Publication Date: October 14, 2017
Genre: Horror/ Thriller
Blurb:
During the 1980s, slashers terrorized America. With
machetes and masks, these unstoppable killers
stalked college campuses, quiet suburbs, and
lakeside cabins.
Thirty years ago, Bobbi Metzger survived a massacre
at her 16th birthday party. She spent decades
putting her life back together.
Tonight, Bobbi will face a new killer: a high-tech
slasher hell-bent on opening the doorway to an
abyss of unimaginable horror.
How long can Bobbi survive this nightmare? What
will she do to protect the people she loves? How
much blood is she willing to spill?
Excerpt
Bobbi Metzger wrenched the hatchet from her boyfriend's skull. In a few minutes, Bobbi thought, I will kill her,
or she will kill me. Either way, this is going to be over soon.
She lurched across the room. Blood-soaked carpet squished under her feet. Red droplets slid down and dripped from
the handmade banner over the doorway: Happy Birthday, Bobbi!
July 1st, 1987, was supposed to be the greatest night of her life. With their parents out of town, Bobbi and her sister
had invited everybody to the lake house, and they'd more or less trashed the place.
Bobbi stepped over a dead body: a girl in acid-washed jeans and a Noid t-shirt. Bobbi didn't recognize her. One of
Megan's friends.
The TV was still on. There was a video on MTV, some new band called Guns N' Roses. Bobbi's sister, Megan, had
switched loyalty from Def Leppard to these guys, because she thought their singer was hot. "I'd feel his serpentine,
anytime."
"Those guys are all gross," Bobbi had said. "Rob Lowe's cute, though."
Megan had pretended to gag.
Thick drops of blood dotted the red icing on Bobbi's cake. A birthday card was propped up next to the cake, and the
message was scrawled in Megan's loopy handwriting: POP THAT CHERRY, BOBBI!
If Bobbi turned her head just a little bit, she would see Megan pinned to the wall with a fireplace poker through her
mouth, blood dripping from the band of her polka-dotted Swatch. Bobbi didn't look. She took another tentative step.
You can do it. You have to. If you don't, you're dead, like everyone else. No choice.
She stepped around the table in the middle of the room.
Heart pounding, Bobbi peeked into the kitchen. Nothing. She looked behind her.
On the couch, Bobbi's boyfriend Kevin stared at her blankly, the hatchet wound like a vertical grin in his forehead.
He wore a CONTRA t-shirt. Kevin spent most of his money down at Galaxy, the arcade at the mall, plugging quarters
into games like Contra and Rastan.
Last night, Kevin had tried to protect Bobbi, throwing himself at the woman in black; but she had plucked the
hatchet from his hand and buried it in his skull, so quickly that Bobbi wasn't sure it had happened at all.
Then the killer had grinned at Bobbi while Kevin slumped backwards onto the couch, the axe handle sticking out of
his skull. Bobbi tried to scream, but couldn't make a sound.
Seven hours later, she was still trying to scream.
She caught a glimpse of herself in hallway mirror; she'd aged thirty years in a single night. The side of her face was
swollen and sunrise-hued, crusted with dark blood.
Suddenly dizzy from pain and blood loss, she stumbled into the kitchen and banged her shin on a keg of beer. She
froze, eyes wide. The killer heard that. She's going to grab me and rip my face off. Hell, she's probably right behind
me. Bobbi turned to look. Nothing.
Carefully stepping around the keg, Bobbi tiptoed into the kitchen. Lipstick-stained cigarette butts spilled out of
ashtrays; empty cans of Coors Light huddled around the sink. Hell of a party, Bobbi thought.
Last night, Bobbi had very nearly taken her first sip of beer, and had (more or less) made up her mind to lose her
virginity to Kevin before the sun came up.
But around midnight, someone had emerged from the woods, right in the middle of Bobbi's sweet-sixteen festivities.
A woman in dark rags, clutching rusty knives, muttering nonsensical words.
A killer.
Hands trembling, Bobbi eased the kitchen drawer open. She paused, listening intently. Nothing. She sniffed the air.
Nothing.
Okay, make it quick. And quiet.
She pocketed a couple of lighters and a book of matches, then snuck out the door, onto the porch. The sun was
coming up.
Her face throbbed where the killer had tried to cut her face off. She had sliced Bobbi from ear to jaw; Bobbi
squirmed free and bolted for the woods.
She thought about running. Then Katie Harper ran past her, into the woods, still naked from skinny-dipping, her
hands covered in blood and her mouth open impossibly wide in a keening wail, and then Katie must have stumbled into
some kind of trap, because a massive wooden spike jabbed straight up out of a pile of leaves and went straight through
Katie's torso, impaling her in mid-stride, and she twitched silently for a few minutes as she hung there.
So Bobbi didn't run.
The police car was still parked in front of the lake house, doors wide open. Someone must have called 911 before
the phone line got cut. Crouching behind their car, the cops had opened fire on the killer, and in return, she had
scattered bits of them all over the lawn.
Bobbi stepped over a cop's leg. Sunlight glinted on ripples in the lake, but there was no movement on the shore. Just
mangled skinny-dippers.
Could get into the police car, maybe grab the radio, and push some buttons. Tell the other police to come quickly.
But no. She'd die waiting for the cops. And if she escaped this alive, she'd never sleep again. She'd go insane
waiting for the killer to find her.
She won't just let me go. I saw her face.
And she wants me dead.
Sunlight glinted off a cops watch; the cops arm, which lay next to an empty bottle of bourbon, had been hacked off
just above the elbow.
From the ragged stump, a drop of blood floated up, like a dandelion seed. Bobbi stared, bewildered. Other drops
beaded up on the torn flesh and cracked bone, and they drifted up into the air, weightless.
Bobbi shook her head. Was she hallucinating? Same thing happened last night, she thought, just before the killer
grabbed me. When she's near, blood floats like we're in outer space. Or maybe I've lost my mind.
Faster now, Bobbi staggered down the gravel path. It veered off the driveway, then split, one end curving over lush
grass to the boathouse, and the other sloping down to the lake. She trudged to shore, then gently stepped onto the
fishing pier.
Nothing on the shore behind her, no movement in the woods, nothing in the windows of the house. Maybe she's
gone. But no, the killer wasn't going to give up, sunlight be damned. She would follow Bobbi.
She had to follow Bobbi, in order for this plan to work...
If you love 80’s slasher flicks like Friday the 13 th or Sleepaway Camp, this book’s for you!
Warning: This book contains extreme gore and violence. Not for the faint of heart!
About the Author
Rafael Chandler writes novels (Hexcommunicated, The Astounding Antagonists), video games (SOCOM
4, Rainbow Six: Lockdown, MAG), and tabletop role-playing games (Teratic Tome, Lusus Naturae). He is a
metalhead, a kaijuphile, and a gorehound.
Purchase link:
https://www.amazon.com/Mask-Beneath- Face-Rafael- Chandler-
ebook/dp/B076GT2XXC/ref=asap_bc
Author site:
http://www.rafaelchandler.com
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/rafaelchandler
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/rafael_chandler
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/797404.Rafael_Chandler
Giveaway: Enter for your chance to win a print copy of Mask Beneath Her Face or 1 of 5 digital copies
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by Foster Cline, MD and Jim Fay.
by Foster Cline, MD and Jim Fay.
