# chapters

path: 111222
author_id: seuzz
title: Old Acquaintances in New Haunts
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Caleb is already giving you impatient looks, so you start up the truck and jump out into a gap in the traffic, for you've got an adrenaline rush from the success you had with Mansfield. "What now?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We could finish up my mask, then use it on Lisa tomorrow," he replies. "Then we'd have a matched set. Okay, that wasn't funny," he hurriedly adds after you shoot him a dirty look. "I say we head back to the clubhouse. I bet we can use this sweet puppy to turn the next page in the book. I mean, if you're right about the way that it works."<br/>
<br/>
That's something you hadn't been thinking about, so concentrated have you been on finishing up masks and finding someone to test them on: The pages in the book are locked, and it appears that a new page will only turn loose when you have completed the spell that it describes.<br/>
<br/>
But before racing back to school, you take a short detour into Starbucks to pick up two celebratory macchiatos.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yo, Will," says the barista as he claps the two small paper cups onto the counter. "Get you a couple of fudge brownies too, if you're trying to put a little fat on your bones?" He grins cheekily.<br/>
<br/>
It's tempting, but you demur. "I didn't know you were working here," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"But now you do, right?" Connor Hutchison leans across the counter and lowers his voice. "Come in every day next week, order one of these in a venti size -- " He flicks a finger lightly against the caramel macchiatos. "And I'll start giving you unlimited refills on any regular coffees you buy."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes narrow. "Is this some kind of scam you're running on the store, or are you trying wrangle some long-term customers?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't it be both?" His grin widens. "Hey, watch this." He straightens up as a customer comes up.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not just any customer. It's Olivia Byrne, from school. She's in a tight, lemon-yellow strapless dress that hugs her boobs, her butt, and everything in between. She smiles at Connor, and runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as she asks for a refill, and she traces a fingertip around the top of her ceramic cup. Wordlessly, Connor puts it under a tap of hot coffee, and returns it in a way so that his fingers brush over hers. She smiles brightly at him, tucks a strand of her long, brown hair behind one ear, and returns to her table.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help staring at her ass as she goes, and you're sure Caleb and Connor are staring at it too.<br/>
<br/>
You also can't help noticing that she completely ignored you and Caleb, though she was standing right beside you, and you know she knows your names.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that why you want us in here regularly," Caleb asks. "So you can flirt with us?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor blows him a quick kiss, and winks. Caleb turns a little pink.<br/>
<br/>
"She wasn't putting on that show for you," you sneer. "I mean, she didn't get dressed up like that just get free refills on coffee while she texts her friends." Olivia has already bent her head over her iPhone and is busy tapping away at it.<br/>
<br/>
"Who cares?" Connor says. "She comes in, she dresses like that, she -- " He imitates Olivia's action with her hair, even though his own brunette locks only curl to just below his ear lobe. He settles his elbows on the counter. "If she wants to suck my cock for free coffee I'll let her do that too," he says <i>sotto voce.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Just don't ask <i>me</i> to suck your cock," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"I already creamed your coffee, Johansson. Hey, where's Tilley? Isn't he usually hanging out with you guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not today," you say. You lift the cups. "Thanks for these, and maybe we'll see you around."<br/>
<br/>
"That offer's only good this week," Connor calls after you. "Oh, and when you see Ioeger and Lamont, give them the same message. It's good for when I'm at the counter or when Justin's here."<br/>
<br/>
"Carr? He works here too?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor makes a face. "You never come in, do you? Yeah, we're both full-time here. Saving up money for a road trip to Alaska next summer. You'll be graduated by then, too, and maybe you can tag along."<br/>
<br/>
It's an intriguing offer, so you nod cheerily before letting Caleb drag you away. You notice his mood as soured. "We're not gonna start hanging out at <i>Starbucks</i>, are we?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"No one says you have to. What've you got against Connor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, except he's too much like Ioeger."<br/>
<br/>
"And you don't like Carson 'cos he's too much like you. Jesus, even your names are too much the same," you continue as he flips you off. "Caleb. Carson. Connor. Even Keith has noticed. I remember last year he joked that it was like there was a machine someplace mass producing slightly different variants on the same model. You guys even all look alike. Tall, gangly and goofy looking."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you must be the discount model, since the only difference is you're shorter than me."<br/>
<br/>
"Barely."<br/>
<br/>
"Two fucking inches is not 'barely'."<br/>
<br/>
"I am <i>not</i> two inches -- "<br/>
<br/>
"It's two inches, Will. You're two inches shorter, both flaccid and erect. Ow!" He jumps two inches and bangs the crown of his head on the roof of the truck cab when you punch him in the groin.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your hopes for the book turn out to be justified. You lay the mask onto the page holding the spell, and when you lift it the page lifts as well.<br/>
<br/>
On the reverse side you find a description of the spell and an explanation for what it does. It's a very long paragraph taking up most of the page, and it takes a long time to translate it using the online Latin dictionaries. But it's not hard to penetrate, since it basically describes the actions you've already performed and tells you what you've done.<br/>
<br/>
The mask behaved perfectly on Geoff, according to the book. A mask, when placed on the face of a victim, will sink into him and remain there for roughly ten minutes, after which it will reemerge; and all the time that it is within him, the victim will be in a sleep-like stupor. Moreover, unless awakened by a loud noise or by being shaken, the victim will remain asleep for another ten minutes after the mask has been retrieved. "That's so you can get it onto him and get away without him knowing you were there," Caleb theorizes in a very smug tone.<br/>
<br/>
When it emerges from a person, the mask will carry an imprint of his "imago" (whatever that is) but it will still be "soft like wax" according to the book, and more of these "imago" can be put into it in order to create new "imago." After puzzling over it for a bit, Caleb hits on what you both decide must be the solution: The mask now contains a copy of Geoff Mansfield, but if you place the mask onto another person, it will also copy that person, and merge the two copies into a "morph" halfway between them. "That's if you want to create a new look," Caleb suggests. The mask cannot be worn by anyone as a disguise, the spell concludes, until the mask has been "sealed."<br/>
<br/>
And how do you "seal" a mask? Caleb taps the newly revealed page. "Betcha this one is all about sealing." And since you have all the ingredients on hand, you execute that spell now as well. It goes very quickly -- it is even quicker to make than the mask -- and results in a bowl full of a thin, paint-like paste. Setting the bowl on the book unlocks the next page, and on the reverse you find instructions for how to use it: simply paint the inside of a mask that contains an <i>imago,</i> and then it can be worn as a disguise.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb thoughtfully studies the mask you made of Geoff. "Mansfield's looks could always be improved," he suggests in a half-hearted way, but you tell him you want to see if you copied him correctly.<br/>
<br/>
Unfortunately, you don't have any kind of brush to paint the sealant into the mask, so after telling you not to do anything stupid in the meantime, Caleb drives off to hit a nearby crafts store. You amuse yourself in the meantime by studying the list of ingredients for the next spell, and entering them into your phone for your next shopping trip. You might have given them to Caleb, you reflect after he's gone, but then decide it's best to make a separate trip anyway. There are simply too many new items that would have to be bought, including metal strips and carving implements.<br/>
<br/>
"My mom called me while I was out," Caleb says when he gets back. "So we're going to do this thing and then I gotta go."<br/>
<br/>
"Do what thing?" you ask. "Test out the mask? Because that might take awhile depending on -- "<br/>
<br/>
"No, we're going to seal it, and that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"But I wanted to -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Tonight," Caleb says. "If you're so hot to try it out, let's try to get back together tonight. But -- " He shoves a warning finger in your face. "I don't want you trying it without me, Prescott. You're way too hot to get into trouble with this thing, and I want to be around to make sure you don't fuck anything up."<br/>
<br/>
You agree with a grumble, and with the new brush you coat the inside of the mask with the sealant. It dries quickly as you blow on it. You send Caleb home while you say you'll stay to tidy up the basement.<br/>
<br/>
It's not even five o'clock, and your eye keeps reverting to Geoff's mask. To get your mind off temptation, you've halfway decided to make a shopping run for ingredients for the new spell. But just as you're finishing up in the basement, you get a text from Connor Hutchison: <i>Up for a party, yo?</i></span></div></div>


path: 1112223
author_id: seuzz
title: Those Who Pass as Party Animals
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Whoa. College party,</i> you think. <i>Sweet!</i> You text Connor back for the place and time, and he replies only a minute later. You rush on home.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, technically it's a party, and technically it's being held at the house where college-level guys hang out. But in terms of substance you're pretty sure it's not really going to be much of either. You use that to your advantage, though, when you tell your folks you'll be hanging out at some friends' house for dinner and most of the evening. "Connor Hutchison and Justin Carr," you say when your dad asks where you'll be. "You remember them."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought they graduated," he says, and you barely manage to keep your jaw from dropping. Does your dad really pay that much attention to your friends?<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah," you say. "But they're having a cookout at their place. Hamburgers and stuff. Carson and James and Paul Davis and guys like that will be there, so it's more or less, you know, a high school party." You feel yourself turning red under your dad's stare.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," he says dryly. "Just be home by eleven."<br/>
<br/>
"Eleven?" you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to try for ten?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eleven is great," you hurriedly say. "Can I have a few dollars? I'm supposed to bring a couple of bags of potato chips for something."<br/>
<br/>
"Better start budgeting for stuff like that in the future," he says, and doesn't move for his wallet.<br/>
<br/>
So there goes most of the money you were planning to use to buy up new supplies for the next spell.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Connor and Justin only graduated in May, so you're surprised to learn that they have already moved into a place of their own, and are even more surprised when you find out that they are not actually enrolled at Keyserling College. "We're taking the year off, building up some work experience, saving up money, having fun," Justin says when you broach the subject. "School is fucking expensive and I'm not even sure it's worth it. We're testing things out, maybe give it a try next year or the year after."<br/>
<br/>
But that talk occurs later in the evening, after the sun is down and the coals in the grill have cooled. When you arrive, with three bags of Lays potato chips, the sun is still up and Connor has just squirted lighter fluid onto the briquettes.<br/>
<br/>
They're living in the "student ghetto" south of the college campus in a house that's maybe an eighth the size of yours. It shares a tiny parcel of land --half an acre, maybe -- with five other equally tiny houses with a street out front and broad alley on the other three sides; low, whitewashed cinderblock fences separate a yard the size of your bedroom from five other yards equally small. There are four rooms inside: a living room and kitchen that occupy a single large space with a countertop/bar in between; two bedrooms; and a bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
"This is actually student married housing," Justin explains after you've noticed that there are two couples in the other yards, along with three toddlers.<br/>
<br/>
"So you and Connor finally got married," says Carson Ioeger from the chair he's relaxing in. He and Lamont were invited as well. "Me and James are waiting until we graduate."<br/>
<br/>
"Suck on this, Ioeger," Justin says, and holds out a cold wiener. "Actually, we're secretly subletting from the couple that lives here. Except they're separated, so it's only Manuel in the other bedroom."<br/>
<br/>
"And you and Connor are sharing a bed in the other. Why don't you make it legal?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin tosses the dogs onto the grill, where they quickly start to sizzle, then walks behind the lawn chair that Carson is lazing in. He rests his hands lightly around Ioeger's neck.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm saving myself for you, when you're finally eighteen. Assuming Black and Patterson don't deflower you before I can. How are they, by the way?" He lets go of Carson and returns to the grill.<br/>
<br/>
"Still being giant dicks. Wouldn't you say so?" He squints at James Lamont, who's in the chair next to him.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, so this is more or less what you were expecting; and, sad to say, it's more or less what you tried promising your dad. (Would that his worst suspicions had been true.) Hutchison and Carr, and Ioeger and Lamont, who all hung out together all through high school though the former pair were a grade ahead, are together again, and they're still talking about Westside High. You let your mind drift as James and Carson tell the other two about the latest injustices perpetrated by the basketball squad. It's very boring, because it has been that way for as long as you can remember, going back at least to your freshman year: the jocks in all the classes hanging out with each other, with the older jocks teaching the younger ones the finer points of how to humiliate guys like you. And in every class there were also jokers and insurgents like this quartet who always tried to find ways to get back at the abusers. Every once in a while they would try to rope you into helping out with some scheme or other; but you wriggled out once too often, and soon the invitations stopped coming, and you sank to the bottom as just another loser who wouldn't even fight back.<br/>
<br/>
It's kind of sick actually, hearing them talk like this. If the jocks -- as you suspect -- will continue to live on past memories of high school glory on the gym courts and athletic fields, it sounds like the anti-jocks like Connor and Justin are continuing to live on past memories of high school glory they earned by resisting the jocks.<br/>
<br/>
You pull a beer from the ice chest and pop it open, and would feel more like a rebel while doing it, except that everyone else also has a beer open.<br/>
<br/>
The sliding glass door opens, and out comes a beefy guy in khaki shorts and a dress shirt with flapping tails. "Braaaaaahhhhts!" he growls as he tweaks up a sausage from the grill with his bare fingers. He hisses as he tosses it from hand to hand, cooling it before taking a bite from it. "So this is your party," he says. "Cops'll be here to bust it up in ten minutes of you keep it up."<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one that said to keep it low key," Connor retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"There's low-key and then there's this. Fuuuuuck" You wince a little as the newcomer casts a contemptuous eye over you and the rest of the turnout.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone else is coming later. Hey guys, this is Manual, the guy who's breaking all kinds of rules to let us live here. This is Carson and James and Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Sup," Manuel says, and doesn't look at any of you long. "You all workin' at Starbucks too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, we're still at Westside," says Carson. He cocks his head. "Weren't you there too, on the football team?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, four or five years ago," Manuel says, and tosses the last of the dog into his mouth. He wipes greasy fingers on Justin's shirt with a sly grin. "Used to play 'freshman in a blanket' with these two." He slaps Justin on the back hard enough to knock him forward a step. "Ah, fuck me, that was fun."<br/>
<br/>
But then he nudges Justin in the side, and most of the mirth drains from his face, leaving an expression of quiet sincerity. "I'm not planning on coming home tonight, and I put fresh sheets on my bed. You guys are welcome to use it, you know, if -- " He grins.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," says Justin. Manuel shrugs again, and with a chuck of the chin bids everyone else a farewell before stepping back inside.<br/>
<br/>
No one speaks for a moment. Then Lamont leans forward in his chair. "Ramos?" he says. "You guys are rooming with <i>Ramos the Rapist?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," says Connor. "He's turned out to be cool. He's getting a degree in mechanical engineering, and if his wife hadn't turned out to be a bipolar cunt he'd be happily married and on his way up in the world."<br/>
<br/>
"He's married, and he's going on a date?" you croak.<br/>
<br/>
"He's going to a bar to pick someone up," Connor says. "I told you, he's separated, and he's got a restraining order against his wife. It's really too bad."<br/>
<br/>
You don't remember Manuel Ramos from school, but you try to imagine moving out of your parents' house and into a house with Lester "The Molester" Pozniak or someone of that ilk, and discovering that he's a "cool guy." You can imagine some crazy things, but that's just too crazy.<br/>
<br/>
But it's easier to think about that than it is to listen to the other four guys; everyone overheard Manuel's offer to Justin, and that has set off some ribald talk about everyone's sex life -- or lack of it. It starts with Carson and James razzing the other two for being footloose bachelors in college housing who still can't get laid, and then the other two turn it back on  Carson and James, especially the latter, when they demand to know when he's finally going to talk Jenny Ashton into going out with him.<br/>
<br/>
You keep very still, lest someone's eye fall on you. Your feelings about Lisa are still very tender, and you're not sure you'd be able stand up to any teasing that this bunch might give you over her -- particularly if it were left to Carson Ioeger to describe the disaster that was your relationship.<br/>
<br/>
But then your brain turns it around: Why shouldn't you call Lisa and invite her over here? This is a fun, innocent outing, and she'd be more likely to show up at a party than on a date, and in a social setting like this maybe you could start to win her back. It would be a much more congenial setting for that than the weird three-sided date that she's got you roped into for the movie tomorrow.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231
author_id: seuzz
title: Too Many of the Wrong Guests
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You turn your back on the others and dial Lisa's number, and she greets you in the same friendly, soft-spoken way that she used before your break-up. Quickly you describe the party. "It's pretty low-key," you say, "but I thought maybe you'd like to show up anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds great," she says. "I was going to stay in tonight, but this sounds like more fun." <i>Faint praise,</i> you think. But she promises to be out there within an hour.<br/>
<br/>
Connor is looking at you when you turn back around. "Was that Johansson or Tilley you were calling?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No. I was calling Lisa Yarborough. If it's alright with you," you add, though it's too late now, "I've invited her out."<br/>
<br/>
Connor and Justin shrug, but Ioeger hoots. "You think you're going to get yourself and  Lisa between the Rapist's clean sheets?"<br/>
<br/>
A hot spurt of anger flare up inside you. "I was inviting her out because I thought she'd like to come!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, calm down, Prescott, give me a little credit. Actually, I thought you guys broke up."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we didn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then how come I see her hanging out with Mansfield so much these days?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>Mansfield,</i>" Justin mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a menage," James snickers.<br/>
<br/>
"It is not!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what the fuck is it exactly going on with you two?" Carson demands.<br/>
<br/>
You feel trapped under the four-way stare. You decide that this is <i>much worse</i> than if you'd not called Lisa. <br/>
<br/>
"We weren't actually <i>dating</i> each other," you stammer, and hate yourself for using the formulation that Lisa used when she explained at the start of school that you and she were not a couple. "So she can see other guys if she wants, same as I can see other girls." You ball up your fists at the amused looks that appear on Carson's and James's faces.<br/>
<br/>
"So <i>are</i> you seeing other girls?" Carson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Mostly Lisa and I have been seeing each other." Your tone is stiff, and your words true only if they describe the last three months rather than the last three weeks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe you ought to start taking advantage of this open relationship you have with her," James suggests.<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe you oughta start staking advantage of the non-existent relationship you have with Jenny!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you can shut up now, Will," Justin says. "This is supposed to be a friendly party and I don't want to have to suspend your drinking privileges." He points at your beer.<br/>
<br/>
If Lisa weren't on her way over, you'd probably storm out. But you force out an insincere apology. You grind it out to him and James both, in the same set of words: "Yeah, I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry too." James's tone doesn't sound any less grudging than your own.<br/>
<br/>
Carson snorts. "You two romantic losers should be sympathizing with each other. Near as I can tell, you're in the same fucked-up state with two different girls."<br/>
<br/>
James looks between you and Ioeger. "If you'll hold him down, Prescott, I'll spend the evening beating all that shit out of him."<br/>
<br/>
But before you can take him up on the offer, the back door opens, and Jenny Ashton, Paul Davis, and Yumi Saito join your party.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So that starts to give the party an interesting vibe. You and Carson and James and your hosts were more or less extruded by the same mold. But Paul Davis -- the shortest of the guys now on hand -- has the look of a prep-school puppy; meanwhile, Jenny Ashton is a tomboy, and Yumi Saito is a Westside cheerleader. That gets her some ribbing from Connor and Justin, who knew her the year before as a hardcore gymnast who was brutally dismissive of the cheerleading crew. "Cindy got me to join," she mutters back at them.<br/>
<br/>
"Vredenburg?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Me and Lin Pol. She wanted friends on the squad, didn't want to be stuck all alone on it with Chelsea Cooper and her gang."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought Kelsey Blankenship was set up to run the squad," says Justin.<br/>
<br/>
Lin snorts. "Kelsey or Chelsea, what's to choose? Anyway, Kelsey quit at the start of the year."<br/>
<br/>
"She <i>quit?</i> Kelsey Blankenship <i>quit the fucking cheerleader squad?</i>" Connor's eyes bulge. "What the fuck happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>don't</i> want to talk about it!"<br/>
<br/>
But other aspects of school do get talked about, and your attention wanders again, and you start checking your phone obsessively to see how long it will be before Lisa arrives.<br/>
<br/>
You think the moment has arrived when the door next opens, but you almost yell when you see who it is stepping into the yard.<br/>
<br/>
Geoff Mansfield.<br/>
<br/>
You're not the only one who reacts badly to his arrival. There's a brief silence before some polite welcomes go up from most everyone, except for you and Justin, who looks almost as shocked as you feel. "Carr, Hutchison," Geoff greets his hosts with a limp handshake and a stare down the bridge of his nose. His smile turns nasty when he sees you. "Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you reply. "I didn't know you were coming."<br/>
<br/>
"I got a second-hand invitation," he says. "That's okay, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lemme guess," Carson says. He swallows some beer, and belches before offering his speculation. "Lisa called you."<br/>
<br/>
"You must be psychic," Mansfield says. "So why aren't you getting better grades on your tests?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin takes a few steps in your direction, bumps you in the shoulder. "I don't know <i>how</i> to thank you for getting him out here," he murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't my idea."<br/>
<br/>
"No, you just knocked over the first domino."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't suppose you guys have any Blue Point Blueberry Ale," Mansfield says as he peers with distaste into the ice chest.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but you can go pick some up," Connor says. "If you've got a fake ID."<br/>
<br/>
"How did <i>you</i> manage to pick <i>this</i> stuff up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fake ID."<br/>
<br/>
"You were supposed to bring something," Lamont says. "Or didn't Lisa tell you that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I decided to see what was needed," Geoff sniffs. "I wasn't going to just grab up -- Pft! Potato chips -- and bring them over." From his pocket he pulls a twenty and holds it up between his index and middle finger. "Any suggestions?"<br/>
<br/>
"A ball gag?" Justin murmurs, just inaudibly enough to escape Mansfield's hearing.<br/>
<br/>
"Fancy chips and fancy dips might be nice," says Connor. "There's a Whole Foods on the other side of the campus. You can take your time browsing there."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll need a ride," Geoff says.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with your car?"<br/>
<br/>
"I parked it a couple of blocks away. I didn't want to take a chance on it getting stolen. It's not a nice neighborhood."<br/>
<br/>
The ensuing silence would have been deafening, except for the sound of a jet overhead and the talk from the couples sitting in the other yards.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny raises her hand. "I'll take you," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Let him drive himself," says Yumi.<br/>
<br/>
"Nope, I know exactly where to take him." Jenny pulls at the front of Geoff's shirt. "Come on, I want to talk to you anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Actually," says Mansfield, and he turns toward you, "I was hoping that me and Prescott could -- "<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't finish. Again the door opens, and now Lisa comes out. She smiles softly at everyone -- and especially at you, you imagine -- but looks at Mansfield a little quizzically. "Hey Geoff, you got out here fast. I didn't see your car."<br/>
<br/>
Mansfield's mouth falls open a little, and he stares at her without replying.<br/>
<br/>
And that's when you recognize the shirt he's wearing.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, he parked a couple of blocks away," you say in a loud voice that makes everyone jump. "That's why he needs a ride to the store and that's why I'm going to give him one. Come on, Geoff." You grab him by the elbow.<br/>
<br/>
"We could all go," Lisa says. "I mean, if we're picking stuff up -- "<br/>
<br/>
"No, I need to talk to him alone. I mean, <i>we</i> need to talk." You pull him past Lisa and into the house. "We'll be back, uh, at some point," you call back before slamming the door and rounding on your "friend". "The fuck are you doing?" you hiss at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Took you long enough to figure it out," Caleb snickers. "I'm doing pretty good, right? Rooty tooty, fuckin' snooty."<br/>
<br/>
"Beautiful. Except you heard Lisa. It sounds like the real dick's on his way over now." You haul him out the front door and down the walk toward your truck. "And if one Geoff Mansfield is insufferable, two of them would be -- Awp!"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you hiccuping about? Oh, fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
He's seen it too: a dark sedan that's pulling into the space just in front of Lisa's car. You shove Caleb  toward your truck; he turns his stumble into a sprint, and when he finds the passenger-side door locked he leaps into the truck bed and hunkers down.<br/>
<br/>
Just in time, for Mansfield has is getting out of his car. "Hey, Prescott," he calls to you. "You know you've got that thing parked halfway in the street? How about you pull it in closer to the curb?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about you go -- " The words die in your throat, for out of the corner of your eye you see Connor standing in the front door, his face twisted up in fear and amazement as he looks between you and Geoff Mansfield.<br/>
<br/>
<i>God damn it, he didn't see Caleb jumping into the back of your truck just as the real Geoff was driving up, did he?</i></span></div></div>


path: 111222312
author_id: seuzz
title: Party Poopers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have no idea how you're going to stop Geoff Mansfield from crashing a party that he has just supposedly left. But you have to try.<br/>
<br/>
So while Geoff is still walking up to the front door you wave frantically at Connor and draw your finger across your throat. "Uh, hey, Mansfield," he says while still gazing in an aghast way at you. "Is, uh, is that your car?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," says Geoff. "I mean, technically it's my dad's, but I get to -- " He trails off and follows Connor's stare, glancing back over his shoulder at you, and catching you in the act of sinking to your knees with your hands clasped in a desperate, pleading gesture. "You okay back there, Prescott?" he calls.<br/>
<br/>
"I think he's having a seizure," Connor says. "Uh, did you bring anything for the party?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, chips, dip, beer -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Is it BYO? I didn't hear that part."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Prescott didn't either." Connor's face is frozen. "He was heading out to pick something up. Maybe you two could -- "<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head violently.<br/>
<br/>
" -- travel separately."<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter to me," Mansfield says. "I was just telling him he should re-park his truck anyway, it's taking up too much damn -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's exactly what he should do," Connor says. "You have a fake ID? Can you pick up some beer for us?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just have my driver's license."<br/>
<br/>
"Not even Blueberry Ale?"<br/>
<br/>
Geoff stares at him. "I don't know. I've never heard of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah." Connor goes back to staring hard and fearfully at you. "Just some chips and dip, then. We already got some Lays, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we can do better than that," Mansfield agrees. "You want a ride?" he asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"I have to talk to Connor about something first."<br/>
<br/>
Mansfield shrugs and returns to his car. You watch in agony as he slowly starts it and slowly drives off. You don't move until you feel Connor brushing past you. You take a deep breath and clench your fists as he passes by to peer into the bed of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
He says nothing for what seems like an eternity. Then he half turns to give you a sidelong glance. "Do you, uh, know who's laying in the back of your truck?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," you say. "I know exactly who's back there, and I'll tell you all about it, but -- " You trot up and grasp him by the shoulder. "But you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and I mean <i>anyone.</i> Also," you continue as he flinches a little, "you have to call Mansfield and tell him the party got cancelled. Tell him someone got sick, or the cops busted in on the place."<br/>
<br/>
"What am I going to tell everyone else?" Connor says. "I can't bust up the party."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to see what happens when Mansfield gets back and walks in there after the performance <i>that guy</i> -- " You stab a finger at the figure huddling in the bed of your truck. " -- put on in your back yard?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor blinks. "So Justin and Jenny'll kill him. I'm okay with that."<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't cancel the party, I won't explain what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
"I think you better," Connor says, and his tone turns dangerous.<br/>
<br/>
The fake Mansfield sits up. "It's okay, Will," he says quietly. "You go back to the party and watch things there. I'll talk to Connor."<br/>
<br/>
"I want Will with me," Connor says.<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, man," Caleb says. "I'll take my face off and you'll see it's okay." He ignores the way Connor has turned green at the phrase "take my face off". "Then we'll go talk." He jabs you in the shoulder with a finger. "Now you better get back in there and start telling a story."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you don't tell a story when you're in the back yard again, beyond telling everyone that after speaking with Geoff and Connor, you decided to let Mansfield run after some chips and dip by himself. "I was going to drive him up to the mall and leave him there," Jenny tells you in a waspish aside. "I wish you'd let me do that."<br/>
<br/>
"Be nice to him," you tell her. "His medicines are out of whack, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
As for Connor, when Justin asks what's happened to his roommate, you tell him that he remembered his own errand he needed to run.<br/>
<br/>
And things actually go pretty smoothly after Mansfield is back with a bag of gourmet tortilla chips and three jars of expensive salsa. No one alludes to his horrible behavior before he went on that errand, and he says nothing that sets off any more alarm bells. In fact, he's on pretty good behavior, being reasonably polite and cheerful to everyone except you, so that even Justin -- to your chagrin -- is laughing at his quiet jokes by the time it's gotten dark. But you're still on needles the entire night, so that you're poor company for Lisa, and she winds up sitting next to Geoff atop one of those cinderblock walls while you stuff your face with fistful after fistful of greasy Lays. Your nose is itching with incipient zits when your phone buzzes with a text from Caleb: <i>Come to clubhouse when you can.</i> It's only nine-thirty when you make some not-very-regretful goodbyes.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's is the only car when you pull up to the darkened school building -- he must have driven both himself and Connor. They're both sitting on the fender, and they're both smoking, which -- whatever it means for Caleb's health -- you take as a good sign, as he only ever smokes when he's feeling extra satisfied and relaxed. Connor also looks reasonably happy. "Hey," you call as you get out. "So. It all got explained?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Connor says, and as you get close you see he's a <i>lot</i> more relaxed than you'd taken him to be. You also smell the marijuana, and in a jolt realize what exactly they are smoking. "Fuck me," Connor continues, "but it's all pretty fucking, you know, fucking explained."<br/>
