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Peeling It Off
I was wide awake, not dreaming. Grandpa put down the suitcase, then reached up behind his head with both hands as if he were fumbling for the string to take a Halloween mask off—that was the image that came to me, even then—and he peeled his face away. It just came off. But he had his back to me and I didn't see—I mean, I only saw when he held up the mask of flesh to the window. It was translucent in the pale light for just an instant before it vanished with a hiss, the way a thin slice of bacon will fizzle away into nothing on a hot grill. When he turned back toward the living room, he was someone else, an older man I didn't know.
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