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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DJ_Storytime on 2024-10-27 01:55:54+00:00.
I never should have entered that antique store, and I definitely shouldn’t have bought that mask. Gannon’s is known for buying and selling rare and unique antiques, and I wanted to impress my friends with a unique Halloween costume this year, so I thought the perfect solution would be to get my hands on a genuine antique costume, one of those strange, ultra creepy ones from the 1800’s or earlier. Sure, it would cost me, but can you really put a price on standing out?
The bell over the door jingled dully as I opened the door and walked in. The proprietor, and gray, bent over man with a thick, bushy beard and thick, round rimmed spectacles who was ninety if he was a day casually acknowledged me and went back to the ancient book he was examining.
The store wasn’t big, but it had space, only every last bit of that space was filled with relics of bygone eras. Not the usual furniture, silverware, and paintings of your typical antique shop. No. Everything here had a story, and as such, everything here commanded a premium price.
There was an old cavalry saber that was known to have killed no less than seven men in the Civil War. It even still had flecks of blood from its victims spattered along the blade and hilt. There was an old rope noose that had supposedly been used to hang a witch during the Salem Witch Trials. There was an ancient tome with strange symbols on the cover that once belonged to a European court wizard. There was even a hat that once belonged to a certain H. H. Holmes. The stories attached to each item were historical, mystical, and often macabre. And I loved it.
I didn’t believe in magic or mysticism, angels and demons, or anything else beyond what science could explain. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t fascinated by stories involving them though. How much more interesting would the world be if the supernatural actually did exist? It was a tantalizing proposition, and it’s why I had to buy it as soon as I saw it.
It was a wolf mask. Not a mask made to look like a wolf, but a mask made out of the skin and fur of a wolf’s head and neck. It was a masterful work of preservation and artistry that looked as alive on display that day as the creature itself must have looked in life.
I picked it up carefully, turning it over and around in my hand so I could see it from every angle. The work was beyond fine. I couldn’t even see the seams and threads that held it together. Not a single hair seemed to be missing from the thick, gray fur. The teeth were real, and firmly fixed into the snout. I assumed they were so well-done because the original jaws had been used to form the snarling mouth. The eyes were glass, and far too lifelike for such an aged item. Perfect replicas of thin glass set in the eye sockets.
I had to have it.
I checked the story card next to the original display. The price was outrageous, but I didn’t care. Not only was the mask perfect, but the supposed history couldn’t have been more ideal for the season.
It read simply: Enchanted mask made from the preserved skin of a Loup Garou slain in Burgundy, France in 1137 AD. Do not wear at night.
“Oh hohohoho,” I grunted excitedly. “I have plans for you!”
I brought the mask and story card to the checkout. Old man Gannon checked the item, and me with more scrutiny than I was really comfortable with before speaking. “Heed the warning boy,” he said sternly. “It wouldn’t do for you to tempt fate.”
I chuckled, ignoring the fact that he called me “boy”. He was probably the oldest man in town, so everyone was “boy” or “girl” to him. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I assured him. “You got any more documentation that goes with this? If I’m going to fork over two-thousand dollars for a mask, I want as much provenance as I can get.”
Old man Gannon grunted derisively. “Of course I have documents that go with it. A fair few actually. Be sure that you read them and take proper precautions.”
“Of course,” I replied seriously, lying through my teeth. The supernatural is not real after all. It’s a myth, legend, just stories. What this mask was, to me, was the foundation of the absolute best Halloween costume I had ever concocted. Sure, a werewolf costume wouldn’t be especially unique, but with that mask, it would be the most frighteningly real one our town had ever seen.
The old man went into the back room and quickly returned with a binder filled with documents in protectors, and a small leatherbound journal. “These are the provenance,” he declared. “The journal is of particular interest as it belonged to a previous owner of the mask, a Mr. Archibald Wembly of London, wrote it in the years Fifteen-Twelve through Fifteen-Fourteen. He went mad after wearing the mask and killed two people before he was cut down in the street. Witnesses swore that he looked more animal than man before he died. The police report is document one-hundred-twenty-three.”
