Horror Is The Removal Of Masks.

I Always Carry A Pistol When I Go [to The New York Public Library]. Never Did Trust Those Stone Lions.

Then She Did See It There - Just A Face, Peering Through The Curtains, Hanging In Midair Like A Mask. A Head-scarf Concealed The Hair And The Glassy Eyes Stared Inhumanly, But It Wasn’t A Mask, It Couldn’t Be. The Skin Had Been Powdered Dead-white And Two Hectic Spots Of Rouge Centered On The Cheekbones. It Wasn’t A Mask. It Was The Face Of A Crazy Old Woman. Mary Started To Scream, And Then The Curtains Parted Further And A Hand Appeared, Holding A Butcher’s Knife. It Was The Knife That, A Moment Later, Cut Off Her Scream. And Her Head.

So Much For Modern Science And Its Wonderful Discoveries That Just About Everything Can Kill You. Life Is Only A Bedtime Story Before A Long, Long Sleep.

Horror Is The Removal Of Masks.

Despite My Ghoulish Reputation, I Really Have The Heart Of A Small Boy. I Keep It In A Jar On My Desk.