The Masked ArtistMature

Jim sat at his desk, clicking and typing away on his new project. He needed to have it done and down to the manufacturing company by Tuesday. With all the other work in his side job, he had nearly forgotten to do this. Such a bother it would be should he be fired.

"And~ There!" Jim said excitingly. That meant he was free for the day! He could have some fun. Maybe go visit a few friends, maybe make a new invention, or maybe even-

A voice called to him. 

"Yes, sister?" Jim replied obediently, standing from his desk. "You want out?" Her voice called in soothing tones, urging him closer to the closet in his room. Jim slowly pulled a key from a hidden flap on his arm, making any who searched him unable to see or feel the key, and unlocked the door. 

"Yes, I will let you make your art, sister," Jim said, looking upon the mask that sat in his closet. It had an elongated nose and feminine features portraying the old nobles in plays of the past. With it, was a wig made of Jim's sister's hair. It was long and black, and covered Jim's back as he slid it on. He started to feel odd, then.

What was this feeling, so warm and familiar. 'Ah,' Jim thought, knowing now what he felt, 'It is you, Kera, my sister. I love it when you hold me like mother used to...'

The Masked Artist stood, mask covering the face of her younger brother. She grabbed a small device on the ground beside some leather clothing and placed it just inside the mask.

"Time for some art..." she said, the device transmitting the voice of the long-dead Kera. Well, that wasn't quite true. Kera was no longer dead. She had found a way to live and continue her work... She was now the Masked Artist. A smile split the Masked Artist's face. Time to play.


It took hours. So many hours. Yet, the masterpiece of the day was complete! It was such a grand thing! The man whom she claimed for a victim was none other than Harold Jameson, a man who constantly tried to steal Jim's designs. He was now something else though. Something entirely beautiful, unlike he had been.

The blonde head had been cut from it's place on Harold's body, then skinned down to the skull. It was bloody work, but the Masked Artist never minded the hard details. No, she loved them. The more work you put into the art, the better it was! 

After skinning it down to a skull, she had taken a maniken's head and placed the skin around it. She then placed the head back into position and cleaned the skull in a nearby bathroom. Her gloves would keep all fingerprints off this place, but she would leave the detectives a guideline, should they want to admire the work going into this one. 

Next came the really hard part, but the Masked Artist managed it with a few poles she had brought. Stabbing each of them through the corpse, she eventually got him into position; Harold was standing with an outstretched hand. The palm faced the ceiling and a knife nailed his own skull there, facing him. 

"You always were a fan of Shakespear, Harold," she said devilishly, then pulled the last of her knives. With it, she carved 'To be, or not to be!' in the man's chest, completing the scene.She stepped back to admire her work.

"Beautiful! Just beautiful! Depicting one of the greatest artists in history! I haven't done Shakespeare for so long!" She giggled and walked to the window. Her art was forty stories up, in the office of Harold. He was such an important man. She was proud of him, being so beautiful in her scene. 

She started to take a step out of the building, to a forty foot drop, then stopped. There, in the sky, was a white envelope floating toward her. What could it mean? An assignment? Maybe some news? Who knew with them, anyway?

Removing his mask and device, Jim grabbed the envelope and read it. A game? Was Kera going to another of these? Well, in an art competition, she always placed well. He had to go with her though. He couldn't leave his big sister alone, now could he?

Jim pulled his cellphone and sent a call. 

"Hello?" Richard's voice said, sounding sleepy. It was only around six, but he did sleep a lot on the weekends.

"Yeah, it's Jim, I need you to go to my apartment and send my latest draft to the contractors."

"Sure thing, buddy. Where you going though?"

Jim smiled. "I have to go to a meeting out of town. Don't worry, it's just an art exhibit."

Richard's laugh came through the phone. "She would be happy man. Don't worry, I'll take care of your stuff."


A day later, the Masked Artist crawled through the rafters in the ceiling of the meeting room. Not one of the members gathered saw her, but that was usual. They had no need to fear for now, though. She only created art, unlike these butchers.

'Now,' the Masked Artist thought deviously, 'Let's wait for the others to pose. I need a good kill for my next scene.' It would be MacBeth.

The End

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