The Book of Masks (Abridged)

You, Yourself, and Him

CALEB'S EYES BULGE. "Are you crazy? We don't know what will happen!"

"Exactly. It would be—"

But you can't finish the thought. For if it's unethical to test them on other people, it would be unethical to indulge all the other plans you've been fantasizing about.

"Well, if you want to be your own lab monkey, go ahead," he grumbles.

"Right," you say. "I'll try it out, and you watch to see what happens. Jump in if it looks like, you know, something's going wrong." Despite your attempted bravery, your stomach flops about at the thought of "what might go wrong."

"Alright," he says after taking a deep breath. "How do we do this?"

You glance around and spot an old cafeteria table under some desks; after clearing it off, you lay down on it. "Maybe I better take my clothes off," you mutter after a pause. "In case they interfere," you add when Caleb looks at you funny.

The basement is cold and dirty, so you're really uncomfortable as you lay back down, naked, on the table. "Put it on me," you tell Caleb as he starts to hand you the mask. "That's how we'll have to do it with other people, after all."

"Are we going to make them get naked too," he asks sarcastically, but you ignore him.

You close your eyes and hold your breath as the mask settles on your face. For a moment you are aware of its cold, plaster-like touch. Then it becomes very warm, and a great weight seems to settle all over your body. Your eyes sink shut and—

"Shit!" you cry, and raise a hand to your stinging cheek. You are stiff and numb all over, and only with great difficulty do you sit up.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asks in a trembling voice. His face is haggard.

"I think so. But— Jesus, did you hit me?"

He nods. "You've been passed out for ... God, I dunno. A quarter of an hour? Are you sure you're okay?"

You grunt and stretch. The numbness is rapidly fading, but you are still stiff. You look down, and are surprised to see that you are back in your pants. "What happened?"

Caleb swallows. "I put the mask on you, and it just kind of— Disappeared. Like it sank down into your face or something."

"Fuck!"

He nods. "Scared the shit outta me. Your eyes were open and you were breathing, but it was like you were totally comatose. I tried shaking you, but you just lay there." He licks his lips. "So I started dressing you up again, in case I needed to call the paramedics."

"Is the mask still inside me?"

"No. I went to get your socks, and when I looked up it was back on your face. So I pulled it off. You were still out, so I slapped you. That's when you came around."

"Shit!" You stand and stretch, shaking off the last of the stiffness. "Gimme my shirt, will ya? Where'd you put the mask?"

"On the table. Jesus, I don't want to go through that again."

"Well, it wasn't that bad on my end, really. It felt like something was grabbing my face, and the next thing I knew was back here."

You look down at the mask. The basement is dim, but even in the gloom you can see it glowing with an uncanny light. But there is something more to it now: as you peer closer, you see that it holds a faint, silvery image. You take it over to the window.

"Maybe the whole 'passing out' thing is part of the magic," Caleb says, and sounding a little more confident. "You know, to keep the victim from struggling, or something like that."

You nod, but your attention is on the mask. There is a silvery face reflected in its surface. As you turn the mask this way and that, you can glimpse the sides and top of a head, and even part of a shoulder and chest. The likeness is hard to make out, but you don't need to recognize it to guess what it is.

"Christ, it's you," Caleb says in a whisper over your shoulder.

"Of course," you say. And now that you see it, a mix of feelings—of relief and terror and wonder—pass through you. "Who else's would it be?" There's a slight giggle of hysteria in your voice.

"Come on," Caleb says. "Let's get out where there's some fresh air." He grabs the book and hustles you out.

Under the bright, noonday sun you sit on the grass and study the book, which has acquired a faint spot that covers most of the last open page. You lay the mask onto this spot, and the page now turns. You and Caleb crowd together as you look over the newly revealed pages.

The reverse appears to contain a continuation of the spell that describes how to make the mask. This makes you nervous; why is the book hiding information from you? The next page, meanwhile, seems to outline a new spell. The nearby community center has a WiFi hotspot, and Caleb has his laptop, so over the course of the next hour you are able to puzzle out the new information.

