The Mask Maker’s Secret
In the heart of a mist-shrouded forest in southern Benin, there was a village few dared to speak of—Agbomè, a place where time had grown still. It was said the trees there whispered secrets, and the rivers wept blood on full moons. But most of all, people feared the old mask maker, Baba Etienne, whose wooden masks were too lifelike, too knowing.
At twelve years old, Komi had only glimpsed Baba Etienne once. The old man rarely left his compound, but when he did, children fled behind doors, and even dogs fell silent. Komi, however, had always been curious. His late mother once whispered that Baba Etienne had made a mask so powerful, it killed a king and summoned an eclipse.
So, when Komi’s father fell deathly ill and the herbalists could not cure him, Komi did what no one else dared—he crept into the mask maker’s yard.
The air inside the compound was heavy, like thick soup. Wooden faces hung from every tree, some grinning, others weeping, and a few that seemed to be watching him with eyes that moved. Komi swallowed hard, clutching the pouch of kola nuts he had brought as an offering.
The door creaked open before he could knock.
“You are Komi, son of Ayim,” came a voice like rustling leaves. “Your footsteps carry your father’s rhythm.”
Komi froze. “Please... help him,” he whispered. “He’s dying. No one knows what to do.”
Baba Etienne stepped into the dim light. His eyes were pale, but sharp, like cut glass. His dreadlocks brushed the floor, and his fingers—long, gnarled things—twitched as if remembering something they once held.
“I cannot heal with herbs,” the mask maker said. “But there is another way.”
He led Komi into a chamber filled with half-finished masks. One in particular sat on an altar, covered in red cloth. The air grew colder near it.
“There is a mask,” Etienne whispered, “carved in the old way... before time betrayed our kind. It shows not just the face, but the soul. With it, one can speak to the ancestors, ask them to bargain for a life.”
“Then give it to me!” Komi cried.
But the mask maker did not move. “Every mask takes something in return. Your father’s life is not free. The ancestors will demand a price.”
“I’ll pay it.”
Etienne’s eyes narrowed. “Will you pay it without knowing what it is?”
Komi hesitated.
The mask maker turned back to the altar. “Come back tonight. Bring something your father cherishes. And remember... once the mask is on, the spirits will see you. Not all of them are kind.”
That night, Komi returned with his father’s old talking drum—the one he had played as a boy. The moment he crossed the threshold, the mask maker was waiting. Without a word, Etienne handed Komi the soul mask.
It was unlike anything Komi had ever seen. The wood seemed to shimmer with a light of its own. Patterns moved across its surface like wind-blown sand. When he touched it, it hummed.
Etienne placed a bowl of ash and herbs before him. “Sit. Place the mask over your face. And do not remove it until they have spoken.”
Komi obeyed. The moment the mask settled on his face, everything changed.
Darkness. Then fire.
Komi stood on the edge of a burning forest. Shadows with twisted limbs moved between the trees. In the distance, he saw his father—young, strong—beating his drum beneath a giant baobab tree.
A voice spoke behind him. “You wish to steal a life from death?”
Komi turned. A figure cloaked in white, its face a blur, hovered above the earth.
“Yes!” Komi said. “He’s all I have left.”
“You ask for a soul. What will you give in return?”
“I—I don’t know. My memories? My years?”
The spirit drifted closer. “No. The price is your face.”
“What?”
“You will live. But no one will remember who you are. Your father will live, but you will be a stranger to him. To all.”
Komi trembled. “Please—anything else.”
But the figure vanished. And behind him, the fire crept closer.
The mask flew from Komi’s face. He was back in the chamber, drenched in sweat, the drum cracked beside him.
Baba Etienne was silent.
Komi stared at him. “I—I saw them. They offered to save him. But I’d be forgotten.”
Etienne slowly nodded. “The same price I once paid.”
Komi stared. “You?”
Etienne lifted his sleeve. On his arm were scars shaped like tribal markings—ones Komi remembered. Ones his mother used to draw in the sand.
“You... you’re my grandfather.”
Etienne’s eyes shimmered. “Your mother never told you. She couldn’t remember me, not fully. That was the price I paid to bring her back as a baby when she died in the river.”
Komi backed away, heart pounding.
“Then why help me?”
“Because you are the last,” Etienne whispered. “The line ends with you. And now, you must choose.”
Komi stared down at the soul mask. His fingers itched to put it on again.
Outside, the rooster crowed. Dawn.
“I choose him,” Komi said, voice breaking. “Let him live.”
The next morning, Ayim awoke, fully healed. Villagers called it a miracle. But no one knew why Komi had vanished.
A boy wandered into the village later that day, carrying a drum. No one knew his name, but he smiled when Ayim passed, as if remembering something beautiful and distant.
And Baba Etienne’s compound? It burned to the ground the night Komi made his choice. All that was found was one mask, untouched by flame, lying in the ashes—smiling.