Changing Faces

There are some people in this world born different. Neither better nor worse. Just different. They do not ask for torment nor punishment but still receive it. Remember, what goes around comes around.

It had been foolish of me. To wander into that old, decrepit cottage like that. But I had been desperate and it seemed there hadn’t been much else of an option. They were out there, seeking revenge on those who had wronged them. Revenge on me.

My ego had gotten the better of me and I lost sight of what was important. Those poor people, how I had tormented them. Belittled them for something they couldn’t control. But now, they were in total control and not in a positive way.

There was no light streaming in through the cracked window panes when I entered and I could feel a draught crawling along my ankles, wrapping itself around them as if desperate to keep its hold on me. Old, worn furniture sat around the room at odd angles, a few items lying on their side as if pushed over or even thrown. Stuffing was bursting at the seams of an aged sofa, cuts and gashes across the upholstery. 

The billowing curtains were torn at the hems and there were dents and chips in the wooden walls. The building had an eerie sensation but it was perforable than what lay beyond their walls. Out there, danger was certain. In here, it was simply a bad feeling.

On the far wall sat a dusty, ash-filled fireplace and a few dry logs. I arranged the logs into a teepee shape before searching for matches. Stumbling through the dark as I had been, the task was difficult and I found myself bumping into low tables and countertops. Making it into the kitchen, I began pulling open all the drawers, rifling through their contents. There was everything you’d expect: cutlery, plates and bowls, batteries and keys. However, matches were not among them.

I continued my search, feeling along the countertops for a small cardboard box but to no avail.   Whoever had once lived here apparently had forgotten to stock up. Heaving a heavy sigh, I rubbed at my chilled arms, feeling the goosebumps beginning to form through my thin, cotton shirt. I wiped my hair from my face, feeling the blood and dirt that now lived there. I must have looked a mess.

As the light breeze continued to flow into the house, I felt shivers running up my spine every other minute. There must have been something here to keep off the chill; some clothing or blankets, surely. This cottage, though clearly uninhabited, didn’t look as though the previous owner had moved out. Everything was still in place like any other house. The steel kettle still sat on the stovetop and papers were scattered over the dining table. Whoever had been here previously must have left in quite a hurry.

I wandered down the short hallway, peeking inside each of the doors I passed, hoping to find a bedroom or closet. Two doors down, I entered a small room with two beds and a small wardrobe. Washed with relief, I threw open the wardrobe and pulled on what I could fit. I threw a too-small turtle neck over my head and pulled on an overly-large jacket, tying the string around my waist. Feeling warmer already, I sighed in content before roaming through the rest of the house. There weren’t many more rooms; only a bedroom, a small linen closet and a door at the end of the hallway.

The door was beaten and cracked, the brass doorknob horribly tarnished. When I turned the knob, the latch didn’t click. I tried pushing it open forcefully but it wouldn’t budge for the lock was too strong. I examined the old keyhole, so old that it took a skeleton key. Through the keyhole, I couldn’t see much. It was completely pitch black.

Common sense told me to turn around and ignore it but curiosity urged me to find whatever was on the other side. I reached into the back pocket of my now torn and dirty jeans and fished out my tools. When I was a kid, I loved fiddling with locks and as I got older, I got quite good at getting into what people preferred to keep hidden. I slotted the pick and wrench into the lock, poking, prodding and jiggling before the lock finally gave way.

The hinges groaned audibly as they twisted, revealing a staircase downwards. Without a torch, lamp or matches, I didn’t see how I was going to navigate my way down. On the right-side wall was a light switch but one flick of that quickly revealed that it didn’t work. I pulled my phone from my pocket and was not surprised to see it was dead out of battery. I moaned in frustration before putting it back in its place.

Though it was dark and I was unable to see, I was still determined to discover whatever it was that the previous owner had kept a secret. It would also serve as a suitable hiding spot from those beasts roaming the forest outside, searching for me. I was certain they’d catch my scent.

Tentatively, I took a step forward, listening to the loud creak of the wooden stair. I gripped the handrail at my left and took another step down. Suddenly, the room filled with a warm, flickering glow. All around me, wax candles were suddenly lit, the flames crackling quietly. Again, I took another step forward. Behind me, the door slammed shut, causing me to jump with a start. I looked back at it, confirming that it had indeed shut itself.

I took a shaky breath and continued my descent into the suddenly vast room. There was a chill running down my spine in apprehension. From the bottom of the staircase, I examined the room, noticing an old, worn mahogany desk dressed in cobwebs and dusty glass vials. Aged wax candles sat on every surface, emitting their warm glow and bookcases lined the walls, filled with old tomes written in illegible languages.

Curiously, I took one of the hefty books from its shelf and flicked through the pages but I was unable to decipher the nonsense written within. There were strange images depicting foul beasts and women with long, black hair standing in odd poses. I shook my head, not bothered with the illustrations.

I approached the wooden desk, looking down at the vast array of bottles, vials and tomes lying open on their spines, the pages covered in a thick layer of dust. Some vials were empty and some contained foul-smelling liquids I didn’t care much for. I picked up one of the bottles and  examined it carefully. Its scent was not nearly as repulsive as the others but actually pleasant. I popped the cork, swishing around its contents. A pink mist overflowed from the neck of the bottle, spilling over my hands and onto the cracked floorboards below.

Suddenly, something began to occur. Something I feared above all else. My skin began to flake and peel away painfully, wanting to rid itself of my body. I dropped the bottle, the glass shattering and the liquid seeping between the floorboards down into the earth. 

I rushed from the desk and took off up the stairs, throwing the door open with strength I had not possessed until now. I searched room after room until I came to the washroom where a cracked and tarnished mirror hung on the wall above an old, ceramic basin. Staring into the glass pane, I saw the skin of my reflection stripping away, hanging limply on the horrified face staring back at me. Tentatively, I brought my hand to the skin and pulled at it, allowing it to fall away, revealing red, fleshy tissue that should never have been seen.

Tears began to fall from my eyes as I recognised this process. Those monsters. Those disgusting monsters who wanted to hunt me down. But I had nothing to change to. No one to parrot. I was alone in this dilapidated house. As my body continued to melt away, new skin grew where the old had departed. My short brown hair was falling away, growing back black and far longer. My irises changed from green to blue and suddenly, I didn’t recognise the man in the mirror. That was obvious; he was no longer a man.

The woman behind the pane was vaguely familiar though I could not place her. Suddenly exhausted, I backed from the mirror, stumbling into the tiled wall. I forced myself from the bathroom and out into the hallway, making my way back into the living room. I wished I hadn’t.

Those things were there, grinning at me malevolently. Their stolen faces cracked in wickedly joyous expressions. “Now you know our pain, brother.”