text: It had been a month, and my face was starting to itch. I was sitting in the car, waiting for the opportunity to strike, while rain poured and thunder bellowed outside. I reviewed the name and the address on the package. John Smith, the resident of 565 First Avenue, was a divorced parent and a woodcarver. When the clock struck 1, I went outside with the package under a black umbrella. Water splashed under my feet, as I reached the blue porch and knocked three times on the door. “Who is it?” A voice shouted from the inside, almost drowning in the sound of rain. I remained silent and knocked three times again in continuous succession. The door opened, and I saw the familiar face of John smith. “Are you John Smith?” He was roughly the same height as me, though a little skinny. In many years of experience, he had the perfect face I had ever seen. His broad but taut face, acne-free skin, flat nose, and skinny lips were rare for a 33-year-old man. Still wearing his dirty pajamas, he was the embodiment of Sunday noon laziness. “Yes, I am John Smith. How may I help you today?” “May I come in? The rain is killing it today,” I said with a broad smile. His eyes showed hesitation, so I stretched my smile a little more. He saw the package in my hands and said, “Come on in.” He welcomed me into his lovely house, which was equipped with a cramped kitchen and a spacious living room in the front. The passage in the middle made way for the two bedrooms and bathrooms. It was an ordinary house for an ordinary man. The sharp smell of cigarettes was in contrast with the earthy smell of the rain outside. “I have a package for you.” “You came to deliver a package in this storm?” “What can I say? We pride ourselves on doing the best in any condition.” I handed him the wrapped box. He raised his eye and looked at the package, inspecting it with his observant eyes. After being satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders and threw the pack on the sofa. “If you could give us feedback and sign here.” I handed him the clipboard. “Do you have a pen?” I checked my pockets and lied, “I must’ve accidentally left it.” “No worries, I’ll bring it.” He left for his room, enabling me to accomplish my intended task. Seeing men and their habitat up close always gave me a new perspective, and this situation was no different. I envied seeing pictures of him and his family laughing and enjoying vacations together. My eyes scanned around, absorbing as much information as I could about him. I saw a mirror right outside the kitchen and grew self-conscious of my slacking face. A black Bombay cat caught my eye as she strolled towards her bowl. She locked eyes with me and displayed the flehmen grimace, as though she had seen a ghost. I ignored her and examined John’s work of wood-carved animals. He came back with the signed form and said, “here you go.” “Thank you for your time. This is a nice owl,” I complimented John with a thin veil of resentment. My wood carving skills, which I had been practicing for weeks, were no match for him. “Ah, got an eye for art, I see. What’s your name?” He asked while glaring at my neck. “Robert Williams,” I replied as I massaged my neck to hide the scratch mark. “What a coincidence, your last customer’s name was the same.” He caught me off guard. I had underestimated his eye for the minute details. No, I had to remain calm. He couldn’t know, or it’ll all fall apart. “It must be a common name.” “Hmm, yeah, I suppose so,” he said, displeased with the excuse I gave him. Lightning struck outside, which made John a little jumpy. I went to the window and pulled the curtain to see the ominous clouds and the raging storm. “The rain isn’t pulling any stops, is it?” “You can stay here as long as you like,” he said to fulfill a mere formality. Thus began his lazy Sunday routine of watching TV. He opened the package while I leaned against the window, observing him. The package comprised a blood orange clock, with the hour hand pointing at 13. There was also a note wishing him for his birthday, which was last week. The late present from somebody anonymous did not thrill him, so he put it on the desk and surfed through the channels, at last stopping for a breaking news broadcast. “There has been a disturbing development in the missing case of Luke Orwell. The police recently found his brutally mutilated body-” Power went out, possibly because of the rain. The entire room turned bleak and silent, except for the roaring of the unstoppable storm. The cat hid under the sofa where John sat, paralyzed from dread, still gawking at the black screen of the TV. He must’ve gone through the signature list and read the recent names. I had to do something before I lose the chance because of my foolish mistake. “Do you have any candles?” “Uh... yeah... sure.” He scoured for the candle and match sticks. In a moment, I heard a match strike, and the pale skin and uncertain eyes of John shined under the burning orangish glow of the candle. He was stepping away from me, scanning the