The silence in the La Montaña Museum of Antiquities, Arizona, was thick, broken only by the echoing footsteps of Carter Yates, a 40-year-old veteran security guard, and Dr. Goméz, the professor and curator of the traveling exhibition "Myths of the Old World."
"I’m telling you, Carter," Goméz said, adjusting his glasses as he pointed to a piece of grayish-green wood on a velvet pedestal. "For instance, this mask isn’t just art. The Norse texts claim it imprisons the essence of Loki. It is chaos in its purest form."
Carter took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and chuckled, his flashlight swaying on his belt.
"Dr. Goméz, with all due respect, you read too many books. To me, that looks like a piece of firewood someone tried to carve in the dark."
Carter's laughter was cut short by the sudden sound of shattering glass. The alarm blared but was silenced almost instantly by a precision shot.
"What the...?" Carter drew his .38, but before he could aim, the main door exploded.
Six men in tactical gear and assault rifles stormed the hall. The leader, a brute with a scarred eye named "Shark," snarled:
"Nobody move! We’re here for the gold reserve and the valuable relics. Make it easy, and nobody dies."
Goméz shoved Carter behind a marble pillar as bullets began to fly. The guard tried to return fire, but the criminals' suppressive fire was overwhelming. They were surrounded.
"Carter, they’re going to kill us!" screamed the professor, panic taking over. He glanced to the side and saw the mask’s pedestal just inches away. "The legends... if they’re real, it’s our only chance!"
"What are you talking about, Professor?" Carter yelled while reloading his weapon.
In a desperate move, Goméz reached out, grabbed the wooden mask, and before Carter could protest, jammed the artifact against the guard's face.
The mask latched onto his face.
It was as if the world had stopped. The mask began to align and adjust itself to Carter’s head on its own, stretching out like tentacles. Then, he started to spin like a Category 5 hurricane. The guard tried to scream, but he was whirling so fast he became a green blur, sucking up the bandits' bullets like a giant vacuum cleaner.
When the hurricane stopped, Carter was no longer Carter.
He was wearing a flashy, all-white zoot suit; his tie and pocket square were a loud pink. And his face... it was like green rubber, with white teeth that shone like headlights.
"S-S-S-SMOKIN'!" The Mask shouted, his voice sounding like an overly excited radio host.
The bandits froze. Shark recovered his voice first:
"Shoot him! Kill that freak!"
The machine guns spat fire. The Mask, instead of hiding, began a crazy dance, dodging every bullet as if by magic.
"My goodness! What an explosive reception!" The Mask said, pulling a megaphone out of his inner pocket (which clearly wouldn't fit there). "QUIET IN THE MUSEUM! THIS IS A READING ZONE!"
He pulled a rope from the ceiling that hadn’t existed before. A giant book dropped straight onto two bandits, flattening them like pancakes.
"Now that’s what I call heavy reading, eh, boys?" He winked at Goméz, whose jaw was on the floor.
Another bandit lunged with a knife. The Mask instantly transformed into a Matador, complete with a red cape and a rose between his teeth.
"¡Olé!" He sidestepped the bandit, who ran straight past him and fell into an Egyptian sarcophagus, which locked itself shut.
Next, The Mask morphed into a bulked-up, heavily armed soldier. He fired a rifle shot that opened a hole in the floor and dove in headfirst.
A bulge could be seen moving under the floor tiles. The bandits shot at the bulge, but nothing happened. Suddenly, The Mask popped up behind them wearing bunny ears and asked:
"What’s up, Doc?!" — And then smashed two cymbals against the heads of two more bandits.
Shark, furious, emptied his clip. The Mask transformed into a baseball batter and hit every bullet back, making them ricochet. Shark tried to run, but when he turned around, The Mask was already there, dressed as a snobbish Art Curator, wearing a beret and a pencil mustache.
"You know, this piece you're trying to steal is simply..." — He inflated his hand and slapped the bandit on the back of the neck. — "Smashing!"
The Mask pulled a wooden mallet the size of a car out of his trousers and hit a "home run" on the crimelord, sending him flying through the glass ceiling and straight into the back of a passing police paddy wagon outside.
With the bandits knocked out, tied up with gift ribbons, or turned into modern art sculptures, The Mask stopped in front of the Professor and took an exaggerated bow. With a quick but dramatic motion, he ripped the mask off his face.
Carter fell to his knees, panting. His security uniform returned to normal, though slightly singed. Silence returned to the museum. Goméz ran to his friend.
"Carter! Are you alright? My God, the legends... they..."
Carter looked at the wooden mask in his hands, which now seemed like just a lifeless, harmless object. He gave a crooked smile, his eyes still in disbelief at what he had lived. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and said:
"My friend... I’ll never complain about boredom on the night shift again... And please, tell me the insurance covers broken glass."
Outside, sirens were getting closer, while on the faces of the curator and the guard remained the certainty that this traveling exhibition would be, indeed, unforgettable.
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