Maskaphobia
The Phantom of the Opera. Jason Voorhees. Michael Myers. Ghostface. Zorro. The Lone Ranger. Batman. Whether for evil or good, these fictional characters hid their true identities behind a mask. From Halloween trick-or-treaters and hospital surgical teams to circus clowns and comic book superheroes, and from New Orleans Mardi Gras to the Carnival of Venice: masks are ubiquitous in our world. At one time or another all of us have donned one, be it a literal or figurative one.
Nicola Piersall never really thought much about masks or the faces that hid behind them. In fact, she was an unimaginative woman who thought of little beyond what outfit she would wear to work each day, what she would cook for dinner each evening, what movie she would stream on Netflix in the evening or what book she would read before falling asleep at night. An unmarried woman with no children, who had inherited a three-bedroom Cape Cod house from her paternal grandparents, she had few worries, either financial or personal. No doubt there were some people who would envy her seemingly carefree existence. She had job security and a steady income; and while being a bookkeeper for an insurance agency would not rank high on anyone's list of the most exciting or glamorous jobs, it was a relatively stress-free occupation, and it paid the bills.
In all fairness, Nicola's life was not stuck in a complete rut. There were times she actually deviated from her habitual behavior. Every May—once the tax season crunch was behind her—she and Adele Gillray, her former college roommate, took a two- or three-week cruise to the Caribbean. Their annual vacation was the one time during the year when Nicola indulged and pampered herself. The food, the shows, the spa, the shopping and the tropical ports of call: she lived for this reprieve from the monotony of spreadsheets and bank statements. The remaining forty-nine or fifty weeks of the year were either spent in anticipation of the next cruise or in reminiscence of previous ones.
It was the first week in February, and eastern Massachusetts had just received seven inches of fresh snow over the two that had remained on the ground from the previous snowfall. As a shivering Nicola shoveled a path from her driveway to her front steps, she thought about her upcoming vacation. She would fly from Boston to Miami where she would meet Adele, who lived in New Jersey and would travel to Florida from Newark's Liberty Airport. The two would then board their ship and set sail for St. Thomas and St. Croix.
Sunshine and sandy beaches, she thought while she tried to stay warm bundled up in a heavy winter parka, wool cap, gloves and scarf. In just three months, I'll be getting a hot stone message at the spa. Then I'll relax in the sun on a deckchair by the pool and drink mai tais.
All the travel arrangements were made, the shore excursions were booked and the entire trip was already paid for. Her passport was up-to-date, and she had plenty of summer clothes, sandals, swimwear and sunscreen. The only thing she had to do was get through the next three months.
Nothing to it, she told herself as she tossed handfuls of rock salt on her shoveled walkway. I have a good supply of books to read, and there are plenty of new releases on Netflix. Before you know it, April 15 will have come and gone, and I can start packing for the cruise.
Little did Nicola realize that on the same snowy February day, roughly three hundred miles away in Morris County, New Jersey, her former college roommate had just accepted a proposal of marriage. While Adele Gillray had been seeing the man for more than three years, she never mentioned the romance to her old friend. News of the engagement would be quite a surprise, and she wanted to announce it while the two were on their cruise—the last vacation they would spend together.
* * *
It was when the two friends sat down at the dining room table their first night aboard the Royal Caribbean cruise ship that Nicola noticed the engagement ring on Adele's left hand.
"What's that diamond on your finger? Did it belong to your mother?"
"No. It's mine. I didn't mention anything before because I wanted to surprise you. I met someone and we're going to get married."
Nicola stared, speechless, at her friend who was beaming with happiness.
"We're planning on a traditional June wedding: next June, that is, not this one. You'll be invited, of course. We haven't even started planning anything yet—except the honeymoon. Dave and I both think Hawaii is the most romantic place to begin our life together."
As the initial surprise of her friend's engagement wore off, the realization that she would lose her travel companion began to set in.
"I don't suppose we'll be taking our annual cruises once you're married," she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"No, from now on I'll be spending my vacations with my husband, but that doesn't mean you'll have to stay home. I'm sure you'll find someone else to go with you, someone from the insurance agency perhaps or one of your neighbors."
With great difficulty, Nicola forced a smile, picked up her wine glass and toasted her friend's happiness.
