Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Creepypasta

Party Crashing

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    Estimated reading time — 2 minutes

    Halloween is by far my favorite time of the year, the one wonderful day where walking around with a mask on is socially acceptable. Masks hold quite a unique place in society. A mask can transform anyone into something else, turn an actor into a character, hide the ‘secret identity’ of a superhero, or even allow monsters to walk among men. You never know what’s behind a mask until it’s taken off, but that’s the best part of Halloween; no one is going to take off anyone’s mask. There is no gang of teenagers with their talking dog there to strip away my disguise and reveal the truth underneath. No, this is reality, and on Halloween I’m perfectly able to hide in plain sight.

    Of course, wearing a mask has its own special meaning for me; I am not an actor, super hero, or even a monster- not in the fictional terms at least- no, I simply use a mask as a means of entry. Any mask works really, so long as it covers my face; I manage to use a different one every year. All I need to do is walk the streets of my suburban neighborhood, weave my way through various decorations, and dodge packs of trick-or-treaters, until I hear the familiar blaring of loud music. Like a sailor to a siren at sea, I’m drawn to the music, to the party that it emanates from; yes, this is why Halloween is wonderful.

    No one seems to ever ask questions at the door to a Halloween party, all I really need to do is knock and wave when the door opens- the mask makes people just assume I’m there for the party. Hell, sometimes people just leave their front doors wide open- allowing even easier access to their home. On Halloween no one gives a second glance towards a masked man making his way through their midst, which is what makes my hobby oh so fun.

    They are completely oblivious as I approach their food. They continue to chatter and gossip as I add my own special ingredient to their bowl of punch. They continue to dance and play as I stab small, sharp, needles into their chocolates and sweets. It is not until their first friend drops to the floor, either choking on my poison or coughing up bloody needles, that people start to panic. It is the same every year; as soon as I leave the party and hear the chaos rising behind me, an unstoppable grin forms under my mask. Screams of terror are such a pleasant noise for such a pleasant holiday.

    Credit: Teddy

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