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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Faltering Will"  You whirl and grope at the darkness that surrounds you, expecting to grab someone. Who? Adam Dortch, of course, whose hair is brushing across the top of your back. But how can that be, when you are Adam Dortch? You gape and gasp, struggling to turn your world right-side-up—or in some direction that makes sense. The last thing you remember—and it's a fight to remember it, because you are so confused and frightened you can hardly think straight—is coming out to the old State Theater. You were coming out there to meet people because there was going to be some kind of party—Padilla was going to bring beer and weed—that Laura MacGregor had invited you out to. You didn't especially want to go— No, wait, it was Catherine who didn't especially want to go ... So you went inside by yourself after texting Padilla ... except Catherine was with you ... G'yah! You fall into a crouch and cover your face with your hands. You want to retch, both with fear and with disgust at the hair that bounces, like a heavy cobweb, across the top of your back. Slowly, your thoughts separate and resolve into two parallel streams of memories. In one, you came out to the State Theater alone to meet Laura and Padilla and maybe some other people, and you came in alone after texting Padilla, and it was dark inside and it seemed deserted ... and then something touched you on the back of the head. In the other, you came out to the State Theater with Catherine, to meet Christian Padilla and probably some other people, and there was a white truck outside (Catherine asked who it belonged to, and you had to confess you didn't know) but all the lights were out on the inside. You barged in anyway, because you know the place, and when you came out where the stage is— You lift your face and peer into the gloom. By the feel of the air, you're sure you're on the stage now. —you called out. Then Catherine gave a little gasp, and her hand went limp in yours and you felt her tumble, but as you turned to catch her something touched you on the side of your head. And each of these opposed memories connects up to a stream of others, running back in time, back and deeper into the lives of Will Prescott and Adam Dortch. Your heart is beating hard as you reach up to touch your scalp, and the immense mane of frizzy hair that floats there in a giant cloud. That's my hair, you think. Then, with a shiver: No, it's Adam's hair. But how did Adam's hair get onto your head? For that matter, how did things that feel like his memories get into your head? Why does part of you feel like he is Adam Dortch? Gingerly, with fear and loathing, you run your palms over your chest and arms and torso. The spread of wiry hair you expect to find across your chest is gone, replaced by a narrow patch between your pecs; and yet you'd expect to find that too, if you've got Dortch's 'do. Your torso and limbs are firm with wiry muscles, and you run fingertips across an unfamiliar, yet also completely familiar, six-pack at your stomach. You stop the exploration before you can touch pubic hair, though. Oh, the fuck is this? you pant to yourself with a mix of exasperation and fear. Where the fuck are the lights? Where the fuck are my fucking clothes! You find them a moment later, as with shuffling feet you push your way across the wooden floor of the stage, feeling for a way out. Your toes touch and push something soft and heavy but yielding, and when you crouch to explore with your hands you find it's a pile of clothing. You paw through it until you find the cell phone. The screen lights as you touch it, and you quickly turn on built-in flashlight. A glance confirms that it's Adam Dortch's clothes you've found. But you find more. As you shine the light about, you spot three naked figures splayed on the theater stage, each one next to a pile of clothing. All of them you recognize: Laura MacGregor. Adam's girlfriend, Catherine Greathouse. And Will Prescott. * * * * * Everyone is very cross and very frightened after you've woken them up. At first they are confused and angry at finding themselves naked. The horror doesn't start until, by the dim light of cell phones, they get a look at themselves. Literally, they find themselves looking at themselves. It's a fucking body-swap is what it is, man, like out of Disney Channel sitcom or some shit like that. Catherine is now in Laura's body, and Laura is in Catherine's. And just as you are in Adam's body, he is now in yours. There's a lot of yelping and crying by the girls, of course, and Catherine (in Laura's body) even starts screaming hysterically. Adam (in your body) tries