Prologue — Such a Nice Boy #2
He didn't know whether he meant the masked man or himself.
Mason started walking again. Fast. He checked behind him every few seconds.
Nothing. The entrance to Saint Augustine's Park appeared on his right, marked by two stone pillars and an iron sign almost completely hidden by ivy.
During daylight, the park was barely a park at all.
A handful of walking trails, benches, a playground, and a narrow patch of woods behind the church.
At night, the entrance looked like a hole cut into the world.
Normally Mason would have gone through it.
It shaved several minutes off the walk to Kappa. Not tonight.
“Fuck that.”
He continued along the road. His phone vibrated again. Tyler.
TYLER: u good?
Mason typed.
MASON: some fucking weirdo following me
Three dots.
TYLER: lol
MASON: I’m serious
TYLER: who
Mason looked behind him. Nothing.
MASON: idk. mask
The response took longer.
TYLER: what
Mason tapped Tyler's name and called. The line rang once. Twice. Three times.
“Mason?”
Relief hit harder than it should have. “Where are you?” “Uh, my bed?” “You're back at the house?” “Yeah.” Mason continued walking.
“Come get me.” A pause. “What?” “Come fucking get me.” Tyler laughed.
“Are you serious?” “Yes.” “You're like ten minutes away.” “I know.” “So walk.” “Some psycho is following me.” “You're drunk.” “I am aware of that.” “What kind of mask?” Mason glanced behind him again.
Empty. “I don't know. White. Cracked. Creepy as fuck.” “It's October.” “Thank you, Tyler.” “I'm just saying.” “He was following me.” “You sure?” Mason opened his mouth.
Stopped. “Yeah.” “You sound very confident.” “Fuck you.” Tyler laughed.
The familiar sound loosened something in Mason's chest. He kept walking.
Maybe Tyler was right. It was October. Some asshole had probably left a Halloween party and realized scaring a drunk guy was entertaining.
That explanation made sense. Mason liked explanations that made sense.
“You remember that freshman tonight?” Tyler asked.
Mason smiled. “Which one?” “The kid you made get on the table.” A laugh escaped him.
“Oh my God.” “He looked like he was going to fucking cry.”
“He did cry.”
“Mason.”
“What?”
“You're an asshole.”
“He was fine.”
“You took his phone.”
“He gave it to me.”
“You took it.”
“Same difference.”
“You told him you'd upload the video if he left.”
Mason rolled his eyes.
“He shouldn't have been such a pussy.”
The words had barely left his mouth when another voice spoke behind him. Quiet. Close.
“That's what you said.”
Every muscle in Mason's body locked. Tyler continued speaking through the phone.
Mason didn't hear a word. Slowly, he turned.
The porcelain face was inches away. Mason screamed.
He stumbled backward so violently his ankle rolled beneath him.
His phone flew from his hand, struck the sidewalk, and skidded beneath a parked car.
Tyler's voice became a distant metallic shout.
The masked man stood exactly where Mason had been a second earlier.
Silent. Motionless. Close enough now that Mason could see every imperfection in the porcelain.
The cracks weren't painted. They were real.
Tiny fractures cut through the glossy white surface, some darkened around their edges as though soot had settled inside them.
One particularly deep crack ran from the left eye toward the cheek. Another crossed the chin.
The blackness behind the eyeholes remained absolute.
Mason's lungs forgot how to work. The mask tilted.
Mason ran. His body reacted before his mind caught up.
He sprinted down Bellweather Avenue, shoes striking pavement hard enough to send pain through his shins.
Cold air tore into his throat. The tequila that had made him pleasantly warm twenty minutes earlier turned his stomach violently with every stride.
“HELP!”
The word ripped out of him.
“Somebody fucking HELP ME!”
He expected porch lights. A dog. A curtain moving.
Anything. Nothing happened. Behind him, he heard footsteps.
Not hurried. That was somehow worse. Mason looked over his shoulder.
The masked man was walking. Just walking.
Mason faced forward and ran harder. His lungs burned.
The street blurred. He reached the next corner and turned so sharply his shoulder clipped a brick wall.
Pain exploded down his arm, but he didn't stop.
Another intersection. Another empty street.
He looked behind him. Nobody. Mason slowed just enough to breathe.
His chest heaved. Sweat chilled beneath his shirt.
He searched desperately for somewhere occupied.
Every house looked asleep. Then he saw the narrow pedestrian path between two buildings. He took it without thinking.
The instant he reached the other side, Mason realized what he'd done. Saint Augustine's Park.
“No.”
The church rose beyond the trees, its stone bell tower cutting a black shape against the sky.
A weak security light illuminated one side of the building.
Everything else was darkness. Mason turned around.
The path behind him was empty. He could go back.
He should go back. He took one step. The masked man appeared at the entrance. Mason stumbled backward.
“No.”
The figure entered the park. Slowly. Mason retreated.
“Listen.”
The man continued walking.
“If this is about that kid, it was a fucking joke.”
Leaves crushed beneath Mason's shoes.
“He knows that.”
The mask drew closer.
“He was drunk.”
Closer.
“Everybody was drunk.”
Mason's back struck the trunk of a tree. He flinched. No more room. The masked man stopped several feet away. Mason swallowed. His mouth had become so dry that his tongue stuck against his teeth.
“I deleted the video.”
Silence.
“I swear.”
The figure reached into his jacket. Mason's heart slammed once against his ribs. A gloved hand emerged. Holding Mason's phone. Mason stared.
“No.”
The cracked screen illuminated the porcelain from below.
The man tapped it. A video began playing.
Mason recognized the party immediately. Music.
Laughter. A circle of students. The freshman standing on the coffee table.
Mason heard his own voice behind the camera.
Come on. Louder. The freshman shook his head.
People laughed. Don't be fucking boring.
“I deleted that,” Mason whispered.