I fear the face behind the mask, that wild eyed joker with the roguish grin. So wickedly pernicious in its intentions I can hardly believe the papier-mâché hasn’t ruined and rotted.
He calls to me in the quiet moments, when I’m alone and on the cusp of sleep, wringing my mind with howling laughter. And just on the edge of sound, the merest reflection of a whisper, my name echoes in my head, as warm and welcome as a banshee’s wail on a starless night.
Too soon the mask will come off. It’s already started flaking.
The laughter’s getting louder.
YOU ARE READING
This Heart Got Teeth
Short StoryDrabbles. Flash fiction. Shorts. One shots. Call them what you will. Conatined here are stories that come and go quickly, passing in barely the span of a blink. Catch them if you can.
