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Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1069593
by Seuzz Author IconMail Icon
Rated: GC · Book · Occult · #2215645
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises.
#1069593 added April 24, 2024 at 4:29pm
Restrictions: None
Your Turn to Slam a Door Shut
Previously: "A Door is Slammed in Your FaceOpen in new Window.

(Written by imaj)

You're not going to sell that weasel the book.

'Listen Mr Blackwell''

'Aubrey, I insist,' he intereupts.

'Listen 'Aubrey',' you continue, your voice dripping sarcasm. 'I wouldn't sell you that book for ten million dollars. I want you fuck off and stay the hell away from me.'

A dark expression fleets across Aubrey's face, his hands tense into fists. For a moment you think he might attack you in a mindless rage. Then, as quickly as it disappeared, the insincere smile is back in place. Even turned up a gear from the look of it.

You resume your slow pace towards school. Aubrey remains where he stood, talking to your receding back.

'Well think about it young Will. One thousand dollars is a lot of money, and this is a one time offer. I would hate for you to regret dismissing it out of hand. One never knows what the coming days will bring. Perhaps you or your family might need that cash.'

He sketches a bow before returning towards his car. Did he just threaten your family?

*****

Between the conversation and your thoughts about the book, you spend most of the school day distracted. You catch a lot of flak in Calculus for spending the entire period staring out the window doing nothing, simply turning Aubrey's words over and over in your mind.

Finally the last bell comes round and you tramp home for your dinner. For the second time today you spot an unfamiliar car parked outside your house. Well not exactly unfamiliar, you recognise a police car when you see one, you just wonder why its parked outside your house.

Naturally concerned you run in the open door and into the Hall to find it has been trashed. Flowers from the vase your mother kept in the hall are strewn across the floor, along side the fragments of the vase itself. The drawer from the hall table has been upended. Jackets from the cupboard under the hall are everywhere. As you move through the house it becomes clear the rest of the house has faired no better.

'So let me go over this one more time,' you hear a steady, male voice say from the kitchen. 'You went out to pick up groceries at 2:00pm, when you returned at 3:30pm you found the door ajar and the house in this state.'

The voice continues in its matter of fact tone as you pick your way through the debris to its source. In the kitchen you find a young, clean officer from the Saratoga Falls Police Department making notes in a small book as he talks with your mother. Your mother has clearly been crying, and she looks round as you enter the room.

'Oh Will,' she says unevenly. 'We've been robbed.'

'Well Ma'am,' says the officer. 'That's what we're going over just now. From what you've told me, you haven't found anything missing yet.'

'That's right. Every room has been turned over, but nothing seems to be missing. All the electrical good, all my jewellery, the credit cards. Everything is still here.'

'Do you think, perhaps,' asks the officer 'That the thief may have been looking for something specific?'

Your stomach turns a somersault.

'Harris, my husband. He works for Salopak. Maybe the thief was looking for something from there, but Harris never brings any work home with him. It's simply not allowed.'

'What about you young man, do you mind if I call you Will by the way?'

You nod your head weakly.

'Well Will, can you think of anything specific that the thief might have been looking for?'

'No,' you say quietly, hoping like hell that the police officer doesn't spot the lie. 'Mom, will I go round to Caleb's? We had a project to work on at school and it will keep me out of the way for a few hours.'

'Yes, yes' That will be alright wont it officer?' she asks, turning to the police officer. 'You don't need to ask my son anything more, do you?'

'Sure,' smiles the officer. 'You go along now Will. Remember, if you can think of anything, tell your mother for me. I'll be passing along my contact details to her so she can let me know.'

*****

Your heart is pounding as you run to the old elementary school. Lying to your mother is one thing, Lying to the police is a whole new ball game. Of course it must have been Blackwell. He threatened your family and then the same day your house is burgled. That's not a coincidence.

You approach the door the basement with trepidation and breath a sigh of relief when you find the new lock intact. A quick inspection finds everything where you left it. Taking the mask you made the previous evening and a chamois cloth you begin the daunting task of polishing another mask.

*****

Oddly you find the mind numbing tedium of polishing the mask strangely therapeutic over the course of the next few days. The atmosphere in your house is tense after the burglary and you hear at least one blazing row between your mother and father. Polishing the mask every evening lets you zone out for several hours and slip away from your troubles.

Events pass by. Umeko and Aunt Mary visit on Wednesday afternoon. Umeko actually gives you a hug when she discovers the book and mask gone from your room. Your father's black mood deepens on Thursday when he returns from work to announce that the project he has been working on has been cancelled.

You even find the time to make a couple of the memory strips detailed in the third spell. The first you test on yourself when you discover that the fourth spell will not unlock until a used memory strip is placed across the book's pages.

The fourth spell, well that is an interesting thing. You discover that by combining a mask and memory band, you can make a mask that absorbs both the image and memories of a person.

And that's what you have now, carefully wrapped and hidden at the bottom of your school satchel, as you set out on Friday morning.

Next: "Blackwell Shows Another FaceOpen in new Window.

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Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1069593