annashay 
Rock Martin is a geologist from Indiana, Pennsylvania who explores the human spirit through his writing. A Penn State graduate, he depicts life’s challenges where the main struggle lies within. Rock enjoys fitness, camping, and hiking with his wife and young son, finding inspiration in nature and resilience.
Content advisory: brief description of violence to an animal.
If only I could be like him. Everything he did was cool, fun; everyone liked him. When I drifted and became invisible, he always saw me. He could lift me up like no one else could.
My memories froze, and my smile faded away, as the raggedy cardboard box came into focus. Its corners were now worn and frayed, the flaps tucked under one another, closing off its contents, Jacob scribbled on the side in permanent marker.
They said it was an accident. Ugly, burned beyond recognition. No casket, no body, only this box.
I peeled the flaps open. Old photos of us, his warm eyes glowing, sat among a collection of books and hats.
Mom rubbed her hand over my back. “That’s nice. Look at this stuff. Anytime you miss him, you can pull this stuff out.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I muttered.
I rummaged through the box. Below the photos was a stack of old board games we used to play together.
“It’s nice that he had all of this together.”
I nodded, digging further until my fingers touched a bundle of fabric near the bottom. It was thick and heavy, and as I slowly unraveled it, one piece at a time, a brown robe tumbled out. I raised the garment from the floor and let my wide-eyed gaze wander over the multitude of pendants, watching as each sparkling, uniquely shaped ornament caught the rays of sunlight from the window. Thin rope lined the collar and sleeves, and the bottom hem was frayed, loose strands hanging free, as if it was something loved, cherished.
Mom’s face wrinkled. “Well, this is… something.” She sighed. “This must have been left in here by mistake.”
A light smile broke across my face, though something else pulled my attention from the robe.
Peering past the twisted flap, a jagged, primal shape rose from the box’s shadowy depths. I reached in, wrapping my fingers carefully around its sharp edges, and lifted the object into the light, my mouth gaping.
Two large white antlers, attached to a large deer skull, curved outwards in wide arcs. I stared as I turned the object over in my hands. The bone was slightly discolored, and rows of flat teeth lined the bottom, where a black mask was attached. Pulling it closer for inspection, I studied the ropes that dangled from either side with additional pendants, some matching those on the robe.
“This is awesome!”
“Now, Jake, I don’t think he meant to give this to you.”
The mask slipped seamlessly over my head and snapped in place behind me. I threw the robe on and bolted to the mirror.
“Mom, I’m wearing this for Halloween.”
“Jake, I don’t know. It’s kind of… weird, isn’t it?”
“But it looks so cool.”
“Now, Jake. I know you loved Uncle Liam, but he was into some strange things. Maybe we just let this be for now.”
“Come on. Everyone will love it. It’ll be the best costume in town.”
Mom smiled and shook her head. “Well, OK. Just be careful.”
The garment hung from my shoulders, pendants glimmering in the light, and the mask fit like a glove, the antlers extending overhead and the snout protruding from my brow. The black face covering stretched past my chin, and even the eye holes lined up perfectly.
The image in the mirror stared back at me. I wasn’t me anymore; I was someone else. Something else. Finally, I was somebody.
A week later was Halloween.
I donned the costume and hit the streets in the evening twilight.
Gusts of crisp October wind carried dancing leaves through the streets and lifted the capes of countless Draculas, Batmans, and Supermans. But every passerby gazed at my outfit.
Before long I was the talk of the town, kids in the distance pointing to alert their friends. I beamed through the eyeholes of the mask, each acknowledgement lifting me further.
Soon the faint evening sun yielded to a blanket of moonlight, casting the crooked shadows of leafless trees throughout the town.
It was getting late. The crowds had grown sparse, and porch lights were shutting off, but I wanted to get in a few more stops. Quickening my steps, my breath escaped as clouds of mist as I marched toward the last row of houses, further from town.
I was leaving the second house on the row when I picked up the footsteps behind me.
Stopping, I listened, but there was nothing.
I waited, but still nothing. A chill slithered up my spine.
Just as I took a step, a deep voice broke the silence.
“You’re him.”
I snapped around. “What?”
A figure stood there, dressed in an old, ripped pair of blue jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and a rubber clown mask.
