Death Mask
Authors: Michael Devaney
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Horror, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Supernatural, #Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
DEATH MASK
Michael Devaney
Copyright 2015 by Michael Devaney
Published by Michael Devaney at Amazon
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real/historical persons, living or dead, is purely imaginary and not intended for harm.
Death Mask. Copyright 2015 by Michael Devaney. All rights reserved. No part of this text, book or e-book may be used or reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in any manner or means whatsoever, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
KINDLE EDITION
ASIN:
B0184QU2W2
(EPUB format)
Cover design by Judy Bullard
Amazon Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
To my wife, Beverly, for her courage and love and my son, Owen, for his laughter and inspiration.
Definition:
Death Mask
- A cast or likeness usually made of wax, plaster or metal, taken from a deceased person’s face just after their passing.
Prologue
(Year 1899) - (New York, New York)
A dimly lit bedroom is crowded with onlookers. The men stand shoulder to shoulder on one side while the women huddle themselves together on the other. Some are in attendance out of genuine sorrow, but most are here to satisfy their morbid curiosities.
The deceased, a male, has died only minutes before: the culmination of a lifetime of mental illness and self-inflicted abuse.
In anticipation of his imminent death, the mask casters, in accordance with the sick man’s last wishes, are already on site and waiting. When the time finally came, the casters respectfully ushered their way into the room to ready the materials needed to cast the mold for his Death Mask.
The sniffling crowd watched stoically as the white plaster was poured onto the dead man’s face then oozed its way into every wrinkle and orifice. As the plaster was being smoothed, the crowd’s mournful silence turned to gasps of horror when the dead body twitched and exhaled a final breath.
It wasn’t a violent movement, just a reaction from the lungs releasing their imprisoned air, but it was enough. The dead air, now searching for an escape route from the body, followed the path of least resistance up the esophagus until it reached the liquid seal around the mouth. The air’s outward pressure against the plaster forced a perfectly formed bubble to rise from the cadaver’s lips. Then it popped.
Many in the crowd fainted dead away. The remainder fled the room in hysterics.
After the incident, mostly out of ignorant superstition, the mask was feared haunted and locked away in an unknown location. As time went on, rumors of its malevolence grew into local legend.
One year ago:
The front-page headlines of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s business section read:
Savvy business owner, Victor Gaines, purchases infamous Death Mask at private auction –
has big plans for the Atlanta Museum of Curiosities summer exhibit.
Since its discovery earlier this year the mysterious mask, with help from the media, has raised quite a stir. Although the identity of the imprinted person’s face remains unknown, a colorful history, growing interest from the Smithsonian Museum and numerous high profile art collectors are sending speculators imaginations soaring, along with estimation values. Neither Mr. Gaines nor a representative from the Atlanta Museum were available for comment.
Chapter 1
Andria Walker thought she was alone.
As head curator for the Atlanta Museum of Curiosities, she found herself working late to finish up last minute details for tomorrow morning’s highly anticipated, July fourth—Death Mask exhibit—when she heard whispering down the hall.
Odd? She thought. All the doors were locked and no one, except her, was allowed inside until morning.
Unnerved, she narrowed her eyes and stared down the museum’s long, shadowed hallway. Her first thought was to call the police, but that would take too long. Instead, she uncoupled her fingers from the pair of scissors she held in one hand and released the welcome banner from the other, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Kneeling, she gently laid the scissors on top of the banner then stood and proceeded toward the muffled sounds. She wanted to catch the culprit, or culprits, red-handed.
Speed walking down the hall, the rapid click-clack of her high-heeled shoes echoed off the expansive marble floor. When she reached the entrance of the first display room she stopped and nonchalantly poked her head inside fully expecting to expose the guilty party.
The room was empty.
Perplexed, Andria stood in place and listened. Seconds later she heard the mumbling sounds again. Although still low and garbled, they definitely sounded closer than before, leaving only one option: the newly decorated centerpiece room housing the Death Mask artifact.
Andria turned red. She was miffed at the thought of someone breaking the rules to sneak a peek after she’d worked so hard to ensure the room’s privacy.
She slipped off her high heels and hooked their straps over two upturned fingers then tiptoed to the edge of centerpiece room and peered inside. The room was well-lit, but empty, save for several small exhibits lining the outer walls and one large pedestal parked in the middle of the room displaying the prized Death Mask.
“Who’s there?” she questioned.
There was no reply.
She exercised caution as she entered the room and rounded its perimeter in a clockwise direction. When she found nothing amiss, she stood with her back to the door facing the center of the room. The mask was a mesmerizing sight. Intrigue drew her toward the pedestal. She stepped forward a few paces then stopped. Hearing strange noises then being alone with the mask was intimidating. She drew in a deep breath and brushed dangling brunette curls away from her face then looked down upon the mask with uneasy reverence.