<br/>
"Should you be driving?" you ask Caleb in alarm.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, I'm only getting a contact buzz, and not enough of that," he says. "Connor here's just had the fucking doors of his perception blown off. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, fucking doors of perception," Connor says. He rubs his forehead. "And I'm not even in school."<br/>
<br/>
"Like you were going to get your doors of perception blown off in school," Caleb retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"So what happens now?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Neither one replies for a moment. "Well," Caleb finally drawls. "We looked at the next spell, got a feel for what it calls for -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't talking about that. I mean, I looked at the next spell too, put the ingredients into my iPhone."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh good, that makes it easy."<br/>
<br/>
"Copped a feel for it," Connor says, and giggles. It takes you a moment to realize he's a few lines behind the rest of the conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Caleb says after another pause. "Some of it might be kind of expensive, but Connor says he'll chip in some bucks."<br/>
<br/>
"He's going to help us out?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I said."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, he's going help us, work with us, making -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh  huh."<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip.<br/>
<br/>
"And we'll have to tell Justin about it too. Connor wants him in on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Both of them?" Panic begins to rise in your gullet. "What about Carson and James, how about them too? And Jenny and Paul and -- Hell, why not everyone, including Mansfield, who was at the -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Keep your shit together," Caleb says. "Just Conner and Justin. They're freaking roommates. Ioeger and Lamont, they're not -- " He waves his hand dismissively. "Anyway, it's going to be like a science experiment, an engineering experiment. No more getting people in trouble, like I tried to do with -- " He snorts. "Oh, but that was pretty goddamned fun, what I got up to with Mansfield, wasn't it? When did you clue in that it was -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right after Lisa said he was on his way over, and you looked at her like she'd just farted in your face or something. But I don't care about that now. What do you mean we're going to treat it like a science experiment?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're just going to do the spells to see what they do, what they make. That thing that happened with Mansfield -- I told you that was going to be a fucking disaster."<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one who came to the party all dressed up like him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and if it was a disaster for me, imagine the clusterfuck if <i>you'd</i> done anything with the mask. So we're just gonna try to figure out the magic, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"Heh. Clusterfuck," Connor murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"So what are we gonna do with the mask you're still polishing up?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb says nothing at first, until Connor -- after catching up again -- leans around to peer in his face. "We'll save it for something else," Caleb says quietly. "We should keep a spare on hand. You know, for experimenting with."<br/>
<br/>
And that's when you decide that Caleb is saying all this only for Connor's benefit, that he really doesn't intend to live by this "scientific experiment" bullshit.<br/>
<br/>
"We should head back to the party," Caleb says, and tosses his cigarette away.<br/>
<br/>
"You were never at the party," you remind him.<br/>
<br/>
"So I'll show up now." He grasps Connor's arm.<br/>
<br/>
"He can't go back in that state," you insist. "Who knows what he'll say and who he'll say it to."<br/>
<br/>
"I've barely got a buzz," Connor insists.<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you want to do with him?" Caleb says. "He's going to tell Justin about all this anyway, who cares if he stoned when he tells him?"<br/>
<br/>
Now that you think about it, if Connor is stoned when he goes back, Justin might dismiss all this mask talk as a delusion -- and he might convince Connor of the same thing. But it seems risky.<br/>
<br/>
You've got an old sleeping bag at home. Maybe you could talk Connor into spending the night in the school basement instead.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122
author_id: seuzz
title: Basement Confessions
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You know, I've got a sleeping bag, if you want to crash here," you tell Connor.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean at your place?" Caleb asks on Connor's behalf.<br/>
<br/>
"No, the school basement."<br/>
<br/>
"Why would he want to crash in the school basement?" Caleb demands. "Place looks like it could be fucking haunted."<br/>
<br/>
"He'll be fine."<br/>
<br/>
You and Caleb argue for awhile while Connor himself just chills. But he's the one who ends the discussion by saying that he wouldn't mind hanging out at the school a little longer, and Caleb leaves, muttering in the back of his throat. Since you don't have to be back home by eleven, you keep him company, though you don't go down in the basement.<br/>
<br/>
You just spend the next hour talking, and though you're talking about Westside again, you don't mind it so much now because he's talking to you instead of gossiping with his friends, and you're able to ask him questions.<br/>
<br/>
So in his disjointed way he relates some stories about the things that he and Justin and some other guys got up to when they were students there. The big reveal, as far as you're concerned, is about the ductwork inside the gym. There's a second-story loft on the eastern side of the gym, facing the student parking lot, that since time immemorial has been in the possession of the sports jocks, where they are able to hang out any time of day, any day of the week, with each other, their friends, and their girlfriends, and where they can eat, drink, and screw without being disturbed. Everyone at Westside knows about the fabled "fuck room," but Connor and Justin knew about something else related to the loft: It contains ducts that lead down to a small maintenance room behind the boys' showers, and by listening in at those ducts anyone can hear almost everything that goes on up in the loft. Last November, the two of them even installed a powerful microphone down in that maintenance room and recorded a lovemaking session between John Garrison, who was at that time the captain of the wrestling team, and his girlfriend. Connor and Justin then set up a fake fan-page dedicated to the wrestling team -- and to Garrison in particular -- that attracted the preening attention of Garrison and his cronies. Then in March Connor and Justin dropped the hammer by posting the audio they had recorded. It was clearly of Garrison, and it set off a small witch hunt that still didn't come close to nabbing the two conspirators.<br/>
<br/>
"You like to live dangerously," you tell Connor.<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Me and Justin don't like being pushed around."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you do now for fun?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs again.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't torture that guy -- what's his name? The guy you live with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Manuel? No, we told you, he's cool."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you do for fun?" you press him. It seems unfair that guys with that kind of prankish humor aren't getting into trouble now that they don't have any schoolwork of any kind to get in the way.<br/>
<br/>
Connor sighs deeply. "Not much. Sometimes we take short road trips. But mostly I think we're trying to be responsible. Learning how to run a business by working at Starbucks. We're talking about, you know, opening up a place of our own."<br/>
<br/>
"Like a coffee shop?"<br/>
<br/>
"There's too many of those already. Maybe we'll buy a food truck. Manuel's aunt makes <i>great</i> Mexican food."<br/>
<br/>
"What about, you know, girls?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor's shoulders sag. "That's the real reason to go to school, you know," he says. "The girls that come into the Starbucks, they just see a guy in a green apron."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Olivia?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, that's not worth it. I don't want to be the kind of guy who macks on high school girls after he's graduated."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
By eleven o'clock it seems like he's sobered up enough that you'd trust him not to make a fool of himself around his roommate, but Connor says he wouldn't mind spending the night in the school basement if you stuck it out with him. It seems worth a shot, so when you get home you tell your dad that some of the guys are doing a kind of "campout" in the fields behind the old school, and that you'd like to join them. "We've got church in the morning," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be up in plenty of time to get back for that."<br/>
<br/>
He looks skeptical, but agrees, probably because the proposed camping ground is so close. You run upstairs, pull down your regular sleeping bag and an old, patchy one from your closet, and run back down. "I'll be calling you at eight in the morning," your dad says as you run past. "So keep your phone on."<br/>
<br/>
It's very dark in the basement, and musty and dusty, and you and Connor bang your shins against desks and chairs a couple of times as you make an open spot big enough for your bags. He's turned quiet, and before crawling into a bag, he fiddles around with some of the supplies on the desk. When he sits down on the sleeping bag, he's holding the mask that Caleb was working on. "So you just have to polish this up, right, and then you can use it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You just put it on someone's face, and it copies them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you have to seal it."<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb explained all that to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Just making sure I remember it all. I was kind of freaked out as he was telling me about it."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet. But we're keeping that one for a spare. To use in the 'experiments'."<br/>
<br/>
"Right." He stares at the mask, then fumbles over to the desk to turn on the small lamp that you and Caleb had set up. "I'll just be a minute," he says when you tell him he should turn it out. "There's only this little spot in here that has to be rubbed away, you know, and then it's ready to go."<br/>
<br/>
He's making you a little nervous by now. "Yeah, we can finish it up tomorrow. But we also need to go pick up more supplies -- "<br/>
<br/>
"And talk to Justin."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. My dad'll be calling me early, so let's go to sleep, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." He puts out the lamp, plunging everything into inky blackness, and in the dark the two of you get undressed and slip into the sleeping bags. You don't talk much longer, and sleep soon overtakes you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake on cold, hard ground, feeling very stiff, and only with great difficulty do you turn over. For a second you're disoriented, and then the dusty smell of the basement locates you. The concrete of the floor is ice-cold, and it has seeped through the bag to give you the shivers. You try wrapping yourself more tightly in the fabric before groping around for your phone.<br/>
<br/>
It's not by your side.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, none of your clothes are nearby. You sit up, blinking stupidly.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to realize that the other sleeping bag is empty, and you call out Connor's name. Your voice dies with a thud on the rough walls of the basement, and there is no answer. You paw about the ground, searching for anything to put on, but all your clothes, and Connor's too, are missing. It can't be that he took your stuff, so your first, panicked thought is that someone snuck in and kidnapped him and your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
And after you've rid yourself of that weird fantasy -- but without replacing it with any other hypothesis -- you start to wonder what time it is, and how you'll get back home without your dad killing you when you get there.<br/>
<br/>
Though the basement is like an ice box, you get out of your bag and peer out through the window. There's something wrong out there, but it takes a moment to realize that it's your missing truck that set off alarm bells. There are no cars at all outside.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay,</i> you decided after you've warded off an attack of hyperventilation. <i>Connor had to run somewhere, and he had to take the truck because there were no other set of wheels for him to use. He'll be back.</i><br/>
<br/>
But why did he take your clothes? To ensure you wouldn't run off until he could return? And why did he take your phone? And why didn't he <i>wake you up?</i><br/>
<br/>
You decided to explore a little bit. You creep up to the door and peer out, and see no sign that he's simply moved your truck, or that anyone else is nearby. Down in the basement, there's another thing that bothers you that you can't figure out. There are the two sleeping bags, and that's all. Why do you think that something else is missing?<br/>
<br/>
After you've got yourself wrapped up in the bags -- and are warmer for having two sets of covers -- you review the night's conversation, looking for clues that would explain this waking nightmare. You talked about Westside, and about his plans. The last thing you talked about was the extra mask. Yeah, that creepy talk; remembering it sends a shiver up your spine.<br/>
<br/>
And then you realize what's bothering you: He had that mask and the lamp with him when you sent to sleep. They're also gone. You search more thoroughly, and find the lamp, and you get a further nasty shock when you find that the bowl of sealant and the paint brush have shown up in a spot where you know you didn't leave them.<br/>
<br/>
It looks for all the world as though Connor sealed up that mask. But he only would have done that if he had finished polishing it, and had used it on someone.<br/>
<br/>
You gulp.<br/>
<br/>
He has taken your clothes, and that suggests that he used the mask on you.<br/>
<br/>
Now a violent shiver does set your frame to trembling all over.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221
author_id: seuzz
title: Fakes and Flakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>For obvious reasons you can't shake the premonition that something dreadful is going on. But you also can't square that premonition with the impression you have of Connor. You can't imagine him intending to get you into trouble with an impersonation. And yet that near-disaster at the party last night shows how easy it is to cause trouble without meaning to. If he made a mask of you, and then went back to your place, where your parents and your brother are waiting—Well, the short of it is that he doesn't know anything about you or your life or how to act like you. <br/>
<br/>
Which means you are going to be so dead when you get back home finally.<br/>
<br/>
But fear and horror can only last so long before they turn to boredom. Although you twitch violently every so often when you remember what the situation is, you gradually become numb; and wrapped up more warmly now against the basement chill, you doze and slumber fitfully while waiting for something to happen.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It takes a very long time before something does happen, and you're awake again—though very stiff from not moving—when you hear the crunch of tires on grass outside the window. You hop up and peer cautiously out.<br/>
<br/>
It's Caleb's car, which is good news. Then your truck appears, and you're not certain if that's good news or not. Doors open and slam, and voices call out inarticulately. Three pairs of feet walk over to the basement door. You jump into one of the sleeping bags and glare at the top of the steps as the door opens.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is the first one in, and he has a very puckish expression on his face as he enters with a small cardboard box. "Yo, lazybones, you can get up now," he says.<br/>
<br/>
A retort fails on your lips as two more people come in. One of them is Justin Carr, and he's wearing a gleaming grin as he follows Caleb down the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
And the third is yourself, and he's smiling like a maniac.<br/>
<br/>
It's bad enough that the third guy has your face, but what's even creepier is that he isn't even wearing the clothes—jeans and a button-down shirt—that you wore last night to the party. No, he's in a dirty green t-shirt and cargo shorts. He greets you with a short "Hey" and resettles the dirty ball cap on his head with a nervous gesture.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is going on here?" you demand in a trembling voice.<br/>
<br/>
They all laugh, and you feel yourself flushing.<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, Will," says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"What time is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"A little after two."<br/>
<br/>
"Where the fuck have you been? And what the fuck is—"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you to calm down." Caleb pats a nearby table. "Set up here, <i>Prescott,</i>" he says in a joshing manner and nudges your doppelganger. "And we'll get you back to what passes for normal."<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on, I wanna take a picture of the two of them together," says Justin.<br/>
<br/>
"No pictures," says Caleb sharply. "We don't want any evidence of this stuff getting around."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll just look like a Photoshop job," Justin says. "We're the only guys who'll know."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't even want any rumors."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, just of one of them. Hey Prescott, think fast," Justin calls, and aims his iPhone at your double, who just has time to get a confused look on his face before the photo is taken. "And we're the only ones who know it's—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you guys are finished fucking around," you yell, "I'd like to get dressed! And someone fill me in!"<br/>
<br/>
The guy with your face stretches out on a table. You watch with curiosity for the next bit, since you've not actually seen one of the masks go on or come off yet—which may be one reason you're feeling kind of pissed, since it's your magic book and your project, but these other guys are getting ahead of you. The other Will Prescott holds very still while Caleb grips him across the forehead, says a string of nonsense syllables, and pulls the other's face.<br/>
<br/>
It's over so quickly you wouldn't even know it happened, except for the end result: Caleb is holding a mask in his hand, and Connor Hutchison is lying on the desk. He's in your clothes, and he seems to be asleep, but he looks none the worse for the transformation. "Wait for him to wake up, and then he'll give you your shit back," says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"So tell me what happened."<br/>
<br/>
"Not much to tell," Caleb says with a shrug. "Story is, I get a call at about ten this morning, and it's from your cell and it's your voice so I assume it's you, telling me to meet you outside that dumb church you go to."<br/>
<br/>
"What's so dumb about it?"<br/>
<br/>
He ignores your protest, though Justin laughs. "So I show up, and you—'cos it looks like you too—give me a bunch of money and tell me to go buy the shit for the next spell. You've got the list all written out. You tell me you got the money from Connor, and you want me to meet you at twelve-thirty for lunch. So I do all that, and I meet you, and you've got that mask of Mansfield with you, and you talk me into putting it on and going out to Justin's. I try arguing—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just give him the short version," Justin interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, the short version is that Geoff Mansfield and Will Prescott go out to see Justin Carr, and they give him a story about masks and disguises, and Justin's all disbelieving until Prescott pulls Mansfield's mask off me. And Justin kind of freaks out, naturally, but we tell him that Connor's in on it, and he wants to know where Connor is, and you tell him that Connor is still back at the elementary school, and we talk about the kind of fun you can have with these things—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said we were only going to be doing 'experiments' so we could read the book!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, we can still have <i>some</i> fun while doing science," says Caleb. He glances at Justin, who is a little pink. "And then you start talking about how easy it is to pretend to be other people, and I start giving you shit because you haven't been wearing any masks and don't know how hard it is, and then you freak <i>me</i> out by pulling your face off and there's Connor underneath."<br/>
<br/>
"He was passed out like he is now, and Caleb woke him up by beating on him," Justin says.<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker deserved it." Caleb leans back on his heels. "So did you have a relaxing Sunday morning while the rest of us were—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I might have, if I'd known what was going on. But I was shitting myself because—"<br/>
<br/>
"You shit yourself too easily," Caleb honks. "If you were going to shit yourself, you shouldn't have gone along with it."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean? I didn't know what was going on! I woke up, and all my shit was gone and so was Connor!"<br/>
<br/>
That sobers Caleb and Justin up a little. "You mean you didn't plan all this out with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! That fucking mask wasn't even done last night when we went to sleep! He must've got up in the middle of the night and finished it and used it on me, and then he took off without telling me!"<br/>
<br/>
The other two look at each other and look over at Connor. But then Caleb just shrugs. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, no harm, no foul. But if it'll make you feel better—" He punches Connor hard in the gut, and Hutchison bolts upright with a hard gasp.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The afternoon passes in the predictable way, with your quartet huddled around the book and studying the next spell. "Runes," Justin says. "This is going to be some serious shit."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's all serious shit, right?"<br/>
<br/>
The result of thirty minutes' labor is a metal strip about five inches long and one inch wide onto which some intricate runes next have to be carved. That will only take the labor of one person, so a second metal strip gets made up. You'd make more—four of them—but Caleb gets called back home, and then Justin has to go in for his Sunday shift at Starbucks. That leaves you and Connor.<br/>
<br/>
He apologizes again for running off without consulting you, and you gruffly forgive him—how sincerely even you are not certain. He insists that he didn't get you into trouble at home: "Your dad yelled at me a couple of times, but I get the impression he's usually yelling at you," he says, which you concede is true, and when he describes the things he did that elicited the yells, it sounds like nothing really important.<br/>
<br/>
It takes nearly two hours to carve the runes into the metal bands, for it's very exacting work, and it's almost six before you're done. Connor pays for a couple of burgers, and while you're eating you talk in low tones about the new spell. "I bet it's a mind-reading device," he says. "You haven't worn one of those masks, have you? Well, it only copies the body. There's no memories or anything like that inside them. But if you wanted to do a real solid impersonation, you'd have to have the person's memories."<br/>
<br/>
"So why do you think that's what those metal bands do?"<br/>
<br/>
"It just seems logical," Connor says. "I guess we'll just have to play around with them until we figure out what they do and how they work."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess we could go find Mansfield again, try it on him."<br/>
<br/>
"We could try it on you too, since we've got a mask of you," Connor retorts. "Okay, I wouldn't do that to you again. But to make it up to you, what I did this morning, I'll let you try one of those metal bands on me."</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Brains of the Operation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's a generous offer Connor has made, and you're curious to see what the new spell does, so you take him up on it. You think about waiting for Caleb; but since Justin won't be able to attend the "experiment," there doesn't seem any good reason to wait for a third person when the fourth can't show up.<br/>
<br/>
Back in the basement, Connor fumbles nervously with one of the metal bands. He starts off by pressing it into the interior and then the exterior of Mansfield's mask, in case it's supposed to operate as an extension, but nothing seems to happen. Then he tries laying it on the open book, to see if it will unlock the next page, but nothing happens there either. With a deep breath, he concludes that the metal strip has to be tried on a person, and submits himself to the experiment.<br/>
<br/>
He starts by trying to wrap it around his wrist, and then he presses it upon his bare stomach and his bare chest.<br/>
<br/>
"I bet it has to do something with the face, like the mask," you suggest.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I'm saving that for last," he replies. "Because if you don't use it on the face, I don't know where you use it." So he tries it on his throat and on his cheek and on his forehead—<br/>
<br/>
That's when it clicks. The strip blazes for a moment, then vanishes. Connor falls forward into your lap, the way Mansfield had fallen forward yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
And since you're prepared for this kind of thing based on what happened with the masks, you just lay him on his side and wait for the metal band to reappear. As with the mask, it takes about ten minutes to fall out of his forehead and strike the floor with a tinny clatter.<br/>
<br/>
You pick it up, and almost drop it again. The runes have vanished, replaced with Roman letters that flicker with a bluish light as they seemingly float just above the surface of the metal band. Your hand trembles. They spell a name: CONNOR GARRETT HUTCHISON.<br/>
<br/>
You press the band against the book, and when you lift it back up the page turns. There is only a brief line of text on the reverse of the page, and it easily translates as "To know the mind of another."<br/>
<br/>
You take a couple of deep breaths. It looks like Connor was right: it copies a person's mind. As you look at it and at the other band, you see why Connor would have made the guess he did: These things do look like fragments of a head band or of a crown, the sort of thing you'd wear if you wanted to get close to someone's brain.<br/>
<br/>
You lay the bands aside and study the next spell. It looks very simple, and you've almost got it all prepared by the time Connor wakes up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"If you let me put this thing on you," Connor says as he fingers the blank metal band, "I could go in to Westside as you tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"And what would I do all day?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hang out here. Bring your laptop over, watch movies, surf the web, play some games. I found an outlet last night while I was looking around."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't have enough of being me this morning?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor doesn't reply.<br/>
<br/>
You don't mean to be argumentative, because you do see his point.<br/>
<br/>
It's because of the new spell, the one that you finish up even as Connor is still shaking the cobwebs from his head. It makes up another kind of paste, but this one is very sticky, and after putting the bowl on the book and turning the page to read the reverse side, you find it's a glue for attaching one of those metal bands to the inner surface of a mask. In this way, you can copy someone's body and mind simultaneously; when you seal the mask, you will then be able to disguise yourself with not only their physical appearance but with all their memories too.<br/>
<br/>
So right now you have a mask of Mansfield and mask of yourself; an unused metal band; and a metal band containing a copy of Connor's memories. Since you don't have a blank mask to copy Connor with, and since Mansfield isn't anywhere nearby, the only logical thing to do is to copy your brain into the blank metal strip and attach it to your mask.<br/>
<br/>
But you resist. It doesn't seem fair somehow, and you counter with the suggestion that you look at the next spell. "The other guys are going to be kind of pissed if we get too far ahead without them," Connor says, but you're already looking up the Latin words on the internet.<br/>
<br/>
You pause in the middle of the list, and hand your phone over to Connor. He stares at the screen, and at the ingredient you're underlining with your index finger. "Four hundred pounds of it, huh?" he says. "Let's see what else it wants."<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't look any better after you've translated the rest of the list. But Connor isn't prepared to give up. "This is where we make it up to the other guys for getting ahead," he says. "Let's start putting it all together."<br/>
<br/>
"It's almost eight o'clock," you protest. "I have to get home in a couple of hours and besides, everyplace is closed by now."<br/>
<br/>
"Walmart isn't," Connor says. "That place never closes, and they'll have a lot of this crap. Well, except for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, how are we going to get <i>that?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"With shovels and sandbags. We can get those at Walmart too."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to get home," you insist.<br/>
<br/>
Connor eyes you shrewdly. "Will, you keep talking about how you want to have 'fun'."<br/>
<br/>
"No I don't."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you do. That's why you keep asking me and Justin what we do for fun. So here's some fun. Can you sneak out after going to bed? Around midnight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but you're not suggesting something 'fun' if you're thinking about doing what I think—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'll make you another trade. Me and Justin will take care of getting this shit together, and in return you let me go to Westside as you tomorrow. Body and brain both."<br/>
<br/>
You temporize, for you don't much like either option, but you also don't want to shoot him down completely, for the itch to do something with the masks is still upon you. You glance at your phone, and decide your dad won't start steaming over your absence from the house until ten o'clock, at least. "I'll help you pick up the stuff at Walmart," you tell him. "We can decide after that."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At nine o'clock at night, Walmart is comparatively empty, though there are still enough fat women in motorized carts to make the aisles somewhat hard to get around in. The items on the shopping list seem kind of dangerous—lots of volatile chemicals—but Connor had correctly surmised that Walmart would carry them all. They also turn out to be expensive, but Connor has a credit card. <br/>
<br/>
The last items to pick up are two shovels and a box of a hundred sand bags. That takes you back to the Lawn &amp; Garden department, and you almost turn around once you set foot inside it. <br/>
<br/>
But it's too late. Joshua Call has already spotted you.<br/>
<br/>
He's dressed in a store uniform, so he works here, but he's got the same fell light in his eyes that he has at school. You rarely see him around—for which you are profoundly grateful—because he belongs to the worst class of bully at Westside: the psychotic delinquent with nothing to lose and so doesn't give a fuck.<br/>
<br/>
You feel his eyes on you—those dead, dark eyes under the unflattering bangs in a bowl cut—and you flinch as you pass him, for he's as hard and unyielding as a statue and doesn't move aside at your approach. Connor asks your opinion about the shovels he's examining, and looks up at you when you don't answer. "I don't know, don't care," you say, and cough after it comes out as a squeak. He gives you a funny look.<br/>
<br/>
And you don't dare look over at Call, who you're sure is still staring at you..<br/>
<br/>
Connor picks up two identical shovels and drops them in the cart, and pushes it around to another aisle, where the sandbags are. "Why are you so rattled all of a sudden?" he asks you when jump at the sound of the box hitting the bottom of the cart.<br/>
<br/>
"That guy," you mouth at him.<br/>
<br/>
"What guy?" he says loudly.<br/>
<br/>
"Sh!" You wince. "Joshua Call," you murmur. "Don't you recognize him?"<br/>
<br/>
"He looks familiar."<br/>
<br/>
"He's crazypants evil."<br/>
<br/>
And Connor laughs. "What does that mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"It means—"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, let's just go."<br/>
<br/>
You follow him out, and as you pass one aisle you make the mistake of glancing down it. Call is standing in the middle of it, feet splayed, arms folded, chin raised, staring straight at you,.<br/>
<br/>
He looks <i>amused.</i><br/>
<br/>
He looks like he's going to come looking for you tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
"So have you finally figured out what you want to do?" Connor asks when you've got the stuff in the back of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to tell him that he can go in for you, so that he can experience Joshua Call on your behalf.<br/>
<br/>
But then another thought hits you: If you put on that metal band that has Connor's memories in it, that might give you some ideas about how to deal with Call and the other guys.<br/>
<br/>
In fact—you reflect as you sort through it—you'd have the Hutchison memories, the Prescott memories, and the Prescott face, which is exactly what Connor would have if he went in under you mask on Monday. The only difference is that it would be you in the one case, and him in the other. And wouldn't it be more fun to see what happens for yourself, even if it's bad?<br/>
<br/>
The only downside is that you'd have to pay for this fun by taking a nighttime trip to a cemetery.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122
author_id: seuzz
title: The Cemetery
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You set your phone alarm for twelve-thirty, but you're so wound up with anticipation that it's probably a quarter to midnight before you drop off, and the buzz from the alarm sends you bounding out of a bed with a racket that you're afraid will have woken your parents. Very quietly you dress, and listen at your bedroom door, but you hear nothing. So you open your window, slip over the edge, and drop hard onto the ground below. You left your truck parked on the street so as to minimize the racket when you start it up, and you keep the headlamps off until you're halfway down the street.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is waiting in front of his house, and he hops in with a quiet yelp of excitement. "It sure is going a lot faster since we got Connor and Justin involved," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you didn't like them that much."<br/>
<br/>
"There'll be a few elbows thrown before it's all done," he says, "but right now I'd say we're rockin'."<br/>
<br/>
