.png "Amanda Restover"){kind=small}
The Mask That Wouldn’t Come Off
 |
| A True Halloween Horror Story About a Cursed Costume |
The Night Everything Went Wrong
I always thought cursed stuff was fake. You know, just stories people tell to make Halloween scarier haunted houses, old dolls, weird coincidences that don’t mean anything. That belief lasted right up until the night I put on the mask. The mask that wouldn’t come off. It was Halloween night, in Lexington. My friend was throwing one of those cheap costume parties beer, plastic spiders, fake cobwebs, all of it. I didn’t plan to dress up. I just wanted to hang out, maybe get drunk and forget about work. But on the table, next to a half-empty punch bowl, there was this porcelain mask. White, with cracks down the sides and faded red paint around the lips. It looked old, like something you’d find in an attic that smells like dust and rot. The eyes were dark and deep, almost wet-looking. Someone said it came from a local estate sale that the woman who owned it died wearing it. Everyone laughed, including me. I wish I hadn’t.The Mask Felt Almost Alive
I don’t even know why I put it on honestly, I just wanted to make people laugh. But the second it touched my face, I knew something was wrong. It was cold, not normal cold, but like the kind that seeps under your skin and doesn’t leave. It almost… moved, gripping my face too tightly. Everyone cheered, snapping photos, shouting that I looked creepy as hell. Then I tried to take it off. At first, I thought I’d just pulled the strap wrong. But when I reached behind my head, there was no strap. I grabbed the sides, tugged hard and it didn’t move. One of my friends tried helping, laughing nervously, until I screamed. Because when they pulled, it wasn’t just the mask they were pulling my skin. That’s when the party stopped feeling fun.Panic and Denial
We ran to the bathroom. My reflection looked like something out of a nightmare. The edges of the mask had blended into my skin. You couldn’t even see where one ended and the other began. People were shouting, trying everything soap, water, even a butter knife. I could feel the knife scraping my cheek, but not against the mask. It was like it was part of me now. Every pull made it dig deeper, and blood started to drip down my chin. The more we panicked, the tighter it got. By midnight, I gave up. My face throbbed like the mask was breathing.The Legend Behind the Mask
They took me to the hospital. The doctors said it was some kind of skin reaction, maybe a psychotic break. But no one could explain why the mask wouldn’t come off or why scans showed no separation between it and my skin. A nurse whispered something about a story she’d heard a “Haunted Lexington Mask.” Supposedly, it dated back to the 1920s. Some old costume maker had lost her children in a fire and made the mask afterward… from ashes and glue mixed with something “not meant to be touched.” Every few decades, it would show up again at a garage sale, an estate auction, a party and someone else would disappear. I didn’t believe it. But the more I thought about it, the more it made… a kind of awful sense.The Whisper Beneath the Porcelain
By the third night, I wasn’t sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard breathing not mine, but slower, heavier. Like someone behind me, whispering through cloth. I’d feel it move under my skin, fibers tightening, twitching like muscle. Once, late at night, I caught my reflection twitching when I hadn’t moved. The corners of the mouth lifted in a grin I didn’t make. I heard my own voice whisper from the mirror, only it wasn’t my tone anymore. It said, “You put me on. You stay with me.” The sound was small, almost gentle, like a lullaby. I remember screaming and someone running in. They sedated me right after that. When I woke up, my entire face was bandaged.Aftermath
They told me the mask was gone that it broke during the removal surgery. But I didn’t believe them. I could still feel it. Even through the bandages, I could trace the cracks with my fingertips. It was like my skin remembered. I tried to move on. I even convinced myself somehow they were right that trauma does weird things to your mind. Then last night, I saw something that made me sure I’m not crazy.I was scrolling online, half-asleep, and there it was: a local shop advertising a “vintage porcelain Halloween mask from Kentucky.” Cracked on the right cheek, faint red lips, same faint smile. The photo sent a cold rush through me so strong I nearly dropped my phone. Ever since then, my face has been itching again. Right where the mask used to be. I could swear, when I look in the mirror, I see the outline of it pressing beneath my skin just faintly, like something waiting.
.png "Amanda Restover")