“You’re him.”
“Uhh… I’m who?” My voice cracked.
The clown mask flexed a little, as if he smiled underneath.
The figure moved toward me quickly, and a cool sensation of something moist covered my face, while a pair of arms wrapped tightly around me. I struggled for a moment, then everything faded away.
My eyes snapped open, and a putrid odor clawed at my senses. Rot, mildew, or something worse, and I felt my stomach churn and flip. A faint orange flicker wobbled through the holes in the mask, and I squinted as my head lolled against my chest, the weight of the mask dragging it down. Trying to move, stinging pain shot down my arms; the rope, I realized, bit into the raw skin of my wrists.
Thuds echoed above, followed by low, murmuring voices, all repeating the same indecipherable chant. The sounds thrummed past me, a rhythmic drumbeat rolling overhead. My head throbbed as shapes swam in and out of focus through the round eyeholes.
The flickering lights sharpened suddenly. Candles, dozens of them, I realize. From inside the mask, the light seemed to shiver, casting frantic shadows across the space. I whipped my head from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of my surroundings. Splintered wooden walls stared back, countless twisted nails poking in all directions. Straw littered the floor in uneven clumps, the smell of dung thick in my throat.
I tugged at the ropes, twisting my wrists, ignoring the pain with each movement. Tiny strands began to fray, grazing my raw skin.
Floorboards groaned.
Footsteps.
The chanting grew, spilling into the room, filling the space around me. Dark figures slipped through the doorway, their robes absorbing the light as their voices fanned out around me
My fingers scrabbled faster, blood slicking the rope, desperation clawing at my chest.
“Please, let me go!”
Tears soaked the inside of my mask, blurring what little vision I had.
Then, a new sound. Low, wet, almost human. A bleat.
Another robed figure entered, leading a sheep by a thin rope. His black mask, gleaming in the candlelight, featured a hooked nose and ridged brow that caught the flicker of the flame.
The others fell silent.
“Blessed be, my son,” the voice said from behind the mask, calm and deliberate. “Your appearance on the harvest sabbat is the sign. The gateway is open.”
Cold air rushed through my lungs. I tried to swallow, but my throat had turned to dust.
He lifted a pouch from his belt, sprinkling its contents across the sheep’s back. A bitter scent of iron and herbs drifted out. Then the knife, long and curved, caught the candlelight as he raised it high.
The chanting resumed, a dull roar that shook the floorboards.
My muscles trembled. Every pull against the rope burned. I didn’t want this. I just wanted to be seen; to be important, for once. I thought I could be like him if I wore his costume.
The knife fell. The sheep screamed. Blood sprayed across the straw in a fine red mist, warm droplets peppering my arm.
I jerked, blurting noises that weren’t words. My fingers blurred, raw from the rope. The blade rose and fell. Again and again until the sheep grew quiet, its limp body splayed across the floor.
When the man turned toward me, the knife gleamed like molten glass through the eyeholes of the mask.
“No,” I croaked. “Please.”
He stepped forward. “You’ve been chosen, my son.”
A candle toppled. Flame leapt to the straw, spreading fast. The light and heat around him grew.
The rope finally slipped, and my arms dropped, but my body was already moving, away from the growing heat, away from the danger.
“There’s nowhere to run.” The words. That tone. That voice.
My pulse surged. “Wait,” I gasped. “Who are you?”
He didn’t answer, just crept closer, the fire behind him clawing at the walls, and smoke gathering under the rafters. Through the mask’s eyeholes, a pair of familiar eyes glinted.
“You… you’re dead.”
“This isn’t the end, son. It’s just the beginning.”
He raised the knife.
“Fire!” I shouted.
His head jerked toward the flames just as I kicked out, my foot slamming into his leg. He stumbled, the knife flashing as he fell. I threw myself sideways, landing in what felt like dirt beside him. My hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. I slammed it against the floor repeatedly until the knife clattered free.
He surged upward, forcing me back, and I staggered to my feet, too far now from the weapon. Smoke choked the air, and I lunged, grabbing the mask and ripping it from his face.
It spun away, flashing in the light of the flame before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.
The hood fell back. My breath froze. The familiar lines of a face I loved twisted in the firelight.