You had to make a big loop around town to pick up Caleb, and you have to make another such loop to get out to the cemetery, which is on the western part of town close to the river, so it's a little after one o'clock before you pull into a lane on the far side of the cemetery wall. You don't see any sign of Connor or Justin, so you tell Caleb to call them. "They're running late," he says when he hangs up. "Fuckers. It'll be fifteen minutes before they show."<br/>
<br/>
You stop the truck and shut off the engine. "You want to get out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why would we want to do that? It's cold out there."<br/>
<br/>
"And haunted."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up."<br/>
<br/>
So you're still sitting in the cab of the truck when, only a few seconds later, two ghoulish faces pop up and press against the car door windows. You and Caleb both yell and jump, and Connor and Justin fall back, laughing hysterically.<br/>
<br/>
"You fucks!" you yell as you leap out to chase Justin.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, quiet, we don't the cops after us," he says, and lets you pummel him a few times.<br/>
<br/>
"You said you were running late!"<br/>
<br/>
"We can say anything we want, but that doesn't mean it has to be true," Connor chortles as he reaches into the bed of your truck to extract a shovel. "We were waiting on the other side of that wall when you call, decided to give you a bit of a scare."<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you parked?"<br/>
<br/>
"Inside the cemetery, over there." He grins. "We also noticed you're too chicken shit to pull inside."<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to park away from the road, so we wouldn't get spotted."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. You can say anything you want too, doesn't mean <i>it</i> has to be true either."<br/>
<br/>
Justin grabs the other shovel, and you get the box of sandbags. Then the four of you hop over the low wall into the cemetery. "Book didn't say it had to be the dirt from a grave," Connor says. "Just a cemetery. Unless you want to play it safe—" He taps the turf with the tip of his shovel. "I say we do it here."<br/>
<br/>
"You too scared you'll dig up a corpse?" you taunt him.<br/>
<br/>
So he shrugs and marches over to a nearby tombstone. "Letitia Barnes," he says after straightening up from examining the stone. "Hope she's not a light sleeper." And he jams the shovel into the grass.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's long and hot and dirty work, even with four of you. You've only got two shovels, so two at a time dig while the other two hold the bags open to accept the dirt. None of you are in really good shape—you're all scrawny and skinny—and you trade off jobs so the diggers can get a little respite. Still, even working steadily, it takes a little more than an hour to get the bags filled. After that you have to transport them to the back of the truck, and drive them back over to the basement, leaving a wide but not very deep hole in the cemetery spread over three graves. It's three o'clock before you get Caleb dropped off and get yourself back to your house. You're too exhausted to try getting back in through the upper-floor window, so you very quietly let yourself in through the back door with a key. All the lights are off, and there's no sign anyone is awake, but on your way up the stairs you get the bright idea to throw a false trail across your adventure in case you've been heard. You quickly slip into the upstairs bathroom, lock the door, and turn on the water. After pulling your clothes off, you jump under the shower water and spend a good fifteen minutes scrubbing the dirt and sweat from your skin and hair.<br/>
<br/>
And when you open the door, your dad is leaning against the corner, wearing his robe and a puzzled expression. You jump a little, and force your heart to stop beating so hard. "So what are you doing up at three-thirty in the morning?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I couldn't sleep," you say. "I decided to get a jump on the day."<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you, mutters something, and with a shrug goes back to his bedroom. You congratulate yourself on your quick thinking. Maybe you woke him up with the running water, and maybe you didn't, but either way you had a good excuse for him.<br/>
<br/>
You're just not going to get enough sleep before it's time to get up again, even though your eyes fasten shut almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're nursing a cup of coffee on your knee as you pull into the Westside student parking lot and drive slowly along behind the train of cars in front of you. When you find a nice spot, you slide in, shut the engine off, and take a long pull from the paper cup. You don't normally have time to pick up a coffee on your way to school, but with the time you saved by showering early you were able to get out the door ten minutes early and make a detour by the Starbucks. You have no idea who the girl was that served you. <br/>
<br/>
But in a minute you'll know her name, if the magic works the way you think it works. Connor's brain—the piece of metal containing his brain—is sitting on the passenger seat. You stare at it, and take another sip of coffee.<br/>
<br/>
Partly it's the anticipation that makes you hesitate. This will be your first real experience with the magical items crafted with the book—<i>your</i> book, you have to remind yourself since Caleb and Connor and Justin got involved. You haven't even been inside one of the masks. So you've got that to look forward too—a loss of virginity, of a kind.<br/>
<br/>
But you're also held back by trepidation. What if you didn't craft the magic doodad correctly? There's no one here to save you if something goes wrong. What if you go a little crazy with Connor's brain inside yours? What if you forget that you're really Will Prescott and become convinced that you're really Connor Hutchison? Those are the esoteric worries. You also have some old fashioned heebie-jeebies about getting inside the head of another dude. There's stuff inside your own head that would be hideously embarrassing; there's got to be stuff like that inside Connor's.<br/>
<br/>
Well, there has to be. Right? How awful would it be if you were the only person in the world with embarrassing fantasies, memories and kinks?<br/>
<br/>
You take another sip of coffee, and look at the time. <i>Eight-ten.</i> If you're going to do this, you'd better do it soon. Classes will start in ten minutes, and Connor was knocked out at least that long when he put the blank band to his forehead, and for ten minutes after that.<br/>
<br/>
Idly, you wonder what he's doing now.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay, enough fucking around,</i> you tell yourself, and set the coffee in the seat. Then you lift it and take one more shot. You pick up the band --<br/>
<br/>
<i>Tap tap.</i><br/>
<br/>
You jump  as Keith Tilley chucks his chin at you. "What the fuck are you jerking around here for," he asks through the window.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to work up the nerve to go in." You look around. "I ran into Joshua Call at Walmart last night, and I think he'll be looking for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck. What did you do to get him after you?"<br/>
<br/>
You roll down the window. "I looked at him," you tell Keith. "But I think he got some of my funk up his nose. He was looking at me afterward like he was thinking of all the psycho things he could do to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so you shit yourself, huh?" Keith leans in through the window to sniff at you. Yeah, smells like you got soiled britches."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. Go on in without me, unless you want some of what Call is serving."<br/>
<br/>
Keith cocks his head and looks at you shrewdly, then with a shrug saunters off toward the school. You roll up the window and lie down on the bench of your truck. <i>Now or never,</i> you declare to yourself, and press the band onto your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
The world goes wonky, as though you're falling down a deep hole, and fades.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The world is an off-white color. You blink.<br/>
<br/>
No, it's not the world that's off-white. It's just some fabric or metal of some kind. You are feeling fragile, and you don't want to move. It's like your head is a china tea pot, and the top of yours skull is the lid. It's askew, and if you move too suddenly or sharply it fall off and shatter.<br/>
<br/>
But you do move. You sit up. You find you're sitting in the cab of a truck. And the truck is sitting the student parking lot of Westside High School.<br/>
<br/>
And the lid settles nicely into place.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221
author_id: seuzz
title: How to Have Four Eyes But No Glasses
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's like having a kind of double vision --<br/>
<br/>
And the thought of double vision causes you to fumble your hands to your face. <i>No glasses.</i><br/>
<br/>
But it's Connor Hutchison who wears glasses. Will Prescott—and you're definitely Will Prescott—doesn't.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's like having double vision,</i> you were thinking. Like you've got two sets of eyes in your head, connected to two different brains, and you can switch between them. You see only one world, but you can see it in—Well, in two different ways.<br/>
<br/>
Your truck, for instance. It feels completely normal and familiar. It's your truck and it's always been your truck, and you sink comfortably into the groove that your butt has worn in the bench. But at the same time it's also someone else's truck, and you feel a little thrill at running your hands over the steering wheel, and you marvel a little at the thought that you are sitting in Will Prescott's truck, and you were driving it with Will Prescott's body—<br/>
<br/>
No, it's your body. Because you're Will Prescott. A sudden fear seizes you. <i>What if that feeling of being Will Prescott starts to fade, to be replaced by the feeling that you're Connor Hutchison?</i> At the moment that feeling of being Hutchison has fled, and you are firmly yourself again. But while you weren't looking, while you were sinking into that feeling of being Connor, for a moment it really did feel like you were inhabiting someone else's body.<br/>
<br/>
Tentatively, you let that feeling creep up on you again. It comes over you from the back of your skull. <i>This is what it's like to be Connor Hutchison and to be sitting in Will Prescott's truck wearing Will Prescott's body.</i><br/>
<br/>
Yeah, there's that feeling again. But it's not nearly as strong, because you were watching for it. It's back to having that sense of double vision, of seeing one thing inside and behind another thing: of seeing one truck overlapping perfectly with another, and thinking of them as two different trucks. Thinking of them as your truck and as someone else's truck.<br/>
<br/>
The bell must have rung by now. You're going to be late. Late for—<br/>
<br/>
You pause with your hand on the door handle. <i>Whose class?</i> Oh, right. Walberg's class. The corner of your mouth twitches. You had him two years ago, for history. You liked Walberg. He didn't take shit from anyone, and took the piss out of Gibbs and Moran and the other football players. It'll be fun to—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Mm. There it is again. That slip into Connor's brain.</i> It's going to make for a tricky day balancing between yourself and him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You have a tardy slip, Mr. Prescott?" Walberg says. His deep voice and long, drooping moustache make him look exactly like a walrus, as if his name wasn't enough to suggest the resemblance.<br/>
<br/>
You stop in the doorway. "Since when do we need tardy slips?" you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"Since right now, since you ask."<br/>
<br/>
A snicker runs around the room.<br/>
<br/>
"Aw, gimme a break, Mr. Dubya. I was up till three and the coffee hasn't kicked in." You hold up the cup as evidence, and can hardly believe you're backtalking him this way.<br/>
<br/>
He raises his eyebrows. "I don't care if you were up till three, ran the clock backwards to eight, then stayed up till three a second time. If you want in this class, report to the office for a tardy slip."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what if I don't want in the class but have to come anyway? Do I need a tardy slip then?"<br/>
<br/>
You can feel the class hold its collective breath. Mr. Walberg stares at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm only asking about the logic," you continue. "You said if I <i>want</i> in the class, not if I <i>need</i> to come to class or if I'm going to <i>come</i> to class—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sit. Down. Mr. Prescott. And come see me when school is out."<br/>
<br/>
"For detention?"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly."<br/>
<br/>
"Excellent! I could use the study break."<br/>
<br/>
Walberg stares at you hard for a long minute, then resumes whatever he was talking about when you came in.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is also staring at you, with wide eyes. Then he freezes, and leans in close to peer at you, until Walberg calls his attention back to the front of the room. You take out a pen and start scribbling notes.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, this isn't as much fun as you thought it might be. Connor could razz Mr. Walberg freely because he and the teacher got along great. But Walberg thinks you're Will Prescott—and he's right, you are—so you'd better keep it under control. When you see him after school, just apologize and tell him you didn't mean him any disrespect. And detention will be okay. It's not like there's any place you really have to be.<br/>
<br/>
Except Starbucks. <i>Shit!</i> Your shift starts at one-thirty—<br/>
<br/>
No, that's Connor, and he'll be there to cover it. <i>Focus, Will!</i><br/>
<br/>
And you do focus, on the notes and on the lecture, and the sense of being Connor Hutchison fades into a background hum.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You get another kick in the side of the head on your way out of the classroom when your eye rakes over Lisa and Geoff. You were supposed to go to the movies with them yesterday and you completely blew them off! Not that they'll mind—Mansfield would have been totally okay with it—but it'll make you look like a flake to Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
So you call her name, and she turns. "Hey, sorry about standing you up yesterday at the theater."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns slightly. "Yeah, I was wondering what happened to you. Was everything okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got distracted, I was hanging out with Connor and Justin again right after lunch. Did you have fun over at their place on Saturday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, thanks for inviting me." And she smiles over at Mansfield, as though he had anything to do with her being there. "I'm sorry you missed the movie, though. It was good."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you and I could get together over at Starbucks after class," you suggest, "you could tell me about—"<br/>
<br/>
"You have detention." That's Kelsey Blankenship reminding you of that, and she brushes between you and Lisa without looking at either of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, can I get an 'excuse me' from you?" you shout after her, on instinct.<br/>
<br/>
She stops and turns on you, and the disdain in her eyes is unmistakable. "No, but you can give me one. You were standing fight in front of the door."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, look in the classroom." You point back behind you. "You can get from any point in there to the door without going through—" But she's already gone, and Amanda Ferguson, trailing in her wake, is shaking her head and rolling her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"She's right you know, Will," says Lisa. "You've got detention, and you're standing in the doorway."<br/>
<br/>
"Just because her dad owns the biggest car dealership in town doesn't mean she owns the whole freaking road. I don't see anyone else shoving me out of the way!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shoves you out of the way, and pushes you out the door. "I wanna talk to you," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I got class!"<br/>
<br/>
"George Clooney's got class. You've got attitude. Come with me." He drags you to the library and into the stacks and pushes you against a wall. "This isn't gonna hurt," he says as he puts his hand to your face. "Not until after I slap you around."<br/>
<br/>
But you slap his hand away first. "I'm not wearing a mask, Caleb. This is <i>me.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit, Hutchison. Or are you Carr?" He reaches for you again.<br/>
<br/>
And again you push him away. "What do you want me to tell you to convince you it's me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm really hoping it's not you—" You have to push his hand away. "Because otherwise you're drunk off your ass or something."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm punch drunk from this morning at the cemetery. Here, this'll—Remember right after I picked you up last night, and we were turning onto Orlando, and you told me you thought you saw a cop coming?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at you. "What am I putting in the time capsule for Walberg?"<br/>
<br/>
"A thumb drive full of porn." Memories flash to life, like a pinball machine on overdrive. "Oh man, you're gonna get an A on the paper for him, he's gonna—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you high?" Caleb gasps. "Don't you see I'm gonna hafta—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, okay! Never mind." You resettle your grip on yourself—that was Connor Hutchison taking control briefly, but you're certain that Hutchison's instinct is correct, that Walberg actually would be impressed by Caleb's idea. "But see? I know the answer to anything you throw at me, so it's me."<br/>
<br/>
"Hm." The bell rings. "Well, whatever, now we're both late. Just keep a lid on the stupid, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you care?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I shouldn't." His tone has turned sharp. "And maybe it's not such a good idea, you hanging out with Hutchison and Carr, if you're going to pick up some of their attitude." With a mistrustful glance back, he leaves for class.<br/>
<br/>
And you hustle on to Hawks's class. He was another teacher that Hutchison liked, and you like him too. (Mostly.) But you slow down as you reach the room, and peer in through the door before going in. There's Tilley, sitting next to the chair you should be occupying. But you don't see Brad Murphy or Andy Tackett or Tim Gerard. They must be skipping. And you know where they'd be skipping, too. Out by the portables. It'd be fun to skip with them.<br/>
<br/>
Unless they're somewhere else because of the other guys who sometimes go to the portables when they're skipping classes. That's exactly where you'd run into Joshua Call.</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212
author_id: seuzz
title: Gossip Guys
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You let Connor's instincts beguile you, and edge away from the classroom door. You can have fun at the portables if Tackett and the rest are out there, and you're willing to gamble that you can get away if it's a different and worse batch of people out there.<br/>
<br/>
Those portables are on the other side of the school, next to the Agricultural Annex. They are eighteen very small wooden buildings—now ratty and abandoned—about the size of semi-trailers, arranged in two double rows to form a "U." The troublemakers tend to hide on the far side of the units, facing the agricultural fields, while those with relatively clean consciences will sit in the open space facing the main building. As you approach you see two groups students sitting at opposite corners of that little courtyard. The larger group consists of a bunch of underclassmen who you recognize but can't give names to; the other group of five includes the three you're looking for: Brad Murphy, Andy Tackett and Tim Gerard.<br/>
<br/>
These aren't guys you usually hang out with, but Connor had a couple of classes with them last year, so you feel comfortable about sitting with them. You muse lightly on the way Connor's instincts tug at you, as they're doing now. It's like a subtle form of gravity that you can resist easily when you concentrate, and which doesn't overpower you when you don't, but which warps your reactions unless you are careful. It's like the mental equivalent of muscle memory --<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Prescott, why aren't you in class?" Spencer Osbourne calls out. He's sitting with Tackett and the others, along with another guy who whose name you don't know but whose long blonde hair and heavy-lidded eyes scream "stoner."<br/>
<br/>
"Same reason you aren't," you retort. Gerard scoots over a little as you squat next to them.<br/>
<br/>
"I got study hall this hour," Spencer says with a sly smile. "You got study hall?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. I heard Gelding call your name as I passed his room, and he had a Bowie knife out. Who's taking notes for you losers in Hawks?" you demand of Tackett and Murphy and Gerard.<br/>
<br/>
"Kevin," says Tackett. He has a deep, strong voice that he uses to intimidate people when his long face and strong jaw and  buzz cut aren't enough. Right now, though, he looks like what he actually is: a creative writing brat dressed down in khakis and a grey sweatshirt.<br/>
<br/>
You snicker. "Fft. Winkler. Of course he is. Tell him to run off a copy for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Who said that you get a set?" asks Spencer, though he's not in the class you're skipping.<br/>
<br/>
"I did, just now."<br/>
<br/>
Spencer looks around the circle with a wide, mischievous grin. "Are you guys just gonna let Prescott stick his dick in like this?"<br/>
<br/>
So you put your hand in the middle of the circle. "Rock paper scissors. Loser gives me their notes."<br/>
<br/>
And everyone shrinks back a little. "Where'd you learn that trick?" Tackett asks. Well might he ask, since it was one of the tricks Connor used to bully his way with these guys.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a trick, it's straight up fair play. And if I play alone, all you guys lose."<br/>
<br/>
"You can have a set of notes, Will," Tim Gerard says, and laughs softly to himself.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Score!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The guys don't exactly warm to you over the hour that follows, but you think you see a spark of respect and interest that you haven't seen in their eyes before. Not that you've ever craved their respect. Spencer Osbourne and Brad Murphy are stoners whose company you've never cared for; Tackett and Gerard are English/literature/creative types. But you like the fact that this hour they are looking at you and listening to you instead of letting their eyes slide past as they look for something or someone more interesting.<br/>
<br/>
And it sounds like they like the new you enough to open up a little. At least Tackett and Gerard don't shush Osbourne when he lights a cigarette and casually drops a major piece of gossip. Instead, after glancing in your direction, they ask him to amplify. "So here I am driving down 126 on Saturday," he starts after lighting a cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke, "coming back from the Wilderness, and I do a U-turn in the middle of the fucking street because of who I see turning into the Donna Motor Court."<br/>
<br/>
There was a pause as everyone processes "Donna Motor Court." Eyes light up with curiosity. "Who?"<br/>
<br/>
Another stream of smoke from Osbourne. "Kelsey Blankenship."<br/>
<br/>
That's when the glances start going around. "So?" Gerard says in a guarded way. "Maybe she was meeting Kim Walsh. Her family owns it, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, she was meeting someone." Spencer grins. "He was waiting out in the parking lot."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't pull in next to them, did you?" Tackett asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, no. I did another U-turn and broke a couple of traffic laws getting into the lot across the street so I could watch. It was a guy with goofy blonde hair and a dumb hat."<br/>
<br/>
Tackett pushes you in the shoulder. "What the fuck, Prescott, are you and Kelsey doing dirty deeds at the Donna?"<br/>
<br/>
You whip off your cap and whap him with it.<br/>
<br/>
"So where's Hennepin this morning?" Spencer asks loftily.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he's around," says Gerard, then sighs. "This is old news, Spencer."<br/>
<br/>
Osbourne's mouth drops a little. "What, you guys heard about this already?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not Saturday's date,," Tackett says, and shrugs. "But yeah, Karl and Kelsey are doing it. Have been since the start of school."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit?" Osbourne laughs with obscene delight. "Karl is banging Kelsey up  her tailpipe?"<br/>
<br/>
You understand, and share in, his amazement. Kelsey is the queen of the AP clique, and one of the most stuck-up people you know. Her daddy owns the biggest car dealership in town, and she swans around in expensive bohemian-style clothes and drives a BMW. Karl Hennepin, meanwhile, is a guy like these here, who dances on the line between stoner and artist: he walks around in ragged, smelly jeans and a pot-infused sweatshirt, and likes to sport a fedora atop his dirty-blonde bouffant of curly hair. You cannot imagine the two of them as a couple.<br/>
<br/>
Apparently she can't imagine it either, because the next thing out of Tackett's mouth is a caution: "They hooked up, but it's not official. Fuck, it's supposed to be a secret."<br/>
<br/>
"How the fuck is it a secret if Kelsey's pulling into the Donna in the middle of the day?" asks the stoner whose name you don't know.<br/>
<br/>
"So she can say was visiting Kim if she gets spotted," Tackett says.<br/>
<br/>
"Kim knows what's going on?" Osbourne gasps.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, I haven't asked, and you shouldn't ask either," says Tackett. He puts some body behind that voice of his so everyone will know he means business. "I told you it's supposed to be a secret."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Because Kelsey wants it a secret?" you ask. You wouldn't have made that deduction on your own, but Connor—who remembers Kelsey very clearly—would have. "Why the fuck should we respect that?"<br/>
<br/>
"So we don't fuck things up for Karl. Look, everyone who knows Karl knows what's going on, but if Kelsey finds out it's an open secret, she'll kill Karl for not keeping his mouth shut."<br/>
<br/>
"She parking in the middle of the fucking Donna!" Osbourne says. "How the fuck can she blame Karl when she's—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she's Kelsey Blankenship, that's how come," Tackett says. "She thinks she's too fucking smart to ever get caught, so if she gets caught it'll be someone else's fault."<br/>
<br/>
A groan goes up from Osbourne and from you. "Why does Kelsey want it a secret?" you ask. "Oh, fuck, why am I even asking? Why doesn't Karl grow a pair and tell her that if she loves his cock so much she needs to own up to it in public?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because he loves her pussy so much that he doesn't want to—" Tackett breaks off with a grimace. "Yeah, you're right, that's what he ought to do. But he's just trying to hang on right now. Maybe later on, after things are, I dunno, firmed up between them— Shut up," he sighs at Osbourne when the latter snickers at "firmed up."<br/>
<br/>
"What Karl needs is some insurance," you muse after a thoughtful silence has settled over the group.<br/>
<br/>
"Like health insurance?" Osbourne asks. "In case Kelsey cuts his cock off?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean— This kind of secret can't keep forever. Fuck, if <i>you've</i> noticed, how many people haven't?"<br/>
<br/>
"Did <i>you</i> know about it, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but now I do, and I'm usually the last to hear these things." <i>Dammit, that was Hutchinson imparting a bit of self-knowledge to you.</i> "So how much longer can this go on before Kelsey finds out the whole school is buzzing about her and Karl? And then you say she'll blame him." You nod at Tackett, who doesn't respond. "So what he needs—"<br/>
<br/>
What you need—or what Connor needs—is a cigarette, but you resist the urge.<br/>
<br/>
"So what he needs is some kind of evidence that someone else spotted them, and that it was this someone else who let it out."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean we pin it on Spencer," Tackett says mischievously.<br/>
<br/>
"No, do it anonymously. Put the evidence on Snapchat or Whisper. x2z. Put up some photos of their cars in the Donna parking lot. But don't circulate them, don't send them around. Just make sure they're up so that Kelsey will know she got spotted by someone who wants to make trouble for her."<br/>
<br/>
There's a long silence, and by its quality you can tell you've made a good impression on the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't like the question that Gerard asks next, and you don't like that he's looking at you when he says it. "So who's gonna take these photos and post them?"</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121
author_id: seuzz
title: Expert Opinions
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I can do it," you say. "Or I know someone who can help me."<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb?" Tackett asks, and his skepticism is plain.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, I got lots of friends."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like the brief smile that disfigures Tackett's mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, I can do it," you say with a casual confidence that feels more like Connor Hutchinson's than your own. "Karl's a putz, but he doesn't deserve what he's gonna get out of this clusterfuck. No, I take that back, he totally deserves it, but I'd rather see Kelsey take it up the ass. How often are they getting together?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," says Tackett.<br/>
<br/>
"They just doing it at the Donna?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know when they're going to get together next?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
You push him in the shoulder. "You got anything useful you can help me with?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can call you the next time I hear they're meeting someplace," Gerard says.<br/>
<br/>
"What, are you, his social secretary?"<br/>
<br/>
"We hang out a lot," Gerard says a little crossly. "And when he gets together with Kelsey, well—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. He likes you to know about it. Well, that's something."<br/>
<br/>
At last it looks like you've won a little respect from Spencer Osbourne, because he's got a mad gleam in his eyes when he says, "You need someone to ride shotgun with you at the Donna?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know how I'm going to do it," you reply with a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Why would I get mixed up with this?" Connor exclaims. He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you close. "Didn't you notice? I graduated last May!"<br/>
<br/>
It's a little after four, and you're at Starbucks. You're supposed to be meeting Caleb and Justin over at the school basement, but you gave Caleb the key and told him you'd meet them later. You wanted to talk to Connor first.<br/>
<br/>
Being late afternoon, it's kind of slow, and you had time to lean in over the counter to talk about the day while being interrupted once by a customer. Connor, to your surprise, says he isn't much interested in spying on Karl Hennepin and Kelsey Blankenship's assignations. "This is high school stuff, man, and I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
"And you're still interested," you say. "I know, because I've got your brain up here with mine." You point to your temple.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not the same," says Connor, but he turns just a little pale.<br/>
<br/>
"I think it is. Look, you'd have done it if you'd been there."<br/>
<br/>
"No I wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Bet you would've. You wanted to go in to school—" You look around, and lower your voice. "You wanted to go in as me today, right? That would have been you sitting out there with Tackett and Gerard and Osbourne. You'd have been sitting out there with my body and my brain and your brain, just like I was sitting out there with my body and my brain and your brain. Identical inputs would have led to identical outputs."<br/>
<br/>
Something about what you just said seems to have alarmed him. Then it alarms you just a little: you've blurted out a line from a philosophy primer he started reading last week.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, even if that's true," Connor says, "I wasn't there, and I know I don't want to get mixed up in it. Anyway, why can't you handle it yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I like doing things with friends, just like you. But I don't think Caleb will want to help."<br/>
<br/>
"Smart man. By the way, aren't you supposed to be meeting him and Justin now? Oh crap." He looks over your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
A crowd of customers has just come in; they all look and act like they're high school students, but you don't recognize any of them. Perhaps they're from Eastman. Connor and Nancy (the other barista; and you know who she is because—dur!—you've got Connor's brain inside yours) go to work, but there's too many—at least a dozen—to get them all served in a timely manner. You should run off to meet Caleb and Justin.<br/>
<br/>
But instead you swing around the counter and throw yourself into the job of filling orders. Connor starts to exclaim at you, but you quickly show yourself so expert at flipping switches, scooping up grounds, and squirting out flavors that he shuts his mouth and lets you continue. He shuts up Nancy with a word.<br/>
<br/>
"Toldja I know how you think," you tease Connor when you've got the last customer squared away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Okay, from now on we wait until everyone's here before we try out a new spell," says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"It's my book, shouldn't I be in charge and making these decisions?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
He replies by grabbing you by the throat, pushing you against a bookcase, and grasping at your forehead. <br/>
<br/>
Justin pulls him off you, but not because he's on your side. "He's got a point, Will," he says. "You and Connor should have waited for me and Caleb before trying out that new thing."<br/>
<br/>
"Same as you two waited on us before starting that inferno over there?"<br/>
<br/>
You're referring to the fire blazing against the far wall of the basement. While you were talking to Connor, Caleb and Justin were busy setting up the next spell. They poured most of the bags of dirt over the book, doused it all with chemicals and other ingredients, and set it on fire. It's not giving off any heat—the purple flames licking the pile are so thin and bodiless that you wonder if they are even real—but it's a spooky sight.<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why I think from now on we should wait until everyone's here," Caleb repeats crossly. "Why are you arguing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just saying that because it's my book—"<br/>
<br/>
Again, he grabs you by the throat, and again Justin pulls him back. "Can you take that thing off?" Caleb says. "It's a little creepy knowing that I'm talking to you <i>and</i> Connor at the same time."<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I should keep it on. This way it's like all four of us are here. I can speak for him and for me."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb rubs his eye with the heel of his hand.<br/>
<br/>
"And how long is that fire supposed to burn for?" you ask. "Where's the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"We told you, it's under the pile."<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, what a mess." Even though there's no heat in the flames, you are very careful as you push your fingers into the earth and extract the book; you push the dislodged pile of dirt back into the main mass. "So, can we turn the page now? No, I guess not. Someone log into a translation site, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb and Justin exchange a pained glance before the latter complies. By checking out the wording that follows the list of ingredients, you learn that the spell is not complete until the fire burns out and cannot be relit. "Whose hair did you use?" You tap the book. "The spell calls for someone's hair."<br/>
