Corin Campbell now saw the skull face everywhere she went. At first, she thought it was a prank, some kids hacking Facebook accounts and messing with people. But now, she had seen the face in real life.
At least, she thought she had. Or maybe her eggs really were scrambled, as her sister had been proclaiming for years. Corin wasn’t sure anymore. If all she knew of reality was to be believed, then some nightmare from a slasher film had come to life and now stalked her every movement. The fear was almost crippling, and Corin was not the type to scare easily.
She had first noticed the skull face appearing in the background of some of her Facebook and Instagram selfies, mostly group shots walking down the street or standing outside a restaurant. In the most recent photo, the figure had been standing right outside her window.
She was almost positive the skull face hadn’t been there before, when she had first posted the pics. The appearance of the nightmare figure could have been the simple result of a hacked account, just some teenager with a MacBook Pro and a rudimentary knowledge of Photoshop.
Still, she couldn’t say that with certainty. She had checked for evidence of photo doctoring and received the response from a local computer repair shop that the photos “appeared to be doctored, but results were inconclusive.” She still hadn’t figured out what the hell that meant. It was a politician’s response, one that said a whole lot and absolutely nothing in the same breath.
Then, yesterday, she had glimpsed the skull face in a passing car and again on the shadowed visage of a man standing in a doorway across the street. But that had to be a product of her imagination. Lack of sleep from studying had teamed up with a sick social-media prank, assaulting her subconscious to the point of delirium.
After all, she hadn’t been the only one affected. A Google search revealed that the hacking had affected several woman throughout the northwestern United States. The case had grown to full-blown urban legend status. Skullface, as someone on the Internet had named the man in the skull mask, had joined the ranks of other digital-era folklore like Slender Man and the Shadow People.
Her searches had turned up claims that other hacking victims had gone missing, but she dismissed them as false news, like those fake celebrity death articles that kept popping up all over social media. Still, part of Corin kept thinking that if Skullface was real, then his message was obvious: he was watching, and he was coming for her.
The skull mask, in what she hoped were doctored pics, had been fashioned from some sort of blood-stained metal. But the bone structure of the skull couldn’t have been that of a man. More like a demon or an extinct predatory creature, like a T-Rex. Or some hybrid of both. The metal fangs were less like teeth and more long, jagged shards of torn metal, broken and misshapen and curled up slightly into a sadistic smile.
If it was real, then it was obviously some sort of hideous mask. Halloween costumes didn’t scare her. But guys who wore them while stalking her most certainly did.
She considered taking the whole thing to the police, but with no proof other than a few inconclusively doctored photos, the cops would be more of a hindrance than a help. She could take care of herself. She had done so her whole life. And if this nut-job in the mask thought she would be an easy target, then he was in for a surprise.
Exiting the building after her last class at San Francisco University, Corin pictured Skullface around every corner as she made the long, dark journey up the concrete parking structure to her car. The images were fresh in her mind’s eye as she heard footsteps slapping concrete.
Someone was following her. Should she turn around? Face her pursuer? Attack? Make a run for the car? Scream?
Trying to move casually, Corin slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket and gripped the handle of a spring-assisted knife. She could pull the weapon and release the blade swiftly with a mere twist of her thumb.
Timing the approach of the footsteps, she played out each movement in her mind.
Duck, twist, pull the blade, kick.
The footsteps had increased in rhythm. The sounds growing closer.
“Hey!” he yelled.
He was rushing her blitzkrieg-style. He had underestimated her, which wasn’t surprising. Even her fiancé called her “Mouse,” and sometimes she truly hated him for it. Corin was petite, with bronze skin and dark hair inherited from her Brazilian mother, but being five foot four hardly meant she was defenseless.
Although, she supposed that was the image she had chosen to portray. Just a normal girl. Just like any other college student. Only Corin and her sister, Samantha, knew the truth.
Again, the man shouted, “Hey!” just as the footsteps reached her.
Not waiting for the rest of the sentence, Corin spun on her attacker, pulled her blade, and kicked out at groin level. Her foot collided with the man’s crotch, doubling him over in pain and dropping him to his knees. She stepped forward, jamming the knife against his throat as he wheezed in agony.
Corin fought to calm her breathing as she stared down at her pursuer’s face.
His name was Michael.
She recognized him from the accounting class she had just completed. Her phone lay on the ground beside Michael’s feet, where he had apparently just dropped it.
She felt like a complete idiot. The poor guy was simply trying to return her property, and she had gone all Jason Bourne on him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, closing the knife against her thigh and slipping it back into her pocket.
“Phone,” Michael wheezed as she helped him to his feet.
“I saw that. Thanks. But hey, a girl can’t be too careful these days, right?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
She winced. “Yeah. How are your nuts? They didn’t, like, go back up in there or anything, did they?”