Writer’s Quill Winning Story!

Thank you to those who submitted stories for the first prompt! Great job! The judges have deliberated and decided, and the winning story is….

*drum roll please*

“The Mask” by Lindsay Newman! Congrats, Lindsay!

 The Mask

by Lindsay Newman, 11th grade

Marianne shook her head rapidly, her black waves shaking around her face. “No, Michael, you know why I can’t,” she said to the teenage boy in the driver’s seat to her left.

Rolling his brown eyes, he scratched the back of his brown buzz cut, and then sighed in frustration. “Look, Mari,” he said, impatience apparent in his voice, “you can’t hold onto these kinds of things forever. Sentiment—”

“Sentiment isn’t a part of it,” Marianne argued. She stared down at the white facemask she held in her hands, then sighed. It was an ugly thing. With black stripes passing over the eyes as though they were scars, it would haunt any child’s mind. “I want to get rid of it, really, it’s just that…”

Michael cranked the steering wheel to the left, then turned down a dirt road, the sides covered in thick greenery. Marianne stared out at the tall pines, and smiled at the deer bounding through the forest. Slowly, her gaze was drawn back to the mask, and she frowned. “It’s not that ridiculous story your aunt told you, is it?” Michael asked in disbelief. Marianne watched as Michael’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. She knew he thought her fear was absurd, but she just couldn’t fight the looming feeling of dread that crept up on her every time she thought about disposing of the creepy thing.

“I know you’ve never believed in ghosts, Michael, but—”

“It was a story designed to make you keep a piece of junk, Marianne, nothing more! Your aunt just couldn’t bear to lose that thing, you know it,” he says. “I can’t imagine why…” He frowned down at my lap, then began to lean towards the mask, turning the wheel as he moved.

“Michael, pay attention to the road!” Marianne cried, smacking his shoulder to bring him back to his senses.

Michael returned his gaze to the road, then, jerking the wheel to the left, his black pick-up truck swerved, and he struggled to regain control. Marianne clutched the passenger side door, dropping the mask. It fell to the floorboard, and while Marianne struggled to keep her cool, she drove her heel into it, unknowingly creating a dent in the forehead of the mask.

Once the truck was straightened out, Marianne let out a long breath, which she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. “Michael!” she shouted, her eyes bright with anger.

“It’s that stupid mask, Marianne, you have to get rid of it!” he countered, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“The mask!” Marianne gasped, frantically searching the cab of the truck for the infernal thing.

Michael sighed again. “It’s on the floorboard, Mari,” he told her, obviously bothered by her insistence upon caring about the mask. Marianne’s gaze dropped to her feet, and she groaned.

“It’s dented!” she whined.

“Good riddance,” Michael muttered. “We’re throwing that thing out today, no buts.”

“Michael, I can’t—”

“Forget the story, Mari, it’s got to go!” Michael erupted. His eyes shown with a determination and power Marianne had never seen before. She felt the burn of tears welling up in her eyes, and she turned away from her boyfriend. Grasping the mask, she tried to hide the fact she was crying, but her attempt failed. As she sniffed behind the cover of her thick hair, she could here Michael’s efforts to comfort her, but nothing came. Silence encompassed the truck for the remaining minutes of the ride home.

***

                  The slam of a car door woke Marianne. She had fallen asleep against the passenger side door, the mask still clutched in her hands. As she opened her eyes, she was greeted by the horrifying stare of the dark, pit-like eyes that she so longed to dispose of. Yet…there was that nagging feeling in the back of her mind. A voice, weak and eerie, whispered, I…am…yours. Why did she let this detestable trinket control her?

Slowly, she raised her gaze, and followed Michael as he rounded the front of the truck. He stopped outside her door, and, meeting her gaze, smiled. Marianne chuckled. He always looked so goofy when he grinned like that. Michael opened the door, and Marianne climbed out, the mask still in hand. She bowed her head, constantly shifting her gaze from the needle covered ground, to Michael as he shut the truck door.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison.

Marianne laughed breathily, then sniffed, the emotions from earlier creeping back. She could feel her eyes welling up with tears, and she blinked them away as best she could. “I…I think we should get rid of it,” she told Michael, nodding firmly. “It’s not very mature of me to let a little ghost story frighten me any longer, is it?”

Michael smiled grimly. “If it’s only because I yelled at you, I don’t want you to do it,” he said.

“No, Michael, I…I think you’re right. It’s childish of me to hold onto it. Not to mention the relief it will give my mom to hear it’s out of the house, once and for all,” she replied. Michael’s smile widened, then he closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Marianne.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Now let’s get rid of this before your parents get home.” He took her by the hand, and pulled her towards the two-story house they had arrived at. When they passed through the front door, Marianne breathed in the scent of her home, as she did every time she walked in the house. Michael closed the large wood door behind them, and he stood beside her in the entryway for a moment.