<br/>
"Mine," says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"That's another reason we should wait until we're all together before trying out a spell," you grumble. "It should've been mine."<br/>
<br/>
Justin grabs Caleb before he can lunge at you again.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, you and Connor had your fun with those metal bands," Justin says. "But we still got more of them, or we will once we get done working on them. What do you want to do with them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, is it my decision finally?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Now Justin grabs at you, and he holds you down while Caleb grabs at your forehead. It's the same set of words that remove a brain-band as remove a mask, and you are overwhelmed by the same kind of unconsciousness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It's not just the memories you get," you explain. "You also get the personality and the instincts—"<br/>
<br/>
"So we noticed," Caleb says. He doesn't look up from the metal strip that he's carving runes into. He and Justin are still working on the bands that they started; you're "keeping them company" since the other two bands are completed.<br/>
<br/>
"You also get, like, their abilities." You describe how you were able to expertly operate the cappuccino makers at Starbucks. You mime your actions—to Justin's interest—then fumble and freeze. "Huh. It was all clear to me when I was doing it. But now—" You shake your head hard, as though that will dislodge the wanted knowledge. "Now it's pretty fuzzy."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you still have Connor's memories?" Justin asks. "What's his sister's name?"<br/>
<br/>
You think for a bit. "No, it's faded."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't have a sister," Justin smirks. You flip him off.<br/>
<br/>
"So it's not like the knowledge is downloaded permanently," Caleb observes. Now he does look up with a thoughtful frown. "That's probably good. Think how fucked up it would be if you had a couple of hundred sets of memories clogging your brain after wearing a bunch of these things."<br/>
<br/>
"But what are we going to do with them?" Justin asks again.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb rubs his shoulder. "Copy each other's brains and put them inside some masks? That way we have full-body copies of each other."<br/>
<br/>
"Do we really want that?" Justin asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Who else would we copy?"<br/>
<br/>
"We've only got two masks," you point out. "And one of them is of Geoff Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
"So we make three more," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you three make three more masks," you say. "I've already contributed my face to one."<br/>
<br/>
"Like that's worth anything," Caleb chortles. "But if we don't want to swap around full-body disguises of each other, what do you want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
You do have a notion in the back of your mind, prompted by your adventures with Connor's mask. If the brain-bands grant abilities as well as memories, doesn't that mean you could copy certain other abilities, like musical abilities or athletic abilities? Wouldn't it be worth getting not just the memories but the muscle memories of certain people at the school?</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212
author_id: seuzz
title: Possibilities as Yet Unexplored
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You are more than a little beguiled by the thought of getting inside the minds of certain classmates: You felt stronger and more confident with Connor Hutchinson's instincts working inside you; imagine how much stronger and more confident you'd feel if you had Joshua Call—or Gordon Black's!—instincts to lean on.<br/>
<br/>
But that fantasy, probably, is what cools your interest in the plan. Call and Black can get away with their instincts because they're big guys who can more than hold their own in a brawl. Your body and constitution couldn't possibly support it.<br/>
<br/>
So you agree to Caleb's idea—making complete disguises of each other—instead of suggesting your own.<br/>
<br/>
But you do insist that Connor and Justin and Caleb make the three masks themselves, and you give Carr a list of ingredients he and his roommate will need. While he's gone to buy them, you give Caleb a fuller account of the day, including what you learned about Kelsey and Karl. "Like I give a crap about Kelsey and her shit," he snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"But don't you think it's hilarious that she's sneaking around with Hennepin? The guy's just a step up from Dane Matthias."<br/>
<br/>
"It'd be hilarious if she were doing it with Matthias," Caleb says. "Fuck, it'd be hilarious if she was doing it with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>me?</i>" Caleb sniggers. "What about Kelsey Blankenship? Would you fuck her?"<br/>
<br/>
You're about to curse him again, but you make the fatal mistake of picturing Kelsey. Your hesitation is just fractionally too long, and Caleb laughs. "That's what I thought."<br/>
<br/>
You blush. "Would <i>you</i> fuck her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I asked first."<br/>
<br/>
You squirm. There's a lot about Kelsey that's repugnant, starting with the fact that she regards you a worm. But purely as a physical specimen—<br/>
<br/>
She's fairly tall, almost as tall as you are. She's slim and has an athletic build—she was on the cheerleading squad until the start of this year. She's brown all over from the summer, from her brunette hair—long and straight, hanging to just above her shoulders—to her the bare feet that she clads in thin-laced sandals. She's got a sense of style, too, which is another reason she's likely so snooty with you. Some of it is just teen-high-school-girl casual, but when she dresses up she gives herself a slightly bohemian air with lots of bracelets and silver and turquoise.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore Caleb's chortles and snickers to wonder how it is that a rich, stylish, grade-chasing snob like Kelsey would fall in love with a guy like Hennepin, who looks and acts like you but trails a cloud of sensimilla behind him. Is that what attracts her? The drugs?<br/>
<br/>
"Hell yeah, I'd fuck her," you say at last.<br/>
<br/>
"So I deduced."<br/>
<br/>
"What about you? Would you fuck her?"<br/>
<br/>
"The question has a nonsensical presupposition. Kelsey doesn't even like sharing a zip code with me."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb thinks he's so clever, but you've got a way at hand to force him to answer: You scoop up and brandish the mask you made of Geoff Mansfield. "Assume she doesn't know it's you. Would you fuck her?"<br/>
<br/>
He stares at the mask and sucks on his lower lip so hard almost swallows his chin. "I haven't thought about Kelsey," he says. "Mostly I've been thinking about how I could use a mask to fuck Cindy or Eva or Jessica, or—"<br/>
<br/>
The mask slips in your fingers, and you barely catch it before it falls. "You've been thinking about using the masks for <i>that?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes start from their sockets. "What the fuck have <i>you</i> been fantasizing about doing with them? Oh, that's right. You've been fantasizing about <i>Mansfield's</i> body."<br/>
<br/>
"I've been—!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, get a grip, he's right.</i> You've been caught up in the moment, and the moment has mostly been you thinking about how to use a mask on Geoff Mansfield. But Caleb's been thinking about—About what, exactly? "So what've your fantasies been about?" you cautiously ask. "Give me one."<br/>
<br/>
"Use your imagination, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy. You said you were fantasizing about using a mask to fuck Cindy. We're talking about Cindy Vredenburg, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who else?"<br/>
<br/>
"So how do you imagine using one of these masks? You use it to pretend you're Javits?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't exactly dwell on that side of it but, uh, yeah, that's the way it'd have to work. So I'd get a mask of Javits --- and with these brain things I don't have to worry about trying to fake my way through—and I call up Cindy and, well—" He rolls his tongue around in his cheek. "You know."<br/>
<br/>
"But how do you get a mask of Javits?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not part of the fantasy."<br/>
<br/>
"It isn't? Then why even fantasize about it? The whole point of fantasizing with these things is that you imagine how to <i>use</i> it."<br/>
<br/>
"No it isn't. I just—" He's started to turn red. "I just start by having the mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, let's do it right. How would you get a mask of Javits?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow, and a nasty smile spreads across his face. "Why are you always trying to imagine ways of getting  a mask of a guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because that's how you'd get to the girl. If you don't want to use <i>your</i> face, which you don't, obviously."<br/>
<br/>
He invites you to examine his middle finger up close. "Do you actually want to try something like that, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I asked you first."<br/>
<br/>
"You had the fantasy first."<br/>
<br/>
Now it's his turn to squirm. "It's a moot point. Connor and Justin are mixed up in it now."<br/>
<br/>
You'd like to argue that it doesn't make a difference, but it probably does. Connor didn't sound at all interested in the high school when you talked to him at Starbucks, and he and Justin are bound to have some kick-ass plan for the masks, something a lot bigger than high school hijinks.<br/>
<br/>
Your thoughts take a disquieting turn when you think of the various really illegal things you could probably do with these things. You hope you don't have to argue against any of them.<br/>
<br/>
But thinking about Connor takes you back to Kelsey, and you ask Caleb again about whether he would fuck her. "She'd be somewhere on the list," he says in a distracted way, as he's returned to working on his metal band. "Don't ask me to rank her, because I'm concentrating on this."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you help me get photos of her car in the motel parking lot?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. You talked yourself into that all by yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"So who's going to help me?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb pushes the metal band with Connor's memories at you. "Ask Hutchinson. According to you, it was his idea."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Justin brings back deli sandwiches as well as mask supplies; you have to be home for supper in another hour, so you save yours for later. But the other two eat while you make three more masks; but then Caleb whines that it's not fair he has to polish up a second mask while you get away with no work, so you make a fourth mask as well. "It's the polishing that's the bitch of it," you explain to Justin, and show him how to do it while warning him that it'll take a week even if he spends all his free time on it. He groans, and soon after leaves with two masks for him and Connor to polish.<br/>
<br/>
You and Caleb leave for your own homes not long after. First, though, you affix one of the finished metal bands to the inside of the mask that contains a copy of your body, and set it on your face. It's a kind of test, and it works, resulting in a mask that copies you inside and out. (You know the "inside" part came off successfully because the metal band now shows the name WILLIAM MARTIN PRESCOTT.) You take it home with you but keep it hidden in the bottom of your book bag so that your little brother won't find it if he goes snooping through your room, the way he likes to. And you take one of the new masks home with you as well, though it's nearly ten o'clock before you start working on it: that's how long it takes to get done with your homework and work up the stamina to tackle that detestable job. You console yourself by remembering that three other people will be equally miserable tonight.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The next morning, a text comes through on your phone as you're dressing. The name on the message causes your nerves to twang: CONNOR. He's asking if you can stop by his place on your way to class.<br/>
<br/>
<i>something wrong?</i> you text back.<br/>
<br/>
<i>All ok,</i> comes the reply. <i>Masks done, check them?</i><br/>
<br/>
They can't have the masks all polished up. It's impossible, even if they stayed up all night there aren't enough hours in the day.<br/>
<br/>
So yeah, you'll stop by their place so you can point out what they did wrong. You get breakfast to go with the excuse that you need to run a sudden errand.<br/>
<br/>
But it turns out the masks are finished. You turn them over and over in your hands, looking for flaws, but not only are they a burnished blue all over, they've already got images in them. Images of Connor and Justin. "How the fuck did you do it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Manuel's car buffer," says Connor smugly. "We thought we'd give it a try, and it seems like it worked. Took less than an hour each."<br/>
<br/>
"Bastard."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, if you only had a brain— Oh, speaking of which." Connor pushes two metal bands across the kitchen bar. "We got these done too. So do you want to try one of these bad boys out for the day? We should have just enough time to get to your hideout to pick up the mask of you. I could go in to Westside as you—or Justin could—and you could spend the day being one of us."</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121
author_id: seuzz
title: An Expedited Graduation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Yeah, I'll do a trade-off with you," you tell Connor. "I don't mind skipping school."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll have to cover for me at work too," he says. "Three to ten."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine, I'll know what to do." You can't resist an impudent grin. "But you'll have to do my homework."<br/>
<br/>
"I knew there'd be a downside," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"You better get this done before Manuel wakes up," says Justin.<br/>
<br/>
But now that it's come to the moment, Connor seems to turn a little shy, and only slowly does he hold out the mask that's got his name in it. "Gimme your truck keys. Your clothes, too. Oh, fuck. Come on into the bedroom."<br/>
<br/>
He seems a little unnerved by what's about to happen—and you are too, but you flatter yourself you're doing a better job hiding it—and mutters a couple of times that you and he are bound to overlook something. "I'll need your clothes and wallet and all that stuff. I guess you can use the clothes I've got in the closet. Your book bag—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bag!" you shout. "I nearly forgot." You unzip it, and from its depths pull out the mask you finished making last night.<br/>
<br/>
Connor goes limp. "Well, that was almost a fucking disaster. If I'd gotten out to that old school—"<br/>
<br/>
"You'd have found the mask in the bag."<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't have looked there. Well, come on, let's just do the change here and now." He drops heavily onto one of the two narrow beds that are squeezed into the room. You sit on the other, and without looking at each other you strip, dropping clothes onto the floor. You can't help thinking it's going to be really gross putting on his underwear. <i>Oh, but he'll have to suffer with putting yours on too. And you'll be able to pull out clean underwear and he won't.</i><br/>
<br/>
Such a lot of silly, pointless thoughts pass through your head as you get ready for the transformation. At last, though, you're lying under a thin sheet and holding a mask over your face. You can read Connor's name inside it. It won't be any different than it was yesterday, when you wrapped yourself inside Connor's personality. Okay, it will be a lot different in one respect: today you'll actually look like him, and except for Justin and Caleb everyone will think you are him. And you'll be going to work for him and hanging out with his friends—<br/>
<br/>
So, really, it's going to be a lot different than it was yesterday. You'll be wrapping yourself completely in the skin and mind and life of another person and doing their stuff for them.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at Connor, to see if he's bemusing himself with the same kind of thoughts. But it's not Connor in the other bed. It's you, and your mouth is hanging slack in a slightly repulsive way. A nervous shiver runs through you, and you turn away.<br/>
<br/>
Then with a deep breath you lower the mask onto your face.<br/>
<br/>
For just an instant it rests there, and then it gets very heavy and presses onto you. You'd think you were suffocating but for the golden warmth that envelops you. It's like a liquid cocoon, and it's wrapping itself all about you, and seeping into you, merging itself with you. You become very drowsy ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your eyes are heavy like marbles when you roll them open next. The world is a dirty-white color. It takes you a moment to place yourself. <i>That's the ceiling. What time is it? It feels early.</i><br/>
<br/>
You roll over to grasp at the clock on the floor below. Your hand is met by a wall. You frown. <i>What's a wall doing here? It should be—</i><br/>
<br/>
You bounce up into a sitting position, and the blood rushes to your head. A voice speaks: "Took you long enough to wake up."<br/>
<br/>
The world is too blurry to make out clearly, but there's a figure nearby. You squint. It's Will Prescott. <i>Oh God. Here is where it starts.</i><br/>
<br/>
Yes, that's you. And at the same time it's someone else. It's Will Prescott over there and it's Connor Hutchinson, just as you are Will Prescott and also Connor Hutchinson. You recognize now that you're in Justin's bed, which is why the wall and clock have changed places.<br/>
<br/>
You pinch the bridge of your nose and look around. Prescott holds something out to you. Oh, it's your glasses.<br/>
<br/>
Well, Connor's glasses. You take them and put them on.<br/>
<br/>
Prescott comes into focus. He's wearing a sloppy red shirt and cargo shorts; tennis shoes over ankle socks; and a dirty white ball cap pulled down over stiff, straw-colored hair. There's a kind of wicked gleam in his eye as he stares at you, and you hope he's not thinking of fucking up your life in any way. Worse: You hope he's not laughing at you now that he's got a look at the stuff that goes on inside your head.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I'll take off now," he says, but doesn't immediately move. It looks like he's trying to think of something to add. If he is, he can't think of it, and he takes a few awkward steps backward before turning and leaving. From the other side of the door come muffled voices, then the heavy thud of the front door closing.<br/>
<br/>
You look down at the floor, where the clothes are scattered. Before you can make a move on them, the door opens again, and Justin leans in. "I just heard Manual roll over. Better get moving if you want to beat him into the shower.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God,</i> you think in a sudden panic. <i>I have to shower in this thing.</i> And you have to beat Manual there, too, because he never cleans the hairs he leaves out the drain. You swing your feet of the bed --<br/>
<br/>
-- and don't feel any blush of shame at showing your nakedness to Justin, for he and Connor are not shy with each other. You grab up boxers and a t-shirt, and make a quick dash for the bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
The first minute or so under the water, with the soap, is a little mortifying, but it quickly loses its weirdness. Connor is taller than you are, but he has a similarly skinny build and hair in most of the same places. The fact that the body doesn't feel much different from your own—and the fact that his mind is quite comfortable with touching his body—means that by the time you're toweling yourself off you've almost forgotten this is someone else's body. You don't even change into fresh boxers when you're back in the bedroom. You don't have to be into the store for a few hours, but you put on the clothes you'll be wearing: black jeans, a chocolate-colored polo shirt, scuffed-up casual dress pumps. The one concession to style—and, weirdly, it works on Connor—is the Native-style bead necklace you wrap tightly around your throat, the one with the metal-feather pendant hanging below your Adam's apple. Your wavy brunette hair is still wet as you head out with your iPad for the campus park where you'll watch the college girls jog by. Justin has already left for his shift.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The hipster music plays softly behind the hiss of the espresso machines and the whine of the coffee grinders. You bang out one order after another expertly, smiling at familiar faces and flirting slightly with the prettier girls; but the novelty and interest in playing the barista palls after about twenty minutes, as does the fun of gossiping with Nancy after she comes in for her shift.<br/>
<br/>
It's of a piece with your experience that morning and early in the afternoon. After the day heated up enough to drive off the joggers, you walked over to the student union to meet some of Connor's friends—those who are going to classes—and listened to them talk about their classes and told them about your work. It was light and cheerful and bawdy, and not one of them looked at you strange—except at the one point when you ventured Connor's opinion that Lady Steel was the best of the numerous local bands—and entirely accepted that you were Hutchinson. There was an initial thrill in that, a hard thrill even, in using his catch phrases and allusions with people you barely remember, and a few you didn't know at all. But it didn't last long. You got a similar thrill, though a more ambivalent one, when you went into Starbucks, while tying that green apron about your waist. It started off as something new and strange and slightly terrifying, like being in a new school, but then became very rote as you let Connor's instincts guide you, for then it became his experience of working behind the counter at Starbucks, not yours. The most unusual part was the way that you and Justin didn't talk much during the overlap between your shifts. He seemed a little distant with you, which was probably to be expected, since he knew exactly who you really were.<br/>
<br/>
The afternoon lull has now hit, and you are leaning against the counter and checking the texts on Connor's phone. You're trying to avoid texting anything that will cause him problems down the road—like committing to a party this coming Saturday—and your mind is wandering. It occurs to you that the reason you are bored with the day is because Connor would be bored with it, for in truth it has been very dull. You think you feel a tug of jealousy for the fun that he is having as yourself, being immersed in school; your present feelings of ennui certainly contrast sharply with the quick rush you felt yesterday, when you were at Westside with Connor for upstairs company. You wonder if he's really having fun, and tremble a little when you remember the complications you gave yourself when you had fun yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
Then Nancy nudges you. "Here comes your girlfriend," she smirks. You look over your shoulder: Olivia Byrne is coming in.<br/>
<br/>
Well, here's some possible fun, if you've the courage to reach out and grasp it.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Story Overheard in a Starbucks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You waver and temporize and change your mind a couple of times, especially after Olivia flirts hard with you while getting her refills. But you finally decide that if "Connor Hutchison" is going to do anything with Olivia Byrne, it should be the real guy and not a counterfeit doing it.<br/>
<br/>
Not long after she leaves, a batch of four high school students—three girls and a guy—come in, and you guess from the colors on the guy's letterman jacket that they're from Eastman. Their presence grinds on your nerves, not because they come from a rival school, but because of the way the guy—a blonde jock with a bright smile—has all three girls eating out of the palm of his hand. But it fascinates you, too, to see him balancing them so perfectly, so you can't help eavesdropping on them as they settle in at a table near the counter.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh come on, don't say stuff like that," the blonde kid is saying as you start to pay serious attention. "You wanna be careful who you piss off. I can tell you, the average teenage guy's got so many hormones tearing him up inside that he'll do all kinds of stupid-crazy stuff if you push him too hard."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you saying you've done stupid-crazy stuff," says a red-headed girl with a smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"All the time." He darts in and nips at the side of her neck. She giggles and pushes him away, but her eyes are bright. "I'm just saying you gotta be careful. You don't wanna be mean to the wrong kind of guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, there are some real psychos out there," says another one of the girls. Her hair is dirty blond, and her face is rather hard.<br/>
<br/>
"For true," says the guy. "I can tell you about one incident at the last school I was at." His expression turns very serious. "I wasn't there for it, and it happened a couple of years ago, but I heard about it 'cos it made a real impression on people." No one stops him as he settles his elbows on the table for a story.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So there's this girl, okay?" he says. "And she's a stuck up kind of bitch, on account of her daddy's rich and she's got it a lot better than most people. This is in Nebraska, by the way."<br/>
<br/>
"What were you doing in Nebraska?" says the hard-faced girl.<br/>
<br/>
"Wishing I was in the kind of place where I wouldn't wish I was back in Nebraska," he retorts. "So there's this girl, and she's rich, but she's not the smartest in school and she's not the prettiest either, so she feels like she has to try harder, and the way she tries harder is by making out like she's the most special girl around. She's one of these girls where everything has to be done her way, you know? So one friend has to have this kind of hairstyle and another friend has to stick to wearing these colors, and on some days it'll be these three girls she hangs out, and on other days she'll freeze those same girls out, and she tells everyone that this video is cool and that meme is fire and—"<br/>
<br/>
The third girl—who has a big nose—nudges the red-head. "Clarice, right?" she snickers.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, she has her girlfriends but she also has boyfriends, all of them on the wrestling or track or basketball teams because, hey, she knows what kind of guys look best." He puffs up, filling out his letterman jacket. "But she never sticks to any one guy for long, and she's always shuffling them between the Hot and Not lists, and letting everyone know which list they're on which days."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you know this girl?" asks the hard-faced one. "Because it sound like—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but she got described to me pretty well, and I know her type."<br/>
<br/>
"Clarice," the big-nosed girl smirks again.<br/>
<br/>
"But there was one guy she never had time for. No one knows why she had it in for him, but she was always ragging on him. He was on the track team, and he was good looking, so she should have been okay with him, at least. I mean, I saw his yearbook pictures when I heard this story, and he looked like every other jock in the photos. But I guess it was his personality. He was real quiet and shy, I heard, and awkward with girls. He didn't have a lot of friends, and some people said he was weird, probably because it was a small school but he liked sitting by himself, and he never really talked to people. Even on the track team he was a loner, because he was a long-distance runner, and it seemed like he was always training. People would see him running along the sides of those long, straight roads they have out in Nebraska, jogging in one direction for miles and miles, and jogging miles and miles back. I guess it suited him, to be away from people, alone with his thoughts, his feet carrying him farther and farther away from town.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, the girl I'm telling you about had a thing for tall, lanky guys, and she'd dated everyone on the track team, everyone except this one guy, and she always got a disgusted look on her face when people asked her when she was going to go out with him. But then one day she did. Maybe it was on account of a dare, I dunno. It was a weeknight date—not even a Friday or Saturday night—and she played it down beforehand with people, telling everyone she wasn't expecting a good time, and that it was totally a pity date. And the night of the date she was back with her friends again before it was even eight o'clock, telling them what a disaster it was, and how lame he was, and how he'd never have a girlfriend because he didn't know how to talk to or treat a girl. The people who told me this story were sure that it all got back to him, but they also said he didn't show any sign of it at school. The rest of the week he just went on sitting quietly by himself, or jogging around the track."<br/>
<br/>
The teller of the tale takes a long sip from his coffee.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, anyway, a few days pass and the weekend comes, and then another week passes and it's the weekend again, and this girl goes to a sleepover at the house of one of her friends. Like a lot of people in this town, this friend lives way out in the country. I've seen the house, it's a ranch house with nothing but flat ground for miles all around and a state highway about a hundred yards off. There's six of these girls at the house, and her parents are out of town, so of course they get up to stuff. They prank call people, and invite boys to come out, then call them again to tell them to stay away. And their fun includes breaking out a Ouija board at one point."<br/>
<br/>
"Is this one of those stories where someone accidentally summons a ghost or demon?" the hard-faced girl asks.<br/>
<br/>
"That's a lot easier to do that than you think," says the guy, looking very sober, "though not as easy as a lot of stories make it sound. In this case, I heard, nothing much happened, and at the very first sign it was starting to act funny they put it away and went back to prank calling. But by midnight they were sitting in the living room with the lights off, trying to tell ghost stories, though no one knew any that weren't rip-offs of movies or TV shows they'd all seen.<br/>
<br/>
"But while they're huddled up there in their PJs and nightgowns—" His voice drops. "—a car comes down the highway, and its headlights come shining through the big bay window in the living room. And they turn to look at it, and they see there's a shadow in front of the window. One of the girls shrieks, There's someone out there! and another girl says, It's just a fence post, and they all get to giggling, because even though they're nervous they don't really think it's someone. But just before the headlights go out, the shadow moves, like it's turning its head. And all the girls scream, because they see it has the profile of a person."<br/>
<br/>
The red-head shivers and giggles, and the guy grasps her by the arm and pulls her close.<br/>
<br/>
"Someone says, Maybe it's your dad, and the girl whose house it is goes to peek out through the blinds. Who is it, they ask. No one's there, she says. <br/>
<br/>
"They're about to decide that, yeah, it was just a fencepost, when they hear footsteps on the porch. Clomp. Clomp. The footsteps go up to the front door, and pause, then continue, like the person is walking around the house. And now the girls aren't giggling anymore, and they huddle up in a big pile in the middle of the room, because they're sure that someone really is out there. They whisper, wondering if the front door is locked, and one of them scampers over to make sure it is. <br/>
<br/>
"Then the footsteps are on the back porch, and they go up to the sliding glass door, and the door rattles and bumps like someone's trying to open it. But it's locked, and the footsteps go off.<br/>
<br/>
"Now the girls start arguing. Should they turn on the outside lights, to see who it is? Should they stay quiet and pretend the house is empty? Should they call 911? Or some guys from school to come out and look around?<br/>
<br/>
"Then one of them says, Oh, it's probably just one of those guys we called, and they're trying to scare us. She says it like she's trying to be brave, but that sets off the girl I've been telling you about. She suddenly decides that's exactly what's going on, and she gets really mad. She says she's gonna grab him, whoever it is, and she stomps over to the front door. The other girls try to hold her back, but she pushes them away and just about tears the door off its hinges as she goes outside. The other girls close the door behind her, and they listen real carefully, and they're all holding their breath.<br/>
<br/>
"And then they hear a scream."</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111
author_id: seuzz
title: More Stories Overheard in a Starbucks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A customer comes up to the counter while you're listening to the story, but you keep to your spot and let Nancy take care of him. The blonde guy has paused for effect, but he soon resumes.<br/>
<br/>
"So there's this scream from outside, and all the girls grab onto each other. Then they hear a lot of yelling and cursing, so they relax a little, because that tells them their friend is yelling because she's mad, not because she's scared. They open the door again, and the girl comes in, and she's dragging someone with her.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's the guy I was telling you about, the one she had the date with, and he looks miserable. He's wet all the way through for a start, completely soaked, half-drowned, and his t-shirt and jeans are drenched and half hanging off his body, and his hair looks like a rat's been trying to swim through it. He's so wet that water is pouring off him all over the floor. He's so wet that when one of the girls grabs him, she says afterward it was like grabbing a fistful of wet wool. Which is a funny thing—" The guy pauses with his cup halfway to his lips. "Because he's a track guy and has about two percent body fat on him, and he was wearing a thin, ragged t-shirt. So how can your fingers sink into him the way that girl says they did?"<br/>
<br/>
He swallows some coffee. "But they all grab onto him and start screaming and punching him. They scratch him and call him every dirty name they can think of. They yank him this way and that way, like they're going to tear his arms out of his sockets. And all this time he doesn't say a word. He just hangs his head and stares at the ground. And those girls, when they'd got themselves up to a huge boil, they shove him out the door and slam it on him and yell at him some more through it, telling him how worthless he is, how everyone hates him, how he deserves to be hated. Then they sit down in a circle in the living room and for the next hour they carry on about him and how weird he is, and what a loser he is, and about all the things they're going to do to him when they see him at school on Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"That's pretty brutal but I'm not sure I blame them," says the red-head. "I mean, if you're going to go stalking around someone's house at midnight—"<br/>
<br/>
"It was pretty creepy, I agree," says the guy. "And I don't blame them much either, but I haven't told you the rest of the story and how it got even creepier."<br/>
<br/>
"Creepier?" says the girl with the big nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. See, they go into school on Monday and they're still mad, so they look around for him. But he's not there, and he's not there the next day either. They figure he's skipping because he's so ashamed of what happened, and probably scared of what they're going to do to him. But on Wednesday they hear that the state police are looking for him too, because he's missing. In fact, he's been missing for more than a week. That whole week, between when he'd had that disaster of a date, and when he showed up at the sleepover, he'd been gone from school, but no one except the teachers noticed because he hadn't got any friends. The girls tell the school principal about seeing him the previous weekend, but they can't help any further. <br/>
<br/>