That first night at sea set the tone for the remainder of the cruise. Nicola pretended a gaiety she did not actually feel, drinking more than she normally would have and laughing louder and more often than usual. It was only after the ship returned to Miami where she said goodbye to Adele at the airport and boarded a plane back to Boston that she allowed her despondency to surface.
What have I got to look forward to now? she wondered, giving in to self-pity while staring out the window at the billowy clouds.
Although she had other friends, they were all married. None would be likely to leave her husband and family behind to travel with a single girlfriend, and Nicola was reluctant to vacation alone.
Neither the three-day Memorial Day weekend nor the warm temperatures that followed in June dispelled the melancholy she felt upon returning to Puritan Falls. As usual, her coworkers at the insurance agency wanted to see photographs of her cruise, but this time she experienced no joyful memories as she recounted the details of her trip to St. Thomas and St. Croix. Nicola was so down in the dumps that when the Fourth of July approached, her initial impulse was to stay at home and not attend the annual parade down Essex Street and the community-wide barbecue on the Common that followed.
"What do you mean you don't want to go?" her neighbor, Roseanne Dwyer, asked when the two women got into a conversation at Stop 'N Save one Saturday afternoon.
"I just don't know if I'm up to it this year," the bookkeeper explained.
"Nonsense! It will do you good to get out of the house."
Although Nicola and her neighbor had always been on friendly terms, they rarely spent much time together. It suddenly occurred to her that Roseanne, a widow whose late husband had left her financially well off, might be interested in going on a Caribbean vacation.
"Have you ever gone a cruise?" she asked.
The question took Roseanne by surprise.
"You mean on a cruise ship? No. I never have."
"They're a lot of fun. I go every year. Maybe you and I could take one together someday."
"I couldn't possibly find the time for a vacation," Roseanne replied. "In addition to being the local representative for the Welcome Wagon, I serve on a number of committees including the annual tricky tray and rummage sale at the firehouse. I also attend the women's book club at The Quill and Dagger every month and bingo at the church every week. On top of that, I volunteer at the hospital, the animal shelter and the library."
"You do have a busy schedule."
"If you don't mind my saying so, you really ought to become more involved with community activities. It's so rewarding!"
"Perhaps you're right," Nicola conceded. "I need something in my life besides my job."
"That's the spirit! And I expect to see you at the parade and barbecue on the Fourth."
Later that afternoon, as Nicola was putting her groceries away, she mulled over her neighbor's advice, giving it serious consideration.
Maybe Roseanne is right. Maybe I ought to get out more and become more involved in the community. My life as I knew it won't be the same now that Adele is to be married.
Although she was loath to admit it, somewhere in the back of her mind, Nicola held out the hope that perhaps she, too, would eventually find a husband. Perhaps the next time she boarded a cruise ship it would be on her honeymoon.
Oddly enough, it was while she was experiencing this unexpected surge of optimism that the nightmares began. Indeed, she had the first one the same night she spoke with Roseanne Dwyer at Shop 'N Save. After dinner—she treated herself to Chinese take-out—she dozed off on the living room sofa while binge-watching episodes of The Tudors. In her dream, however, she got up from the couch, turned off the television and walked up the stairs toward her bedroom. In the hall, blocking the entrance to her room, was a man in a dark, hooded sweatshirt wearing a plain, white mask that completely obscured his face. Although he made no threatening move toward her, she found his very presence menacing.
"Who are you?" she demanded to know, trembling and on the verge of tears. "What are you doing here in my house?"
There was no reply. Nicola wanted to run but was afraid to turn her back on the stranger who had invaded the sanctity of her home.
"What do you want?"
Outside, the neighbor's dog, a German shepherd named Brutus, began barking furiously at a stray cat. Normally, she would have been annoyed at the late-night racket. This time, however, she welcomed the clamor since it woke her from the nightmare.
Four days later Nicola had another bad dream. Once again she encountered the silent man in the dark hoodie and white mask, standing outside her bedroom door. This time, because there was no stray cat to cause Brutus to bark and awaken her, the nightmare continued. The two dream figures stood silent and motionless in the hall. She did not bother to ask questions since she knew there would be no answers. After what seemed like hours had passed, the frightened bookkeeper felt her fingers move. It was as though they had a mind and a will of their own. Surprised, she momentarily looked down at her right hand. When her eyes came back up, she saw that the masked man was gone.
