The Mask's Black Secret

What the hell was that?” Swotsy scanned the evening gloom.

“Cats. Just a bunch of cats. This whole town is filled with godamned cats.”

“Yeah, well, looks more like rats to me. If those little fur balls are cats, they’re the smallest ones I’ve ever seen. What are they, pygmies?”

Violet looked at her and then began to laugh. She bent over double, coughing as she sucked in the cold air. Despite the pain she couldn't stop and howled even louder.

“And what, may I ask, is so funny?” Swotsy was in no laughing mood. The situation was coming apart at the seams and it looked like Violet might be doing the same.

“Not pygmies.” Violet tried to stand upright, but didn’t manage. Her entire frame shook with manic laughter. “Those are, they’re . . . dwarf cats,” she finally choked out and then burst into tears.

Joe sat by himself, stretched out on a town square bench, hidden behind a cluster of snow-clad maple trees. It was cold, biting cold, but somehow it didn’t register with him in the least. His mind was far from snow and cold. The tiny piece of paper he held in his frozen fingers fluttered carelessly in the wind, a miniature white flag.

He had a nasty burning sensation in his stomach, as if he’d eaten lava for lunch. It briefly crossed his mind that he might get sick; that he might in fact vomit. He took a deep breath. The air was glacial, yet his mind was on fire. He felt like he’d been strung up in a furnace and hung out to burn. Slowely. ‘I’ve gone to Hell’, he mumbled out loud to no-one. Pearls of sweat beaded across his forehead.

That last ingredient in the beauty facial. The Black Mask. It couldn’t be and yet there it was, written in the unmistakable flowing script of his mother. No wonder she had kept it a secret. Christ, not secret by half enough. Dwarf juice. Crème de Nain. It couldn’t be, yet . . . A hormone, an enzyme, a molecule – what did he know? Something particular to the dwarf metabolism, something unique. Something found only there. Alice probably didn’t know exactly what it was either. It was just something that worked. The final ingredient leading her down the path to preternatural beauty.

His mind turned over, puzzling pieces falling into place like a bang-up Tetris session. But of course! Gideon Stone. Murdered. The papers had mentioned that he looked more like a prune than a human being when they found him. Sucked dry, a mere husk. And now Joe had uncovered the culprit. His mother, his own loving mother. Loving? Had he said that, thought it? She had murdered Gideon Stone - mariticide. She had milked Stone's diminutive body of its precious life fluids, like he was some kind of chemical cow. But not only Stone. Surely there had been other ‘suppliers’ as well. Ten, twenty; how many? It was too awful to imagine. How many batches of that evil concoction had she brewed over the years? A witch, that’s what she was, straight out of Macbeth. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Those chemistry classes at night school when he was a kid; it had seemed so absurd at the time. Not now. And the circus, of course – a plentiful supply of ‘small people’ for her to sample from. Yes, all falling into place, the blocks tucking snugly together, arranging themselves into a horrendous satanic structure. And then it dawned on him. Why had they moved here in the first place? What did this sleepy little town have to offer that a hundred others couldn’t give more of? One thing and one thing only. Dwarves, this town was chockfull of dwarves.

Randy

. . . Randy held the torn recipe in his hand, the open security box at his feet. He trembled as he read the words. As he reached the bottom of the page he swore under his breath.
"Why can't things ever be simple." he muttered.
Angrily he threw his pick-axe onto the ground and slumped on his knees.
"Randy!" Yelled Joe
Randy lept to his feet knocking he torch over and losing his light. Joe was fast and was quckly behind him his arm tightening around Randy's throat.
"Remember how good I am at this Randy." Hissed Joe in his ear.
Randy fought for breath; as he felt his last moments of life being squeezed out of him, Joe snatched the recipe from Randy's hand.
"Is this it Randy? Is this what all the fighting has been about? Can't breathe can you? You bastard. Violet doesn't love you, she's using you, like she's used us all. Do you know what Randy babes, I'm going to let you go. Violet's with Swotsy. You go and see for youself. She's making a fool out of you."
Joe released his grip on Randy and the two men faced each other.
"Why are you letting me go Joe?"
"Because it's going to be worth it." Laughed Joe.
"Go on get out of here, go and see what that bitch is up to."
Randy stumbled through the trees, still trying to catch his breath, Joe remained, found the torch and lit up the scene... there was something else in the box... it looked like a....

Not Your Everyday Kitchen Accident

baker's yeast, the mercury preservative known as thimerosal, a pinch of salt, hydroquinone skin lightener, a teaspoon of vanilla extract, 1,4-dioxane, a quarter-cup of whole milk, and coal tar.

The mixture looked quite vile -- and oh Jesus Mary and Joseph the smell! It actually bubbled in the pot and (Wilma would recall later) she could have easily imagined an eye of newt bobbing about on the surface. Her first instinct was just to dump it; she was sure dinner was ruined.

But when it cooled enough to discard safely, she had touched the surface. It tingled upon her index fingertip. Taking a chance, she smeared a bit on the back of her left hand. More tingles...

...and then that little half-inch square went suddenly hairless.

That had been the start of something big, very big. She carefully wrote down the ingredient list as she remembered it, and sealed it in a little box. She'd give it to one of the kids -- just in case anything happened to her, and perhaps they'd be able to make something of it...

But that had been years ago now.