"But Friday comes, and that's when the cops find the guy. He's in his car, sitting at the bottom of a small lake about twenty miles east of town."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God." Two of the girls cover their mouths with their hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Well, that leaves everyone kind of thoughtful, especially the girl I've been telling you about. Because, you see, she'd lost a chain link bracelet the night of the slumber party, and she and her friends never could find it. But a few days after the guy's funeral, she's called in to the principal's office, and he has that bracelet. He asks if it's hers because it's her initials on a pendant hanging off it, and she says it is and asks him how it came to him. And he doesn't want to tell her, but she insists. So he tells her that the dead guy had it in his hand when they pulled him out of the lake. He must have grabbed it off her that night at the sleepover.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she takes it but she never wears it again, and someone told me she drove out to the lake and threw it into the water at the spot where his car had been."<br/>
<br/>
He stops as though he's come to the end of his story.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to the girls? Did they get in trouble?" the red-head asks. "I mean, he was being creepy but they kind of drove him to it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, no one held it against them," says the blonde kid. "No one thought they had anything to do with it. Because, see, that fight at the sleepover couldn't have happened. No, according to the police reports, the guy was dead long before then. The pathologist said he'd been drifting in the water for two weeks by the time they pulled him out. So he must have gone into the lake right after his one and only date, and a week before the sleepover happened."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs, and there's an electric pause. Then the red-head gives a little shriek and starts hitting storyteller; he ducks his head and accepts the blows cheerfully. "You didn't tell us it was a ghost story!" she yells. But her smile is impudent, and the guy replies by kissing his fingertip and pressing it to her lips.<br/>
<br/>
"I got lots of ghost stories I could tell you," he says. "Of course, the thing about ghost stories is that you shouldn't tell people they're ghost stories before you start to tell them. Half the fun is getting that creepy feeling halfway through when you start wondering if maybe that's what it is."<br/>
<br/>
"Tell us one anyway," says the girl with the big nose. "It's practically October."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. You ever hear the story of the haunted Porta Potty?"<br/>
<br/>
Shrieks of laughter. "The haunted what?"<br/>
<br/>
"The haunted Porta Potty."<br/>
<br/>
"No, what's the story of the haunted Porta Potty?"<br/>
<br/>
"It scared the crap out of people. Ow!"<br/>
<br/>
"A serious one!" the red-head says. "You have to tell us a serious one!"<br/>
<br/>
"It is a serious story!" the guy insists even as he ducks under renewed blows. "Well, kind of. And it's not about a Porta Potty, it's about an outhouse. It's an old Scandinavian story. So there was this old farmer that no one liked because he was stingy and mean and gave people the evil eye when they went walking by, and after he died his ghost continued to haunt his old farm. It would grab anyone who went into the fields at night, and it danced on the roof and shook the walls of his old house. They finally got a priest to lay the ghost, and they drove a stake deep into the ground to pin it down, because that's what they used to do in Denmark and Iceland. Well, years and years passed, and the top of the stake got broken off or sawed off, and everyone forgot about the ghost and where the guy was buried. The farm got sold, and the new owner decided to dig a hole for a new outhouse, and by sheerest bad luck he picked the spot where the old ghost was. He dug the hole and put up the outhouse, and afterward all kinds of strange noises started coming out of it at night."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet," says the hard-faced girl. "Especially after cabbage and chili night."<br/>
<br/>
The guy sticks his tongue out at her. "Anyway, the farmer decides to investigate, so he digs the hole a little wider, and that's when he finds what's left of the stake. And he pulls it out of the ground, which is a really bad move, because as soon as he does so the ghost of the old farmer comes rushing out of the hole, with a wide, hungry mouth, and wide, staring eyes, and after him comes trailing all the fresh, wet crap people had been dropping into the outhouse. It explodes out in this huge geyser of mud and shit that knocks over the outhouse and drenches the new farmer all over, and the last anyone sees, he's running across the fields, covered in shit, yelling his head off while the ghost goes howling after him."<br/>
<br/>
Loud laughter at that, so loud that a couple of customers on the other side of the cafe glance over with annoyed looks. But the noise quickly subsides.<br/>
<br/>
"A serious ghost story," says the red head. "Come on, I mean it. You say you know lots of stories."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, how about the one about the girl who gave birth in the school bathroom during a function, and drowned the baby in the toilet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ew! No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the short version is—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to hear it!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's the short-short version?" asks the hard-faced girl.<br/>
<br/>
"Short-short version is, she goes into labor during a school dance and gives birth in the girls' bathroom, and she drowns it in the toilet and hides the body in the garbage can, then goes home. She lives by herself because she's trailer trash. Anyway, she hides at home for a few days, waiting to hear whether the body got discovered, and when she doesn't hear anything she goes back to school. But her homeroom is right next to that bathroom, and her desk is right up against the wall, and all during class she hears a baby crying from the other side of the wall. But no one else can hear it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's horrible!" says the girl with the big nose. "I don't want to hear any more if you're going to be like that."<br/>
<br/>
"I got lots of stories about dead kids."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to hear them!"<br/>
<br/>
"I do," says the hard-faced girl.<br/>
<br/>
The blonde kid grins. "I'll tell you one that's not so bad, I promise." The red-head frowns and crosses her arms, but doesn't argue further.</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Thin Ghost
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"It's not even really a story about a dead baby," the blonde kid continues. "Mostly it's about a middle-aged guy."<br/>
<br/>
He pauses, in case there are renewed protests. He continues when they don't come.<br/>
<br/>
"So there's this guy, in his fifties, and he's pretty well off. He's married, but he hasn't got any kids, but he does have lots of brothers and sisters, and they've got kids and some of those kids have kids, so he's not hurting for family. And they're all real close to each other and they go on trips together all the time. It's a tight-knit clan.<br/>
<br/>
"But anyway, the guy I'm telling you about, he gets it into his head that the family -- or at least his own brothers and sisters -- should have a family plot back in the little town where they all grew up, so they can all be buried together."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God." The girl with the big nose wrinkles it up.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. But all his siblings are crazy like he is, and they think it's a terrific idea, so he flies out to the little town they're originally from in order to set it up.<br/>
<br/>
"He has to buy a really big plot, in case some of his nieces and nephews decide to go in on it too, and he's also going to move his own parents into it. I won't even tell you about the massive tombstone he's got planned. Anyway, what he really wants is a spot in the middle of the cemetery, where anybody walking past is going to see the family, and he definitely doesn't want to have a plot in the back forty acres. But the people who run the cemetery tell him that there aren't any places in the middle of the graveyard big enough for the kind of thing he wants. They take him out to look at all the possible spots, and he hates all of them, because they're shoved against a wall, or they're too close to the big road that goes past, and he's on the verge of telling the woman who's showing him the plots to just forget it all, when he glances back and notices some big piles of dirt in the middle of the cemetery, right where he thinks he'd like to have this big family plot.<br/>
<br/>
"At first he thinks that it must be excavations for some new graves, but there's too much dirt for that, so he asks the woman what's going on back there.<br/>
<br/>
"'Oh, that's where we had a grove of trees,' she tells him." The storyteller's voice changes subtly to indicate which character is speaking; and he's pretty good at the vocalizations so that you're not confused as you listen. "'The roots were starting to interfere with the surrounding graves, so we dug them up.'<br/>
<br/>
"'You mean there isn't anyone buried there now?' the guy asks.<br/>
<br/>
"'No, she says. 'We haven't sold any plots there yet -- '<br/>
<br/>
"'Well, why didn't you tell me this before?' he says. 'That's exactly where --'<br/>
<br/>
The kid shakes his head. "She tells him that there's not enough space there, but he's stubborn and insists on double-checking the map of the cemetery. So they go back to the office and, sure enough, the place where the grove had been is just a little too small, even if they crowd the coffins in as much as they can. But it's such a close fit that the guy won't give up, and he keeps fiddling with the arrangement, and finally he says, 'If only we could move one of the nearby graves and add the land to our plot, then we could fit it in.' But the woman says they'd have to get permission from the families of the people who are buried there before they can do something like that.<br/>
<br/>
"By now, the guy is really obsessed with getting that big piece of ground for his family plot, so they research who's buried on either side. On one side there's another family plot, so there's no real chance of getting any land there, but on the other side there's just a single grave, and in it is buried a little boy who died when he was only four years old. Right next to him is a woman with the same last name, and based on her dates of birth and death they think she must be the little boy's mother, but that seems to be the only family around, and they were both buried decades ago. And the guy says, 'If we can get this kid moved -- "<br/>
<br/>
The red-head interrupts: "What a ghoul!"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," grins the storyteller. "But like I say, the guy is really obsessed, and he stays searching for the next of kin so he can get permission to move the kid. He even hires some genealogical experts. But no one can find any family for either the little boy or his mother. She was never married, never had any more kids, was apparently an only child, and if she had cousins they all got married under other names. Which means it's impossible to find family, but also, well— It makes it seem like no one is going to object if the grave gets moved. So, armed with this info, and with a couple of, ahem, personal checks each with four figures scribbled into the amount boxes, he goes back to the cemetery board of directors or whatever it is that makes these decisions. And after taking a hard look at his research, and at the personal checks, they agree to move the boy's coffin. And by 'moved'," he adds in a knowing tone, "they mean that the coffin and the contents will be destroyed, because they're not going to take up any of their valuable land with a twice-over orphan."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus," says the red-head.<br/>
<br/>
"That night," the storyteller continues, and his voice drops, "our hero has a very vivid dream. He dreams he's standing in a wide, green space, at night, under a moon that shines down like a spotlight. There's a rectangular hole nearby, and though there are no tombstones, he understands that it's a grave. And as he watches, a shadow comes up out of it.<br/>
<br/>
"That's all he can see of it -- a shadow. It's very small, maybe only two feet in height, and it has a fearfully thin body and thin arms and legs, and a large head wobbling atop its skinny neck. But it's very quick in its movements, and clambers out of the grave like a squirrel, with lots of darting motions, and when it gets to the top it crouches on the grass. Then it looks over its shoulder at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Our guy can't make out its face, only its eyes, and he can't see any emotion or thought in them. But he freezes at the way they lock onto him. They seem to glow from within, like lamps, and they are a very pale blue color. The thing stares at him this way for an uncomfortably long time, then runs away into the shadows."<br/>
<br/>
The kid gives the story an atmospheric pause by sipping his coffee. No one says anything.<br/>
<br/>
"The man doesn't wake up, and actually he doesn't remember having this dream, not until about ten o'clock the next morning when the cemetery calls to say that the backhoe is in place and they are about to start the excavation, and would he like to come out to watch? That's when the recollection of it comes flooding back, while he's standing there with his phone to his ear, and it gives him a queer turn, as they say, to remember it so vividly. But he tells the woman who's calling that as long as the job gets done that's all he cares about and he doesn't have to watch. He hangs up, and packs, and goes to the airport because his business in town is done.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, he isn't a superstitious man, and he isn't even a church-going man. He's gone to college and he has an MBA and he votes for the Democrats, so he's exactly the kind of man who knows what dreams like that mean. Still, he thinks it's pretty remarkable, because he doesn't usually have vivid dreams, and he doesn't remember ever having any dream that is so obviously symbolic. But, basically, he tries to forget all about it.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, the first clue he gets that something has gone really funny is when he gets to the airport. He's buying his ticket and he's got everything taken care of when the ticket agent looks straight at him and says, 'And what about your son'?"<br/>
<br/>
"The guy blinks at her, because of course he hasn't got any children, and he's traveling alone and he has no idea what she's talking about. But he half-glances behind him and sees a shape just behind his hip that he naturally assumes is that of a small boy with the family standing behind him. 'Oh, he's not with me,' the guy says, 'he's with them.' The agent stares at him for a moment, but doesn't say anything, only gives him a funny look as she hands over his ticket. He picks up his overnight bag and is walking away when he suddenly realizes that there was no family standing behind him. He stops and turns around and sees that, sure enough, no one has moved up to take his place, and the ticket agent is working at her terminal on something else. He glances around, but there are no small children nearby.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he gets on the plane, and there must have been a kid in the seat behind him because someone keeps kicking his seat all through the flight, but they always stop just as he's about to turn around to complain. But it's not until the other end of the flight, when he's driving away from the airport, that the illusions start up in earnest. As he's driving out of the parking lot, he glances in the rearview mirror, and thinks he sees a small head bobbing up and down in the back seat. But of course there's no one there when he looks around."<br/>
<br/>
"The really spooky stuff doesn't start, though, until he gets to his brother's house."</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Thin Ghost, Concluded
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"His brother's house?" one of the girls asks. "What was the guy doing out there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because his brother lives there," the blonde kid explains. "The guy I'm telling you about lived about a hundred miles from this city, and since he was in town he decided to stop and see his brother, to celebrate the successful conclusion of the family plot business.<br/>
<br/>
"So he gets out to their place, and he's a little jumpy because all during his drive he keeps thinking there's someone in the back seat. But he gradually relaxes once he's had a glass of wine and some small talk with his brother. His brother's son and his wife also live in town, and they're having a 'romantic weekend' together, so they've dropped their three kids off there too, so the house is pretty crowded, but in a way he likes. The oldest of the kids is a teenager, and he really doesn't want to be there, but the two younger kids are really enjoying the vacation.<br/>
<br/>
"But it's not a pleasant weekend, not for anyone. A little before dinner the teenager comes in, looking kind of surly, and asks who the kid is that keeps running across the front lawn. His grandparents don't know who it might be and ask him to describe the kid. 'I dunno,' says the teenager, 'except he's real ugly.' At this, his little brother, who's ten, sits up and says maybe it's the same kid he saw peering in through the dining room window a little while before. When asked what this rubbernecking kid looked like, he can only say that he was really ugly and really skinny.<br/>
<br/>
"That might have been the end of it, except that a little after dinnertime, the guy I've been telling you about comes inside from taking out the trash. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a shadowy figure lurking near the garage door. He thinks it's his niece, who's about seven and is very small for her age, and he says 'Come on inside, honey.' He glances away as he opens the door going in from the garage, and when he looks back the figure is gone. He thinks nothing of it until he takes a few steps inside and finds all the kids, including the little girl, inside the living room and playing on their iPhones. That's when he realizes he'd made a mistake out in the garage.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the night is full of excitement. It starts at around ten, when the teenager comes running in from the backyard, soaked to the skin. He'd been walking around by the rose bushes next to the swimming pool when he'd gotten snagged at the ankle by something that at first he took to be a thorny branch, but which tightened about his foot like a claw. He pulled hard at it, and it let go of him so suddenly that he fell backward into the pool. That was bad enough, but as he struggled up toward the surface it felt like something was trying to push him down and hold him under the water. He only escaped by diving to the bottom, swimming along the edge until his breath nearly gave out, and coming up in the shallow end. An investigation by the adults finds nothing except the smoldering remains of the cigarette he'd been sneaking. <br/>
<br/>
"Then in the middle of the night everyone is woken by shrill screams from the little girl's bedroom. They all run inside and find her curled up the corner of the bed, wild-eyed and twitching all over. She had a nightmare, she says. In it, a monster came out from under her bed and tried to crawl under the covers with her. Her grandmother spends the rest of the night with her, but she's so shaken that even the next morning she can only say that the monster in her dream was thin like a skeleton before she has to break off because she starts shuddering again.<br/>
<br/>
"Later that afternoon, the middle boy falls head first down the staircase. He breaks his arm, and barely misses breaking his neck. Naturally, our guy doesn't pay any attention to any of this. He doesn't even think of it as coincidence."<br/>
<br/>
"No one ever does in these stories," says the hard-faced girl in a jaded tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Would you notice if weird things were happening to you," the guy asks her. "Would you say, Huh, I must have an angry ghost chasing after me?" She doesn't answer. "I thought not," he says dryly. "But our guy is actually a little more on the ball than people in these stories usually are, and he doesn't stay oblivious for long. He drives home the next day, and all the way back he has that same feeling, that there's someone in the back seat bobbing up and down just out of sight when he looks in the rearview mirror. He's anxious and depressed by the time he gets home, and those feelings only deepen when, a few hours later, he goes into the kitchen to get a bottled water, and he sees a small figure, like a child, darting down behind the counter.<br/>
<br/>
"It turns into a constant presence, a thing that never goes away or disappears completely. He doesn't catch sight of it that often, though, and in some ways, that makes it worse, because he never becomes used to it, and it always catches him off guard when it reappears. And it will show up almost anywhere in his house. He sees it as a silhouette darting across the doorway when he's sitting in the darkened living room, watching TV. He sees it vanishing around the back of his car when he's in the garage. He sees it moving behind the sports coats hanging on the bottom rack in his closet. Gloomily, he starts to think of it as his 'dog', because that's the only way he can make it bearable, by thinking of it as a semi-normal occupant of the house. But his wife never sees it, or if she does she never mentions it, and he never says anything about it to her. Because, of course, he doesn't believe in ghosts, not even now, and is worried that something has gone wrong with his brain. To his surprise, though, he never dreams about it.<br/>
<br/>
"It also never gets lively with him, but things do seem to go wrong when any of his younger relatives—the children of his nieces and nephews—are around, either at his house or when he's at theirs. They complain of being tripped, or of having things thrown at them, and one child comes close to being suffocated by a plastic bag that's wrapped about some dry cleaning. It's at times like these that our guy comes closest to believing that something malign is at work, but even if he admitted it, he wouldn't know what to do.<br/>
<br/>
"He's stuck in a state of glum resignation when there's a mini-reunion at the house of one of his sisters. He's all nerves because he's grown to expect trouble when there are children around. And sure enough, he's at the dining room table having coffee with his sister when one of the kids—a girl of about six—comes in and asks if she can go across the street to the park. There's a boy over there, she says, and it looks like he wants to play. Our guy sits up when he hears that, and he almost says something, but hesitates just a little too long, and so doesn't stop when his sister gives the girl permission. And it's a quiet neighborhood, an affluent neighborhood, he thinks, so there's surely no danger."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you kill that little girl," says the red-head.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not my fault," says the teller of the story. "I'll make it go by fast, though. I'll just say that he's primed for trouble and springs from his chair when he hears the screech of brakes and tires outside, and the short scream, and he's got his cell phone out in a flash. But it's too late, and the paramedics, when they arrive, can only wrap the little girl up for the morgue. Of the kid in the park, who she was running to meet, there is no sign.<br/>
<br/>
"And that is the last that our guy is ever troubled by his little companion. There is no shadowy figure at the funeral, which held at the cemetery where they now have a family plot, where a small coffin is put into the earth at the same spot where a small coffin had been exhumed some months before. There is no bobbing head in the back of the car as he drives to the airport, no kick at the back of the seat on the airplane, and his 'dog' never shows itself in his house again. Why the troubles stop, I'm not sure, unless it's because something small but persistent had accomplished what it wanted. But what it wanted, I'm not sure of either."<br/>
<br/>
"Revenge?" suggests the hard-faced girl. "That's what I'd figure."<br/>
<br/>
"It's the easiest hypothesis," the storyteller agrees. "Or maybe it just wanted to get back to the place it had been taken from, and arranging for another coffin to be put there—particularly a small and therefore agreeably snug coffin—was the only way it could do that."<br/>
<br/>
There's a silence. "Are those the only ghost stories you know," the red-head asks. "Stories about dead kids?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about devil kids?" the guy asks, and something of the satyr creeps into his impish smile. "I got one you'll really like, given where you go to school. It's about devil kids at a Christian school."<br/>
<br/>
The girl shivers, and doesn't reply.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Warning to the Pious
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So there's this Christian school," says the blond kid. "It's a small school, with only about a hundred kids spread across twelve grades, and it's so small and poor that they don't even have their own building, like you guys have over at Agape." He nudges the red-head. "So they just rent space from a local church, using the Sunday school rooms as classrooms and the sanctuary for chapel. In fact, it's so small that some of the grades have to double up in the same room and use overlapping curriculums. But this isn't a story about the horrors of parochial education."<br/>
<br/>
He laughs silently at the very prim expression the red-head gets. <br/>
<br/>
"Anyhow," he continues, "one day in October two new students show up. They're foster brothers, but new to the town and new to each other, having each moved in with their foster family only a few days before. But that's where the similarities stop. One of them is a teenager already, fourteen years old, and he's been in and out of lots of homes, and through juvie hall too. He's dealt with lots of crap in his life, so he's a real tough son of a bitch already. He's pale and he's got dark eyes and lanky black hair that he wears down to the bottom of his neck in a mullet. His eyes are flinty and shifty and he walks around with a cold glare. He mutters under his breath, calling people names, and though he starts off following the rules at the school, you can tell that he's just figuring out where and how to start testing the limits. The first week or so he even shows up wearing t-shirts with the names of heavy metal bands on them, but his new foster parents straighten that out quick with a new wardrobe of white, button-down shirts. These have the effect of making him look like he's wearing a straight-jacket.<br/>
<br/>
"The other kid is also a boy, and about him all I can say is he's the total opposite of the other. He's nine years old, with dimpled, apple-like cheeks and golden hair and limpid blue eyes set in an angelically beautiful face, and he has the clearest, most piping voice—"<br/>
<br/>
"Is this a story about you and Frank?" the hard-faced girl butts in.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but if you see a resemblance between me and a certain character I'm describing—" He flutters his eyes and grinds a knuckle into a deep dimple. "Anyway, this younger kid is the sweetest and smartest little boy ever, and he already knows most of the Bible, and when he sings the hymns in chapel he gets a very solemn expression like he means the words and emotions as fervently as he can.<br/>
<br/>
"Naturally, the older kid can't stand his new little brother, can barely bring himself to look at him, and keeps as much space between them as possible. He tells everyone at the school that this kid is 'creepy', which everyone thinks is pretty freaking rich considering its source.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, these kids join the school, and for about a week life continues as normal. <br/>
<br/>
"Then things begin to happen.<br/>
<br/>
"The first thing people notice is that something has gone wrong in the classroom for the eighth and ninth graders, which is where the older kid is. It starts as a smell in the corner, and it seems to be a little colder over there too, maybe due to a draft from a newly sprung leak in the weather-stripping. Anyway, the students soon get a real aversion to that part of the room. The teacher ignores it at first, but after a week or so he investigates, and inside one of the unused desks in that corner he finds an old pencil box. He opens it, and inside it is a dead hamster. Or maybe it's a rat. And it's got little white maggots crawling all over it."<br/>
<br/>
"Ewwww!" the girls cry.<br/>
<br/>
"He gets rid of it, naturally, box and all. As he's taking it out, he notices some writing on the lid. It looks like Hebrew, or Norse runes, or maybe it's Arabic, but he doesn't look at it closely before heaving the mess into the dumpster.<br/>
<br/>
"They fumigate that part of the room, but the smell still lingers, and the chill gets worse. It develops into an oppressive cold spot where you can't get warm no matter how much you bundle yourself up, and it spreads, too, so that that whole part of the room is sunk in a choking, cold miasma. One day the teacher puts this girl in that corner, because she won't stop talking to her friends. The girl turns green almost as soon as she sits down, and her face goes all fixed, and it looks like she's struggling against something invisible that's grabbed onto her, and all of a sudden she falls out of the desk and vomits all over the floor. She says afterward that it felt like a huge hand of cold and clammy clay had wrapped itself around her head and shoulders and throat, choking her.<br/>
<br/>
"It's around this time, meanwhile, that someone notices the sketches and doodles that the new kid, the dark and unpopular kid, has been making in the margins of his textbooks. They're pentagrams and upside down stars, and doodles of goats with human-like eyes. Of course, given the kind of school he's in, this gets him in trouble and he's sent to the principal, who gives him a very grave but quiet talk about these things. The kid just listens in a very sullen way, and when pressed says that he's only trying to protect himself. 'From what?' asks the principal. But the kid doesn't reply.<br/>
<br/>
"He'd been unpopular before, but it gets even worse after that. He tries hanging out with the other students, but they push him away, so that he winds up sitting by himself at the corner of the building during class breaks or at lunch. When he's alone, he has a furtive and hunted expression, and one time a girl hears voices from around the corner of the building, and thinks one of them is this kid. She can't make out the words of the other person, because his voice sounds strange and distorted, but the kid talks in a desperate whine, and he says things like 'I can't' and 'I don't want to', and once he says 'I won't' but he quickly follows that with a short, shrill yip, and then he says 'Okay, I'll do it, just stop it, please'. The girl hurries away, and never finds out what the guy is talking about or who he was talking to, but a few days later a massive infestation of flies breaks out in the church kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
"This goes on for about two months, and the older kid gets thinner and sicker looking whole time, and even the teachers—who dislike him just as much as the students do—notice that he's got a despairing look in his eye. But they're paying much more attention to his little brother. He's as sweet and loving as ever, and everyone dotes on him, and the girls compete to get close to him because they're in love with him, and even the teenage girls like to give him hugs and soft little motherly kisses. But they can't help noticing the bruises on his torso when he's changing shirts for P.E. They are small bruises at first, but they get bigger and more numerous as the weeks pass. He says he's getting them from playing tag with the boys in his neighborhood, but eventually the school has to stop looking the other way, and they call Child Protective Services in.<br/>
<br/>
"CPS investigates, and concludes the foster parents aren't responsible, so suspicion focuses on the older boy. He denies causing the bruises, and the youngster also denies he's responsible. But the pressure on the older kid must have been too great, finally, because just a few days before Christmas he's found in his bedroom closet, where he's hanged himself."<br/>
<br/>
A darkness seems to settle around the table. The storyteller clasps his coffee cup in both hands, as though to warm himself. <br/>
<br/>
"You'd think that'd be the end of the story, but it wasn't," he says. "The younger boy continues to suffer bruises all over his body. And there are other troubles, like one of the eighth graders falling off the roof of the building and breaking an arm and a leg. When they question him afterward, he can't account for why he was on the roof in the first place. But it's that classroom where the trouble is at its worst.<br/>
<br/>
"The cold spot spreads, and it spreads aggressively, so that anyone who sits in the back of the room becomes physically ill, and everyone has to huddle in the front, close to the teacher. Something goes wrong with the wiring, too, so that the lights are always dim, and oftentimes go out entirely. Things come to a head when the teacher tells the principal that he's been hearing voices coming from inside the room when he goes to open it in the morning, and that the voices resume in the afternoon after he's closed the door. He can't make out the words though, even with his ear to the door.<br/>
<br/>
"It's an evangelical school, so they can't get an exorcist, but the principal, who's an ordained minister, finally gathers up his courage, and one afternoon after school he goes into the room to pray. He gets only a few sentences out before he breaks off and bolts. Nothing touched him, he says, and he heard and saw nothing. He says he was just obeying the Holy Spirit when he ran, because it came to him and told him to get the fuck out because whatever was in the room was far too big for him to handle. He only stayed on for another week at the school, then abruptly resigned and moved to another state. The school winds up shutting the classroom up behind a locked door, but sometimes kids will pass it and find the door open a crack, with a stream of freezing air pouring out.<br/>
<br/>
"Things go on being very bad, until Easter, when they reach a climax."</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121111111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Warning to the Pious, Concluded
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You said the school rented space from a church," says the hard-faced girl, who's expression hasn't lost any of its amused skepticism. "What did the church have to say about all this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, actually," says the blonde kid. "They were just as worried about it as the school. The news about it all was kept very close, though, from parishioners and parents, even after rumors of the infestation had spread to other churches and faith groups in the city, because no one wanted to see the town's only evangelical school shut down, which it would have to do if the parents started pulling their kids out. So the official story for anyone who asked, at the church or at the school, was that the weather-stripping in that classroom had failed, and that it being winter they had had to close up the room for the health of the students and of the people who used it on Sundays. I don't know what excuse they'd have given when spring really arrived, but things came to a head before they had to figure out a new story.<br/>
<br/>
"The credit for ending the crisis I guess has to go to an eleven-year-old girl who had a friend who went to the Catholic school. That friend, who'd heard all about the stuff going on, snuck the girl some holy water, which she carried around with her in a little plastic spray bottle." The guy laughs softly. "That's one way of packing heat, I guess. Anyway, Easter comes, and there's a special service in the sanctuary. The kids are all huddled up close to the front, with the little ones—the first and second graders—squirming and poking each other, and the older ones whispering and looking over their shoulders back toward the classrooms. These older students, at any rate, all knew what kind of thing was going on even if their parents didn't appreciate it, and they were jumpy. It had been a cold week leading up to Easter, which meant it was cold in the school, and that had their nerves on edge because they couldn't tell if it was the weather being cold or if the infection from the bad classroom was starting to spread. A stain had appeared in the room next door, on the wall separating it from the abandoned classroom, and that had them spooked as well.<br/>