It turns out the reverse of the earlier page only gives some additional information on how to use the spell, revealing that a mask will continue to "absorb" new body images each time you lay it upon a face, and the new faces will be melded with the old ones, thus creating new faces. ("So that's if you want a disguise without looking like someone else in particular," Caleb suggest.)

To make the mask work as a proper disguise, though, you have to "seal" it. That's the subject of the next spell. You have all the ingredients on hand for it, and about thirty minutes later you've covered the inside of the mask with a thin, paint-like lacquer; and you've also turned another page in the book. But the follow up spell looks a lot more complicated, and you can't really figure out what it's supposed to do.

You and Caleb end up staring at the mask you've finished together. Neither of you say anything for a minute. Then Caleb speaks for you both: "Well, it's ready to go. Shouldn't we try it out?"

You nod curtly and start to take it from him, but he resists. "Maybe I should try it out. I mean," he stammers, "it wouldn't make much sense for someone to disguise himself as himself."

He's got a point. At the same time, your heart start races, for he's basically proposing to use the mask to turn himself into you.

* * * * *

Back in the basement, he takes off his clothes and lies back on the same table you'd lain upon. He gives you a quick thumbs up, then gently lowers the mask to his face. It instantly vanishes, as though it has sunk into his skull. Despite what he'd told you of when you put the mask on, you gasp.

For an instant you are uncertain who you are looking at: It's Caleb, but it's also someone else. Then with a shock you recognize it as yourself laying there: Lank and undermuscled, with a fading summertime tan from the torso up and the knees down. The thick thatch of straw-like hair sticking out at weird angles and the long single hairs on the chin and upper lip and cheek bone. Knobby knees and elbows.

You are vastly reluctant to touch him, but the sight of him lolling unconsciously, with head rolling and mouth hanging open, is too much. "Hey," you say, and shake him. "Hey!"

"Unh," he says, and his lids flutter open. He stares up dully at you, then blinks sharply into focus. He looks left and right out of the corners of his eyes, and slowly sits up.

And once he's up it's even worse, for the resemblance is subtly but horribly wrong. You stomach twists.

"Dude, what's wrong," he asks. "What happened?" Gingerly he touches his face. That loathsome face.

"I dunno," you croak. "You look almost right, but—"

"But what?" The person who is not quite your twin pales.

"Come on," you say, and pinch rather than tug him to his feet. You lead him over to a floor-length mirror that must have once stood in the gym. Caleb regards himself with wonder.

"Holy shit," he murmurs, and rubs his cheek. "It's you. I'm you. But you're right, it's not exact." Puzzlement and fear wrestle for control of his face. "Maybe you didn't polish it up right?"

"I thought I did." You lean in, looking over his shoulder. He glances at you in the mirror, and freezes. His eyes dart between his reflection and yours. Then he bursts out laughing. "What?" you ask.

He is laughing so hard he bends double. "Oh fuck, you're such an idiot! We look exactly alike, you moron!"

"But you said yourself—"

"Because I was looking in a mirror, you maroon!" he shouts. "I'm used to looking at you straight on, not in a fucking mirror. And you're used to looking at yourself in a mirror, not straight on. That's why everything looked off. Here!"

He pulls you back over to the mirror, to point at your twin reflections. "See, they're exactly the same!" And now that you look, yes, his reflection and yours are indeed a perfect match.

His eyes dance with amusement as he runs his hands over his transformed arms and studies his fingers. "No one could ever tell the difference between us!" He runs them slowly down his chest and his stomach and his hips and—

"Stop that," you snap. "Don't play with that. It's not yours."

"It is now," he retorts. "Or, at least, this copy of it is." But he does stop flipping it around. Instead he puts his hand to his throat. "Is my voice the same as yours? It sounds different to me."

"It doesn't sound like mine."

"Yeah, but we don't know what we sound like. Does it sound like my old voice?"

"No."

"Cool. That seems like it would be everything."

"Have you got my memories?"

He frowns thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Must only copy the physical body and not the mind. But that's good enough for a start, I guess." His eyes glint. "Gimme your clothes."

"What for?"

"So I can go back your house as you, you dope! If I can fool your family—"