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Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/952547
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by Seuzz Author IconMail Icon
Rated: GC · Book · Occult · #2180093
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises.
#952547 added February 20, 2019 at 9:39pm
Restrictions: None
My Brother the Guinea Pig
Previously: "The Solo MagicianOpen in new Window.

With the mask hidden behind your back, you saunter into Robert's room and lean inside the open doorway; he is instant messaging, and glances irritably over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"Just being nosy," you reply. "I wanted to see how a loser wastes his Saturday evenings."

"Then go watch yourself in a mirror," he retorts. "At least I've got something to keep myself busy."

"Tsk tsk," you cluck. "If you call that 'keeping busy.' You can't even get a date."

"And where's your date," he says sarcastically. "Oh yeah, she broke up with you."

"At least I had a girlfriend to break up with me," you snigger. "Poor little Bobby—" he hates the diminutive form of his name "—can't even get a girl." He ignores you and just keeps tapping away at the keyboard.

This isn't going the way you intended; you were hoping to provoke a fight that would lead to your sitting on him and pushing the mask onto his face. But maybe this will work just as well.

You stand behind his chair. He continues to ignore you, though he tenses his shoulders. You expect him to whip around at any moment and yell at you, but when he doesn't you just calmly reach around with both hands and press the mask against his face.

His hands fly up and he twists in his chair, but you just keep pressing the mask against him. It suddenly feels very warm against your palms, and even as he pulls at your fingers his strength ebbs away and his arms fall to his side. You keep holding the mask—

—and then you feel it melting away. You look down in astonishment: your hands are pressing against your brother's bare cheeks.

You rush over and close his bedroom door, and as you turn back he slumps out of his chair. Quickly, you pull him up and drag him onto his bed, where you peer down at him. He is breathing shallowly, with his eyes open. There is no sign of the mask.

Nervously, you watch and bite your lips. Where has the mask gone? What has it done to him? You knew it was a terrible risk trying this magical thing out on someone—that's why you didn't want to try it on yourself—but the realization that you might have irreparably harmed your own brother isn't long in sinking in. You sit on the edge of his bed, with a sick feeling in your stomach, as you watch, hoping that things will turn out alright.

Minutes pass, and nothing seems to happen. You've just about given up, and are trying to figure out what (if anything) you should tell your parents, when Robert's face begins to glow—and then the mask reappears.

You snatch it up and peer anxiously at Robert. His eyes are now closed, and he's breathing deeply; it appears to be nothing worse than a heavy sleep. You watch him carefully for a few moments, and then turn your attention to the mask.

There is the glint of an image in its polished surface, and as you look more carefully you see that it now holds the pale, ghostly image of Robert's face, reproduced like a 3-D image in the mask's surface. As you turn the mask this way and that, you note that it gives you glimpses not only of his face but of the sides and top of his head; you can even see part of his shoulders and chest when you turn it about to the right angle. It looks as though the mask has reproduced not just his face but his entire body.

You're about to creep out of his room when you get a sudden thought, and dip into his closet to snag a shirt and a pair of pants. Then you scurry out before he can wake up.

You've got the mask and his clothes hidden, and are perusing the next spell in the book—which the newly imprinted mask has unlocked—when your bedroom door flies open. Robert stands there, with a bewildered and angry look on his face.

"The hell was—" he starts, and then stops.

"Yes?" you say with studied innocence.

"Weren't you just— Didn't you—?" His brow furrows.

"Didn't I what?"

"I just woke up!" He says it like it's an accusation.

You look around carefully. "And ... isn't it about time to go to bed?"

He glowers at you, but apparently can't find anything to say. "Just stay out of my room!" he finally shouts, and stomps off.

