Scream Brandon James Mask Novels & Stories

It was a really hot day today, which kind of sucked as I had to cover my neck with scarf, my neck was getting insanely sweaty. "Take the scarf off, I know you're marked" Brandon tells me as he spots I was fanning my neck, maybe I also need to learn how to hide things from people better "I spotted it the other day, the collar of your top moved slightly, don't worry your secret is safe with me" he smiles holding his hand out, I just smile unwrapping my neck and handing him the scarf, to say it was a relief would be a huge understatement.

My heart flustered as James asked him why he was putting on a mask if he was coming from a mask part but he just laughed lightly and told James he had an accident that disfigured his face so he likes wearing it. James looked at him with sympathy and gave him his business card to always reach out to him if he needed someone to hang out with . I saw the mask man knowing smirk. Under the table, my leg brushed his hand by accident or was it fate? My stomach twisted in anticipation and dread. The text buzzed again, and I could see him typing and I checked my phone and he sent me a smirking sticker. Then the voice spoke again, close enough that only me could hear him. My blood ran cold.

"Just briefly. And I need to find a mask to hide the bruise on my face." In the dressing room, she selected a more elaborate mask than before, one that would better conceal her bruise while still leaving her mouth and jawline exposed. The emerald and gold creation fastened securely, covering from her hairline to the middle of her cheekbones. It wouldn't hide everything, but combined with the dim lighting, it might be enough to avoid immediate questions.

Later that night Brandon ran me my bath and left me to bath while he patrolled the grounds with some of the warriors, I tried to be ready for bed before he came back so he could at least have a good night's rest. I get out of the tub, dried my skin and put on my nightgown and wiped the fig from the mirror, I opened the cabinet door, took out the tooth paste and closed the door and screamed James was standing behind me, he was smiling. He touched my hair from behind and yanked it pulling my head back. He smelled my neck and licked at it, “You're the one that got away.” I closed my eyes, “This isn’t real, this isn’t real.” I opened them and he was gone. I dropped to the floor and hit my head.

Wanted to refuse to get out of this car. But the photos. The blackmail. The threat hanging over my head. This could not be happening. I pulled down the visor mirror and my breath caught. My makeup was smudged around my eyes. My lips were swollen and red. There were faint marks on my neck that no amount of concealer could hide now. “I look like a complete mess.” “You look beautiful,” Brandon said. “Stop lying to me.” “I am not lying.”

I wanted Bruna to be scared but instead she had a crooked smile homing her lips. I hissed, "Bruna, not a word further. Just fucking cover yourself." Bruna's smirk didn't even falter a bit. She chuckled darkly and said, "Why? It looks like the ugly black mask guy can't see Silas' mark. It's probably because of these wax drops. Let me clean." Bruna smiled as she rubbed the crook of her neck and removed the dried wax drops from it. Looking up at me, she smiled, "Now can you see the bite mark?"

His relaxed body language has now changed. Out of nowhere, Brandon grabs the guy by his throat, slamming his back against the wall, pinning him there. "How bout I rip your fucking head off leach." Brandon glare at the guy. When the flashing lights hit Brandon's face, I see a pair of pitch-black eyes. I shake my head a little, knowing I've had way too much to drink and I'm now seeing things. No one's eyes are completely black. I remember his eyes being that same hazel brown as Jason's eyes.

Next to the door stood an old vanity with a light bulb framed mirror. The top of the vanity was covered with containers of grease paint, cotton balls, sponges and brushes, and some plastic jars of pinkish goo labeled mortician’s wax. Tucked into the mirror frame were a handful of square Polaroid pictures. All of them were James from the shoulders up and each in some variation of theatrical makeup. In one, his full face was painted to look like a grinning skull. One had him completely covered in rotting bandages with moldering flesh poking through. In another he was covered in blood and looked like his throat had been slit from ear to ear. They were all pretty convincing.

The masked man walked up to James. The air around them grew very cold. James raised his foot to kick Oliver one last time. The masked man moved very fast. He grabbed James by the throat. James choked. His eyes went wide with fear. The masked man squeezed. His grip was brutal. "You are making a mess at my party," the masked man said. His voice was disguised. It was harsh and deep. It did not sound like the hockey captain. It sounded like a dangerous billionaire. "You do not teach lessons in my house."

"What?" James stands there, slightly out of breath, holding two masks. He smiles nervously. "Sorry for the wait, Mr. Blackwell. I had to go to three different shops to find ones that matched—these are from the designer collection and I made sure the emerald matched the lady's dress and I thought the black would complement your shirt—" "James." I cut him off, taking the masks from his hand. "Thank you. You can go." "Of course, sir. Enjoy your evening—"