The light from the full moon was illuminating everything, so it wasn’t long before I saw what was making the awful noise. There, on another patio, someone was sitting with their back to me. The sounds the person was making were straight out of a torture scene in a slasher horror movie. I imagined that the person was busy having their toenails pulled out one by one, or their eyeballs injected with acid. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to see when they turned around. I was terrified. I walked all the way up to the patio and stood there quietly. And then, the person stirred. They began to turn as if they were suddenly aware of my presence . . .
“Oh my God!” I jumped in fright as the person finally faced me.
“What the . . .?” I was met with the most bizarre sight. It was a man, that much I was sure of. But his face was covered in a thick black mask that he was busy trying to peel off, very unsuccessfully, judging from the cries of agony.
I stood there in silence for a moment, unsure of what I was really seeing and how I was meant to respond to it. And then, the black mask started moving and words came out.
“It was a sample from a magazine,” the man said, it sounded more like a desperate plea for help than an actual statement. “I put it on my face, and now I can’t get it off.” There was an edge of panic to his voice.
“A magazine?” It took me a few seconds to register what he was saying, and when I did . . . “What?” I almost shouted at him. I was downright shocked. Floored, to say the bloody least. “You should never,ever,everuse those free sample things. Everyone knows that.”
“They do?” he asked, sounding even more panicked. “Why?”
I shook my head and took a step closer. “Well, they are officially the cheapest things you can find which means that the ingredients they’re made from are probably toxic enough to be used in an A-bomb and you can bet that none of them have been approved by the FDA, or any other regulatory board for that matter.” I finished my little rant and looked at him. I’d written an article on the strange world of beauty products once and discovered some horrific things. Nightingale droppings and snail secretions were considered legitimate ingredients in beauty products.
“Really?” The man looked at me in horror—well, I thought that was what it was, all I could really see were his eyes. I tried to extrapolate all the relevant information from his body language, since his face was entirely unreadable. His shoulders suddenly slumped and I felt very sorry for him. He’d gotten himself into a rather large spot of black, gooey bother.
“Let me see the sample packet,” I said, taking a step towards him. He picked the sachet off the table and passed it to me. I held it in my hands and looked at it, my suspicions confirmed. I shook my head and read out loud.
“Petrifying peel of mask of blacky charcoals. For glow of youth and freshness in face.” I paused for added effect. “You’re lucky if this was even made on this planet, let alone China.”
He shook his head. “Crap. Now what?”
I sighed. “Let me help you,” I said, walking all the way up to him to get a better look. On closer inspection, it looked as though the black mask had actually fused with his skin. “You do know that this is an actual thing, right?” I asked, taking my nail and trying to peel back a tiny section of the mask.
“What is?”
“It’s become an internet meme, people trying to peel off charcoal masks and screaming in pain while doing it. Much like you’re doing now.”
“Oh?” His eyes widened.
I nodded. “They’re all over YouTube, no one in their right mind would put one of these things on after seeing those.”
“And how did they all get them off?” he asked.
I moved away and looked the man in his eye. God, he had amazing steely-gray-colored eyes under all that black crap. “They pulled,” I said. “And it hurt.”
He nodded and then sat back down in his chair and looked like he was bracing himself. “Do it. Please. It already hurts, my face feels so tight I can barely open my mouth.”
“You sure?” I asked, sitting next to him.
“No, I’m not sure. But it has to come off.”
I nodded and went back to work, trying to pull enough off to grab between my fingers. It was difficult, but I finally managed to get enough to work with.
“Okay. Here goes.” I pulled and heard a ripping sound, like I was pulling the top layer of his skin off. He grabbed the sides of his chair and winced in pain. I could see he was trying to be brave. I pulled again, and this time, the wince became a loud yelp.
“You’re kidding!” he said, pushing my hands away.
“I’m sorry.” I felt terrible.
“Just do it. Quickly. Please. I have deep regret over this,” he said frantically, even though his mouth could barely move due to the tightening of the mask that looked more like a medieval torture device than an actual beauty product. Beauty was meant to be pain, but surely not this much? And all of a sudden, this whole thing seemed very funny to me.
I smiled. I was trying not to, but there was something amusing about this clearlyveryill-informed man’s pain. I wondered if this was what people at the engagement party had thought of me as I stood up there crashing and burning for all to see and hear. Suddenly, my feelings turned again and I felt less amused and more desperate to help this poor soul, unlike how no one had helped me.
“Okay. Can I go for it then?” I asked, gripping some more between my fingers.
He nodded and braced himself again.
