when the world seemed to come alive with magic and mischief.

Amidst this joyous chaos, a young child, no more than five, abruptly paused at my feet and tilted his head back, gazing up at me with wide-eyed wonder, then glanced back to his mother, who looked nervously at me nearby.

"Mommy, do grown-ups trick-or-treat too?"

The mother appeared terrified, avoiding even a word as she anxiously shook her head and hurriedly pulled the boy away. I couldn't comprehend what had instilled such fear in her.

On Halloween night, one would assume that my red light-up mask and all-black clothing couldn't be the cause.

I concealed every inch of exposed skin with black attire, even covering my hands with gloves. Perhaps the unsettling silence between us made her uneasy, or maybe the piercing gaze of my black eyes seemingly conveyed a message for her to take her son and run.

I dismissed it and walked along the street, quietly following Carl and his friends, harassing younger middle school kids by taking their candy.

Deep down, I felt an intense urge to retaliate by snapping their necks right there, but I resisted the temptation because I wanted to enjoy toying with them before they faced the consequences of their actions.

As my boots shuffled against the sidewalk, bright yellow and orange leaves flew to the side.

Carl, Devin, Trey, Michael, and an unfamiliar guy chatted among themselves, occasionally mentioning Lyric's name, which infuriated me, but I suppressed the anger.

I couldn't suppress the smirk beneath my mask, knowing that tonight would be a night they'd never forget. At least not without some physical discomfort. Little did they suspect their misfortune would be shared and re-shared on social media, becoming a viral sensation. It was like those mission children's cartons with grainy pictures, except in this case, Carl's actions would be exposed, and everyone would see him for the terrible person he truly was. Only his stupid friends would give a shit that he was dead.

The sun finally set, and the stars dominated the sky as Carl's friends departed in their own directions. They were the most oblivious fuckers I had ever encountered. I'd been following them for hours, yet not even one of them seemed to notice me lingering behind them.

It was completely dark as Carl strolled down the street. I assumed he was heading toward his house, but little did he know he would never reach his destination.

I watched as Carl stumbled down the deserted street, his phone in his hand. He was too busy texting to notice my presence. As soon as he was between streetlights, I smiled and moved in.

I approached him quietly from behind, using the tail end of my gun to strike him on the head and render him unconscious. His body went limp and fell to the ground, causing me to suppress a laugh.

The abandoned warehouse was draped in shadows and echoes of terriers clinging to the walls like thick fur. An intense smell of mold greeted me as I stepped back through the cracked doorway, entering the decrepit structure.

A few flickering light bulbs barely illuminated the immense, dimly lit space. As I walked towards my torture chamber, I passed broken furniture and boxes that had been haphazardly piled and blocked off certain areas of the building.

Cobwebs hung from the corners, casting eerie shadows onto everything within their vicinity, and rats scurried in and out of various nooks and crannies, searching for food or shelter.

Just as I was entering the small space where I kept all my torture tools, Carl's eyes fluttered open, but the intense brightness forced him to close them again quickly. He lay on a cold metal table beneath the piercing gaze of a doctor's examination light.

Meanwhile, I went over to place my iPhone on a tripod, its lens focused directly on him, stripped of any clothes. He immediately recognized that he wasn't in his cozy little bed as he saw me behind the camera. In that instant, fear consumed him, prompting piercing screams reminiscent of those of a terrified child.

He repeatedly shouted for help, only to realize no one else was around.

While recording his torture, I used a voiceover machine, like the one in the Scream movies, to conceal my voice and protect my identity.

I entered the live video, growling, "Shut up." Stepping closer, I confronted him, asking, "Are you prepared to confess your sins?" Moving around him with an eerie grace, I instilled fear, gradually overwhelming his body with shock. It was akin to the approach of a soul reaper, for which I fully intended to take his soul.

"What are you talking about, man?" He asked, his voice filled with panic.

"Carl, please don't pretend to be ignorant in front of our audience," I said, gesturing towards the camera, where over a thousand people were watching.

He glanced at it, then returned his gaze to my masked face. "Please, man, I have no idea what you're talking about," he pleaded just as Lyric had pleaded that night, only coming across as more of a weak little bitch.

I reached for a small utensil resting on a metal table nearby. The small potato peeler shimmered in the light as I placed it before Carl's face. "Why don't you tell the fans what you did to the girl in the video?"

He shook his head frantically, declaring, "That wasn't me, man!" I couldn't help but laugh.

"Really?" I countered, my voice firm. "Admit it. Lying will only make your pain worse."

He swallowed nervously, but he refused to confess anything.

"Alright, let's have some fun, shall we?" I said, lowering my voice to a deep tone, amplifying the voiceover.

"What the heck, man!" he exclaimed, throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

With the peeler grazing along the hairs on his forearm, I asked him, "Do you enjoy exerting control over innocent girls, forcing your puny little dick upon them?"

Silence.

I forcefully pulled his head back by his hair, and with a growl, I inquired again, "Do you enjoy forcing yourself on girls?"

"No," he choked out.

"Wrong answer," I said, tilting my head. I applied pressure with the potato peeler. His screams reverberated off the metal walls, filling the room. His skin curled like zucchini as I peeled, blood dripping like spaghetti sauce from his exposed forearm muscle.

I asked again, "Will you finally confess to assaulting the girl and subjecting her to a life of torment?"

As he stayed mute, I began carving into his other forearm, not relenting until every bit of flesh on his upper body was fully peeled away. His agonized moans encircled me, and whenever he started to faint, I forcefully smacked his face to bring him back.

