The Mask's Whisper

I found the mask in the attic, its porcelain smile cracked like it had tried to scream

once. When I put it on, the house went quiet—too quiet. I laughed,

but the sound didn’t come from me. In the mirror, the mask laughed back,

eyes blinking slowly. I tried to pull it off. It wouldn’t move. Behind me,

footsteps approached. The mirror fogged, and words appeared: “Thank you for your face.”