I set the mask on the counter and quickly leafed through the documents. There were originals, and English translations for each. “All this and you’re only charging two-thousand dollars?” I asked incredulously. “Such a unique relic with this much provenance together . . . it has to be worth more.”
Old man Gannon nodded his head. “Yes. Yes it is,” he confirmed. “I actually paid more for it myself, but . . .” he trailed off. “Something about that particular item unsettles me. I wish to be rid of it sooner rather than later, so I’m taking a loss for my own peace of mind.”
I didn’t question it. If this old man was willing to let his superstitions be my gain, I was perfectly fine with it. I paid for the mask and happily took it home.
Looking back, I should never have been so sure of myself. Nor so proud. Nor so certain about how the world works. The events that followed changed my perspective of the nature of reality itself, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to how I was.
In my defense, and also to remove any possibility that I can claim ignorance if I get desperate enough, I need to confess that I did read the provenance documents right away. I didn’t read them to get any warnings to heed, or as some kind of user manual. I read them to learn the history of my beautiful, terrifyingly creepy wolf mask. Having the story at the tip of my tongue top tell at will would truly be the icing on what I knew would be a most impressive, and frightening cake, or, rather, costume.
The earliest documents were all about the supposed Loup Garou that was terrorizing the Burgundian countryside, and the hunt to put an end to the gruesome string of murders it was blamed for. Document twenty was a notice celebrating that the foul beast had finally been killed and skinned by a visiting huntsman who only asked to be allowed to keep the skin and take it back to him home as his reward. The local ruler, only too happy to get off so cheaply, permitted it.
The huntsman wrote that he brought the hide to a supposed witch named Lucia, who lived alone on a mountain named Muzsla in modern day Slovakia. He paid her handsomely with instructions to use the hide to create an item of power. One that would make him strong.
Apparently, she obliged, making the wolf mask, and he was happy, but it came with a strict set of rules. 1. Never wear the mask at night. 2. Never wear the mask on the day or night of the full moon. 3. Never wear the mask during the autumnal equinox. 4. Always invoke the name of Christ before donning the mask.
The man must have been wildly superstitious, because he followed the rules religiously. The following documents are filled with fanciful tales of the huntsman performing mighty deeds that led to him earning a minor lordship before retiring to administer his land holdings and eventually dying of old age.
What followed after was one document after another that spoke of the mask passing to a new owner who either did not read, or chose not to follow the rules, and how each one ultimately went mad, committing a varying number of murders, and being either killed during the apprehension, or executed for their crimes. It gained a reputation as a cursed item that turned men into mindless beasts and drove them to kill and even cannibalize their victims.
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed as I finished reading the last page in the binder. “This is even better than I thought! I wonder what that Wembly guy wrote in his diary!”
It was getting late, so I decided to put off reading the diary for another day. I picked up my mask and looked it over, admiring it for both its craftsmanship and its history. “You just might be the coolest thing I’ll ever own,” I said to it as I caressed its cheek.
I looked into the glass eyes, and maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe it was the lateness of the hour playing tricks with my mind, but I could have sworn those eyes, those glass eyes, looked back at me.
****
I awoke the next morning to my girlfriend letting herself into my apartment. Her key clicked in the lock, and the door squeaked noisily as she opened it.
“Wake up sleepyhead!” she called.
I sat up and groaned in response as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I checked the clock on my nightstand, saw the time, and got annoyed. “It’s seven a.m. on a Saturday!”
“We have plan’s remember?” she called out. “We’re supposed to . . . what is this?” she asked. Her tone changed from businesslike to pure excitement.
I stepped out of my bedroom clad in nothing but my night pants. She was excitedly holding up the wolf mask and admiri...
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