Nicola slept soundly through the remainder of the night. If there were any further dreams—good or bad—she did not remember them upon waking up.
* * *
Despite a forecast of cloudy skies and occasional showers, the weather on the Fourth of July could not have been better. The sun shone brightly, temperatures were in the upper seventies and there was no humidity. The parade began promptly at ten and went off without a hitch. All the marching bands were in tune, and not a single twirler dropped a baton. When the parade came to an end, the spectators and participants made their way to the Common.
Following through on her resolution to become more involved in the community, Nicola helped Rebecca Coffin fill red, white and blue balloons with water.
"That ought to be enough ammo for the water balloon toss," Rebecca announced, drying her hands on a beach towel.
The two women then headed toward the cooking area where Shannon Devlin, Martha Prescott and Shawn McMurtry were putting hamburgers and hot dogs on the grills.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Nicola asked, noting the number of people waiting on line for food was growing.
"You can slice the onions for the hamburgers," Shannon replied. "And then make sure the tamper-proof caps are removed from the ketchup and mustard bottles."
As she was peeling off the plastic cap from inside a family-size bottle of Heinz ketchup, Nicola smiled at Roseanne Dwyer who was sitting at a picnic table next to Jacqueline Astor, the local real estate agent. The smile froze on her face when Shawn McMurtry's teenage daughter, Brittany, stepped up to the table and reached for a bottle of French's mustard. It was not Shawn's daughter but, rather, the young man standing beside her that gave Nicola cause for concern: Brittany's male companion was wearing a dark hoodie.
You're being silly, she told herself, trying to shrug off a feeling of unease. You had a dream; that's all. Get over it.
It was not a dream; it was three dreams. And they were not just dreams; they were nightmares. Still, she took her own advice and put the young man in the hoodie out of her mind. After all, she was not going to allow herself to get spooked by every teenager she saw wearing a hooded sweatshirt.
Hoodies are practically a uniform with youngsters these days.
Once the line went down, Nicola grabbed herself a hot dog and a plate of Shannon Devlin's homemade potato salad and went to sit with Roseanne and Jacqueline.
"Isn't this fun?" the gregarious Welcome Wagon lady asked.
Having just taken a bite from her hot dog, she nodded her head in response.
"Aren't you glad you took my advice and didn't stay home?"
"Yes, I am," she admitted after swallowing her food and wiping a dab of mustard from her upper lip with a paper napkin. "I've also decided to get out more. I was thinking I might be interested in joining the women's book club."
Once the topic switched to books—a favorite subject of Roseanne's—there was no keeping her neighbor quiet. For more than an hour she talked nonstop about the works of James Patterson, Stephen King, Dan Brown and Dennis Lehane. It was only the start of the three-legged race that brought the one-sided conversation to a close. Although Roseanne was not competing, she had made a bet with Jacqueline that Lionel Penn and Sarah Ryerson would win for the second year in a row.
By the time the sun went down that evening, adults and children alike were exhausted from the afternoon's entertainment: the annual softball game, the sack races, a tug of war, horseshoes and the always popular water balloon toss. Nearly all the food was gone; only half a dozen overcooked hot dogs and hamburgers remained. The trash cans and recycling bins were overflowing, and watermelon seeds littered the walkways.
As the clock on the town hall began tolling nine, the first of the fireworks was shot in the air. There was a thunderous boom and a cloud of white smoke but no shower of colorful sparks. The first one was basically an attention-getter; the eye-catching pyrotechnic display would follow. Before the grand finale could light up the summer sky, Nicola stood up and folded her lawn chair.
"You're not going already?" Roseanne asked.
"I'm beat, and I've got to get up early for work tomorrow."
"But the fireworks aren't over yet."
"I can watch them as I'm walking home."
"Okay, go and get some sleep. And don't forget about the book club: next Wednesday at seven at The Quill and Dagger."
"I'll be there."