<br/>
"So everyone's nerves are screwed up tight when halfway through the service they think they hear a noise coming from the front of the sanctuary. It's a dry, rustling kind of noise, like dead leaves skittering in a breeze, and it's coming from beneath the communion table. It starts off soft but grows louder, turning at last into a rushing sound like the wind in the dead branches of a tree. When it reaches a kind of crescendo, the communion table starts to shake and to buck up and down, banging against the floor and pulpit, and the back part lifts into the air. <br/>
<br/>
"As you can imagine the kids begin to freak.<br/>
<br/>
"And that's when this girl—our heroine—decides that this is just the kind of crisis that calls for extra protection. So she whips out her bottle of kickass eau de cologne and starts spraying it around. She hits herself first, then her friends, then the kids in the pews in front.<br/>
<br/>
"Probably no one likes being misted, especially when it looks like demons are getting rambunctious in a room. But really, there was no good excuse for what happened when her mist of holy water settled on our sweet, angelic little blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. As soon as it touches him, his skin and flesh begin to blister and boil, and his eyes roll back in his head and turn black. Blood mixed with an ochre-colored mucus pours out his eye sockets and down over cheeks that have burst out all over with a foul-smelling pus. His head twists almost all the way around on his neck, and he falls to the ground, foaming at the mouth. He flops about, and not through any power of his own, 'cos his limbs are all bent backward. Luckily, not many of the kids get a good view of the fit he's pitching, and those that do trample each hard other to get away. But everyone sees it when, with his back broken almost in half, he rises into the air and flings himself, like a rag doll, against the back wall of the sanctuary."<br/>
<br/>
All the girls, even the hard-faced one, have shut their eyes and turned away, but the kid continues with a kind of gleeful malice that increases in proportion to their horror.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone's screaming, but there's one teacher who's braver, or maybe he's stupider, than all the rest, and he runs up to the kid to see if he can help. Ha! Our sweet little angelic boy is black all over. But he's still alive. Or—and this is probably closer to the truth—there's something still alive inside him.<br/>
<br/>
 "For as this teacher watches, unable to look away, the boy's mouth opens. It opens up wide, wider than should be humanly possible, like with those snakes that can unhook their jaws, and something black comes out of his mouth. At first the teacher thinks it's his tongue. But it's too thin and stiff to be a tongue, and it's jointed, and there's a cruel claw at the tip. Then another joint shows in the thing, and a third joint as it keeps extending out. It shows itself to be a long, black limb, about as thick around as a pencil, and it bends as it comes out and hooks onto the boy's "Jesus Loves Me" shirt with that claw. Then another limb, like the first, comes out of his mouth, then come two long, fern-like feelers, and finally a wicked-looking, wizened head about the size of a man's hand. It's shaped like a triangle with mandibles working dryly at the bottom below two bulbous orbs that glitter with a black malice beneath the feelers. The thing struggles a bit, then pulls itself all the way free of the boy, or what's left of him, and takes off into the air with a dry, metallic drone. It has the shape of a wasp, but it's the size of a vulture.<br/>
<br/>
"Up it goes and flies toward the stained-glass window at the front of the sanctuary. But it never makes it that far, because one of the older boys has leaped atop the pulpit, and as it flies overhead he stretches out his hand and catches it. He dashes it hard against the communion table—which has long since stopped its own flopping about—and then he jumps on it with both feet and smashes the perversion into a black and smoky stain.<br/>
<br/>
"Only a couple of people catch sight of this act of heroism, because the teachers are trying to simultaneously stop a stampede and conduct an evacuation. They get everyone clear, and there's a lot of sobbing, but there's surprisingly little in the way of trauma. As I said, very few got a good look at the physical horror, and the sight of one body flying across the sanctuary and then another, very different kind body flying back the other way all happened so fast that it didn't register on a lot of the kids. It was a lot harder on the teachers, of course, and when the school shut down over the summer it was on account of resignations, not student withdrawals.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, you'll be wondering what a few very brave souls found inside the sanctuary, when they ventured back in. The communion table was a foul and ruined mess, and they burned it, and of that beautiful child there was nothing left but a bag of blackened, leathery skin holding his loose bones. These too were put in an incinerator. A story was cooked up that the child had run away, and a cloud settled over the foster parents on account of the suicide of one adoptee and the disappearance of another. Discreet inquiries were made into the history of the younger one, and it was learned that his parents had died in a car wreck, after which he had lived for six months with his only relation, a reclusive uncle who perished in a house fire.<br/>
<br/>
"And the boy who killed the thing that flew out of that husk or cocoon or whatever it had made of the child? None of the students stepped forward to take credit for the deed, and no one who saw the fatal blow struck were able to recognize who it was that struck it. In fact, each of the witnesses could only remember one or two details of the boy. One thought that it was a teen of about thirteen, perhaps. Another remembered he had longish black hair worn in a short mullet. Another said he was pale and thin. The last witness could say only that he wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with writing that might have said 'Motley Crue', or maybe it only said 'Monte Cristo,' he couldn't be sure. Of course, there was no such boy in the school who could match these descriptions."<br/>
<br/>
There's a silence. "Is that all?" the hard-faced girl asks.<br/>
<br/>
"What else do you want? Anyway, that's all I know because that's all that was in the report."<br/>
<br/>
"What report?"<br/>
<br/>
"The report I read on the incident," he says with a sly grin. She snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"No more dead kids," says the red-head, and this time no one gainsays her.<br/>
<br/>
"I can stop telling stories," says the guy. "We can go, if you want. Or one of you can take a turn."<br/>
<br/>
"No, you can tell another one," says the hard-faced girl. "I've got nowhere else to be. And I think Paula like the scares, whatever she says," she adds dryly as the girl with the big nose shivers and snuggles up closer to the guy.<br/>
<br/>
"But no more dead kids," says the red-head.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so how about a straight-up story about Satanism but without any kids at all?" the guy offers.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Devil Came Down to Texas
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, so this one I don't have the full inside story on," says the blonde kid, "because a lot of the people mixed up in it died, and the ones who could get interviewed didn't see most of it, or they only saw it from the outside. But I can give you some of the backstory, and that's pretty important.<br/>
<br/>
"It took place in a small town in east Texas back in the middle of the 1960s, after the JFK assassination but before the hippies really came in. It could have been just any small Texas town, but for the fact that it got taken over by a cult back in the 1920s, and for forty years had been in the grip of Satanists. I don't know why they picked this town to take over, except that it was pretty cut off, with steep, scrub-choked hills to the north and west, and marshes to the east and south. But otherwise it was a regular little town of a few thousand people, all very poor but respectable. <br/>
<br/>
"But outsiders started showing up around 1926, in groups of two or three at first. The townspeople took them to be banker types from back East at first, because they dressed in very conservative clothes—dark suits and red ties—and drove expensive black cars. And they were rich, too, and bit by bit they took over the town. They started by buying up most of the real estate and taking over many of the businesses. Then they took over the Masonic temple and got themselves elected to the city council. They brought in followers from other places too, and in this way they were able to completely staff the police force, and they forced the churches to disband, and replaced the pastors with their own worship leaders. Within a few years, if you were anything more a sharecropper or the guy who pumped gas—if you were the kind of guy who sold insurance or belonged to the Rotary Club— Well, you had to do business on their terms. And their terms included your joining the cult.<br/>
<br/>
"And this wasn't one of those cults where you say a quick prayer to Baphomet at the start of business and then it's back to acting like a Republican. This was a cult with masked orgies and hallucinogenic drugs, and flayed goats nailed to the walls that you were required to adore—and by 'adore' I mean 'have sex with'. And there were worse things than that too, because this was a kind of cult that encouraged of all kinds of depravity. Bit by bit they corrupted the town, and teaching them the pleasures of terror and sadism. The police, for instance, would grab people right on the street and put them in jail, for fun with torture and sodomy. The cops also patrolled the only highway out of town, and the only way through their roadblocks was if you had a special permit, which you could get only if you left hostages behind. And anyone who traveled into town? If it was the oil company or the truckers that delivered food to the grocery stores, then yeah, they could get in and out without any trouble. But most other people who drove into that little town never drove out again.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, this had been going on for about forty years by the time of the story I have to tell. The cult and thus the town were now in the hands of a guy I'll call 'Davenport'. He wasn't the mayor or anything—the mayor was just a puppet—but Davenport was the richest guy in town and he was one of the last of the original cultists. He was an old man when he came to town, and he was beyond ancient by this point, but he was still strong and healthy and alert, and it looked like he was never going to die—and this was a bunch of people who took seriously the idea that Davenport might not die, at least not until after all of them were dead, and their grandchildren's grandchildren dead of old age as well. He was a witch of the first rank, and cunning and subtle. He had conjured up night-ravens and bound them to his associates, to terrorize them into obedience, and for a familiar he had a queer, hunchbacked figure that limped about in a yellow coat and hood and mask, showing not an inch of skin, but when it walked over soft ground it left three sets of foot prints, maybe because it walked with a cane under its coat and maybe for some other reason.<br/>
<br/>
"But one day, during a meeting at the bank, he died, or at least gave the appearance of having died, and his associates hustled him to the funeral parlor and embalmed him as fast as they could, in case he wasn't dead, or not fully dead, for they wanted to push him all the way to the other side before he could come back. And the funeral director had everything ready for the embalming, because it wasn't an accidental death, but a murder conspired by himself and the chief banker, for reasons of fear and greed.<br/>
<br/>
"The funeral, of course, was a big affair, the biggest that the town had ever seen, and everyone who was part of the cult—hundreds of people—had to go to it. It started with a parade of black Cadillacs in front of the former Masonic temple, with a dozen motorcycle cops riding point, and the cops like everyone else were in the black robes and masks of the cult, and after the ceremony at the temple the fleet prepared to continue to the cemetery. And it's on that last leg that things began to go horribly wrong. <br/>
<br/>
"It was one of the conditions of the old man's will that his two beneficiaries would have to ride to the cemetery in the hearse along with the coffin, and to everyone's surprise—not least their own, and to their discomfort and worry—those two beneficiaries turned out to be the banker and the mortician—the ones, I mean, who had killed him. But they squeezed in next to the driver and gave the signal, and the procession set off.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, no one knows what happened inside that hearse. But they do know that it had barely turned into the street when it began to speed up, and was soon going faster than was respectable for a funeral procession. Everyone had to speed up to keep pace. But the hearse continued to accelerate, until it was racing along over the speed limit and still speeding up. The motorcycle cops roared up alongside, and they tried signaling the driver to slow down, but the windows and the windshield had fogged up so that they couldn't see in, and they doubted that anyone could see out. Faster the hearse went, and the wheels began to whine and shimmy, and it shot past the entrance to the cemetery and went straight onto the state highway for another two miles or so, until it came to where that highway crosses a river. And that's where it veered off the road and shot over the embankment, plunging fender first into the deepest part of the river.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course, there was no hope than anyone had survived the crash, but the hearse had to be pulled up anyway. But the earthmoving equipment they brought in failed to dislodge it, so firmly was it stuck in the mud, driven like a spike into the river bottom, almost up to the rear axle. They finally had to call in the biggest and strongest cranes in the country to winch it out, and even then some of the cables snapped and whipped around and sliced in half nearly a dozen senior cultists who were watching nearby. But they got it out and set it on the bank and it sank almost up to its fenders into ground that wasn't wet, as though some force were pulling it down as hard as it could.<br/>
<br/>
"But the really remarkable thing, the thing that made everyone hang back so that they didn't want to explore it further, was that all the doors had been ripped from their hinges and had disappeared, and there were no bodies in the front of the car, or in the hole in the riverbed. There was just the coffin, and it at least was still sealed and shut. But it appeared that whatever had taken the driver and the banker and the mortician had also taken the steering wheel, because it was gone too."<br/>
<br/>
The storyteller pauses and stirs his coffee. "They found out what happened to it, though, after they opened the coffin. They had to open it, you know, in order to move Davenport to a fresh one for a new funeral. And when they opened up the coffin, that's when they found the steering wheel. Davenport was clenching it in his cold, dead hands." He slides the plastic stick between his lips, and waggles his eyebrows at the girls.<br/>
<br/>
"Old people," says the red head in a pouting voice. "Ick. Don't you know any more stories like that first one? That's the only one of these I've really liked."<br/>
<br/>
"Haven't you had enough?"<br/>
<br/>
"One more," she insists, and the other two girls murmur agreement.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," the blonde kid sighs. "I'll tell you another high school story, and it's a true one. You can ask my brother, and he'll tell you it's true too." The girls settle in comfortably, which means wrapping their arms in his.<br/>
<br/>
"So there's this guy," the storyteller starts up. "He's a sophomore at the high school, and he's a goth. He's beyond a goth. He dies his hair jet black, including the fringe of beard that runs along his jaw to his chin. He wears a black stovepipe hat that's bent in the middle, and silver rings on all his fingers, and he paints the nails of his pinky and his thumb black. <br/>
<br/>
"So far, so goth, but he's more than that, because he's got an authentic book of genuine magic, and he's been studying it, and he's actually got some of the spells to work for him."<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly this story is hitting a little too close to home for you.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Angry Ghost
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The blonde kid has begun to tell a story about a high school kid who has found and begun to master a grimoire. You tense, but can't tear yourself away from listening.<br/>
<br/>
"So goth-boy, as I'll call this idiot, is going through this book of magic, and with its help he's made himself some basic magical implements, like a scrying glass and a special kind of fountain pen that extracts blood without puncturing the skin."<br/>
<br/>
"And this is a true story?" the hard-faced girl says skeptically.<br/>
<br/>
"It's as true as any story based on testimony can be," says the blonde kid, and he is very sober as he says it. "And testimony is all we have to go on, because this kid didn't show any of these implements to anyone else. Partly that's because he was secretive, but mostly it's because no one else really liked him. They thought him creepy, being as he was the kind of kid, who likes to ask people for hair clipping or nail cuttings. He's also the kind who brags to people about putting hexes on them, and he likes to show off the trick ring with the hinged top that he could use to poison anyone he doesn't like. So like I say, most people kept their distance from him.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, one day he comes in to school and starts bragging that he's mastered this new spell, this super-powerful hex that requires the bone of a suicide because it sends a ghost after the victim. And he says that he's actually cast it, that he's put this hex on someone. They ask him who his victim, but he just gets a malicious, twinkly look in his eye and says that that's for him to know and the victim to find out. Everyone rolls their eyes and continues to ignore him.<br/>
<br/>
"Until two days later, when the quarterback dies."<br/>
<br/>
He lets the words hang for a moment, then gets up and comes over to the counter. "Refills are free today," you tell him as you take his mug.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh? You enjoying the stories too?" he asks with a secret smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Am I that obvious?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I don't mind if you're having fun and handing out freebies." He winks at you and returns to the table. "Now where were we?" he asks his girls.<br/>
<br/>
"They'd just chanted 'Bloody Mary' for the third time and were about to open their eyes," says the hard-faced girl.<br/>
<br/>
The kid grasps her by the back of the head, and gives her wet and lingering kiss across the table. "Actually, I think I just told you that the quarterback had died in a car wreck."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't mention it was a car wreck."<br/>
<br/>
"Well it was, and it was a pretty bad one too. There's even audio of it, because he was talking to a friend on his cell phone when it happened. It was about ten o'clock at night, and he was on his way to a party, and he'd called one of his bros to get directions. He was out on the interstate, see, and he'd forgotten which exit he needed to take.<br/>
<br/>
"If you listen to the audio, you hear him talking to his friend, then suddenly he says a bad word. Some asshole, he says, has pulled up behind him and is tailgating him. It's a truck, right on his bumper, and the headlights are pouring in through his back window and blinding him in his rearview mirror. He keeps talking to his bro, about what's happening at the party, then breaks off to say he's tried speeding up, but that truck is still on his ass, still blinding him with its brights. So he slows down, but the truck slows down too. He slows down to something like thirty miles an hour, but this asshole won't pass him, just keeps riding his bumper. He tries changing lanes, and the truck changes lanes too. After only a few minutes of this, the quarterback is swearing and screaming and flipping the guy off, and he's so distracted that he doesn't see the curve coming up ahead, so he goes sailing off the highway and takes down three whole fucking trees when he hits them. And that's how he dies.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's a fucking tragedy, and the whole school goes into mourning, and goth-boy, who'd been bragging of putting a hex on someone, is now <i>really</i> unpopular, even though he never said anything about the quarterback being his victim. And I guess he feels his sudden lack of popularity, because he starts sticking really close to the few people who actually tolerate him.<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe he's looking for something more than protection, because he starts sticking close to anyone and everyone, always. For instance, even though he's got a car, he starts taking the bus to school, and he starts inviting himself to parties and to study groups. At school, it doesn't matter who is around, he'll go and sit with them, even if it's someone he hates or who hates him. If his friends aren't around, he'll sit with acquaintances or even strangers, and if there aren't any strangers around he'll go sit with the jocks. He'll even sit with the football players if no one else is available, even though they hate him and call him every dirty name they can think of. But he won't talk back, or even look at them. He'll just sit there, hanging his head and staring at the table or at his hands or his shoes or at the floor, and if they get up to leave, he'll follow after them, like the saddest and most pathetic puppy you ever saw. <br/>
<br/>
"He never says anything about it, but people notice that suddenly he hates to be alone.<br/>
<br/>
"And he's always looking over his shoulder, or over the heads of the people he's with, like he's watching for someone, or worried about seeing someone. And if you come to him from the side, where he can't see you coming, he jumps and gives a little gasp when he notices you.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, this goes on for at least a year, until the start of his senior year. He's taking a gym class that year—a requirement he'd been avoiding all through school—and he's doing okay in it the first few days because he's got two friends in there with him. But he seems jumpy around the gym, and very keen to get away from it. He never showers, and it seems like he sticks extra close to people when he's in the changing room, which he always bolts out of as fast as possible.<br/>
<br/>
"But one day, early in his senior year, he does get caught in the locker room alone after P.E. He and two friends got held back by the coach, so they're the last ones in to change, and he's still changing back into his regular clothes when these two friends duck out because there's a private thing they want to talk about. He calls to them in a frightened voice, asking them to stay, then begging them to stay just a few seconds longer while he gets into his pants, but they ignore him and go around the corner. <br/>
<br/>
"And as soon as he's out of their sight, his voice cuts off, as though someone's clapped a hand over his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"These two dipshits don't think anything of it,  and they're just yakking away when they stop at a loud noise from inside the locker room. It's a sound like wood cracking and breaking. Then there's a tremendous boom, like a car going fifty miles an hour has crashed into the side of the building. They jump and look at each other, worried, but don't move. When the echoes of that crash have faded, they hear another noise, the hollow noise of a metal door being hammered on, like someone is punching a locker with his fist. Bang, bang, bang, it goes. Now they just feel annoyed, since they think it's goth-boy pitching a fit because they left him alone. The hammering goes on for a while, then is replaced by another sound, a softer and heavier sound, but with a little scrape in it. This one sounds like someone is beating a fully loaded backpack against a concrete wall.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, it's lucky for these two bozos that while they're standing there the coach comes up and asks what all the noise is, and they tell him that goth-boy is inside and he's mad about something. The coach says he'll give goth-boy something to be mad about, and as he's speaking there comes the sound of water rushing through pipes.<br/>
<br/>
"So the coach goes in, and the first thing he sees is one of the changing benches turned upside down and broken all in pieces. Also, a freestanding set of lockers has been tipped over and is laying on the floor. The lockers against the wall have been dented all up and down, and a couple are busted so bad the doors are hanging off their hinges. But the coach doesn't see anyone until he goes into the showers to shut off the water. That's where he finds goth-boy, laying face down on the tile with every shower nozzle pointing and spraying at him, and the water mixing with the blood that's pouring out of him and swirling down the drain. It's taking some of his brains with it too, because his head has been busted wide open. <br/>
<br/>
"The coach looks around—after he's finished throwing up—but there's no one else in the locker room, and there's no other exits except the one he and those two kids were standing in, and no one had come out while they were standing there listening to the sound of goth-boy being murdered."<br/>
<br/>
The teller swallows half his coffee before he wraps it up. "There was a police investigation, of course. But no one was ever charged because there were no witnesses and no clues and no forensic evidence. No one could account for it, and they had to leave it as a mystery. Goth-boy's parents got rid of his books, of course, because they never did like that he was into that occult shit. That included getting rid of that grimoire, so I can't tell you how he fucked up that hex he was bragging about. Or maybe he didn't fuck it up.<br/>
<br/>
"Because that's the thing about spells in books like that. They do exactly what they say they will do. But doing a spell like that correctly won't stop the consequences that naturally—or supernaturally—follow from performing it."</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Drop Out
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>That's the thing about spells in books like that. They do exactly what they say they will do. But doing a spell like that correctly won't stop the consequences that naturally—or supernaturally—follow from performing it.</i><br/>
<br/>
The speaker's words give you a hard case of the shivers. Because that's what you're and your friends are doing now. You're playing around with a book of magic, and the spells are doing exactly what they're supposed to do. But what might naturally—or supernaturally—follow from performing them? After all, you're goofing around with something a lot stranger and harder to understand than nuclear fission: So if you wouldn't fool around with an atom smasher or a pile of uranium, should you be fooling around with something that—according to tradition, at least—is a lot more dangerous than those things?<br/>
<br/>
It gnaws at you all afternoon, and in the dead time before the evening rush there is lots of time for horrible fantasies to form. You're wearing a mask: what might it be doing to your face underneath? Maybe when you take it off you'll find your face covered in boils and cysts and tumors; maybe your hair will fall out in clumps. You can't stop yourself from touching your face, tentatively and carefully. It feels like smooth, healthy flesh; it's warm and has feeling. But it's a false thing, possibly a dead and necrotic thing of magic. Before quitting time comes, the act of touching your face has almost become a neurotic tic; and though Connor usually stays late to help the other staffers close up, tonight you bolt from the door. You've already shot a text off to Connor, telling him to invent an excuse—any excuse!—to meet you at the clubhouse to change back.<br/>
<br/>
He's not happy—oh, he's not happy at all—to see you, since you gave him no excuse for this late meeting, and he refuses to do anything until you explain why you're in such a panic. "I just don't want to do this anymore," you tell him. It comes out as a whining bleat, in a tone that even you find embarrassing. "We don't know what we're playing around with. What if it gives us cancer of the face or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"There's no such thing as cancer of the face, Will," he says stonily.<br/>
<br/>
But you insist on changing back, and with a bad grace he gives in. You clamber into the back of your truck, and you make him pull the mask off you first. Your heart is beating hard as he presses his hand to your brow and mutters the incantation, and it starts to beat even harder when his fingers slip off without result. After the third failed attempt you are on the verge of giving yourself a full-blown panic attack, for you're beginning to fear that the mask is permanently affixed to your face. But Connor shifts positions, and gets a firmer hold on your brow. Your head seems to come up along with the mask, and when it comes off you fall back, thumping your head on the bed of the truck. But you barely feel it before blackness washes over you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't know how long you're out for, but with twanging nerves you're up onto your haunches almost as soon as you open your eyes. With infinite loathing you touch your face. It feels normal; and maybe you shouldn't have worried so much, because both Caleb and Connor have been inside masks, and they were okay when they came out of them. But not until you're inside the cab of the truck, and by the dim cabin light have examined yourself in the rearview mirror, do you begin to relax.<br/>
<br/>
And Connor? You hadn't paid any attention to him, and don't find him until you jump back into the bed of the truck. There he lies, in his own form but your clothes, with a mask tumbled next to his face. You slap him awake, change clothes with him, and return home.<br/>
<br/>
"You get that book to your friend?" your dad asks as you pass through the living room.<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh, yeah." That must have been the excuse Connor gave for needing to run out of the house after eleven.<br/>
<br/>
"Stop right there," your dad says as you turn to the stairs. Your eyes widen, then you flinch a little as he bores holes in you with his eyes. "What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe there </i>is<i> something wrong with your face.</i> "What's going on with what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your face," he says, and your heart almost explodes. "It's got a guilty look."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. No, it's nothing." But he continues to stare hard. "I just, um, had to tell my friend a little lie about the reading," you improvise. "So, I guess it's guilt about that."<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of a lie?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, not a big one, just about when I need to get it back. He's just going to be pissed at me when he finds out." You shrug weakly.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad's eyes harden, but with a grunt he releases you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake up early the next morning, and shower early, and carefully examine yourself all over in the mirror. Maybe the acne looks a little worse for coming under such scrutiny, but you can't see any real alteration or damage. Last night's fears recede, even as they alter slightly: now you imagine those tumors growing inside your body and inside your brain.<br/>
<br/>
"How was your day yesterday?" Caleb asks when you see him in the student parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"Boring and then nasty. I think we should get rid of those masks, and the book too."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stops suddenly, and his eyes widen. "Why? What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, really," you have to admit. "I just got to thinking how dangerous it could all be. You know. Magic and spells, and who knows what kind of long-term effects it might have."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well, we just have to be careful not to get each other or anyone else in trouble," he replies.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean that." You're nearing the breezeway leading into the school grounds, and you pull him to the side so you can talk without being overheard. "I'm talking about how we don't know what we're playing with. There are so many things that could go wrong."<br/>
<br/>
"They haven't gone wrong yet."<br/>
<br/>
"Yet. That's what I mean. Even if the spells are working okay now—" You fumble at finishing the sentence. If Caleb asks where this idea of future consequences came from, how can you tell him you got it by eavesdropping on a guy telling ghost stories? "Maybe there could be hidden consequences. You know, like playing with radioactive material." Those mental pictures you've had of cysts and bodily lesions come crowding back. "You think it's okay when you're playing around with uranium, but you don't see what it's doing it's doing inside you, giving you cancer and shit?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb holds your eye for a long time, and when he looks away he's a little gray in the face. "I guess we should keep that kind of thing in mind."<br/>
<br/>
And you do keep it in mind, all day at school. Classes are boring, which gives you plenty of time to entertain awful fantasies. Even as you become deadened to them, they have the effect of killing your taste for playing around with books of magic. You gird yourself for a confrontation with Connor after school, for he bombards you throughout the day with demands for a meeting at Starbucks.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Why are you so freaked out?" Connor asks. He keeps his voice low, even though there are only three other customers in the place, and they are on the other side of the store.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help glancing at the table where those stories got told yesterday. "I told you, I just got to thinking about how dangerous it could be." You give him the "radioactive materials" analogy. "There could be all kinds of hidden side effects we don't know about, that we don't notice until it's too late."<br/>
<br/>
"Anything could have hidden side effects," Caleb says scornfully. "That's not a reason not to play with those things."<br/>
<br/>
"You thought it was a good point when I made it this morning," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
He gets a shifty look, and rolls his eyes. "That was this morning," he mutters. "I guess I changed my mind since then."<br/>
<br/>
"You said the same thing as we were leaving school together. What happened after we separated?"<br/>
<br/>
"I changed my mind," he repeats truculently. You think you see a look pass between him and Justin, but then Connor interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to drop out, Will, you can," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. I assumed I could. So what do we do to get rid of things?"<br/>
<br/>
"What things?"<br/>
<br/>
"The masks and stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Connor looks baffled. "Why would we—? I said <i>you</i> could drop out. I didn't say anything about the rest of us."<br/>
<br/>
"It's my book, Hutchinson! If I say we're going to stop doing this shit—"<br/>
<br/>
Connor colors, and Caleb also looks astonished. Only Justin keeps calm—maybe because unlike the other two he looks a little worried. "Don't tell us what we have to do," says Connor. "You showed us this stuff, and we made those masks—"<br/>
<br/>
"And it's <i>my book!</i>" You catch your breath after Connor hushes you. "If I don't let you use it—"<br/>
<br/>
"So give it to us. Or sell it to us. That solves the problem."<br/>
<br/>
<i>No it doesn't!</i> you want to yell back at him. But is it any use? You could hold the book back, hide it at your house, or get rid of it some other way, but it looks like that would really piss these guys off. Maybe the easiest thing to do is to wash your hands of it by passing it along to them.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111111112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Question of Character