“It stills smells like wood shavings and your dad’s sweat,” he said, giving Marianne a playful look.

“Just my dad’s sweat?” Marianne asked, smiling as she moved to the kitchen. When she reached the trash can, she took a deep breath, glanced one last time at the dreadful mask, and finally threw it away, just as her parents and friends—Michael especially—had been telling her to for as long as she could remember.

Relief swept over Marianne, and she sighed. “Want to watch a movie to celebrate?” she asked Michael, twirling around to face him.

He checked his watch, and nodded. “I’m not leaving you until you have your parents here,” he said.

“You know I can take care of myself,” Marianne replied, wrinkling her nose at him while sticking out her tongue. She walked past him, on her way to the living room, but Michael grabbed her hand, then pulled her into a tight hug. Marianne squealed, and struggled to get free, but to no avail.

“Do you call this taking care of yourself?” Michael said, pressing the side of his head against hers. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine, and goosebumps began to pop up all over her arms.

“I would so take you down, I just don’t want to hurt you,” Marianne grunted in reply. Michael laughed, then released her, watching as she left the room.

Marianne, a love-struck grin on her face, walked over to the entertainment center, and kneeled beside the case in which her family kept their movies. A list of movies flashed through her mind, but when she opened the case, she screamed.

“What’s wrong?” Michael shouted from the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, he was at Marianne’s side, but his mind was not at ease when he reached her. Sitting among the DVDs in the movie case, was the mask.

“How…?” Marianne whimpered, backing away from the case. Michael wrapped an arm around her protectively, and she held onto it with one hand. With her other, she grabbed his shirt, gripping it so tightly, she could feel her own fingernails biting into the palm of her hand through the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s…not possible,” Michael said. Setting his jaw, he grabbed the dented mask from the case, and rose to his feet, shaking free of Marianne’s grasp. He stormed to the front door, wrenching it open, then chucked the mask into the fading light of dusk. When he closed the door, he made sure to lock it.

“The story…it was true. I told you it was true; the mask has to stay!” Marianne said frantically from behind Michael. Michael turned to face her, and, grabbing her shoulders, stared at her with a hardened gaze.

“Mari…Marianne, is this a joke?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Marianne gazed into his eyes, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I wouldn’t…you can’t possibly think I would do that!” she said, pushing him away from herself. “I threw that thing in the trash, you saw me do it!”

“Marianne…I just…” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Michael, I cannot believe…” she began to reply, but suddenly, her eyes widened. Michael, upon seeing this, whirled around, and stumbled backwards into Marianne. “The mask…” she whispered.

There, hanging from one of the coat hooks, was the mask. Its mouth was wide, opened into a haunting smile. A chill crept across Michael’s skin, then he shook his head. Shivering with each stride towards the mask, he decided to burn this thing that haunted them.

“What are you doing?” Marianne asked, hurrying after Michael as he passed into the living room. She watched anxiously as he started a fire. When the flames leapt to life, he tossed the mask into the fire, only to watch it vanish into thin air. He jumped back in surprise, his gaze darting in every direction.

Suddenly, a loud series of bangs caught their attention. Michael jumped to his feet, then, followed by Marianne, walked back into the entryway of the house. Slowly, they approached a closet door from which the bangs seemed to come. It was as if something were trying to break free, but couldn’t.

“That door is locked,” Marianne whispered shakily.

Michael swallowed, his mouth becoming dry. “Bring me the key,” he told her, his eyes lingering over the doorknob that had begun to rattle and shake. A minute passed, and he felt a tap on his shoulder. Fear exploded within him, and he spun around, crying out in surprise. When he saw Marianne, her eyes wide with fear, holding out the key to him in her shaking hand, he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the key, and took it from her weak grasp. He took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. Ghosts do not exist, he told himself. He squeezed his eyes tightly, then opened them once more in hopes that the banging may cease.

No such luck. If anything, it increased in intensity. He slipped the key into the doorknob, licking his lips to moisten them. With a last, shaky breath, he turned the key in the lock, and opened the door.

To his horror, before him lied what they had hoped not to see: the mask. Marianne’s scream filled the air, and Michael backed away, terrified by the sight. It no longer smiled. The mask’s features had changed. It was angry. Almost instantly, a fire blazed to life. It engulfed the entryway, surrounded the two teenagers. Marianne broke down, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Michael held her close, squeezing his eyes closed to block out the pain he felt as the flames licked his body.

~ The End ~