exits to escape. His mind was starting to doubt the decision of letting in a stranger. I had to improvise the plan. He couldn't know that I knew what he was thinking. “If you allow, I would love to see more of your beautiful wood carved animals.” He thought about the decision, and announced, “They’re in my bedroom, I’ll bring the collection.” I couldn’t let him be alone, or he could call someone. “But first, I should contact my employer and tell him that I’ll be late because of the storm. Can I have your phone, mine’s dead.” He clenched his jaws and unwillingly snarled, “Sure.” I stretched the phone, searching for the bars, at last getting one in front of the passageway connecting the bedroom and the bathroom. I kept glancing at the door, making sure John didn’t shut it close. He walked towards the living room with a big box as though possessed by dread. I followed him and gave him back his phone. The entire box was filled with diverse animals, each more distinct than the earlier. "You're the most creative man I've met," I flattered him. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled absent-mindedly. "Isn’t it wonderful, you can morph a block of wood to this," I picked up a figurine, “this little animal. Giving it a new shape, a new mask, a new life.” “Not a mask per se,” he relaxed a bit, talking about his beloved creations. “I like to think that what I carve out was already hidden, deep beneath the surface. I don’t change the essence, just bring it out to the world.” “Forgive me, but I disagree. Everybody wears a facade these days, helping them to be what they want or have to be. From a perspective, that mask they carve out becomes their essence. Live a day in other person’s shoes, and you’ll see that everyone’s the same underneath the flesh. It’s only our mask, what we show to the outside world, which makes us unique, like these animals.” “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he was afraid of opposing me. “I don’t want to impose any longer, but may I have a glass of water.” In an instant, his eyes showed hopes of escaping me. “Just a moment,” he said in haste as he bolted for the kitchen. I stood up to follow him when he turned back, and reassured, “Stay there, I’ll bring the water.” “That’s polite of you, but I am afraid of being alone in the dark.” He went to the counter and filled the cup. He kept on glancing at me over his shoulders, preventing me from getting close to him. As he turned around, his arms knocked over some salt. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He had connected the dots. The game was up. “I am sorry, clumsy hands, I suppose,” he gulped. “It alright,” I said as I bent down and helped him. He stepped back and maintained his distance from me. The longer I waited, the more chances he had of escaping. “If you aren’t feeling great, you should lie down,” I urged in an attempt to search his bedroom and unmask the hidden secrets. “Uh... yeah”, he cleared his throat and announced, “I’ll be back in a minute.” “Where are you going?” “Um... I uh... I’m going to the washroom.” He spun around, pacing away from me as fast as he could. This was it. This was my last chance before things escalated. I grabbed him from his back and threw him in the mirror. His head banged against the mirror, breaking the mirror into shards. “What-” I jabbed him in the gut, and he stumbled back to the wall. "Stay away from me!" He brought out a concealed kitchen knife. "I know how to use this." He swung the blade towards me, like an amateur. I stepped back and evaded his attacks. The shock from the mirror was making him sloppy. Thunderous lightning lit up the room, and I saw John clearly, determined to live and fight, plunging towards me with the knife. I held his wrist, twisted it, and struck below his elbow, making him let go of the blade from his broken arm. I kicked him in his legs, and he collapsed to the ground. He used his other arm to crawl away from me, but I stepped on his arm making him howl with pain. “Shh...” I bent down and put my finger on his hot, burning lips. I held his chin and brought the candle a bit close to measure his jaws. The skin was soft with a bit of oomph, just how I liked it. His eyes had a creepy similarity to my mother, in terror of thinking about what was going to happen next. “Stop trembling,” I threatened in a stern voice, like my father’s. Yes, it was perfect. I made him sit against the wall. I took one of the largest and sharpest shards of the mirror. “Who... Who are you?” “I told you already. I am Robert Williams, though I am thinking of changing the name.” “Why?” He asked me in a shrill, shaky voice. I didn’t pay heed to his question and took his arm. With the shard, I sliced his arms and legs to immobilize him. He winced in pain, and he asked again, shaking with fear. “Why? Please... please let me go.” “More you shake, more imprecise I will be. Believe me, you don’t want me to be imprecise.” “Please, I have a son,” he pleaded, trying to reach for the humanity robbed from me. “I hated