The Mask Man

The mask shop had been there for years. Longer than anyone could remember, older than anyone could imagine. The masks it stocked were varied in style, shape, colour and expression, but they all served the same purpose. Everyone went to the mask shop during their lifetimes. It was the face they presented to the world, the surface presentation of the layers far below. The mask shop had been there for so long, that people stopped wondering why it was that they needed a mask. It was “the done thing”, the adults would explain to children. Every constituency had a mask shop, that one place which stood rooted as naturally as a grand old oak tree.

The shop where I lived was carved from granite, and glinted silver in the morning sun. The black framed windows presented an array of masks inside, which smiled from their display cases towards the onlookers on the street. They seemed to welcome me inside, as I pushed the door open and entered the establishment.
The shop was lit with many candles, illuminating in their flickering flames the faces shelved on the walls, creating the illusion of movement in expression. At the far side of the room from the door was the counter, and behind that a small black door, where it could be assumed the workshop was. I walked somewhat nervously to the counter, and raised my hand to ring the small silver bell for assistance. Before my palm came down, the black door opened, revealing the shop’s owner, who everyone simply knew as the mask man.

The mask man was a tall, spidery guy who towered above me at what must have bordered on seven feet tall, and was well dressed in a black suit and red waistcoat. Apart from his height, was generally recognised by his signature charcoal black mask, which had been carved with deep, sunken cracks and tiny gold leaf patterns which swirled around the eyes and mouth, creating a golden expression of benign wisdom and expertise. No one knew anything about this person. There were rumours – there are always rumours – about his true identity. Some said that the shop owner would pass the same mask down the generations for each son to wear proudly when he inherited the shop. Others speculated that much like the shop, the man had just “always been there” and would continue to be. No one had any level of certainty behind their conjecture, and no one dared to ask or investigate. Like a lot of things in life, it just was. Apart from anything else, people had their own lives to live, and the narcissism and self-importance which our society cultivated over the years meant that, in short – few people bothered to question it. Few people actually cared.

As I gazed at him, I found myself trying to look beyond the mask and studied a pair of glistening emerald coloured eyes which twinkled beneath the porcelain surface, like jewels embedded in the hard rock of some mystical cave. His mystery was captivating, the enigma of what else lay beneath the mask had peaked my curiosity, though I tried to conceal this as I waited for him to present my new mask – a token of my eighteenth birthday. I observed him return from beneath the shop counter holding an ebony box tied with a scarlet bow, and then placing it with the utmost care upon the countertop.

“I spent a lot of time on this particular piece, you know. I take care in making every mask a perfect expression of it’s wearer. It made yours somewhat challenging to conceptualise, but at your age that isn’t entirely surprising. There’s so much going on with the youth of today. Identity is not so simple to pinpoint for one so young. But I think you’ll like my interpretation.”

His voice smoked out from the engraved smile of the charcoal mask, which rang in gentle velvet ribbons through the shady air of the shop. I nodded, saying nothing and awaiting in anticipation for the signal to see my new face. His permanent charming smile bowed a little and he motioned to the box.

“Well, let’s see what you make of it.”

I hesitated for a moment. Whatever lay within the box would be my new image for as long as he saw fit. It also meant saying goodbye to my current mask, which I had worn every day for the past seven years. It was difficult to decide whether or not I had felt excited or terrified when I had received his calling card through the letterbox two days ago. When you are given an appointment with the mask man, it’s a pretty big deal. You don’t request these meetings, there are no consultations or personal input. He decides when it’s time to sculpt your new identity. He decides what that identity is going to look like.

I realised I’d been frozen there for a noticeable amount of time, and jolted myself back to reality, looking to him to see if he was aware of my apprehension.

“Everyone gets a little nervous about their new mask. I assure you, there’s nothing to be concerned about. Besides, you must want something a little more… grown up, by now. After all, you’re not a child anymore.”

He reached the scarlet bow on the box, presenting a strand of ribbon for me to pull in order to release the bow. I felt a lump form in my throat.

“What if it doesn’t suit me?”

This took me by surprise as much as it did him. I winced beneath the clay of my mask, and instantly felt my stomach tie in a tight knot as I saw the mask man draw himself to full height. I didn’t need to see beneath the porcelain to know that his expression was that of stern indignation.

“What if it doesn’t suit you? My dear, the mask shop knows exactly how to create the perfect, most suitable masks for everyone. Everyone needs to change their masks from time to time, it’s just a part of life. If you don’t change your mask, then how can you expect to represent your current self?”

“How do you know what my current self is?” I cut in, my fear beginning to grow inside and panic ringing within my words. I felt heat begin to form on my skin as a nervous sweat began condensing on my brow.
He dropped his authoritative stance, and chuckled for a moment, quietly beneath his breath.

“I promise you, you’ll see. Just open the box.” The tune of his voice became more friendly, as if I were a child whose stupidity had provoked some mild amusement for his wise old age.

“I don’t think I want to. You can’t know who I am, I don’t know who I am! Please, I’m not ready to present the world with a new mask yet. I need more time.”

