Tags
Author's Notes, Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, Love, Short Fiction, Writing
I made a deal with the adorably sweet guy next door before I discovered his fascination with masks. And, God, do I wish I meant those fancy theater faces or those old-fashioned masquerade pieces. Those I could handle since I’d dated my share of Broadway wannabes.
These ones were damn spooky in their own unholy place of honor on his wall.
“Do you like them?” Albert asked, his blue eyes sparkling with unrestrained excitement. He had a boyishness about him. A youthful exuberance. Something I’d given up on a decade or two ago.
“They’re interesting,” I said, making sure not to show my hesitation.
“Handmade, every single one.” He raised his wine glass toward the wall to point out a particularly lifelike one. “Created from the dried and treated skin off of some of the more notorious criminals in the state. That one is from a man who went on a four year murder spree across three states. You may have heard of him. Nathan Woton. Picked up women during the winter every year and would leave their bodies in shallow graves on the beach after raping and murdering them. If you put his mask on you can actually see how he would go back, walk along those stretches in the spring and summer to see if they’d been uncovered yet. I was actually able to help attribute seven more women to his victim count, women who had washed up elsewhere or hadn’t ever been found. His memories are intense.”
I swallowed a little too much of my wine in astonishment and did my best not to glance toward the door, focusing instead on Albert’s handsome profile. Continue reading
A few random facts about this novella:
Emmi Lawrence 