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It was hard enough listening to a story about Satanists who came to a bad end because they fell out among themselves. You're pretty sure you don't want to hear about what happened to a high school kid who found a book of potent magic. You doubt it's going to be the kind of story that ends with "And he lived happily ever after." You move off of your perch, and move off farther to clean the bathrooms when you see the storyteller get up to get a refill, leaving him to Nancy.<br/>
<br/>
Nothing very interesting happens the rest of the night, and you're back at Connor's place by midnight, where you get a pleasant surprise when a drunk Manuel comes in from Taco Bell with tacos enough for everyone. Justin asks you how work was, and you shrug quietly over it. He presses you over it slightly, especially after Manuel has fallen into a drunken stupor in the living room, but you put him off with irritation. Not until you and he are in the bedroom and stripped down to t-shirts and shorts does any real conversation begin. <br/>
<br/>
It starts with Justin confessing that he's a fake—it's really Caleb sitting across from you. That gives you a bit of a turn, since you hadn't been looking for that kind of a twist. "We got the last of the masks done early this afternoon," he says. "So Carr and I switched off. I'm supposed to go in to work for him tomorrow. Are you sure nothing happened there?" He sounds worried.<br/>
<br/>
"No, it was just boring. I guess that's part of what's bugging me. I was expecting more, I dunno, excitement with using these things."<br/>
<br/>
You do a slight double-take when you raise your eyes to look at your friend. Justin Carr is probably better looking than Connor. He's got a bit more of a solid build for one thing. He doesn't need glasses. His face is round in a way that would probably look fat if he carried any excess weight, but the shape instead softens his sharp nose and arched eyebrows. There's enough sharpness in his features that when he smiles it's like being sliced with a knife.<br/>
<br/>
A small, slow shiver runs through you. He looks like Justin Carr. He's sitting on Justin's bed and wearing Justin's clothes. He's even got something of Justin's piercing glance as he tries to penetrate the fog you're laying down. But it's not Justin. It's someone else—someone else you know, it's true, but it still gives you a shiver to see both the solid Justin Carr and the fake that's somewhere behind the illusion. <i>He could stand up at any moment,</i> you think to yourself, <i>and do something completely out of character for Justin. Because he's not Justin.</i><br/>
<br/>
You swallow rapidly and look away. It's Connor, whose best friend Justin is, who's having those thoughts, and that gives you another little shiver, for you're the same kind of thing that Justin is: a fake who could fool anyone who knows Connor right up to the moment that you stopped acting like him.<br/>
<br/>
And that should be exciting, shouldn't it? But in practice it led to a day that was very boring, because you had to keep to Connor's personality and routine.<br/>
<br/>
"It's really tempting," you say slowly, "to do something with these faces, you know? Isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something out of character." Your voice is very quiet.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's reply is long in coming: "Are you coming on to me?"<br/>
<br/>
That's like a slap in the face. "Oh, God, no!" His question almost, but doesn't quite break your mood. "I just mean that— So I spent the day playing Connor, almost perfectly I think, and it was pretty boring. So I was just thinking how tempting it was—or it could be—I don't know." You toss restlessly on the bed. "What's the point of playing someone else if you're going to play them perfectly? If I'm being Connor, or you're being Justin, so perfectly, why not just let them be themselves?"<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Probably nothing. Maybe I'm worried about getting into trouble with these things. Or getting someone else into trouble. We had that narrow escape when you came here in Mansfield's mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Except that was really fun."<br/>
<br/>
"After the fact. It was almost a disaster at the time." You hang back a long time before adding, in a broken way, another thought that's been troubling you. "Some people came into the cafe this afternoon. Three girls and a guy, from Eastman, I think. I was listening in on them because there was nothing else going on. They were telling ghost stories and urban legends and stuff like that. Some of them were about people who got involved in magic, and got screwed up." Haltingly, as best you can, you relate the last story you listened to, the one about the runaway hearse and the vengeful spirit of the old warlock. "I don't want to get caught up in anything like that."<br/>
<br/>
"It's just a story, Will," says Caleb. "Just a fairy tale with a morbid ending. It doesn't mean stuff like that happens in real life."<br/>
<br/>
"They tell stories about drunk driving, too," you say. "And there's a hell of a lot of statistics about people who don't make it safe home like Manuel did."<br/>
<br/>
"There aren't any statistics about magic. If we keep our heads we'll be okay."<br/>
<br/>
But that's kind of what you're worried about: not keeping your heads. If it's a choice between doing something safe but boring—like you did today in playing Connor—and doing something risky but exciting, can you trust yourself, and Caleb and the others, to stick to safety?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You sleep hard that night, so that Connor has to wake you up the next morning when he stops by for the change-back. Coming out of a mask, you discover, is even harder than going into one: Caleb takes charge of the process, first pulling your mask off Connor, then Connor's off you. It knocks you asleep again, and you have to be shaken awake. You are intensely groggy, so groggy that you feel almost physically ill as you crawl into your truck, and you wind up skipping first period altogether in favor of nursing a hot coffee (at Starbucks) in order to help wake up. <br/>
<br/>
You intend to get to second period on time, but you're tardy to it, and instead hang out in the library until third. With your concentration elsewhere, you don't even pay attention during the lunchtime social with Caleb (really Justin), Carson Ioeger, James Lamont, and Paul Davis. Not until after the bell has rung and Caleb has gone off do you rouse yourself. "God, you and Johansson are being spacey today," Carson says.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't sleep well."<br/>
<br/>
"Like anyone gives a shit. What's Johansson's excuse?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I didn't notice him being spacey."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't notice much of anything," says James. "Johansson kept looking at you like you had the answer to whatever his troubles were, but you just laid there drooling."<br/>
<br/>
"What troubles?"<br/>
<br/>
"See what I mean? Come on, we'll be late."<br/>
<br/>
You'd drifted into a little bit of a doze while laying on the grass during lunch, but after getting up and getting the circulation going, you begin to worry that Carson and James noticed something "wrong" with Caleb, so you go looking for him. He's at his locker, and he spares you only a sidelong glance as he changes out books. "I'm doing fine, Will," he snaps.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you mad at me?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"You sound like you're mad. Are you sure you're doing okay inside that thing?" You point to his face.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm doing great."<br/>
<br/>
"Because Ioeger and Lamont think you were a little out of character."<br/>
<br/>
His manner, already cold, turns very frosty. "I just tripped over a few things, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
His mouth twists. "What were you, asleep?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I was. But I can't babysit you. You'll have classes on your own."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, classes are almost over."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." The bell rings; now you're late. "Maybe we should have a meeting after school," you say, but he doesn't reply, and just walks off the other way down the hall.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You text Connor, suggesting a kind of "debriefing" at the Starbucks, since business should be slow enough that he can break to talk with you and the others at a table. You get his reply while waiting at a stoplight: <i>ok.</i> You'd swing around there now, but you're closer to your house than to the cafe, so you go home to drop stuff off.<br/>
<br/>
Someone calls your name as you get out of your truck, and you turn to the driveway of the house next door: It's your next-door neighbor, Andrew Gary.<br/>
<br/>
Andrew is a computer programmer of some kind, and he works at home, which is convenient for him since he is wheelchair-bound. You don't often see him for that reason, except when he's in his driveway, like now, but sometimes you will go over to talk to him, since he's only in his mid-twenties and is a pretty cool guy. You wave back.<br/>
<br/>
Then you pause. As far as you know, Gary is not interested in the occult, and it's probably a bad idea to get more people mixed up with the magic that you've uncovered. But he is older than the guys in your group, and surely has a better sense of responsibility without being a total stick-in-the-mud like most other adults. If you brought him in on it, he could be a voice of relative reason.<br/>
<br/>
Also, you might do him a real favor by introducing him to the masks. With one, he'd be able to walk again. </span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211111112
author_id: seuzz
title: That Old Black Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>If you wanted to hear a story about Satanism, you'd go hang out with Braydon Delp.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa. Delp.</i> That's someone you haven't thought of in a while.<br/>
<br/>
But that's Connor's sense of surprise, not your own, for though you don't hang out with Delp, you see him around at school enough that he is not a startling presence.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, he <i>is</i> a startling presence, just a little, for though he isn't a full-blow goth, he does lean in that direction. Actually, that's what makes him creepy, beyond the occasional talk you hear from him about the "Great Beast of Boleskin" and his books on magic. Most goths dive into it as a total pose and costume, but Braydon only uses a little mascara around his eyes, and a darkening of his naturally dark hair, and one or two silver rings. Somehow, it makes him seem like he's more serious about that kind of scene, like he doesn't feel the need to be showy.<br/>
<br/>
By this point you've lost the thread of the story going on at the table, so you move back behind the register. That's where you are, checking texts on Connor's phone, when the storyteller comes up, looking for a refill. "Got tired of listening to my stories, huh?" he says with a blunt smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. Sorry for eavesdropping."<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay, it's flattering. Or it was until you checked out."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not that into stories about devil worshippers," you say. "I see enough of them at school."<br/>
<br/>
It's subtle, but the guy's attention sharpens and focuses. "Yeah? You at Keyserling or Westside?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i> You answered as yourself, not as Connor. "Actually, I graduated in May, but I was talking about Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"You got a devil cult operating in Westside?" He adjusts his jacket and laughs. "Why don't that surprise?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a devil cult. I just mean, there's some jerks there who were, you know, into the goth and metal scene. Not my style."<br/>
<br/>
"I love metal! Goth stuff too. I know I don't look it, but—" He glances around, then leans in close with glinting eyes. "These guys have names? Everyone at Eastman's so fucking clean cut, even the drug scene is lame. If you know anyone at Westside who's into anything dangerous—" His nostrils flare, and a little fever seems to break out in his complexion. "I'd love to get in touch with them."<br/>
<br/>
"The only guy I know out there who's kind of like that is Braydon Delp," you say after long hesitation. You spell out Braydon's name. "He's not real sociable," you add. "I don't think he'd like it if you went busting in on him."<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone loves it when I go busting in on them," the blonde kid says with a cheerful and casual arrogance. Then he pays for his refill and returns to his table.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
 "I had the fucking weirdest conversation at work today," you tell Justin almost as soon as you're home. It's around midnight, for you stayed late to help closing the store. <br/>
<br/>
"At least it sounds like <i>you</i> had some fun," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stop just inside the doorway and eye him critically before glancing at the door to Manuel's bedroom. "Where's Manuel? Is he home?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's picking up a late supper at Taco Bell. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just wondering how freely I could speak. Did you get that last mask polished up?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I was busy with other stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you hear from Caleb or from, uh, Connor?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's with all the leading questions?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just wondering what's going on. If you were so bored at work, you could have finished up the masks, tried to get into trouble." You hop onto the sofa next to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you saying you got into trouble today?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I mighta got Braydon Delp into trouble. You remember him?" Justin nods, and you describe the conversation at the register. "So this guy gets really excited, because I guess I'm painting Braydon as a kind of devil worshipper or something—"<br/>
<br/>
"He's not a devil worshipper," says Justin in a scathing tone. "He's just a poser."<br/>
<br/>
"You and Connor weren't around him enough to know. Anyway, this guy gets excited, and I wind up giving him Braydon's contact info."<br/>
<br/>
A dead silence follow. "You must have had a really boring day if that was the high point," Justin says.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess you had to be there."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not looking forward to it.<br/>
<br/>
"Not looking forward to what?"<br/>
<br/>
He freezes fractionally. "Going in to work tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"So let's finish up that mask, then you and Caleb can switch and he can go in for you. Where is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay," Justin says as he gets off the sofa. "There's plenty of time for—"<br/>
<br/>
You're just wondering what's wrong with him when the door opens and Manuel comes in. He's got three bags full of tacos, and the conversation radically changes direction.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Someone who looks like Will Prescott shows up early the next morning, and in the bedroom you change back to yourself. The process seems to leach a lot of the energy from you. Justin does the actual pulling of masks off you and Connor, and when you revive ten minutes later you feel as though you've only half-woken from a hard and dream-filled sleep. The feeling of having had your brain scraped and dragged over hard and jagged ground stays with you even after you've slid into the jeans and sweatshirt that Connor wore on your behalf, and you sprint into Walberg's class at almost the last possible second because you stopped to get coffee—from Starbucks, naturally—on your way to school. Caleb gives you an uneasy glance, but isn't able to say anything before the teacher starts talking.<br/>
<br/>
Connor had left you a set of notes in diary form describing the events of yesterday, and it creeps you out a little to see a day you didn't experience written out in your own hand. You read them surreptitiously while Walberg is talking, and to your relief you see that very little happened, and nothing happened that you wouldn't be able to fake your way through. But two slightly noteworthy things happen later on.<br/>
<br/>
The first is that you get a reminder during second period that under the influence of Connor's personality you had foolishly volunteered to get photographic proof that Kelsey and Karl are secretly fucking each other: Tackett pokes you in the back just before Mr. Hawks starts class, and asks you how that project is going. "I haven't started yet," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"When are you going to start?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you care?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do <i>you</i> care," he retorts. "You just going to shrug it off, like you do everything else?"<br/>
<br/>
You turn around to fix him with a hard look. "What does that mean?" He just rolls his tongue around in his mouth without answering, but the answer is in his eyes: <i>You never follow through on anything, Prescott.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're still smarting from this at lunchtime, and you pull Caleb away from his locker before Keith or anyone else can show up to distract him. He follows in a bewildered state as you haul him first over to the music wing—but there are people there you don't want to meet—then over to the portables—but there are even worse people there—and over by the athletic fields—but that's the worst spot of all, as a bunch of football players come charging out of the gym—and finally around to the spot between the theater and the student parking lot. Your best friend is red in the face and rather exasperated by the time you find a spot both secluded and safe. "I want your help on that thing with Kelsey," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"What thing with Kelsey?" he asks, and he asks it as though that "thing" involved you and not Karl doing the horizontal mambo with Kelsey Blankenship.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you. Kelsey and Karl are shacking up in motel rooms, and I'm supposed to get photos or something for Tackett and them. You remember all this."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks baffled for several moments. Then the look in his eyes change. "Oh yeah, I remember something about that."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm glad I can make an impression on you. So start thinking about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I think I also said I didn't want anything to do with it."<br/>
<br/>
"No you didn't."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. All you said was that Kelsey was somewhere on your fucket list. I'm pretty sure you were open to helping me."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not the impression that I have."<br/>
<br/>
You cock your head. "What's wrong with you today? You're acting like—" A sudden flush, starting in the small of your back, rushes up your torso and over the top of your head and down over your face. You grasp Caleb by the collar. "Did you and Carr switch places this morning or something?"<br/>
<br/>
He winces. "Last night," he mutters. "Didn't Johansson tell you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you guys. But as long as you're here, you can help me with this thing. We'll have to make some new masks, but I want to get Tackett mixed up in it. I've decided I've got a grudge against him."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about? I'm totally lost."<br/>
<br/>
"Someone's got to spy on Kelsey, and I don't want it to be me in case I get caught. So I want to use a mask of Tackett's face, or Spencer Osbourne's. They're the ones that—" <br/>
<br/>
You stop and stare at something that has caught your eye. It's Braydon Delp, walking across the student parking lot, and he's following what looks like that crazy blonde kid from Starbucks. <br/>
<br/>
That's slightly interesting. But the sight of Delp gives you another idea for handling that Kelsey/Karl business. You wouldn't mind seeing Delp get in trouble for spying on Kelsey; and scoring a copy of his brain—the brain of a guy who's into magic—might be a profitable dividend.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121111112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Warehouse
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your interest in the stories being told at that table has started to wane, so you drift away. But apparently your eavesdropping did get noticed at the table. "Got tired of my stories, huh?" the blonde kid says with a grin when he comes over a few minutes later for a refill.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mind if you were. What I mind is that you walked off before I got done with one. Was it boring?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just got embarrassed about eavesdropping."<br/>
<br/>
His smile continues friendly, though a little skeptical. "So where do you go to school? You at the college?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I graduated last May, but I'm taking a year off.<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd you graduate from?"<br/>
<br/>
"Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"Tch. That's too bad. Oh, but you must know where the Warehouse is, right?"<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you're nonplussed. Then—"Oh, you mean the one on Jackson?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's it. You've been out there, right? If you want to make me feel better, you'll show up there tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't get off until ten."<br/>
<br/>
"Great. Then you can grab something eat and see a movie before dropping in, 'cos I won't be sneaking out of my bedroom window till one." His teeth gleam in a mad, wide smile, and he returns to his table.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"This is a really bad idea," Justin says for about the third time. "At the very least we should have brought Manuel with us."<br/>
<br/>
You'd feel better with Manuel along too, but he was drunk when he got back from the Taco Bell run, and only kept his eyes open long enough to eat half of a taco. You left him slumped and snoring in the chair in the living room.<br/>
<br/>
But you'd like him—and maybe a whole football squad of guys built like him—along because you're heading to the warehouse. Or "The Warehouse," as it would probably be capitalized if people wrote it out. Which they never do, except in text messages, and then they don't capitalize anything.<br/>
<br/>
It's exactly what it is called, an old warehouse in the depressed industrial section on the north side of town, only half a block from the interstate and butted up against the railroad tracks. The streetlights burn acridly, and the stench of oil, dirt, processed metals, and diesel fuel hangs heavily in the atmosphere. It's a little lonely, too, despite being in the middle of an industrial section, for it's cut off from Jackson Road, the nearest major thoroughfare, by a high cinderblock wall and an alley. There have been at least three shootings in the area in the last year (that you've heard about), and that's actually the good news: Though no one was arrested for the shootings, you know it was people inside The Warehouse shooting people trying to get in—in other words, people who hang out at The Warehouse protecting themselves from street gangs and toughs. So it's a dangerous place, but one with unofficial protection.<br/>
<br/>
And why would you go there?<br/>
<br/>
Because it's a high school hangout. On many weekends it's a party scene, with crowds there to drink, dance, do drugs, and make out. During the weekdays, you've heard, it's a lot sketchier. But you're looking for some fun, and in the guise of Connor Hutchinson you can go looking for the kind of fun, at this time of night, that Will Prescott could never get away with.<br/>
<br/>
It's the same story for the guy riding shotgun with you. He looks like Justin Carr, but it's really Caleb. He tried bluffing you when you got back to the house, but Connor's instincts told you that his horrified reaction when you suggested going to The Warehouse was out of character for Justin, and you busted his chops until he confessed. He and Justin had gotten the last mask polished up after school, and had switched just as you and Connor had.<br/>
<br/>
He twists in his seat, looking back. "There's guys out there following us," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"So? We're on wheels and they're on foot."<br/>
<br/>
"They can catch up. They know where we're going."<br/>
<br/>
"How do they know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because of where we are? Who else—? Turn here. Who else would we be driving around this part of town at this time of night?"<br/>
<br/>
He's got a point. And as you turn into the final alleyway leading to your destination, you think of another problem: parking. You yourself have never been to The Warehouse—you've only heard of it—and Connor has only been on out music nights, when there are lots of cars and a kind of ad hoc security team. But on a weeknight, who's going to be guarding things? And as you pass through the busted gate in the chain link fence, you see that the parking lot is entirely deserted.<br/>
<br/>
As it should be at one-thirty in the morning.<br/>
<br/>
You should have figured that joker at the Starbucks was just spinning you a yarn. "So where is everyone?" says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Go try the door, see if anyone's in there."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't see any lights."<br/>
<br/>
"We don't see any lights on weekends here either."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you gonna do when I'm out there and those guys catch up to us?"<br/>
<br/>
"So hurry up and check before those guys catch up."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, this is such a fucking bad idea," he says as he jumps out of the car.<br/>
<br/>
You drum your fingers and glance all around you, expecting dark, leering faces to spring from the shadows at any moment. There's a small, cinderblock annex on the front of the main part of the building, which is where people enter through a rusted-red door. Caleb is banging on it now, and pirouetting in place so no one can sneak up on him. He runs over when you start to back the car up. "What are you doing?" he gasps as he wrenches the passenger side door open.<br/>
<br/>
"Getting turned around so we can peel out if we have to."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck this, I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
He climbs in, but even as he's speaking you see that red door open. A shadowy figure, hardly visible against the faint light behind, stands in the doorway. "Hey, there's someone there." You open your door and look back. "Hey, something going on here tonight?" you call to the person.<br/>
<br/>
"Who wants to know?" he calls back.<br/>
<br/>
"We heard there was something going on here."<br/>
<br/>
The shadow wavers, and you think you hear voices: someone else has joined the other guy? Caleb tugs your shoulder. "Maybe we don't want in."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," you say, then think maybe he's right when a bright flashlight stabs you in the face. You shield your eyes until it drops.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on," that voice calls again.<br/>
<br/>
"Where's everyone parked?" No answer.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes the grinding sound of machinery engaging, and a large metal door in the main building opens with a metallic shriek. "In there," the voice calls. You and Caleb look at each other, and you put the car in reverse and back in through the narrow opening. There's barely enough light inside for you to avoid backing into the three other cars parked nearby.<br/>
<br/>
"We shouldn't have done this," Caleb says, but not before the automatic door closes again, shutting you in.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You vaguely recognize the parking space as the area where the bands usually play: there's the makeshift wooden stage on the wall opposite. The double doors leading into the space are open, and a guy is leaning in the doorway. He's operating a fat control box that's dangling from the shadowing spaces above. He's naked to the waist, except for a necklace, and wearing silver colored shorts that hang past his knees. The shadows on his shoulder are probably tattoos. "We heard there was something going on here tonight," you tell him, somewhat lamely.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, who from?" His tone, which wasn't friendly to start with, becomes actively belligerent.<br/>
<br/>
"Some guy from Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck." He shouts over his shoulder into the next room. "Any of you assholes telling people there's something going on here tonight? Hey, Kent! You tell anyone—?" He turns back to you. "Who the fuck you think is supposed to show up?"<br/>
<br/>
If it comes to a fight, you're pretty sure this guy can kick your ass, because even though he's as skinny as you, he drips with scorn and testosterone. "Uh, this blonde guy in a letterman jacket. I ran into him at Starbucks with three girls—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off as another figure joins the first. The newcomer's gaze is also challenging, but it's not as unfriendly as his friend's. "So what's your story?" he asks. You tell it to him. <br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like Joe Durras," mutters the first guy.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," says the second guy. "Oh, fuck. Is he coming out here? Oh, <i>fuck.</i> Fuck!" He kicks the ground. With a parting glare, he and his friend disappear inside.<br/>
<br/>
You and Caleb give each other a long look, then slowly follow. It's a room that Connor has seen on earlier trips, formed by walling off part of the larger space with immense sheets of plywood. There are some makeshift tables made with crates and planks, and low-slung sofas that reek of mildew even from under the old sheets that cover them. There are only two other guys here, and they're making out with each other. From somewhere in the space above and behind one of the walls a girl is loosing short screams of orgasmic pleasure.<br/>
<br/>
The guy who opened the bay door is leaning against the back of one of the couches, looking you up and down with open contempt. "Fuck, and you only brought yourselves, I bet," he sneers.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Poor Impersonation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The blonde kid's words blast you out of the reverie his storytelling has put you in. He's in an Eastman High letterman jacket, but judging by what he just said, at least some of the girls with him go to the local Christian school. While puzzling over this you miss the start of the next story; and so thrown from the entertainment you retreat behind the register and content yourself with surfing the internet on Connor's phone.<br/>
<br/>
A polite cough a little later pulls you out again, and you find the blonde kid grinning at you. With a quick apology you leap back to duty, and he asks you for a refill on his coffee. As you slide the mug back to him, you run your eye over his jacket. "You go to Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure do," he says. "You an alumnus?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I graduated from Westside last year. But some of your friends over there go to the Christian school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Kristen and Meg." That grin, which hadn't completely disappeared, widens with renewed amusement. "You had fun listening to those stories I was telling?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah," you admit with some embarrassment at being caught.<br/>
<br/>
"I figured you wouldn't have said anything about Agape if you hadn't overheard us."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice deduction. So how do you know them? If you don't mind me asking."<br/>
<br/>
"I ran into them at the library yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"You already knew them?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. That's where I met them for the first time."<br/>
<br/>
It seems like he's waiting for you to make a comment, and when you don't, he retreats after showing a slight disappointment. You know what he wanted you to say, though: <i>Wow, you picked up two girls at the library of all places, and only yesterday?</i><br/>
<br/>
You return to the internet, but your eye is turned inward. You don't know much about the Agape Christian Academy, except that it's about halfway between your house and your dad's work. Idly, you try to think of anyone you know who might go to that school, but the only suspects are teenagers at church, and you don't have a lot to do with any of them. Only a few names come to you, and you're not even sure why you're interested, except that you collide so rarely with students from that school that your curiosity is piqued.<br/>
<br/>
So when you see the red-headed girl coming out of the bathroom, you call to her. "Want a refill on your coffee?" you ask. "Today it's free."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up. "Oh? Uh, sure." She fetches her cup, and with a distracted and fidgety manner hands it to you without meeting your eye.<br/>
<br/>
"So are you Kristen or Meg?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She jumps a little. "What? Uh—" Clearly she doesn't want to answer. "Kristen," she says nervously.<br/>
<br/>
"You go to Agape, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes?" She squirms.<br/>
<br/>
"Your friend said that he went to Eastman but that Kristen and Meg went to Agape. I was just wondering if you were the Kristen or the Meg who went to Agape."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh."<br/>
<br/>
You set the cup in front of her. "Do you know a guy named Nicholas?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nicholas? Uh, no." Her eyes dart away. She probably wants to get away from you, but doesn't want to appear rude.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Ian? Alex?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Wait, Alex Marshall?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. He goes to St. Michael's Episcopal?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know." Her anxiety deepens. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was just wondering if we knew anyone in common. I know a guy named Alex who goes to St. Michael's, and thought maybe he also went to Agape."<br/>
<br/>
"I really don't know. Sorry." She hurries back to her friends. It doesn't look like she said anything about a "creepy barista" who tried picking her up, so maybe she was just worried about keeping them waiting.<br/>
<br/>
But yeah, probably she thought "creepy barista," and it rankles you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Who told you about Paige's baby?" Carson Ioeger demands of Caleb. "I know I didn't." He gives Paul Davis a hard look. "Was it you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Paige who?" asks Paul.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't play dumb, you know which Paige I'm talking about."<br/>
<br/>
"Justin told me," Caleb stammers. "The other night, at the party."<br/>
<br/>
"What party?"<br/>
<br/>
"The one at—" His voice dies in his throat, and he looks desperately in your direction.<br/>
<br/>
But you just sit back and let him hang. <i>Fucking idiot,</i> you think. <i>Let him twist.</i><br/>
<br/>
Because that's not really Caleb Johansson sitting there. Sure, he looks and is dressed like Caleb, and supposedly he has all of Caleb's memories and intuitions. But despite those advantages, Justin Carr is having a hell of a time pulling off the impersonation.<br/>
<br/>
It's Tuesday morning, and you're back to being yourself after a very boring night, the high point of which was Manuel Ramos driving back drunk from Taco Bell with food for his roommates. The next morning, Connor Hutchinson showed up at a little before eight, and you and he took off your masks and resumed your existences. You hope Caleb is doing better at his impersonation than Justin is.<br/>
<br/>
He sweated all through Walberg's class, accidentally interrupted a beatdown that Javits was giving to Keith Tilley, and now, while eating with you and Carson and Paul and James Lamont—Jenny Ashton and Yumi Saito, who are usually along too, are off having some kind of conference of their own—he is alluding left and right to things that Justin Carr knows but which Caleb Johansson can't possibly be aware of. Like the fact that some girl named Paige (like Paul, you are wondering "Paige who?") apparently had a baby last year.<br/>
<br/>
"Which party?" James asks, repeating Caleb's question.<br/>