As the words choked out of my throat I found myself stepping backwards from the counter, slowly retreating to the door. To my astonishment, the mask man leapt swiftly from behind the desk, gliding to my side with movement of one in his youth, though I somehow doubted that this was possible. He placed a pale, bony hand on my shoulder, and gently led me back to the counter. I was too frozen in fear to think of running, and I had the feeling that even if I made it to the door – it would be locked.

“Now now, let’s not get upset. It’s understandable to be hesitant. But everyone – everyone, needs to wear a mask. And now, you have a new one. I can tell you, it’s beautiful. The other girls will be extremely jealous, and the boys? Well, they’ll be fighting over the new and improved you. I would never do you wrong. I take pride in my work.”

But that’s not me. I thought. I don’t want to be “that” girl. Even if I did, I want to be the person to reach that conclusion about myself. I want to know myself. I want to sculpt my own identity.

We were standing by the box again, which lay on the counter. My new face, lying there waiting for me to uncover it.

“You know, sometimes, you just need to trust the path you’ve been placed on in life. Sometimes, it’s better to trust the person who knows you better than you know yourself. Trust me, it’ll save you so much stress.”

I was unconvinced, and said nothing. There was a moment of silence before the mask man spoke again.

“Do you know why this shop was created in the first place?” the mask man asked. I shook my head.

“This shop, and all of the other mask shops, were made because every man, woman and child has a place in society. Before the mask shops, it wasn’t up to the mask man to create an individual’s expression of self. It was left to society.”

“People didn’t wear masks?” I said, stunned.

“That’s right. And they would label and slander and judge each other oh-so incorrectly. People are so self absorbed that they would rather stereotype, generalize, assume things of others. Gossip dictated what people understood about their fellow man, rather than direct conversation with that man. Invisible labels were slapped on to the backs of everyone, and more often than not, they were incorrect. But the real problem was that people just accepted whatever labels they were landed with. Some people, with such bright futures, adopted the wrong labels and diverted from the lives they could have led. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It wasn’t the design.”

“So… now we have mask shops?” I asked.

“Now we have mask shops. We mask men know each and every person. We know what you are all destined to become. Faces are so ambiguous. But you cannot argue with a mask. A mask is intentional, a mask is definitive. With your mask, you can be everything you should be. You can reach your own potential, and no one can stand in your way.”

“No one can stand in my way…” I echoed.

“That’s right. Now, we’ve spoken enough. It’s time to open the box, my dear.”

I looked back down at the box, the ribbon almost twitching with anticipation to be undone. I reached out my left hand, shakily, and grasped one end of the ribbon.

This was the right thing to do.

This is what everybody does.

No one can argue with a mask.

He takes pride in his work.

This is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing to do.

“I can’t!” I exclaimed, pulling my hand back down by my side. I turned to look up at the mask man, and paled beneath my mask in horror.

His mask had morphed into an expression of unmistakable rage. The emerald eyes bore down on me with steel hatred and anger.

“This is your mask. Open the box.” he growled, his anger seething audibly through his words.

I staggered back from him, and ran for the door, sensing him glide right behind me. The door was so close – so close. I prayed that it was unlocked, as my hands curled around the handle.

As I pushed the door open, I heard his voice.

“You don’t want your new mask? Well then you won’t have any mask!”

A shiver ran sharply down my spine as I felt the pull of ribbon which held my mask to my face. The mask man had undone the bow and pulled the clay surface from me. As I felt it fall away and into his grasp, I froze, hands gripping the door with whitened knuckles.

My mask was gone.

“Get back here and put on your new mask before the people outside notice, insolent child.” The mask man hissed.

I turned and looked at him, heart pounding and sickening goosebumps prickling across my body as adrenaline pumped around me like poison. Other than my mother, no person had ever seen my face before. Right now, I was far past the line of merely taboo. This was alien. This felt… wrong.

And yet…

I thought of the people the mask man had spoken of. The maskless society. People who had the freedom of ambiguity. People who would have to get to know one another to truly know the person inside. People who chose their own destiny. Maybe I was insane, maybe I was just plain stupid. But I knew that whatever was in that box wasn’t for me.

“No.” I replied.

Shaking, and with a deep breath against the pounding of my heart against my ribs, I turned back to the door. I shut my eyes, exhaled, and pushed. Whatever awaited me, it was my decision to face it. This is my life now. And mine alone.

When she left the shop, the room fell silent save for the soft tinkling of the shop bell. The mask man dropped his shoulders and began smoothing back his mask with his slender fingers. He now wore an expression of mild amusement upon his porcelain face. Sighing, he returned to behind the counter, carrying the little clay mask with loving care. He looked down at it for a moment, before chuckling to himself. He placed the mask down, and turned his attention to the ebony box. His fingers intertwined with the scarlet chiffon of the ribbon, and he pulled it swiftly, allowing the material to fall away. With meticulous care, he pulled the top of the box away.

There was no mask inside. There never had been.

He placed the old mask into the box, and closed it once more, tying the ribbon neatly.

—
Credits to: themaskisthelife