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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Making of the First Mask"  "I'd planned on showing you these elements one at a time," Blackwell says as he ushers you into one of the spare bedrooms. "Try not to get too excited—or too frightened." You tense. He's never warned you about the library. What could be so awful that it makes the library seem normal? He gestures at the thing standing in the corner. It looks like a store mannequin, but not one of those detailed ones. It's just a gray-hued hulk, vaguely humanoid in shape and size. "That is something you may have read about," Blackwell says. "A golem." As he speaks, he unlocks a tall cabinet mounted on an otherwise bare wall. Inside, hanging on pegs, are three blue masks—personas as he calls them—and on a shelf sit two metal bands. He catches you looking over his shoulder, and maneuvers to block further views. He takes one of the masks down, and closes and locks the cabinet. "I am making a considerable sacrifice on your behalf," he sighs. "But you are worth it. In fact, I think I'll turn a profit. Here. Lay down on the bed and put this on," he says as he holds out the mask. "Who is it? Do I need to take my clothes off?" "It's no one yet," he says, "and you can lay down as you are." You stretch out on the bed and drop the mask over your face. Again, you are overcome with drowsiness, and a feeling of heavy weights settles over you. They seem to press you down into the bed. They press on your eyes and on your mind. They sink over you and drag you down. You feel as though you are pushed into through the bed and through the floor below ... * * * * * With a gasp you sit up; the mask falls into your lap. You feel as though you have woken from a long and exhausting sleep. "What happened?" "You were out for quite a number of minutes," Blackwell says. He is standing by the window, looking down onto the grounds. "Look at the mask now." You examine it, as you had examined the mask of Jared on Sunday. Like that mask, it contains an image: something like a 3D effect. You gasp to recognize your own face. "Yes, this is where it gets a little frightening," Blackwell says. "But don't be afraid. It's just a tool. Now turn it over." You examine the inside of the mask, and swallow hard. The mask of Jared had simply been blank and blue all over, but inside this one, attached to the reverse of the brow, is a metal strip. Over it, in the air, float ethereal letters: WILLIAM MARTIN PRESCOTT. "When did you make this?" Your voice sounds strangled. "Just now," he replies. "And I finished it while you were asleep. It is my last blank mask, until you finish the one you are working on now. Well, it was blank. Then you put it on your own face, just now. Now it contains a copy of you." You swallow. "Why does it know my name?" "Because it knows you, now." He doesn't walk toward you directly; he just sort of strolls around the room until he is by your side. "The mask of Jared only records his image. But this one ... You see that metal strip on the inside? It's ... well I suppose it's like a microchip. And it now holds everything that was inside your head." He points to his temple. "All your memories. Your likes and dislikes. Your personality. Your dispositions. Your talents and skills. Well, most of them." He is by your side now. "The stuff that makes you into you, not just your body, but the stuff on the inside. It is all now inside that mask as well." "What happens if I put it on?" You feel very cold all over. "If you put it on? Nothing. You can't disguise yourself as yourself. But if another person put it on ... Well, I'm afraid they would look just like you. They would be able to think and act just like you, too. They would be the perfect imposter, because there is nothing you know that they wouldn't know also, nothing you can do that they couldn't do, and just as easily and naturally." Something seems to be squeezing your throat now. "What are you going to do with it?" You look up at him. He holds your eye. Then he smiles genially. "Not that, Will. I respect your privacy just as much as you respect mine. But we need to fool your family. That is where the golem comes in." He takes the mask from you and places it against the blank face of the mannequin in the corner. The mask vanishes, and the thing ripples and changes. It seems to flex and distort. And then it is no longer a featureless mannequin, but an identical but naked duplicate of you. It settles back on its heels and opens its eyes. First it looks at Blackwell, and then it looks at you. It stares. Then its mouth opens in surprise and delight. You unconsciously shrink back as it steps forward. "Whoa," it says in a voice that you recognize is your own. "Like, double your