After bidding farewell to the people around her, Nicola walked out of the Common and down Danvers Street. There were no streetlights, but the sky was clear and studded with stars. Furthermore, every few seconds another firework went off, briefly illuminating the area. As was their custom every year, just before setting off the grand finale, the firemen lit a number of ground fireworks including one of the American flag surrounded by Roman candles. In the distance, she could hear the high school band playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."
It's almost over, she thought.
Just yards from her property line, Nicola heard a rustling noise on her neighbor's front lawn.
"Is that you, Brutus?" she called, hoping to hear the German shepherd's bark in response to her voice. "What's the matter, boy? Are you afraid of the fireworks?"
There was a slight movement in the shadows.
Please, God, let it be an animal!
The grand finale began, creating a strobe-like effect as the fireworks went off, one after another in rapid succession. In their intermittent illumination, the shape in the shadows became clear. Nicola screamed with fright when she saw it was a man wearing a dark hoodie and a plain, white mask. Unlike in her dreams, fear did not cause her to remain motionless. On the contrary, she ran faster than she ever had, sprinting across the lawn to her front door. As she put her key in the lock, she turned briefly and was relieved to see that the masked man was no longer there.
By the time Nicola took a shower and was ready for bed, she managed to convince herself that the man in the mask had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Still, she checked every inch of her house for signs of an intruder, after which she made sure all the windows and doors were securely locked. As an added precaution, she slept with her bedroom light on and a kitchen knife beneath her pillow.
* * *
Over the next several days, Nicola managed to put the incident out of her mind. Still determined to broaden her horizons, she began looking into taking classes at the college in Essex Green—nothing heavy like science or math, just something interesting and light, maybe French cooking or cake decorating. A class one or two nights a week in addition to the women's book club would greatly improve her moribund social life.
Adele's engagement may wind up being the best thing that ever happened to me, she thought.
Then the nightmares escalated. Not only did their frequency increase to three or four times a week, but her reaction to them intensified as well. They became more realistic, to the point that Nicola was no longer sure whether she was awake or asleep.
On the night she attended her second meeting of the women's book club, she appeared tired and distracted. When Roseanne asked her a question about the newly released Alex Cross novel the group was reading, she did not even hear her.
"Earth to Nicola," the Welcome Wagon lady joked.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the bookkeeper apologized. "Did you say something?"
"I asked if you thought Patterson's latest offering was as good as Double Cross or Cross Fire."
"Yes, I suppose it is," she replied. "I mean they're all good, aren't they?"
"Did you even read the book?"
Roseanne's innocent question clearly made Nicola uncomfortable. Rebecca Coffin came to the poor woman's rescue.
"Why don't we take a break from our discussion and have some coffee?" the bookstore's owner suggested. "Martha brought us a Battenberg cake from Victoria's English Tea Shoppe."
"I've been trying to cut down on my calories," Jacqueline Astor, a perpetual dieter, announced, "but I don't imagine a small slice will hurt."
As Martha Prescott sliced the pink and yellow checkered cake covered in marzipan, Dr. Sarah Ryerson managed to corner Nicola.
"I don't mean to pry, but are you feeling all right?" the emergency room physician asked. "You don't look well at all—no offense."
"I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping much lately."
"Lack of sleep can be an underlying symptom of a serious medical condition."
"I've been having nightmares. That's all. There's nothing to worry about."
"If they keep up, you might want to go have a talk with Lionel."
"I don't need a psychiatrist."
"Well, if you change your mind. He'll be glad to help."
Somehow, despite not having read the book, Nicola managed to bluff her way through the meeting. Nevertheless, she promised herself that the following month she would come prepared.
Notwithstanding the short distance between her home and The Quill and Dagger bookshop, Nicola had driven her car to the meeting. Although she believed her Fourth of July encounter with the masked man was all in her head, she wanted to take no chances. If he was real, she did not want to risk another such episode. When she pulled into her driveway, the light above her front door was shining brightly, illuminating both the steps and the walkway.
After getting out of her Subaru, she ran to the front door, house key in hand. The living room table lamp was on as was the overhead light in the kitchen. She did not give a damn about the cost of the electricity. Her only concern was in keeping the shadows away. A quick search of the house—a task that had become a daily routine—revealed that no one had gotten in while she was gone.
All clear, she told herself, enjoying the feeling of relief that flooded over her. No one's in here but me.
