The Mask Man In The Woods

6.

CHAPTER | SIX

A bell rung above me and a cat that was licking itself, looked up. Its black eyes stared at me for a few seconds, meowed and went back to what it was doing.

I cleared my throat and let the glass door close. This place hadn't changed at all.

There were rows of books ahead of me and from where I stood, there was the second floor also littered with books and a few home goods, like clocks and stationary.

I went through each row, blinking at the amount of books there was in each shelf. How was I supposed to find the right one?

I chewed on my lip and decided to head towards the spiral staircase. I went straight to the poem section, but paused in front the classics row.

My feet carried me down the aisle until I reached Shakespeare. I reached for Macbeth and flipped through the pages. On the left side, it had the original Shakespeare language and to the right, it had an accurate translation that made it much easier to understand. I frowned and then saw the original version without the translation.

I took that one and left the other. I went back on track to the poem section, feeling confident Tristian would like Shakespeare.

I ended up buying two poetry books, two classics, and the Shakespeare book. I bought a tote book that just plainly had a pair of antlers. As soon as I stepped out, the cool air brushed past me, making me shiver and lift my hood up.

I went to the grocery store and bought two boxes of Hershey Kisses. I made my way home when I spotted the two men unloading a white pickup truck.

I immediately crossed the street just as the two familiar men came out of a hardware store, chatting away. I looked away and did some window shopping.

Not that anything sparked my attention. Everything here was kind of plain and boring. Window shopping was much more exciting in the city. I sighed and turned the corner, almost bumping into an old man.

I grabbed his elbow before he fell and winced. "I'm so sorry, sir! Are you okay?"

He looked down at his paper bag and I picked it up for him. "Darn. There goes ma breakfast."

"I'm so sorry—hey, aren't you...?" I trailed off as he looked up, his dull blue eyes widening, "Mr. Steven! Oh, it's been so long!"

He broke into a smile, his head shaking. "Varia! My, have ya grown so fast!"

Mr. Steven was the only close family friend. I've known him since I could remember. He was the best friend of my step papa. They were so close; I thought they were brothers at one point. He often came to visit and was just as much as a rock fan as my step papa.

One day, his visits came to a stop after more than three months of my step papa's death.

"Why doesn't Mr. Steven visit anymore, mama? Was my soup really that bad?" I asked her when she was channel surfing, the blue light from the TV casting weird shadows behind her.

She hiccupped and took a deep swing from her beer. She sighed and run her fingers over her lips. "Of course it was. Didn't you see how much I puked after I ate your so-called 'soup'?"

I knew there was a different reason. Whenever my mama kept something to herself, she drunk until she passed out and would never remember what we were talking about.

It was her unique way of saying "I don't want to talk about it".

I chuckled and awkwardly shrugged. "I haven't grown that much since high school."