Chapter 7: Origin of the Masked one
Cain parked his motorcycle outside his apartment building and turned off the engine. As the sound faded, an uneasy feeling crept over him. Something felt wrong. It was the sensation of being watched—like a gaze coming from somewhere far away, yet close enough to make his skin prickle. He looked around the parking area, scanning the shadows near the walls and the empty spaces between the buildings.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice steady but cautious. "Is anyone there?"
No one answered. The surrounding remained silent. After a moment, Cain tightened his grip on the grocery bags and walked toward the entrance, forcing himself not to look back.
He unlocked his door and stepped inside. "I'm home," he said out of habit, even though he knew no one would respond. The apartment was quiet and smell familiar, filled only with the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint echo of his footsteps.
Cain went straight to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and carefully placed the vegetables and eggs on the shelves. The salmon heads were wrapped and stored in the freezer. When he finished, he closed the door and exhaled. "Finally, that's everything, I will cook it later." He said, feeling a small sense of relief.
He then removed his uniform, folding it neatly before setting it aside. He changed into his usual clothes—loose pajamas and an oversized T-shirt his older brother had given him. The soft fabric fall to his stiff shoulders. "Wearing that uniform all day makes me move like a statue," he muttered. "I'm always worried I'll stain it or tear it."
Cain stretched slightly and let himself relax, the tension from the long day slowly leaving his body.
"Finally, I can rest," Cain said quietly as he lay down on his bed. He picked up his phone, but his body relaxed faster than his mind. No matter how hard he tried, one thought refused to leave him. The image stayed clear behind his eyes **the mask**.
"What was that mask?" he muttered. "And that creature wearing it… what was it?"
He opened his phone and typed [white mask] into the search bar. The screen filled with images—festival masks, theater masks, plain white faces with painted smiles or sharp edges. He scrolled slowly, studying each one. Ten minutes passed. None of them matched what he had seen.
"They're all look different," he said under his breath.
He refined the search. More masks appeared. Then, among them, he noticed an image of a clown. Beside it was another figure, labeled PIERROT. Cain froze. The painted expression was almost identical, a sad expression.
His grip on the phone tightened.
"So that mask I saw…" he said slowly, "…it was a pierrot. An expression… that belongs to a pierrot."
His phone glowing above his face. His thumb moved, scrolling, searching, stopping, then typing again.
This time he searched: [giant shadowy humanoid white mask sad expression golden cracks]
Images loaded. Statues. Theater masks. Modern art. Nothing matched what he saw.
He searched again.
[white mask humanoid folklore] "Maybe it's some kind of a ghost or a folklore or something."
Nothing useful. Just carnival history. Pierrot costume explanations. Sad clowns. Theater origins.
Cain frowned and kept scrolling.
Then, far down the page, almost buried, he saw a small result. No image. No thumbnail. Just text.
Il Primo Pierrot Non Scritto — Unverified Folklore Entry
Archived document — first indexed: 2000
Source: Personal manuscript transcription
Cain tapped it.
The page looked old, unfinished, like something copied and reposted too many times. Plain white background. Black text. No author profile. No comments. No likes.
Title:
🜂 Il Primo Pierrot Non Scritto
(The First Unwritten Pierrot)
Classification:
Unrecorded folklore entity
France / Italy — Border regions
17th century sightings (unconfirmed)
Summary:
Il Primo Pierrot Non Scritto is described as a tall, shadow-like humanoid figure. Its body appears dark and indistinct, as if made from layered darkness. It wears a white mask with a sad expression. Thin golden cracks run across the surface of the mask, repaired with gold.
The entity does not speak to any crowds. It does not chase. It does not attack. It is known to remain completely still once observed.
Origins:
According to a handwritten document discovered inside an abandoned house in France, the entity was first recorded by an unnamed writer around the late 1600s. The house was located near lands once owned by a royal family later executed during political unrest.
The manuscript claims the figure originated from small towns between Italy and France, traveling without pattern or direction.
Reported Locations:
– Ruined castles
– Forest paths
– Riversides
– Graveyards
– Execution grounds of nobility
Sightings span centuries, appearing without warning and disappearing without trace.
Behavior:
The entity is not aggressive. Witnesses report overwhelming emotional pressure rather than fear. Prolonged observation causes feelings of regret, loneliness, and deep personal sorrow.
It is believed the entity is bound to an act it deeply regrets.
Symbolism:
Regret
Loneliness
Sorrow
Longing
Cain swallowed.
Below the description, there was a final section. The text changed tone. It looked copied directly from the manuscript.
Recovered Quotation (Translated):
Do not ask why I stand still when you see me.
I am not frozen by fear. I am not paralyzed by weakness. I am standing here because I am waiting for the one thing that has never come—
my own forgiveness.
I was born the moment I understood what I had done. Not the day I opened my eyes, but the moment I realized time would never turn back for me to apologize. From that moment on, I existed only after the mistake.
You walk forward because you still believe something is waiting for you. A reason. A reward. A future. I remain because what once waited for me has already ended. There is nothing ahead that does not pass through that ending.
Do not pray for me.
Do not pity me.
Just walk past and move.
Because in this world, many things are inevitable.
Because they are inevitable, many paths are possible. And because there are so many paths, nothing is certain. That uncertainty is what we call fate.
"Choose"
Cain stared at the screen. "That's creepy, hahaha... I guess it's not real, and if it's real it won't attack me right?" He said half jokingly.
A sudden strange scent filled the room. It was the smell of roses, it was incredibly strong, Cain froze. The smell was getting stronger.
Slowly, he lowered his phone.
Standing in front of his bed was the shadowy humanoid figure. Its body was tall and thin, stretching toward the ceiling. Its shape was unclear, like a shadow given form of a human. Where its face should have been was a white mask. The painted expression was a pierrot face, Gold lines traced parts of the mask, faintly catching the light. From the eye sockets and mouth, dark red liquid dripped slowly, staining the floor.
The creature did not move. It did not breathe. It only stood there, facing him.
Cain's mind went blank.
Fear crashed through his body all at once. His heart seized, his limbs went numb, and his strength vanished as if a switch had been turned off. Before he could scream or move, his vision darkened.
He collapsed instantly, unconscious, his body shutting down from pure terror. As warm water leeks in his boxer and pajama.