“Uncle Liam…” The words barely escaped me.
But the eyes that met mine were hollow. Black pits where warmth used to live. He straightened slowly, like a puppet guided by unseen strings.
One of the others retrieved the knife and placed it in his hand again.
The fire crawled up the walls, devouring beams. Sweat rolled down my temples beneath the mask, my lungs raw from smoke. The others didn’t move, chanting louder as the barn burned around them.
Liam raised the knife again, but all I could do was stand there, my heart pounding hard and fast within me, the flames dancing in the reflection of his blade.
How long had he planned this? How long had he been waiting? Every camping trip, every secret shared — had all of it been a lie? Had I ever really been his nephew, or was I just a vessel?
The truth sliced deeper than the knife ever could. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. There was only instinct.
My fingers found the clasps at the back of the mask, and I tore it free. Cool air hit my face for the first time, sharp and full of smoke.
Liam’s eyes flicked to the mask, fixating on it.
“This is what you want?” I rasped.
He stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
I stared into him, searching for the man who once showed me how to tie a fishing line, who taught me to skip rocks, who called me “kiddo.” But there was nothing left. Only hunger.
The storm churning in my stomach unleashed a bolt of lightning, a scream erupting from me and cascading through the barn as I hurled the mask into the fire.
It arced through the smoke and landed among the burning straw.
The chanting shattered into shrieks. Figures stumbled and clawed toward the blaze, their composure gone. The mask bent and cracked in the flames, its paint bubbling, edges curling inward.
I bolted for the far corner, where the boards glowed orange, the air burning my throat. My arms covered my face as I charged.
The wall gave way with a splintering crack, and I tumbled into the cold night air, rolling across the grass. Blackened splinters scattered around me, catching in my clothes. My lungs gulped smoke and October chill.
I tore at the costume, ripping it off piece by piece until it lay in a steaming heap beside me. My shoes slipped on the soft dirt as I ran, the forest swallowing me whole, branches whipping at my arms. My legs screamed, my lungs burned, but I kept moving up the slope, away from the barn.
The hilltop opened into a clearing. I turned.
The barn was a tower of flame, yellow tongues stretching higher than the trees, smoke churning into the sky. Screams cut through the night: sharp, agonized, inhuman. The roof sagged, then collapsed inward, sparks bursting upward like fireflies. If they were looking for a gateway to hell, they found it.
A figure emerged from the inferno, engulfed from head to toe. He stumbled forward, every step a spasm of agony, until his legs gave out. He fell, convulsed once, then went still.
The rest of the screams faded, one by one, until all that remained was the crackle of burning wood.
I stood there until the wind shifted and carried the smell toward me: charred wood, singed wool, and something else. The same stench that had woken me. It clung to my skin like a reminder.
I turned away, my breath trembling in the cold. Each step down the hill felt heavy, the dirt soft beneath my feet. Somewhere behind me, the last beam cracked and fell, the sound echoing through the trees, final and hollow.
The forest thinned, and through the black trunks, a faint silver line appeared. A road. I stumbled onto it, legs trembling, shoes heavy with mud. Far down the stretch, porch lights glimmered through the mist. My chest clenched with relief so sharp it almost hurt.
By the time I reached my street, frost had formed on the lawns, the world glazed in silence, but I pushed forward. I saw it, my house, waiting there at the end, light spilling from the living room windows.
The front door flew open before I reached it, and my mother’s beautiful cry cut through the cold. She and my father ran to me, pulling me into their arms before I could say a word.
Later, I lay in bed, the world swaying in and out of focus, the echo of chanting still faint behind my thoughts.
Morning light crawled through the blinds. My mother called from downstairs, something about school. I moved on instinct, dressing slow, every motion sore.
When I opened the front door, the chill slapped my face. Dew shimmered on the porch.
And there, resting against the welcome mat, was something small and blackened. A twisted shard of horn. Curved, cracked, the end still faintly scorched. One of the antlers from the mask. I stared at it until the morning air filled my lungs with frost.
From deep in my mind, the words echoed again. You’re him. I shook it from my head, my eyes still fixated on the antler.
The wind shifted, carrying the faintest trace of smoke.
I closed the door, but the smell followed me inside.