* * * * *

When you turned the newly unlocked page in the book, you discovered some new information about the mask: it will continue to "absorb" new body images each time it is laid upon a face, melding new images with old and thus creating new faces, until it is "sealed." Upon reflection, you decided this means that if you now laid the mask upon your own face—and you've no real qualms about doing that, now that you've seen the mask in action—it will create a new form that looks like someone halfway between you and your brother. This would be a useful feature if you wanted to change your appearance without looking exactly like someone else.

But you were more eager to check that it can actually work as a disguise. This involves "sealing" the mask, which the next spell describes how to do. It was too late Saturday evening to work on it, and you had church the next morning, so Sunday afternoon after lunch was the earliest that you could get around to testing it out. You were nervous, because your parents were still home, and you remembered the mess and the smell when you'd made the mask, but you took a chance anyway. It was well worth it, though. The new spell, which only required some of the materials you already had on hand, was much less noisome and explosive, and resulted in a thin, paint-like liquid that was easy to brush on the inside of the mask.

You are now holding the newly sealed mask and are laying, naked, on your bed. It's a moment of truth: different from, but in its own way just as fraught, as the moment when you hit Robert with it. Even if you survive the experiment, it will be disappointing if it doesn't work as advertised.

Slowly, you lower the mask onto your face. For a brief moment you are very conscious that it fits snugly against you, and that there are no eyeholes or mouth hole for breathing: no wonder Robert seemed on the verge of passing out when you attacked him with it. Then, with a gasp, you feel the mask sinking into your face. All your limbs go rigid. Your heart hammers briefly, then is still. You are very numb all over, and a great weight seems to be oppressing your brain. You feel very drowsy.

And then you feel yourself spring upright. You are stiff all over, and you groan. What has happened? You arch your back to get the kinks out, and stretch an arm. You were trying on the mask and—

You look down. Your legs look funny: not as thick, and slightly darker, with thinner hair on the calves. Your toenails are longer, too, as are your fingers, when you glance at them. You touch your chest and feel only a light, downy patch beneath your fingertips. You touch the top of your head: your hair is now very short. Just like Robert's ...

You hop up and look in the mirror: Robert's face gazes back. Except it's not the same. In fact, it's totally wrong, all back to front or something. It's like looking at his face distorted in a funhouse mirror. Sure, the hair is the right color, but even combed it lays the wrong way on your scalp. The eyes are the right shade of green, but the eyebrows run off malignantly in strange directions. You grimace, and the lips leer. Even the birthmark beside the nose is on the wrong side—

And then it hits you. You're looking at Robert's face in a mirror, when you're used to looking at it straight on. This is what Robert sees when he looks at himself, and now that you've got his face ...

Now that you've got his face ...

Quickly you pull out the clothes you stole from his room last night and slip them on. That helps with the "mirror image" aspect, and when you look in the mirror again you are satisfied with the disguise: the lanky arms and the big hands; the close-cropped, reddish-gold hair; the mischievous eyes—more mischievous now that you are the one looking out of them—with the one eyebrow that arches satirically upward; the thick, somewhat chapped lips; the flat nose splotched with large, pale freckles. You turn around and around, admiring the effect. You are his exact twin. You'd be his evil twin if you weren't so used to thinking of Robert himself as the wicked little brother. Or maybe you could be his even more evil twin.

The thought has barely registered when you hear a shout from outside. Cautiously, you glance out the window, to see Umeko coming up the drive, shouting a greeting to your mother. Robert has gone off for the afternoon to hang out with his dorky friends. This would be the perfect chance to get back at him for stealing Umeko away for that movie. Of course, your parents know that Robert has left the house ...

You drum your fingers and think.

It would be a simple matter to steal into Robert's bedroom and take a pair of his extra sneakers, then climb out your window and hide in the neighborhood for a bit until Umeko started to leave. Then you could "appear" as Robert and say or do stupid things that would piss her off. It would be a lovely prank—assuming you didn't somehow get caught out as an imposter. Of course, if you did get caught out, it could lead to problems so serious it's hardly worth thinking about.

That's all for now.

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