grabbing and holding her to calm her down, but she bats him away viciously. But when you, on some instinct that you share with Adam, reach out to embrace her, she accepts it, and wilts inside your arms and sobs with her face in your chest. "Okay, first thing we do," you tell them all grimly after Catherine has mostly calmed down, "is get dressed and get the fuck outta here before anything else freaky happens." "Maybe if we wait it'll all switch back to normal," Laura (in Catherine's body) suggests, but her tone is hollow. "I'm not staying here," Adam says. "Where's my fucking duds, man?" "You better put on mine," you tell him grimly even as you continue to nurse Catherine. "They'll fit you better." Eventually you get the clothes sorted out, though you and Catherine are the last to get dressed, for she clings to you, and even after you are dressed she is very slow to pull on Laura's stockings and skirt and blouse. And she cleaves to your side again, shuddering and shaking, as you all grope your way back outside into the parking lot. The sun sitting on the horizon, casting a lurid, dying light across the ruined parking lot behind the theater, when you emerge, to stand awkwardly and eye each other. It's creepy and surreal. The girls at least look normal, but only until you look them in the eye and face, and that's when you see the eye-rolling horror they must feel. They stand very stiffly, and Catherine in particular shrinks up as though loathing the very touch of Laura's clothes. But even Laura only looks like she's barely holding her shit together. Both of them, you notice, try to look anywhere but at each other—but at the same time they can't help sneaking quick, horrified looks at the girl who now looks like them. You understand, for you've the same reluctance to look directly at the guy who now inhabits your face and body. He is scrawny inside a billowing t-shirt and cargo pants that look a couple of sizes too large for him. He is twisting his shapeless white ball cap in his hands, and his stiff, straw-like hair seems to stick out in all directions. His mouth peels back in an angry, frightened rictus, exposing big teeth, and his dark eyes dart about. Someone's got to take charge. To your own surprise, you find that it is you. "Okay, what does everyone remember?" you ask. "About what happened?" When no one answers, you point at Adam. He gives you a quick, seething glare, then says, "Nothing. I just came out here with—" He glances between Laura and Catherine, as though trying to figure out which one counts as who. "Me and Catherine. We went in, lights were all out, and then it was like something hit me in the head." You nod, for that accords with the memory you have of his arrival. "Catherine?" you ask. She has nestled up inside your arm again, and you squeeze her. "Hey," you say, but she just flinches and buries her face in your shoulder. "She was with me," Adam says. "Same thing happened with her." His tone and expression are hostile, and judging by his expression he'd very much like to hit you. You ignore him, though, and turn to Laura. "How about you?" "Same thing," she says in a weak voice. "I was late getting out here, saw the cars—" She glances about vaguely, and you follow her gaze. There are three vehicles parked in the small lot: your white truck, Adam's gray VW Jetta, and a cherry-red four-door sedan that must be Laura's. "I went in. It was dark and I got kind of freaked out. I was going back outside, to text and see where everyone was, when I heard someone come running up behind me." She shivers violently. "It was a guy, I know that, but—" She shivers again. "I couldn't see who it was, and he, like, hit me in the face or something." She swallows. "And that's all." You grimace. There seems only one thing to do, though it scares you. "I've got a flashlight in my truck," you tell Adam. "I'll get it, you get the one out of your car, and we'll go back inside and look around." "Oh, don't so that!" Laura exclaims. "What if they're still in there?" "That means we can catch them!" But before you can turn for your truck, you're caught and held by the glare on Adam's face. "How the fuck do you know what I got in my car?" he demands. "What do you mean, how do I know?" "I mean," he repeats, "how the fuck do you know I got a flashlight in my fucking car?" You blink at him. What a stupid question. "I just do," you reply. "Don't you know what I got in my truck?" "I don't even know who the fuck you are, man!" And that's the first inkling you have that, although you know all about Adam Dortch, none of the others have the first clue about the people they now are. Next: "The Emerging Backstory" |
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