However, when she returned to the front door to turn off the outside light, her peace of mind was abruptly shattered. There was no one in the house, but the man in the dark hoodie and the plain, white mask was standing on her front lawn, staring up at her house!
* * *
In spite of her assurances to Sarah Ryerson that she did not need a psychiatrist, Nicola found herself in Lionel Penn's office the following Friday afternoon. Judy Stanfield, Dr. Penn's administrative assistant, had her fill out a new patient form while she photocopied Nicola's health insurance card.
"I've never been to a psychiatrist before," the patient said, feeling ill at ease, despite the fact that the two women had known each other since grammar school.
"Just relax," Judy advised. "Lionel's easy to talk to. And, just between the two of us, he's easy on the eyes, as well."
Her old friend's non-professional comment about her boss put a smile on Nicola's face.
"Don't think I haven't already noticed that," she admitted.
As the grandfather clock in the corner of the reception room chimed four, the psychiatrist's door opened, and his three o'clock patient exited the office.
"You can go in now," Judy announced.
"Hello, Nicola," Lionel said, seeing no reason for formality. "I haven't seen you since the Fourth of July picnic. How have you been?"
For the next forty minutes, the patient unburdened herself, not giving the doctor a chance to speak. Finally, she concluded with a description of the events on the night of the women's book club meeting.
"When I saw him standing there on my front lawn, my heart started to pound, and my chest hurt so bad that I couldn't breathe. I honestly thought I was going to die. I even went to the emergency room. Thankfully, after a thorough examination, Sarah said there was nothing wrong with me—nothing physical, anyway."
"It sounds like you had a good, old-fashioned panic attack," Lionel declared. "If you continue to experience them, I can prescribe medication for you. But let's get back to this man in the mask. Do you have any idea who he is?"
"When I saw him the first time, I was certain he was a figment of my imagination. Now I'm not so sure."
"Why is that?"
"Because I can't tell anymore if I'm dreaming or awake."
"Sometimes lack of sleep can cause that."
"I read online about a psychological condition called maskaphobia," Nicola said. "The website claims it's quite common. Do you think I suffer from it?"
"It is one of the most common phobias, more so in children than adults. When we're young we often have a fear of the dark or faces hidden behind masks—particularly clowns. To children, these things represent the unknown. As we get older, however, most of us learn there is nothing lurking in the dark and there are no monsters hidden behind the masks. But as is the case with all phobias, there is a question of degree. It's not good to let your fears become so great that they affect your everyday actions."
"My maskaphobia is affecting my life," the patient confessed. "I no longer want to leave my house at night."
"You mustn't go jumping to conclusions," Lionel cautioned. "I'm not sure you even have maskaphobia. Your fear seems to be of one unknown man who happens to be wearing a mask. Apparently, it's always the same man, wearing the same outfit and the same mask. It seems to me that this man, not masks in general, is representative of what you're really afraid of. Tell me, were there any significant changes in your life about the time you first began having these nightmares?"
Nicola had to think for only a moment before the answer to Dr. Penn's question came to mind.
"My best friend got engaged."
Lionel kept silent, preferring to let the patient draw her own conclusions. He knew that even in this enlightened world unmarried women of a certain age were often sensitive about the long-held stigma of spinsterhood.
"It was possibly the worst day of my life. Don't get me wrong! I'm happy for her, and I wish her all the best. But ever since our college days we've vacationed together, even after she got a job and moved to New Jersey. I'm not a seasoned sailor like you, Lionel, but I so looked forward to those cruises Adele and I used to take together. Being a bookkeeper can be a pretty dull job. Those vacations were the only fun and excitement I ever experienced."
"And how do you feel about your future, knowing that change is inevitable?"
Tears came to Nicola's eyes, and Lionel handed her a box of tissues.
"I don't know. It's as though my life is one big blank space now."
"The unknown can be pretty frightening. Franklin D. Roosevelt famously said, 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.' As much as I revere the man as a president, he was no psychiatrist. I've discovered the list of human fears is incredibly long, and many of them come down to a fear of the unknown. We fear the dark because we don't know what might be hiding in it. We fear the process of aging because we don't know what will become of us when we're old. We even fear death because we don't know if our souls go on or we simply cease to exist."
