Alright, the first murder's finally up. Now on this one I'm going to give you guys the option of whether or not to lynch since you don't have too many clues. If the majority of you don't vote at all, I'll just keep the story moving without a lynch until the next murder.
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Continuing in their efforts to repair the ship and find any sort of help, the crew worked long into the night. Wounds were mended, hulls were banged on, and tempers flared. After all, keeping your cool when you're faced with an icy, starvey death can be difficult. But night came and the crew began to settle. The ship had been stabilized, but seemed no closer to salvation than before, only a couple paces farther from death.
The ship settled into its normal night routine, a final meal in the mess hall and then most would retire to their quarters. The ship's security personnel would make a final sweep of the ship to make sure all was well and then take to their own quarters. Having somehow lost a bet with Chaz (alcohol most likely being involved), Srgt. Hellspawn was forced to take watch solo for the next few days.
Still sore that he'd allowed himself to get drunk before Chaz, Hellspawn stamped his boots on the deck as he walked about outside. He drew his coat closer to him, shielding his face from the Arctic winds. His hands had already gone numb and he picked up the pace as he neared a door. Once inside, he took the time to regain his composure, no one ever looked like an authority figure when they couldn't stop shivering.
He heard a soft humming from just beyond the corridor. Secretly hoping for the chance to chew someone out for being where they weren't supposed to be, Hellspawn slid up to the side of the door as quietly as he could, lest he spoil the opportunity. The door was closed but a thin swath of light was cast on the floor beneath it, rhythmically interrupted by shadows moving across it.
Dancing? On this ship?
Hellspawn banged his flashlight on the door. No answer. He twisted the handle and barged in. The lights were off but candles lined the tables, driving the dark back into the corners. Revelers waltzed between the aisles to music that seemed to come from nowhere. He glanced around and found the door had sealed itself behind him. The guard now stood in his old dress uniform, a thin paper mask covering his face.
A woman approached the confused watchman, her yellow dress offset by a deep scarlet mask. He tried to talk but found his words lost their sound as they left his mouth, he was mute. She said nothing, only taking his hand and leading him to the rows of waltzing couples. For what seemed like hours they danced in that bizarre masquerade, faces obscured and voices silent. Gradually, her mask began to change, it began to slide around on her features, yet her face flowed with it. It became such a nuisance that Hellspawn raised his hands up to correct it. "Here, lemme get that, your mask keeps slipping." She looked at him quizzically;
"What mask?"
To the watchman's horror, his hands felt the scarred flesh of her face, the deep red of her mask became a bloody shade. Folds in the mask gave way to lines of open sores, features distorted, bones in places they weren't supposed to be, skin peeled back and pinned in place. But that wasn't the worst part, no, not by far.
"Dear Christ! Y-Your eyes! What have you done to your eyes!"
"My dear, we won't need our eyes to see where we're going."
Later that night, a man entered the mess hall, the lights were on, and a knife hung in his hands. He stepped over to the crumpled, heaving body. The man bent down, running the knife along Hellspawn's face. ?Oh my, I knew I shouldn't have let you come down here...They told me...They told me this would happen if you found them! I'm sorry! I didn't know he'd find you!? The man was now shouting into the air, Hellspawn couldn't quite make out the face, his eyes still burning with the image of the Red Lady.
The shouting man turned towards the body. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to find them, but I can't let you tell the rest what you saw. If they find them...well...you know what will happen...You've seen her too...haven't you? Oh, how beautiful her face is." The man glanced up, baring his teeth.
"Well...They can't have her. She's mine! I won't let it happen! She wouldn't like them, they'd just hurt her. I've got to keep her safe. Maybe she'll let me become like her. Oh, how great it would be to see her world!"
The raving man flipped the knife in his hands and began his work. Hellspawn was dead within seconds but the man stayed for longer, continuing to cut. When the crew awoke for breakfast the next morning, they found Hellspawn laid out on one of the tables, his face covered in a strip of flesh, eye holes meticulously cut into it. His arms were posed like a dancer, taking the hand of the invisible lady before him. No meaning could be gleaned from the symbols cut into his skin, but at that point, the something in the collective pit of their stomach told them they wouldn't be going home.