Incased behind three inches of thick glass and resting comfortably against a twelve inch, black satin pillow, the museum’s strategically positioned spotlights highlighted the mask’s every facial feature giving it an eerie life-like appearance. But it was the mask’s tranquil expression that captured Andria’s interest most. Focusing her gaze into its blank, plaster-filled eyes, she was near daydreaming when the tip of the mask’s nose twitched. Although subtle, the twitching broke the temporary spell she was under.
No. She thought. That’s impossible. My eyes must be playing tricks.
Hoping to refute her ridiculous imagination, she fixed her gaze back upon the mask and concentrated all her attention on the white plaster nose. She stared and waited. Fifteen seconds passed then thirty with nothing happened. Then, just as she was ready to abandon the notion, the mask abruptly skewed its eyebrows to look up into her eyes and positioned its lips as though it were about to speak.
“Ahhh,” Andria screamed, jerking her head back.
Although her mouth stayed agape she was unable to breathe as a violent wave of uncontrollable shivers ran the length of her body. The mask seemed unfazed by her reaction and started mumbling something incomprehensible through the glass. Seconds later, adrenaline hit her bloodstream. She flung her heels haphazardly into the air and initiated a mad scramble to back away from the podium. Already in the full throes of an awkward back peddle, her arms flailed wildly behind her as though she were mimicking a swimmer doing the backstroke. Andria’s backward momentum carried her into the wall. It was more than a glancing blow but she didn’t remain there long. With her newfound energy, she slid her way along the wall toward the doorway. By now, her voice had returned to full capacity and she shrieked her way through the doorway and out into the hall. From there, she sprinted barefoot down the hallway out the museum’s emergency exit and into the cool darkness of the Summer’s night air.
Chapter 2
When Atlanta police officers arrived at the museum a little over an hour later, they found no immediate incriminating evidence to go on.
Andria, the museum’s curator, had been picked up by a patrol car some quarter of a mile away, sitting alone on a park bench rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped tightly across her shoulders and sobbing hysterically. The officers believed the distressed woman had obviously been given an awful scare but there was no proof to support her story that a haunted mask, or real person, had been inside the museum with her. A thorough investigation of the grounds, including tapes from surveillance cameras, had seconded the fact.
Satisfied the grounds were secure, the lead officer on site pulled the radio from his belt clip and keyed the transmit button. After a few seconds delay, he sent his correspondence to an officer in the squad car parked outside.
“There’s not much here. It looks like we’re going to need help with this one. Call over to headquarters and have the Captain arrange for investigative backup.”
“10-4,” the squad car officer replied.
***
Forty-five minutes later, a tall, dark haired gentleman wearing a navy colored trench coat draped astutely over a gray business suit entered the bustling chaos inside the museum’s lobby. He spotted a small crowd of policemen circled together as though they were working on a plan of action. Exuding an air of authority, he divided the crowd; like Moses parting the Red Sea and quickly covered the distance.
He positioned himself close then cleared his throat, politely interrupting them. “I need to speak to Lieutenant Anderson.”
A chorus of eyeballs simultaneously trained on him with dumb apathy. After a few seconds one of the men, a sergeant, pointed to a silver haired man standing at the back of the room speaking with several reporters from the media.
“Thank you,” he said, then turned and walked toward the group of reporters.
When the Lieutenant finished speaking, the tall stranger tapped him on the shoulder and introduced himself.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant Anderson. I’m Detective Finnegan Winters. I believe you requested my assistance.
Chapter 3
Two days later it was business as usual at the Museum of Curiosities.
An obliging, young blonde woman of twenty-six years sat studiously attending to her duties at the information desk when she was interrupted by the sound of man’s voice.
“Hello, Miss,” he said.
“Oh, my,” said the startled receptionist, jumping back a few inches and covering her heart. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t see you come in. How may I help you?”
“No, no. Please excuse
me
for the intrusion,” he said, bowing his head. “I’d like to speak with the proprietor of this establishment please; a Mr. Victor Gaines.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am. I’m here unannounced, but I’m willing to wait as long as necessary to see him.”
“Very well. And whom may I say is here to see him?” she asked, smiling.
“Mr. Andrew Game, from Boston, Massachusetts.”
She wrote his name on a legal pad then asked him to take a seat in the lobby.
Twenty minutes later the blonde receptionist approached as Andrew sat multi-tasking on his cell phone.
“Right this way, Mr. Game,” she said, waving him toward her. “Mr. Gaines will see you now.”
When Andrew stood, the receptionist spun around and headed down the hall insinuating for him to follow. Twenty paces later they were standing at the threshold of an impressive corner office.