my father.” I sliced his arms again, and he shouted in pain. But the deafening storm drowned out everything. I took out my knife, which I had since I was a kid, from my pocket and put it on the ground. John whimpered at the sight of the blade. Sweat trickled down his messy hair. “Take the money, it’s uh... it’s in my bedroom, behind... behind the-” “Shut up. I am not here only for your money.” I held onto his neck and inspected the back of his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I said after seeing tiny shards of the glass in the back of his skull. “I shouldn’t have hit you this hard. But I wouldn’t be a professional if I couldn’t do a challenge.” I took some wet cloth and cleared his face from the neck up. “What do you want? Take it... take everything. Please... just leave me.” “What I want is not yours to give; it is only for mine to take. I am almost ready. Don’t worry, this will all be over soon.” I took the shard and dug it in his thigh. His eyes bulged out, and he screeched in excruciating pain. I took it out and cleaned it with a cloth. “Are you one of them? Those sick... savage... cannibals? Are you going to eat me, you monster?“ “Please, don’t think so low of me. I am nothing like those insane and inhuman criminals. I appreciate the human body and mind, especially the face.” He swung another punch at me with his frail arms in vain. “Being courageous, are we today? Tell me, how’s your wife, John?” He broke down crying, “Please don’t... don’t hurt her. Take my life... my life instead. Don’t hurt her.” “You’re a good man John. How’s John junior handling the divorce? It’s much harder for a kid, you know? DO YOU KNOW?” I cut a massive line across his stomach. Blood gushed out of him and turned his clothes red. Ah, the familiar, sweet smell of fresh blood. “Don’t hurt him,” he whimpered like a dog. “I beg of you. I’ll do- I’ll do anything.” “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. If anyone has to worry about this situation, it is me.” With the knife, I stabbed his other thigh. But by this time, he had suffered enough. “I don’t enjoy doing this, you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t dream of doing this when I grew up. But, they say what they say, a good son follows in his father’s footsteps. If anything, I am the one who suffered more than you. I was a victim then, and I am the victim now.” I took a moment to consider how much I sounded like my father. He croaked like a dying frog, “No, I don't want... I don't wanna die." “Hey, hey!” I slapped his face as he was losing consciousness. “I like you all to be awake when I do my work.” I clutched his blue face and squeezed his cold cheeks. With a sudden surge of strength in him, he grabbed my collar and whispered in my ears. “You will pay for this. You will suffer for the rest of your life.” I pushed him back and said, “I already am.” I dug my fingernails under my neck and showed him my red, juicy flesh underneath. John averted his gaze and shut his eyes. I peeled away the month-old face and threw it on the floor. “Not a beautiful face, I know. But my mother loved me or at least tried to. My father couldn’t suffer the sight of me, and how did that end up for him,” I momentarily became nostalgic for my messed up childhood. It had been decades since I had seen my face. That ugly, coward, helpless little boy who couldn’t stand up for his mother or himself. “Let’s come back to the present, shall we? This is the last step now, John. Stay with me. Do you have any regrets?” “Letting a sick man like you enter my house.” In his last moments, his fear of me turned into hatred. It was hard, stopping myself from stabbing his helpless self in the chest right there. “Stop saying I am sick. I am nothing but a victim like you are right now.” I took the knife and carved a thin line across his hairline on his forehead. He tried to pull away, but cuts and bruises on his arms and legs were sapping away his strength. “You know, you are the first person who knew what was coming to him, and I admire that. It certainly made things interesting for a change. You can find peace in this that I now know you better than anyone has in your entire life. Your sacrifice will help me endure my trauma, and I will be eternally grateful for it. Do you have any last words, any unfinished task you would like me to complete?” “Go to hell.” He spitted blood and saliva at me. I took a deep breath and remained calm. I wiped the blood off my face. “Very poor choice of words.” With the help of my hours of experience, I carved the entire face and took the face’s flesh with precision. John exhaled his last breath while his eyes stopped moving. Underneath the flesh, everybody looks the same. The stiffness in his body remained. I stood up, admiring possibly the finest work I had ever done. I put his naked body in a bag and started cleaning the house. While I tried on the skin in the bathroom, I heard a phone ring. I grabbed his phone out of my pocket and answered, “Hello. Yes, this is John Smith talking.