Hatbox Ghost Mask Novels & Stories

I tore at the edges, ripping fabric, exposing his jawline, cheek, and temple. Then the mask peeled off, and I froze. My breath vanished, the world narrowing to the face beneath me. “Martins…” I whispered, voice cracking. The name wasn’t a question. It was a wound splitting open. Martin was a ghost, a man whose existence should have been forgotten. But his face was here; older, scarred, and hardened by something merciless. His eyes were not the eyes I remembered. These were darker and emptier, burning with a hatred that time had sharpened, not dulled.

We were standing on the absolute edge of a knife, dressed in silk and leather, waiting for a monster to bite. A heavy, measured footstep sounded on the hardwood floor behind me, and the oxygen in the bedroom immediately thinned. Victor materialized in the reflection of the mirror, stepping out of the shadows of the hallway. He wore a flawlessly tailored, three-piece black suit, the jacket cut with a terrifying precision that emphasized the massive, immovable breadth of his shoulders. But it was his face that stripped the remaining breath directly from my lungs. His mask was a stark, unadorned sweep of molded matte-black leather that concealed the upper half of his features, leaving only the

Alexander Greyford was the worst thing that ever happened to me and I intend to be his nemesis also. The moment I reached his ward, I heard laughter coming from inside, both his and Kate's. Probably rejoicing because they thought they succeeded. But look who's back from the dead. I'm here to haunt and torment them like a ghost. Smiling mischievously to myself, I looked down at the black dress I was wearing. I also wore black shoe to match then I brought out the black ghost mask I bought on my way to the hospital, using it to cover my face before entering the ward.

She looked ridiculous! "What about you? What are you wearing? I saw a few horror masks inside." "Which one do you think fits me more?" I asked, holding a ghost face and a dali mask in both hands. "Hmm... wear the dali mask. You should also have brought a red suit," she giggled, pertaining to Money Heist's signature costume. I carefully wore the mask and made sure it's tight enough on my face so it wouldn't easily fell down while we're riding on extreme rides.

Then a single frame freezes: a figure in black wofgyhis good pulled up and a face covered by a smooth black man A moment later, a red warning banner slams across the screen “ SIGNAL JAMMED. Justin slams a fist on the desk and the keyboard jumps. He slumps, shoulders sagging like someone cut his strings. I touch his arm. “What was that about?” He drags in a shaky breath. “Two days before the crash, this ghost was on Hera’s tail. Same mask every time. I pulled footage from different cameras. When I try to run facial recognition, the mask fries the signal. Some kind of active jammer built in. It looks like a custom made military mask. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The man with a mask over his face. *

Alex, who bathed in blood, dragged a long angle iron and walked out of the passage. His gaze was ice cold and his body was enveloped in an aura of murderous intent, as if he were the Grim Reaper who climbed out of hell. “Let her go!” His expressionless eyes laid upon Ghost. At this moment, Beatrice lifted her head. Shocked yet confused, she was also pleasantly surprised that the masked guy didn’t die and he seemed to be asking this black man to let her go. Autumn yelled, “Hey jerk, who are you actually trying to protect here?! Is this fan your wife or your sister?”

No-one moved. “Looking for me?” Stripes’ voice snickered in my ear. I turned back around to see Stripes standing on the edge of the level barrier, staring at me. He had on a black hooded trench coat with green pixelated streaks running through the middle. His mouth was covered with a hard, black mask that had a gaping jaw and sharp, pointed teeth jutting from it. His grey jeans were faded and torn, crumpled above his black boots hooked around the barrier he balanced on. I could see faded gold belt buckles running up the length of them, which matched the ones down the right arm of his jacket.

He used to say my bob haircut hurt his eyes, that I walked around all day with a blank expression and a sickly yellow face, like something not quite human. The insecurity that haunted me for years had his name written all over it. Now, looking at him again, he had slicked-back hair, a bloated face, and a protruding beer belly that even his oversized suit couldn't hide. Years had passed, but he was just as unpleasant as ever. "Fine," I said. "Anyone who'd rather not hear old stories is welcome to leave. Just tell the front desk my name, and they'll set you up with a complimentary bottle of premium red wine on me. Consider it my apology."