"Not only does what you say make sense, but the timeframe is pretty damn convincing as well. Adele's engagement must have triggered the nightmares, and the nightmares led to my imagining that I actually saw the masked man. What concerns me most is how do I get him out of my head?"
"I suggest you come to terms with the changes in your life and get over your fear of the unknown. You've already taken the first step. By acknowledging the correlation between your friend's engagement and your nightmares, you've figuratively unmasked the man."
Nicola heard the grandfather's clock in the outer office chime five o'clock, signaling the end of her appointment.
"I can't thank you enough, Lionel. You've made me feel so much better."
"Go home and think about what we've discussed. If the nightmares don't ease up, we can consider your getting therapy."
* * *
For more than a week, Nicola slept peacefully with no nightmares to disturb her slumber. She believed her restful nights were the direct result of her consultation with Dr. Penn.
"I can't thank you enough for suggesting I talk to Lionel," she told Sarah Ryerson at the next monthly meeting of the women's book club.
"No need to thank me. I was only trying to help. I'm glad to hear you're sleeping better."
"You know, Sarah," she said while the two women were sampling the selection of cookies Roseanne had brought to the meeting, "I've been thinking of doing some volunteer work. Do you know if they could use any help at the hospital?"
"I'm sure they can. Why don't you call the main desk and ask for Mrs. Longmire. She coordinates the volunteers."
Having convinced herself that there were no bogeymen hiding in the shadows, Nicola declined Patience Scudder's offer of a ride and walked home from the meeting instead.
It was foolish of me to think my life was over just because I wouldn't be going on a cruise every year with Adele, she thought. From now on, I'm going to look on the bright side. I'll make new friends and enjoy new experiences. What is that old saying? "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." How true it is!
As she neared her neighbor's property line, she heard Brutus's chain rattle. Moments later the German shepherd began to bark.
"It's just me, boy," she called to the dog, "your neighbor."
Normally, once the dog recognized a person and knew he or she presented no threat to his owners, he stopped barking and began wagging his tail. This time, however, he seemed to become more agitated.
"What's the matter? Do you see a cat or something? I hope it's not a skunk. You don't want to tangle with one of them."
Brutus's barking soon became a plaintive howl.
"Are you okay, boy?"
Fearing that the dog might be hurt, she began to cross her neighbor's lawn. Before she could get close to the German shepherd's doghouse, a dark figure stepped out from behind a large, leafy rhododendron bush.
"You're not real," Nicola said, in a voice choked with fear. "You're nothing but a figment of my imagination."
The hooded man wearing the plain, white mask said nothing in response.
"You can't frighten me," she insisted, trying to convince herself of the truth of her words. "I'm no longer afraid of the unknown."
As though to prove her bravery, Nicola reached out her hand. Her trembling fingertips were only a few inches away from the man's mask.
"Lionel said I figuratively unmasked you. Now, it's time to physically do so."
She gripped the bottom of the plain, white mask and pulled, snapping the thin strand of elastic that held it in place. Her scream of terror shut out Brutus's frightened howl. It was not a man's face behind the mask. Nicola stared at the face framed by the hood of the dark sweatshirt. It was like staring at her reflection in a mirror.
The phantom raised its hand above its head. Clutched tightly in its fingers was a long, sharp knife. The blade came down, and she felt a momentary pain in her wrists. The sight of the blood on her hands awakened the truth she had tried so hard to bury. When she returned home from her cruise in May, knowing it was the last one she and Adele Gillray would ever take, she believed her life was over. She had been so despondent at the time that she took her own life. During her final moments of consciousness, she underwent a change of heart. Regrettably, that sudden surge of hope and optimism came too late. Her body was already beyond saving.
* * *
Over the next several days, Lionel Penn, Sarah Ryerson, Judy Stanfield, Roseanne Dwyer and the other members of the women's book club as well as fellow employees of the insurance agency briefly wondered what had become of Nicola Piersall. Within a week's time, however, all recent memories of her faded from their minds. In the ensuing years, whenever her name was mentioned, they recalled only that she had slit her wrists in May, died of exsanguination and was laid to rest in Pine Grove Cemetery.
If only Salem—mask or not—were a figment of my imagination!