Grinning beneath my mask, I warned him, "If you don't comply, I have no choice but to use the electric shock to keep you awake."

With Rob Zombie's "Living Dead Girl" playing in the background, I casually continued removing the remaining flesh from his body and whistling along as if it were just another day at the office. Amidst his screams, a surge of invigorating power coursed through my soul, akin to a demon thirsting for someone's life to steal.

As Carl's body began to succumb to blood loss and shock, I quickly sprang into action. I grabbed the cables connected to the breaker box on the wall and intertwined them, maximizing the voltage.

Carefully, I attach the cables to his bare nipples, which I left untouched by the potato peeler just for this purpose.

Opening the cover on the breaker box, I pulled the lever up with a sharp click, and electricity shot through the wires like frenzied snakes. Carl's body jerked uncontrollably on the cold, metal table as the shock coursed through him.

I waited until his chest rose and fell steadily before flicking the switch off. I could see the sweat glistening on his forehead and hear the raggedness of his breathing. He struggled to open his eyes, groaning as he regained consciousness.

"Carl, you think you're ready to confess your sinful acts to the audience?" I inquired as I grabbed a pair of pliers and returned to the table.

The air was filled with nothing but silence.

"Carl, do you want to continue to stay silent?" I positioned the pliers in his line of sight. "Shall we address those troublesome fingers that have wandered where they shouldn't have?" I posed it as a question, but I wasn't planning to let him respond; I intended to act regardless.

As I angled them at the tip of his index finger, I questioned, "So, whose idea was it to gang rape her?" A snarl involuntarily formed in my throat, which I struggled to suppress.

Carl's voice was barely audible, a mere whisper escaping his lips. "I don't know," he stammered. Without delay, I firmly grasped the pliers around his finger, applying pressure and twisting until his skin tore away, revealing bare bones beneath.

"Oops, my bad." I chuckled, quickly cutting it off to ask, "Did you say that after you allowed ten men to violate her while she pleaded for you to stop?" I sneered, placing the pliers on the next finger and twisting before he could respond. "Two down, eight to go."

As we moved on to the next finger, Carl pleaded with me to stop. His screams of excruciating pain filled the air. "Okay, okay, okay," he repeated frantically.

I tilted my head as I responded, "Okay, what, Carl?" Once again, he fell silent, his drooping eyelids giving into cardiac arrest. In frustration, I delivered another agonizing slap across his cheek. "Carl, over a million people are watching. You're letting them down. They want answers," I declared firmly, squeezing his cheeks between my fingers. "I want you to say it," I growled, my voice laced with intensity.

Carl's bloodshot hazel eyes were a testament to all the crying he had done. His face, the only area of skin left untouched, was on the verge of being peeled away if he didn't confess his secrets soon.

He yelled precisely what I wanted to hear as I reached for the potato peeler.

"I did it!" he admitted, but his confession wasn't satisfactory. I needed more.

"What did you do?" I questioned him, holding the peeler up to his face.

"I- I raped her," he stammered.

My fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. "Who?" I demanded, my masked face inches from his.

"Lyric," he muttered, and as soon as those words escaped his lips, he collapsed onto the metal table, unconscious. But that wasn't how I wanted him to die.

With a heavy sigh, I trudged back to the metal breaker box and reached up to flip the switch back into place. The hum of electricity filled the room once more.

The surge of electricity coursed through the cables and into Carl's body, causing violent convulsions that shook him on the table. Suddenly, he gasped for air, his eyes flew open, and piercing screams erupted from his lips.

I turned it off again and approached the table.

Standing beside him, my gaze fell upon the potato peeler, and I instinctively picked it up. Disregarding his pleas and tears, I removed the remaining skin from his face without hesitation.

After completing the task, leaving behind a gruesome pile of blood and muscle, I reached for my following tool in preparation for the finale: a pair of garden shears.

I leaned over Carl, making eye contact with him while positioning myself with my back to the camera, and lifted my mask and placed it on top of my head, ensuring I would be the last face he saw before he rotted in hell.

He gasped, his eyes widening as he whispered, "You…"

I smirked, raising the shears for him to witness. "You should never put your dick where it doesn't belong," I stated firmly before covering my face with my mask again.

With one quick motion, I grasped his appendage with the shears and severed it cleanly. The screams escaping his mouth were so piercing that I regretted not wearing earplugs.

I lifted his organ using the pliers and touched his face. "Open wide," I commanded. His eyes flickered as if he were on the brink of surrendering to death, but a sharp slap across the face snapped him back to reality. "I told you to open your mouth, you fucking piece of shit."

He hesitated, so I forcefully opened his mouth and pushed his toddler dick into his mouth. Despite his struggles against the restraints, I skillfully utilized the pliers to insert it further. "Consider this a lesson, Carl," I cautioned, retrieving my butterfly knife from my hoodie and deftly spinning it between my fingers. I precisely drove it through his forehead, halting only when it met the unforgiving metal table supporting him.

Turning off the music, I turned my head gradually to meet the camera's gaze. As I did so, I noticed that more than four million people were watching this unfolding moment.

Walking towards the tripod, I bent down, positioning my masked face so that it was the sole focus of the camera. Behind the mask, though unseen, the viewers could sense the malice emanating from my dark, piercing eyes.

"Consider this a warning to all those involved in the rape of Lyric, whether you were active participants or tormented her in the aftermath of her trauma. I want you to know that I'm coming for YOU ."

The camera was abruptly cut off, leaving millions in suspense, wondering who would be next.