pleasure, double your fun, eh, boss?" It grins at Blackwell. "William Prescott, may I present you with William Prescott," Blackwell says, ambiguously. Your twin steps forward, grinning at you. It extends its hand. "Can I touch it, boss?" "Him, William, him. You are the 'it'." "Oh, right." The other boy's fingers flex hungrily as he reaches for your face. You put your hand to his, and your fingers lock together. His grin widens. You block his other hand. And then you are wrestling. "Fight it, Will, fight it!" Blackwell exclaims. "You can't let your doppelganger defeat you!" With a snarl the other you pushes you back on the bed, but you twist out from under and push him off. You jump at him, and the pair of you ram into the wall. His face turns red, and he glares at you, pushing you back. You slip and fall and he piles onto you, trying to grab a hold around your head and neck that will lock you down. But then he slips—his bare feet scuttling on the polished wooden floor—and you twist over and push him down. You drop onto his chest. "Get off me, you fucker!" it shrieks. "I'll make you suck my cock!" "Eat my shit!" His lip curls. "I'll give you twenty dollars to leave me alone." You look up at Blackwell in alarm. "Can it do that?" "Of course not. It is a creature of magic, and incapable of practicing it." You grin down at your double. "Looks I'll be the one fucking you up." "Suck it, douchebag!" "Alright, stop it, both of you." Blackwell leans over and puts a finger in the thing's face. "You have to do what he says." "How come? He's not the boss of me, and you can't make him the boss of me neither!" "But you want to do what he says," Blackwell says in an insinuating tone. The thing your face blinks. "Oh, that's right. Dur!" He smiles up at you, but this time the grin is completely free of malice. "Sorry about that, dude. Pax?" He extends a hand. You shake and help pull him to his feet. Once up, he hangs a friendly arm around your neck. "We're gonna have a fuckload of fun, you and me, you know?" He looks down. "I mean, look at that, I'm getting a boner just thinking about it!" "This has been a delightful meeting of minds," Blackwell says, looking at his watch, "but it is time for you to go home, Will." You and your twin look at him, and then you look at each other, and then you and Blackwell look at the golem. His face falls. "Oh, shit!" * * * * * Blackwell puts you in a wonderfully thick bathrobe once the other you has gone (in your clothes) and leads you downstairs to his living room, where the two of you sit down, each to polish a mask—for he has made another—while discussing plans. "You'll have to start spending the nights here, of course," he says. "I want you, and not your twin, to go to school, however. He'll stop by on his way to class, and the two of you will switch out. Pressing the mask to your face will give you all the memories it has accumulated in the meantime, so you won't get lost." "How many of these things do you have?" "At least two," he says curtly. "I need this one"—he gestures at the mask he is polishing—"for another ... project ... of mine. Your mask, however, will be yours to do with as you wish. I'll show you how to seal it and to make the mind strip. We should be ready by the beginning of next week, so you should start giving thought to what you will do with your mask." That's what you do for the rest of the evening, even while trying to be distracted by the old movie he puts in the DVD player. * * * * * Shortly before midnight—"It isn't healthy to walk afterward"—he takes you to the guest bedroom. Like the other rooms on the second floor, it is small and a little cold; the floor is wood, and the ceiling feels too low. But it is cozy, and you feel tired. Blackwell's parting words give you pause, though. "This house has a security system," he says, "but as you can imagine, it is a little unorthodox. It is also very sensitive. Pray do not open your door before dawn." You slip between the sheets and try to relax. When you sold the book back to Blackwell you were determined to have nothing more to do with him. Now you are sleeping in his house. Idly, you wonder what your doppelganger is up to in your own bed. If it really is a perfect duplicate of you ... You grimace and blush. * * * * * The glowing face of the digital clock—a real anachronism in this room—reads a little after two when you hear the door handle jiggle. You look over: someone or something is fumbling at it. Is it Blackwell, trying to get in? He said there was a security system, but could it be a burglar? Footsteps move off down the hall, and there is sound of a far off door opening and closing. * To investigate the sounds: "Change of Address" * To go back to bed: "School Days" |
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