Part 1, Part 2

I drove into town. After seeing Jack hiding his face with his hands, in that horrible peekaboo pose, it was all I could do. It was a little after 3 AM—the streets were empty. All the little shops that lined the sidewalk were dark. I drove around Main Street for several minutes, in a loop, without even really realizing what I was doing.

What the hell is going on?

Paranoid delusions. That’s what Dr. Thompson had called them. But I never hallucinated anything before. Just thought people were watching me, that the house was bugged, that my ex was stalking me. And I’d moved past that. The worst of it was years ago. I’d moved on, forward, gotten married and started a new life.

Besides. Jack had seen the man hiding his face in the photo. That was proof that I wasn’t imagining it.

I pulled over and parked outside of the bookstore. I made sure my doors were locked and then pulled out my phone. People hiding their face, I typed into the search bar—but that just brought up a bunch of silly stock images. People covering their face with their hands. Again, more stock images. People following me hiding their faces like weeping angels in Doctor Who.

Bingo.

Among all the hits for the Doctor Who wiki was a forum post. Dated a few months ago, by a user named purplehairedgurl55.

I keep seeing these people, hiding their faces in their hands. Sort of like the weeping angels in Doctor Who. I see them in random places—on the subway, at the store. It’s so weird. Anyone else see this? Is this some sort of like, advertisement or psychological experiment or something?

There were a bunch of replies. Most of them weren’t helpful, just people commenting things like “wow,” “creepy,” “update plz.” But one stood out. A warning, in all caps:

DO NOT LET THEM SEE YOUR FACE.

I stared at the phone, my heart sinking. They’d already seen my face—all of them. Did that mean… I scrolled down.

There was one last post from purplehairedgurl55.

I just got back from class and MY ROOMMATE WAS DOING IT. I tried talking to her and everything but she wouldn’t say anything. Just stared at me with her fucking hands over her fucking face. What the HELL is going on??

And that was it. The last post from her. Not only on the thread, but sitewide.

I swallowed.

Whatever happened to her… is going to happen to me.

My heart pounded in my chest. That horrible, familiar spiral of dread, pulling me down into nothing. I tried to focus on my breathing. In, out. In, out. But the weight didn’t stop—I was drowning—I couldn’t—

Tap-tap-tap.

A soft tapping on the window.

I looked up. Oh, no.

Standing right outside my window was a police officer. Behind me, in the rearview mirror, there was a police cruiser parked with its lights off.

“License and registration,” came the muffled voice from the window.

I leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Pulled out the license and registration. Breathed in and out, trying to swallow the dizzying panic building in my chest. You can’t have an attack right now. Jack is still your emergency contact and he’ll call him if you’re ill. Or, worse, drop you off at home to get some rest…

Normal. Calm. Breathe in. Out.

I turned to the window, rolled it down, and offered the documents.

He didn’t react.

He can’t be one of them. From this angle, I couldn’t see his face, but I could see his hands. They were hanging at his sides—not held up to his face. I’m okay. It’s just some officer asking why you’re parked on the road at 3 AM. Which is a totally valid question.

But he still wasn’t taking the documents, either.

“…Officer?”

He bent his head down—

He didn’t have a face.

The sides of his head just suddenly ended, into an empty nothingness where his face should have been. Darkness. A void. A pit. The complete absence of anything.

I screamed.

He grabbed the bottom of the window and shoved his head inside. I felt a horrible, invisible pull on my own face. Like a thousand tiny magnets were just underneath the surface of my skin, pulling at my entire face, sucking it into the void—

I reached over and slammed the button to roll up the window.

His fingers gripped the edge of the window. Pushing it down with inhuman strength. The window made a horrible ratcheting whine as it tried to roll up, but couldn’t. The man pushed further into the car. His lack-of-face inches from mine.

Hot pain bloomed across my face as the pull grew stronger. I looked into that horrible darkness, the nothingness, and dread flooded through my body.

This is it.

This is how I die.

But then seven words popped into my head.

DO NOT LET THEM SEE YOUR FACE.

I raised my shaking hands. Slowly put them up to my face, blocking the view of that horrible void. The pain seared across my skin but I ignored it.

I pushed my hands against my face.

And just like that. The pain stopped. A silence filled the car, ringing in my ears. Seconds ticked by—and then I heard footsteps against the pavement.

He was leaving.

I waited until I heard the door of his cruiser slam. Only then did I take my hands away from my face. Then I jabbed the starter button—the engine roared to life—I slammed my foot on the accelerator.

The car peeled out onto the road.

I turned every which way, making sharp turns and taking back roads, until I’d lost the police car. Then I was coasting down the highway, destination nowhere, trying to figure out what to do now.

One thing was certain: I couldn’t go home.

I pictured Jack, lying in our bed, with that horrible emptiness instead of the face I loved. Who had stolen his face? Had one of the faceless come to him? Maybe Mrs. Rose rang the doorbell again after I’d fallen asleep. Maybe he’d answered it.

And now he was gone.