"Horror is the removal of masks" ― Robert Bloch

A lone cry echoed through the corridors and jarred Claire from the pleasant escape of her dreams. As she fought the pull of slumber, confusion set in, followed by a mounting sense of dread. Her heartbeat hitched and Claire felt the security of her false world slip away bit by bit, like tiny grains of sand sifting through an hourglass. Before her eyes even opened, she wanted to run, to hide-to disappear forever. The bloodcurdling wail increased in intensity, bringing one terrifying word to mind.

Philomena.

"Mama!"

The word screams through my brain, plays on my tongue, but leaves my throat in a strangled gurgle. Troubled eyes scan the darkened corners of my room, probing the comforting shadows that have become home. A cold trickle of sweat creeps down the back of my neck and the memory of my nightmare remains as vivid and haunting as that cursed day. My hands, still trembling, drop back to the mattress, no longer reaching for the ghostly specter of my mother. She is gone, taking with her the small shred of humanity that lingered in this hell.

Gran never was a nice woman. Her eyes never lit up when she smiled, and her face was always pinched. My mom always said it was because she had a hard life. Grandpa Joe died in a mining accident when Mamma was just a young girl, leaving Gran to raise her and Uncle Rob alone. I don't think that's true. Deep down I think Gran is just mean.

She's always smelled funny, kind of like stale flowers and mothballs all rolled into one. It makes me want to hold my breath. Today, she smells even worse. It's a sickly smell, sweet and so thick the taste of it lingers on my tongue. It makes it hard to swallow.

Make them pay. Make them all pay.

The raspy voice carried through the attic, drowning out all other sound. Holly Denton shook her head and covered her ears. Her face contorted into a pained grimace as the whisper echoed around her. Huddled on the dull floorboards, knees drawn to her chin, she rocked among the cobwebs and cardboard boxes. Dust particles swirled in the confined space, dancing through a narrow moonlit beam. They made her nose itch and clung to her damp face.

Fresh tears cleared a path down her grime-covered cheeks when the first screams pierced the silence. Holly jumped at the sound, her shoulders hunching in a defensive cringe. Her teeth sank deep into her lower lip to keep from crying out. If she did, they would find her, and like always, they would blame her for things she didn't do.

Timmy froze, his eyes riveted to the dingy glass pane in his bedroom. Outside, the wind whistled across the barren stretch of desert, bending cacti beneath its brutal breath. It pelted the window with sand, coating it in a thin layer of dust that made tiny pinging sounds. But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the tall figure lurking on the horizon-the one he knew shouldn't be there, the one that hadn't been there a minute ago.

His heart hammered, the steady drumroll pulsing in his throat as he crept forward and pressed his nose against the window. He grimaced, face scrunching. The dust that whipped across the desert coated everything, including his tongue. He could taste the grit, even as the dry tickle built in the back of his throat. Coughing into his fist, he squinted and peered outside. The tall figure was still out there, still on the horizon where their yard melded with the jagged rock formations in the distance.

I cut the dead limb away from the roof and it crashed to the ground, sending up a plume of debris. That should stop the banging that was keeping the family awake, I thought, but it won't do a thing for the constant howling of the wind through the broken window frames. The old house was full of strange sounds. I could hear an old wooden gate complaining from the backyard, as the gusts tried to budge its rusty hinges. It sounded like distant voices.

"The house has been abandoned for decades, and there's a lot of cleanup to do," I explained to Sharon. "I think you should stay and help me."

'I know, honey," Sharon said, "but I really have to go see Mom. She's so sick, and I haven't been able to talk to her much since we moved here. And you know, she might not be around much longer."

"But it's only been four months since we moved," I whined to Sharon.

"I know, dear. Besides, Mom would love to see the kids," she said, "and I've been having the strangest feelings about - "

When I met her, I fell in love with her instantly. She had golden, flaxen hair that danced in the sun, skin that glowed with an ethereal light, and eyes that sparkled like blue sapphires. I was certain that when she walked, her feet never touched the ground, but rather, she floated on air, as if the ground beneath her feet would soil her. Her teeth were tiny white pearls of perfection that brandished a dazzling smile. Her smile exuded warmth and promised happiness, and mere mortal that I was, I had to succomb.

Amazingly, she loved me too. She took me into her secret embrace with great fervor and need and we reveled in our passion for one another. My heart filled with bliss..

And yet, mysteriously, she would impose limits on our love. I would only know her name. Her origins would remain closed to me, and at night, after we spoke tender words and consumated our desire, she would depart our bed.

"Won't you stay, Lehana?" I would ask.

But my question was always left answered. With a shake of her head and a caress of my cheek, she wandered out of our room and into the night.

Autumn pulled up to the cemetery, her motorcycle's wheels crunching on the gravel road. She turned it off and shoved the key into the pocket of her leather jacket. After depositing her helmet on the seat she adjusted the bag on her back and began the walk through the gravestone-littered field to her mother's plot. Once a week, every week, she came her to pay her respects to her long gone mother. By now she knew every name on every gravestone she passed. The one she knew best was Abigail Parker, 1994-2007. There were always fresh flowers there but she never saw the person who left them. But this time as she was about to pass Abigail's grave she saw there was someone there. Dressed in black skinny jeans and combat boot, a gray hoodie pulled up so she couldn't see her face, she stood perfectly still, watching the grave.
Not wanting to disturb her Autumn skirted around a different way, but she felt eyes trained on the back of her head. She glanced over her shoulder briefly but the figure was still staring at the grave. She shook her head and proceeded to mother's grave.