Title: Mask
Author: Don Boles
ISBN: 978-1-62420-279-7
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 4
TAGLINE
"The sins of the father will be visited upon
you…"
BLURB
Mask is a deeply emotional story about the spiritually
destructive paths we take in life and the collateral damage those paths may
cause. Wil Paulsen is a popular professor, loving father, and tragic alcoholic.
His marriage is on the verge of collapse and only through facing the horrific
manifestation of past sins can Wil redeem himself.
EXCERPT
Thirty
minutes later, we found the place. It was on the outskirts of downtown, which
was nice because I could slant park and not have to worry about a meter. The
storefront looked bright and clean, but did not fully convey the cramped space
inside. Opening the door brought both a ring from the bell overhead and a greeting
from the young Rastafarian behind the counter.
"'Ey,
mon! Welcome to de Mystic Rhythms!"
I
tried to hide the skeptic look on my face as I nodded my own greeting. The
accent seemed a little too thick and forced to be authentic, but I felt I could
play along. Sam made a beeline to a back corner where there were some
interesting African tribal masks along with drums and a didgeridoo. It was the
only time I was ever thankful that the pre-school we enrolled him in had an
emphasis on cultural diversity. I thought maybe we could take him to an opera,
but Ellie didn't think I could sit still long enough.
"This
is pretty cool," he said as he came upon the artifacts. I made my way
behind him and had to admit, I was quite taken aback as well.
I
surveyed the store and was impressed at how many different cultures were
represented in such a small space. There was not only a ceremonial samurai head
dress on the wall, but also some theatrical Kabuki theater masks. There was
also some Latin American pottery under the glass countertop.
"You
guys have quite the selection here," I said to the man behind the counter,
who was leaning across the top of the glass.
"We
get tings, from all over de worl', mon!"
"Right,"
I said with a slight chuckle. I noticed a gaudy, silver ring on his finger.
"Where is that ring from?" I pointed subtly to his hand.
"Ah,
this," he laughed, briefly before speaking again, in a much more local
dialect, "This is a ring I got playing football in the great state of
Mississippi."
"I
see," I leaned in to get a closer look. I was much more interested in the
story of how he got to Orlando from Mississippi than I was with his reggae
reject shtick, "So you didn't get that playing in Jamaica?"
When
he smiled, he gave away the youth in his face. "Nah, man. This is my
weekend job to pay for my books."
"Where
do you go to school?"
"UCF,"
he said sheepishly.
"Very
good. What's your major?" I asked. I naturally fell into my role advising
students.
"Engineering."
"You
don't say!" A Mississippi football transplant going to school in Orlando,
while pretending to be Jamaican at his weekend job was by far the most
interesting person I had met so far.
"Do
you find that people go for the Jamaican thing?" I asked, more curious
than mocking.
He
leaned back self-assuredly, "Man, I will talk like the Queen of England if
it will get you to buy something, you know?"
The
immediate image and sound that conjured was too much for me to hold in a
chortle. "What's your name?" I asked. I liked this kid. Gave me hope
that there would continue to be interesting people in the world.
"Jeris."
He
reached out and we shook hands before I even noticed we were doing so.
"Well,
Jeris, if you ever find yourself up in Oregon, swing by Western Willamette
University. We have a good school of engineering that offers a pretty good
master's and PhD program."
"Will
do, Doc," he said with a smirk.
"Hey,
Sam?" I asked as I turned around.
Sam
was standing with his back to me and his hands still at his side. I took
several steps toward him, "You ready to go?"
His
gaze was transfixed on a peculiar mask that was hanging on the back wall. It
appeared to be made of leather with creases and cracks along the face. In place
of a nose was a massive, curved beak that pointed directly at me, as if
accusing some great calamity. The beak was thick enough to have a mouth drawn
across it. Two massive eyeholes stared out at us. There was a slight rosy tint
to the eyes and upon closer inspection I noticed that there were colored lenses
in the raised sockets. It had an overall appearance of a gas mask designed to
fit some giant, mutant bird. The mask looked at least a hundred years old and I
was taken aback at how unblemished the lenses were. They couldn't be part of
the original mask.
"What
kind of mask is this?" Sam asked in an almost trance-like state. I could
not blame him; it was one of the most bizarre looking things I had ever seen.
"Oh,
that," Jeris replied as he walked over to us, "Dat my boy is a
Venetian Carnivale Mask of The Dead," he winked at me as he spoke with his
exaggerated accent once more.
Sam
nodded his head dreamily. "Can we get it, Dad?"
"What?
Really?" I looked at the mask again and felt a slight shudder as if
something was looking back at me from behind the vacant, cherry colored eyes.
"No. That thing is creepy as hell," I said and placed a decisive, but
gentle hand on his shoulder.
"But
it's cool! It would be a great Halloween mask," Sam pleaded, looking me
square in the face. His mouth was stretched into a grin that was cute and
psychotic all at the same time. "I won't complain about doing my homework
all year," he said softly as he tugged on my wrist.
I
contemplated his request with a narrowed look. "How much for the mask,
Jeris?"
He
reached up and pulled the mask off the wall and looked in the back, "Ten
bucks."
"Where
did you get the mask?" I asked.
"Hell
if I know. It was just sitting in a box one day and the manager told me to find
a place for it on the wall."
I
exhaled heavily and dug my wallet out of my back pocket. "Don't wear that
thing outside of the house," I instructed Sam, who hopped back and forth
from one leg to the other in the rapturous joy that ten-year olds have in the
most bizarre of things, or when they have to pee.
Jeris
rung up the purchase at the counter and Sam held the mask gingerly in his
hands. He turned it over and ran his fingers along the back. So much for me
thinking that it would be kept in his bedroom closet as a memento from his trip
to Florida with his parents.
Sam
raised the mask and I looked in the back. I wanted to make sure there was
indeed nothing behind those eyes. Don't be a pussy, Paulsen. I did not see
anything alive behind the mask and I had a sudden rush of embarrassment that I
even quivered in the first place. The only thing I noticed, apart from the fact
that the beak nose was big enough to fit over the wearer's nose and mouth, were
the stains on the inside of the mask. They were black and splotchy. Not many,
but enough to look dirty. The largest was a stain coming out of the beak/mouth
cavity and spreading up the forehead of the mask. In the lower right corner was
some kind of faint marking, possibly another language, but I did not recognize
any letters. I would have to make sure Sam cleaned out the mask before he ever
put it on.
Up
close I could see the viscosity of the leather. There were thick straps that
ran along the top and side of the head of whoever had this apparatus on. A
small metal buckle existed on the back of the straps with several holes to
tighten the mask around the face. This was not a decorative mask. It seemed as
if it was designed to seal the face to keep something from getting in. I could
only imagine what would cause someone to strap this thing to their head; unless
of course this thing was forcefully strapped on.
Sam
put the mask in his backpack and we left. We were not greeted by the fading
light of the sun, but the dark, balmy arms of the night.
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