What is a mask? Just an object to hide the face? We each wear our masks already, presenting the person we want others to see, hiding our secrets behind lies and smiles. Why would we need another mask?
Freedom. I am my Beast behind this mask. I am free here to snarl and growl, with no danger my neighbors will suspect or my victims flee. Behind here my face won't belie my words. Behind here I am free to be a predator.
Stalking the crowds of masks, knowing they feel their own freedom, intoxicates me. Someone here in this street, someone dancing and walking and breathing will end tonight. And however briefly, another will share my Beast.
Among so many people I walk alone, touching them, smelling them. Soon enough I will choose, but for now the warmth of the herd sooths me. Music blares from passing floats and people cry out in excitement. Then I fall down.
"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," she says, helping me up off the sidewalk with a white-gloved hand.
It was a strong hand. She was tall and slender, wearing a fantastical red velvet outfit, including be-flowered hat and hood. With the lovely, simple white mask she was a complete mystery to behold.
"No, my fault I think," I said. Here was fate; welcome to your last hours.
"I'm sure I tripped you," she insisted. "Such a crowd, isn't it? Perhaps we could get out of the traffic for now? I could buy you a drink in apology."
"If you like, sure." Still holding my hand, she moves toward neon lights off of Canal. Her utter openness and trust unsettles me and I let her drag me along like a child. I have the inappropriate urge to laugh madly.
Instead of a bar, she turns into an alley lined with parked cars. With happy laughter she spins and hugs me to her. The rough play arouses me, but people passing on the street just a few feet away force me to resist my urges. So we twirl to her merriment until we careen into an SUV and tumble to the pavement. Tangled there, she rubs my erection.
I can resist no longer. I pull the switchblade from my pocket and press the button; the blade springs out with a muted click as her hand touches my mouth. Then there is pain, something like a blowtorch held to my spine. I try to scream but her hand holds it back; I thrust with the knife but she catches my wrist in a crushing grip.
Pain drowns me for a white-hot time before the numbness spreads and I become aware of her again. All my limbs are weak and painfully held; somehow she seems to have four hands on me. Fear and arousal throbs in my gut.
"Even you are soft and weak," she whispers in strangely malformed words. "Monkey hunting monkeys, so pathetic." She frees my mouth and laughs, not the pretty laughter of before, but hissing and ugly.
"Who are you?" I ask the first question that comes to mind while I consider escape. She responds with more laughter.
"You monkeys, with your curiosity and ego. Thought you came first?" She pulls me very close, so close I can see facets of compound eyes behind the false human eyes of the mask. "I own this Earth. It was my hunting ground before the lizards and soon you mammals will be ripe for harvest, too."
Through the numbness I feel something probe my crotch; I headbutt the creature, slam a knee low to her body. In that moment of her pain and distraction I twist free. Her outfit falls open, her mask twists askew and I cannot choke down the scream. Evolution, facing similar needs, crafted her head into a cariacture of the human face, but the rest of her is pure insect.
The egg-laying cloacae instantly retreat into her swollen abdomen as the foot-long black stinger extrudes. Before the plates can close and shield her again, I throw myself back on top of her, jam the knife into the exposed tip of her abdomen. I take another sting in the hip as I pry apart the exoskeletal plates, then plunge hand and knife inside her again and again.
Her death throes are inhuman, but very satisfactory. There are no sirens, no screams; it seems my kill has gone unnoticed by the thousands celebrating Mardi Gras. No time to feel relief; I rearrange her clothing and pick her up. Her venom weakens me, but I manage to stagger away from the parade route and back to my car without attracting undue attention.
Her body secure in my trunk, I rest behind the wheel, enjoying the feelings of a successful hunt. With any luck, the pool of her blood and guts won't attract more attention than the vomit it resembled. Fate has finally brought me what I desire most and I would hate the authorities to get involved. There would be scientists and soldiers, getting in the way of hunting. No, I would keep this secret even more closely than all my other human victims.
The End
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