<br/>
"Some party we were both at," Caleb says lamely.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, bullshit," says Carson. "You just keep it close about Paige, that's all I have to say."<br/>
<br/>
"Which Paige is this?" you ask. You don't care, though it sounds like it'll rile Carson if you're nosy.<br/>
<br/>
It does. "A blank one, as far as you're concerned, Prescott,"  he snarls at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Winslow," says James in an off-hand manner.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut the fuck up."<br/>
<br/>
"What does it matter," he asks Carson. "She's living in California now."<br/>
<br/>
"Her baby's dad isn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh?" Now you are curious, despite yourself. "Who's the dad? Come on, tell me," you say, ignoring the bird he's flipping you. "I got some good gossip I can trade for it."<br/>
<br/>
"Tell it to Jenny," James snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"And that sounds like an invitation to go the fuck away," Carson growls at you.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you know all about Kelsey?" you ask in a quasi-innocent tone. "I guess I really am the last one to hear these things."<br/>
<br/>
James and Carson exchange a veiled glance: the kind of glance, it seems to you, that means they don't know what you're talking about. "I'll give you a hint," you say. "I'm looking for someone to help me snap some pictures of Kelsey while she's meeting someone at the Donna Motor Courts."<br/>
<br/>
You watch as a dawning understanding lights in their eyes, but it's not a full understanding. And neither does it sound like they are very impressed with you. "What kind of sick, fucking voyeur are you turning into?" Carson asks with a sneer and a snarl. His question kills any temptation you might have had to share the adventure with them, and when Caleb suggests leaving lunch early, you quickly agree.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So that was kind of pointless," you say as you glance around the Starbucks, which at this hour—four-thirty—is again mostly empty.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't have fun?" Connor asks. "I did."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet you did. I bet Justin did too," you snort.<br/>
<br/>
It's just the two of you at the table close to the counter. Justin and Caleb will be joining you later, though. They called to say they were going to switch back, then hit some stores for more supplies. You're not sure what they're planning to do with more supplies. You've already got masks of each other, which didn't lead to a lot of amusement as far as you're concerned; and the party on Saturday showed how dangerous it is to disguise yourselves as someone outside of the circle. <br/>
<br/>
So that's the blunt question you put to Justin when he finally sits down with you under his own face. "Role-playing," he says. "Real life."<br/>
<br/>
You and Connor both frown in confusion; Caleb looks wry.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought of it this afternoon when I ran into Christian Knouse. He told me he and his friends were running an RPG over at King Kong Komics, and one idea led to another and, well—" He falters a little as everyone else seems stony. "My idea is that we get copies of people, then go off and pretend to be them."<br/>
<br/>
"We tried that Saturday," you tell him. "That's how you and Connor found out about all this, because someone"—you glance at Caleb—"fucked up."<br/>
<br/>
"We go someplace where we won't be spotted, and we're only with each other," Justin says. "And I got the perfect idea for how to do it. Listen," he says, leaning closer, "you want to catch Kelsey at the Donna, right? Connor told me all about what's going on out there. And you saw how Carson and James shot you down when you asked for help. So you don't want to get caught out there as yourself. So let's go out there as Carson and James." He looks at Caleb and Connor. "You two can go as other people."<br/>
<br/>
It's an intriguing idea. But when you see a red-headed girl come in—<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you think it's that girl Kristen from yesterday, but it isn't.<br/>
<br/>
—you instantly conceive an alternative. Why not disguise yourselves as people who have no connection to Westside, and so won't be recognized at all while spying on the Donna?</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Chinese Curse
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your phone buzzes with a text, and since you're losing interest in the table where the ghost stories are being told, you drift off to another corner of the store while studying it. It's from Connor, saying that he'll be out at a quarter to eight in the morning to change back with you unless you or he text first with a change of plans. You reply that the plan sounds fine to you.<br/>
<br/>
Then—maybe because the afternoon lull will be ending soon and you're starting to get a little hungry—you text him back with a request that he come by the Starbucks with takeout, for which you'll reimburse him. <i>What kind?</i> he asks. You reply: <i>U know what I like.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The stream of customers has begun to pick up when a white truck bounces to a stop in front of the store, and a skinny kid in cargo shorts and a dirty ball cap comes in, lugging a plastic bag stuffed with styrofoam containers. "Here's your sh—" He catches himself and glances around. "Your stuff. And you owe me seven bucks and a free caramel macchiato."<br/>
<br/>
"I only made a deal with you for refills," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
He scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger as you put the food under the counter. "You owe me more than what I'm asking for," he says, and pulls you to the side, away from where Nancy is making an order. "First up, there's your dad," he says in a low voice as you lean close to talk. "I had to drive something out to him at his work right after school, and he put the screws to me about taking a job out there."<br/>
<br/>
"You told him no, didn't you?" you ask in some alarm. Your dad has been pressuring you hard to take an entry-level job at the aerospace engineering company where he works.<br/>
<br/>
"I only look like an idiot," he retorts. "I think I did a pretty good impression of your usual reaction." He writhes melodramatically.  "And he got pretty sarcastic with me too, so everything's normal at your place, in case you're worried."<br/>
<br/>
"Aces. But that's not worth a free—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then I went to the Panda Garden to pick up your dinner."<br/>
<br/>
"Perfect. I love their jasmine rice."<br/>
<br/>
"I know you do. But guess who else was there, and had the place all to himself?" Will asks. You shake your head. "Chen."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart briefly petrifies. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, at first. I go in to the front and I'm at the register when I see him sitting at a table about twenty feet away, shoving chow mein or some crap into his face like he was in a speed-eating competition. And he's staring at me, and I know you know how he can stare."<br/>
<br/>
Indeed you do. There are few sights more unsettling than the glittering, mica-like eyes of Gary Chen when he fastens them on you. A few months ago you remembered where you've seen those kinds of eyes before: in pictures of cobras.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I'm doing my best to ignore him, and he's not doing anything either, until they bring me out the order. And as I'm pulling out my wallet—your wallet, whoever's wallet—he suddenly comes bounding up, all smiling and calling me by name like we're friends and stuff. He introduces me to the woman— Did you know it's his aunt and uncle that own that place? Wait, of course you don't. Dur. Well, he's talking like we're friends, and how I'm always going on about how much I like the Panda Garden. And he's got his hand on my elbow while he's talking, and all the time he's twisting this little bit of skin he's got between his finger and thumb. Like this."<br/>
<br/>
Will demonstrates on you. You slap him back after it quickly become painful.<br/>
<br/>
"And he's doing that while saying things like, 'Yeah, Will was telling me how he comes in here, like, every couple of days' and 'You were telling me how much you like the Mongolian barbecue' so—" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Screw me, but I just kept nodding and saying 'Uh huh,' and the woman is getting to like me more and more, but I can't figure out what Chen's game is."<br/>
<br/>
His color turns a little chalky. "Anyway, I scoop up your stuff and take it outside, and I've just got the door to the truck open when I hear—" His voice drops until it's almost inaudible, because of what he has to say now. "I hear him behind me, calling me. 'Hey fuckface, yeah, you little shit puke'." He resumes in a more normal tone. "I turn and Chen's followed me out, and there's no pretending anymore. He comes up and gets right in my face, and I'll spare you the nasty language and the dire threats, but the upshot is, um—"<br/>
<br/>
Now he turns reticent, and looks around, avoiding your face. "The upshot is that you're buying him dinner three times a week for the rest of the year." He turns red.<br/>
<br/>
A small eternity passes while you try to process this. Finally, you can only say, "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"What I said. The way he explained it, he has about two hours on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays between when he leaves school and when he has to be at work, and usually those days he goes in to eat at his aunt and uncle's restaurant. But starting Wednesday, he said—uh, tomorrow he'll give you a menu—but starting Wednesday it'll be you going in to pick up his dinner and bringing it back to him at Westside. You're getting it for him and you're paying for it, too."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops. "I can't—! Why didn't you tell him to go, uh, to hell? That's what you told my dad, basically."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "Your dad doesn't issue threats like Chen does. If I told him no, you'd be dealing with tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"No I wouldn't," you retort. "If Chen's looking for me, I'm staying like this for the rest of the year."<br/>
<br/>
"That's gonna be hard to do if you're suddenly twins," he retorts in turn. "Anyway, you can tell Chen yourself you're not going to do it, if you're so set on committing suicide. Because he said that he's knows what all classes you're taking, and that he's got friends in all those classes, and that for the rest of the year those friends will make your life hell if you don't do this."<br/>
<br/>
A small company of customers comes in at this point, and you have to go back to work. Before returning to the register, though, you tell your friend that you want to talk to him later, and he says he'll be in at nine-thirty tonight, by which time you'll be winding down your shift.<br/>
<br/>
You don't have much of an appetite after that conference, and take only a few bites of the meal so dearly bought, and pass the rest on to Nancy.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Will keeps the appointment, and brings Caleb and Justin with him. You take a table with them near the front, so that you can get back behind the counter on short notice. Before starting, Will tells you in a quiet voice that the last of the four new masks was finished that afternoon, and that Justin and Caleb are now playing each other's part. You suppose that is why both of them are treating your private conference with such gravity, when it's something that shouldn't particularly trouble Carr.<br/>
<br/>
Will apologizes again, but you wave the apology off as irrelevant. Neither are you very impressed when he offers to partially defray your expenses. "You'd have to pay for all of it," you tell him. "I don't get that kind of allowance. You know that."<br/>
<br/>
"You could take that job at Salopek," he replies, then shrinks under your glare. "You need some kind of income."<br/>
<br/>
"You need to tell Chen to go fuck himself," says Caleb, who is really Justin.<br/>
<br/>
"You tell Chen to go fuck himself," you say. "You put on my face—" You jerk your chin at Will Prescott. "— and you go tell Chen to go fuck himself, and then you spend the rest of the year under my face making it stick."<br/>
<br/>
"We've got a freaking magic book," says Justin, who is really Caleb. "It's custom-made to take care of situations like this, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
A silence settles on the table. "Disguise yourself as Chen?" Will suggests. "Go out to the restaurant and tell his aunt to give you the food free and to charge it to him To Chen, I mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's pretty complicated," says fake-Caleb. "How would you get a mask of Chen? What about making a mask of something bigger and meaner than Chen, use it to tell Chen to lay off Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you get a mask of someone bigger and meaner than Chen," says Will, "if it's so hard to get one of Chen? Besides, he won't take shit from anyone."<br/>
<br/>
"But you will," snorts Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, tell it to that guy," Will says, and points at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you can use some masks to get the money to pay off Chen," says Justin. "Maybe get masks of people where your dad works?"<br/>
<br/>
"The only way to do that would be to use a mask on my dad," you say. "Yeesh."<br/>
<br/>
"That's pretty grot for you," Will agrees. "But not for one of us."<br/>
<br/>
"I think I'd rather take my punishment than do something like that," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Will gives you a very sober look. "Then you'd have to take that job at Salopek."<br/>
<br/>
"It's afterschool work," says Justin. "After school is when he's supposed to be servicing Chen."<br/>
<br/>
With those words, it really hits you just what an ugly thing that Chen is demanding of you. And that's when you decide to—</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Conference of Fakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't want to hear any stories about dead babies either, so you abandon your perch. The bathrooms aren't due for a scrubbing until tomorrow, but you anticipate the job by giving them a quick wash down now, since the store is almost dead.<br/>
<br/>
While cleaning, your mind goes back that story you eavesdropped on -- the first one, about the "stuck up bitch" who met a ghost. The girls at the table kept referencing a girl named "Clarice," but you kept thinking of Kelsey Blankenship. So you'd agree with the guy telling the story that she is not a rare type of girl. In fact, Kelsey moves with a small clutch of them, and you loathe her and all of her type.<br/>
<br/>
Well, when you're in your right mind you loathe her. At the moment your attitude is much more ambivalent, for she made Connor Hutchinson very hungry. It was something about that imperious attitude that excited him. He liked to imagine her sneer twisting up into a smile, and to imagine it twisting into a smile particularly when she was looking at him. The kind of guy who could impress Kelsey Blankenship would be an impressive guy indeed; and you suspect -- with how much justice you don't know -- that Connor mostly had a crush on her because he liked to fantasize about the ego boost he would get from piquing her interest.<br/>
<br/>
As if that would ever happen.<br/>
<br/>
But then you have to pause. Rumor has it that Kelsey is sneaking into dirty motel rooms with Karl Hennepin, who to your way of thinking -- and to Connor's, you can tell -- plays somewhere in the same league as Hutchinson and his cohort. The only difference, it seems to you, is that Karl has a reputation as a literary poseur and casual drug user. With half of your dual brain you speculate that those two qualities would make all the difference to Kelsey. With Connor's half, you feel a spike of spite and resentment.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You stay late, past the end of your shift, to help with closing up, but by midnight you're back at Connor's house. "Where's Manuel," you ask Justin.<br/>
<br/>
"Making a taco run. He's drunk and miserable about something. How was your day?"<br/>
<br/>
"Slow. Manuel didn't drive, did he?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's his business."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's ours if he kills himself and we wind up getting kicked out of here. What?" you ask, as you've caught a quizzical look on Justin's face.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's this 'we' who's going to get kicked out?" His eyes narrow. "Who exactly am I talking to?"<br/>
<br/>
You start to tell him that you're Will Prescott, but twist aside at the last moment with a wicked smile. "Who do you think you're talking to?"<br/>
<br/>
He shifts awkwardly on the sofa. "You're talking like Hutchinson, and Prescott wouldn't care about Manuel so much."<br/>
<br/>
"But that's the whole point, isn't it? To talk like who we're pretending to be?" You surprise him with a light slap to the face. "When did you guys finish up the last mask."<br/>
<br/>
Justin doesn't answer right away as you go to the fridge. After hovering indecisively between a real beer and a root beer, you pick the latter. "What makes you think we finished the other mask," he asks as you drop onto the sofa next to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Because you and Carr switched sometime today." You squint at him as you chug back some of the root beer.<br/>
<br/>
He tries to laugh off the accusation, but he's far from convincing. "You're just being paranoid, or you think you're too fucking clever -- "<br/>
<br/>
You clap the bottle onto the countertop and grab for his face with both hands. He twists beneath you. "Stop it!" he yells. "I'm not -- ! Get the fuck -- !"<br/>
<br/>
The door bursts open, and a very loud and masculine voice exclaims, "Whoa, I'm not interrupting something, am I?" Manuel, grasping three Taco Bell bags in his hands, is swaying in the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, how hungry are you?" you ask as you get off your friend.<br/>
<br/>
"I got enough for everyone," he says in a slurred voice, and half stumbles over to the couch. He has some difficulty in figuring out which fingers he wants to work, then drops two of the bags into your and Justin's laps. "If you guys wanna take it in the bedroom, eat each other and -- " He grins. "I shoulda got you burritos."<br/>
<br/>
You just open up the bag. "Wow, mucho thanko, bro." It contains at least five tacos, still warm. "Glad you made it back okay."<br/>
<br/>
"Whaddayou mean?" Manuel slumps into the chair.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. You okay?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer, maybe because he can't hear you over the rustling of paper wrappers coming off the food, and you don't repeat the question. You hadn't eaten much at work, so you're happy for the meal. You drop the subject of who is really sitting next to you until after Manuel has fallen into a drunken stupor, and you and the other guy have moved into the bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"How did you know it was really me," Caleb asks. He is still in Justin Carr's mask, but has otherwise reduced himself to t-shirt and boxers in preparation for bed.<br/>
<br/>
"You called us 'Hutchinson' and 'Prescott'. Connor and Justin use people's first names."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's gaze goes distant. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I didn't notice I did that. Shit. I hope I didn't fuck up anything else."<br/>
<br/>
"What else did you do today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Go jogging?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Why would I -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Justin runs every day."<br/>
<br/>
"I know that," he says acidly. "But why would I -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"To stay in character. That's what I did all day. I went and hung out with Tyler and Ryan and Eric and them this morning. Oh, not that you'll care, but they're talking about going out to the warehouse this weekend." You let the confused look play on Justin's face for a few seconds before giving him a helpful reminder. "You know, that old place downtown where -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I know what you're talking about, Will. I'm just trying to figure out why I should care."<br/>
<br/>
"To be in character. That's why you should have gone jogging this afternoon. It's the kind of thing you do so people don't catch you being out of character."<br/>
<br/>
He eyes you closely. "All this caring about being in character, is it you or is it you being in character?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just having fun. Speaking of having fun, though, what are your plans for tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Is Connor coming by in the morning to switch back with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the last plan we had. He texted me earlier today, saying he'd be by around seven-forty-five unless someone texted someone else. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not supposed to see Carr until tomorrow after school. I was thinking we could spend the morning together."<br/>
<br/>
"You go in to work at nine, that's not a lot of time together."<br/>
<br/>
"So come to Starbucks with me."<br/>
<br/>
"That'd be out of character."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't give me that. This isn't as fun as I thought it'd be. Well, not yet."<br/>
<br/>
"You want to switch with me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You who? You mean, I put on Connor's mask or yours? Eh," he adds before you can answer. "This isn't like the fantasies I was having about Cindy and Eva and -- "<br/>
<br/>
You groan and fall back on the bed. You're also stripped to boxers, and your cock swells at the thought of the girls. "I was thinking about Kelsey this afternoon. Can you believe that?" You turn to look at him. "What does Carr think of Kelsey?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is thoughtful for a bit. "I can't tell. She's definitely got something that appeals to him, though."<br/>
<br/>
You prop yourself up in bed. "You know, that's something we could do. Fuck things up for Kelsey and her friends with these masks."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes glint, but his borrowed face remains grave. "How?"<br/>
<br/>
"Get copies of them. Get photos of them in, uh, compromising positions?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow. "You mean, like, Kelsey and Mansfield, naked, together?"<br/>
<br/>
You gasp. "I hadn't thought of that!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, I'm sorry I said anything."<br/>
<br/>
"You told you I'm supposed to get some compromising pictures of Kelsey and Karl, but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to do that. But if we got copies of those two, we could stage a scene anytime we wanted."<br/>
<br/>
Now Caleb falls back onto the bed. "I really hope that's you being in character."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I do, kind of. I just kind of hope you're not really that evil."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there anything more evil than Kelsey Blankenship?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb doesn't answer. When he does speak again, it sounds like a change of subject, a return to an earlier fetish. "What's wrong with using the masks on Eva and Jessica?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eva and Jessica don't have anything to do with Kelsey."<br/>
<br/>
"They're friends with her."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you liked them! Why would you want to use the masks to embarrass them?"<br/>
<br/>
"What I mean is," he says, "what's wrong with using them to get close to Kelsey? You'd have to get close to her if you were going to get a copy of her."<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you want a copy of Eva or Jessica?" You sit up. "Do you want to put on masks of them, prance around like you're -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" His question is direct. "You'd have a pair of boobs and a pussy you could play with anytime you wanted."<br/>
<br/>
His observation is undeniable, but it still startles you. "So what are you suggesting?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I'm suggesting that if you want to get close to Kelsey so you can get a copy of her, try getting a copy of Eva or Jessica, or both of them, first. Then you can get your copy of Kelsey, and I can -- "<br/>
<br/>
"And you can have a set of lady parts to finger anytime you want," you finish for him. He turns a little red.<br/>
<br/>
It makes sense, but you'd been thinking of using a copy of Karl to get to Kelsey.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Johansson Proxy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"If we make masks of Eva and Jessica, will you help me get pictures of Kelsey and Karl?" you ask Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows shoot up. "Do you realize how much of pervert you sound like?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me?" You sputter. "You're the one who wants to do himself up like one of the Garner twins so he can finger himself! Besides," you add, "I'm doing it in a good cause. Karl's gonna get his nuts chopped off when Kelsey figures out that everyone including you and me knows what her and Karl are up to. This is about protecting him."<br/>
<br/>
"Since when do we give a fuck about Karl Hennepin? Alright, alright!" Caleb raises his hands. "I'll help you, but only if we, uh, you know, do like I said I wanted us to do." <br/>
<br/>
Maybe your accusation that he's the bigger perv has left him abashed, for he can't say it again: "Get masks of Eva and Jessica so I can finger myself."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We need you to make a study date with Eva Garner." Those are the words you address the next morning in the student parking lot to a guy who is wearing Caleb Johansson's clothes and getting out of Caleb Johansson's car. He stops halfway out with one foot on the pavement and looks up at you with an expression of surprise and maybe even a little terror.<br/>
<br/>
It's not really Caleb, of course. No, you left your best friend back in a little house just south of the university, where he was putting the finishing touches on his "Justin Carr" costume, preparatory to going to work as "Justin Carr." While he was doing that, a guy in Will Prescott's clothes parked Will Prescott's truck out front and came in after only a short knock at the door. He arrived at a quarter to eight, went immediately back into the bedroom with you, and there you and Connor Hutchinson removed the masks that had disguised you as each other. It had taken you a few attempts to get your hand in the right position, for the spell required that you grab ahold of your own forehead, mutter some strange syllables three times rapidly, and pull; the first two times your fingers came away with nothing in their grip. The third time, though, it was as though you'd plucked your eyeballs from your sockets, for the world shrank into a dot as your hand came away, then winked out entirely. It was almost straight-up eight o'clock before you'd groggily woken. Connor was awake by that point too, and the pair of you had swapped clothes, and you'd sneaked out and rushed to school to meet Justin Carr, who is the guy you just told he needed to make a study date with Eva Garner.<br/>
<br/>
And what's the story behind this peremptory demand? That's what Justin wants to know: "Who is 'we,' and why do I need to make a date with Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"'We' is Caleb and me, and it's Caleb who wants the date."<br/>
<br/>
He looks at you from under his brows. "Uh, you know who you're talking to, don't you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know exactly who I'm talking to, <i>Justin.</i> It took me about thirty seconds to bust Caleb's bluff last night."<br/>
<br/>
His shoulders slump. "Son of a bitch, I was really looking forward to faking you out all day." Then he pales a little. "Fuck, does this mean there's a problem with these disguises?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so. I caught Caleb making a little mistake, and he folded real fast when I challenged him. How'd you do with his mom? Did she pick up on anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"Then it sounds like you don't have anything to worry about. But anyway, when you see Eva second period, make a study date with her for Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
He heaves himself out of the car. "Why, and why can't he do it himself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Use that brain you supposedly have in there with you. Caleb's terrified of her, so he wants you to do it for him. Make the date for tomorrow night if you can."<br/>
<br/>
"If he's too terrified to ask her, how's he going to do on a date with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's called 'getting over the hump.' Is there a problem with the masks, or is it with you that you can't figure it out? Can you tell me what class we're supposed to be in right now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, Mr. Walberg's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, don't call him 'mister'. Something like that'll definitely get you busted as an fake."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The purpose behind the "study date," actually, is to get a mask onto Eva, and it's got to be Caleb and Eva on the date because he and Eva share a class. Besides, he's on relatively friendly terms with her; on the other hand, if you asked for a meet-up with one of the Garner girls, they'd think it had to do with Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
And you've told Justin that it's for a "study date" because you and Caleb have decided not to tell Connor and Justin what you're up to, as you're not sure that they'll approve.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure they'll disapprove either, but you've discovered it's a funny thing about the masks and the personalities they contain; although you had Connor's intuitions and instincts in there with you -- and Caleb had Justin's -- you were in control of them, and so you found it hard to answer a question like <i>How would Connor feel about this?</i> Oh, you could come up with an answer, but you weren't sure if it was coming from from Connor's instincts or if you were subtly guiding those instincts. It took you and Caleb awhile to realize this, and realization came only after a thirty minutes of useless argument in Connor and Justin's darkened bedroom, during which you and Caleb circled around the questions <i>How would Connor feel?</i> and <i>How would Justin feel?</i> while giving one contrary answer after another. It ended only with the exhausted conclusion that you don't know how they'd feel, but that Caleb would use Justin's credit card this afternoon to pick up enough supplies for four more masks, and that you wouldn't tell your two co-conspirators what you were up to. It's a variation on what you don't tell you parents: What they don't know won't hurt them.<br/>
<br/>
Only later did you realize that Connor and Justin might be doing the same thing behind your back. So you're determined to keep a close eye on Justin during the day to make sure he doesn't get up to any mischief with your friend's identity.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, if your notebooks are to be believed, Connor didn't get up to any mischief while he played you yesterday. He kept extensive notes of the school day -- not just lecture notes but conversations and events -- and of what happened at home. It's the most copious daily diary you've ever seen, and it's a little disorienting to see stuff that you don't remember doing recounted in your own handwriting. You study it during first period, but don't find it particularly helpful, since it looks like Connor steered clear of anything that might make trouble for you. But the diary is a good idea, and you pull Justin aside after first period to tell him he should do the same. That'll be another way of keeping a leash on him, since you don't have him for very many classes. He makes a face, but acquiesces. "Do you want me to write down what I said and what Eva said?" he asks you when you connect with him again at his locker before lunch.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but go ahead and tell me now."<br/>
<br/>
"She said okay to the date. I don't know why Caleb is so scared of her."<br/>
<br/>
Before you can make a smart remark about the mask he's wearing, Keith Tilley pulls up next to your duo. "Who's scared of who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb's scared of Eva Garner. Are you scared of Eva?" you quickly add, hoping to distract him from the way Caleb seemed to refer to himself in the third person.<br/>
<br/>
"Why would I be scared of Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"Would you ask her out on a date?" Your grin is evil.<br/>
<br/>
Keith tilts his chin casually. "Sure. But how come -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"She'd laugh in your face, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I don't gotta be scared she'll turn me down." He turns heavy-lidded eyes on Caleb, and jerks his chin insolently. "She'll laugh at you too, if you ask her on a date."<br/>
<br/>
"I already did and she said yes," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"No way," says Keith. "She'd never go out with the Johansson I know."<br/>
<br/>
You almost choke at Keith's words, and Caleb turns white. But Tilley doesn't notice, and only asks where you want to hang out to eat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Don't shit yourself," you tell Caleb as you straighten out his white dress shirt. "It's only a study date, and it's not even that."<br/>
<br/>
"If we do this to her, she'll never talk to me again," he moans.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, this was your idea, so if you wanna back out -- "<br/>
<br/>
For a moment it looks like he might. It's Thursday night, and you and he are standing outside the municipal library. You already caught sight of the car that the Garners drive to school, so she's here. "If you don't want to get a mask of her, try making it a regular study date. Who knows? Maybe it'll lead to something." You nudge him.<br/>
<br/>
Now he sways a little, and mumbles something. "Whadju say?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing." He straightens up. "It's too late for that now. I'll take what I can get with -- You have the mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, for the tenth time, yes. Just get her back at that table, like we did with Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
"Mansfield," he snickers. "You were at the makeout table with Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
You shove him toward the door. "And don't worry about pissing her off. She'll be pissed at me, since I'm the one who'll be -- "<br/>
<br/>
Your voice dies away, and you and Caleb both halt just inside the door. Connor and Justin are waiting there, and they grin in a nasty way. "Tardy for your, uh, study date, aren't you?" Connor says.<br/>
<br/>
"A little," says Caleb. "What are you doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's Will doing here?" Justin asks. You don't answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, cut the crap," says Connor. "We know why you're here. And we want in on it."</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Complication of Quartets
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"We want in on it," says Connor, and there's a glint in his eye. In Justin's too. "So which one of you's got the mask? You know, the one you wanna get onto Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
You swivel on Caleb. He swivels on you. You can tell he's thinking the same thing you are: <i>Did you fucking tell these guys?</i><br/>
<br/>
Connor and Justin both snicker. "So did you only bring the one mask, or all three?" Justin asks.<br/>
<br/>
"How did you -- ? I mean, I don't know what you're talking about." Your denial comes out very weak.<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit," says Connor. "Justin and I switched places this morning. So if you're going to talk about getting masks of the Garner girls and fingering yourselves-- " He shoots Caleb a merry glance " -- don't talk about it while wearing a mask that someone else is going to put on. Else they're gonna remember everything you said while wearing it."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shoves you against the wall. "Why didn't you think of that?"<br/>
<br/>
You shove him back. "Why didn't <i>you?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey guys, don't shit yourselves," says Justin. "We're just here to help."<br/>
<br/>
"You want copies of Eva and Jessica for yourselves?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe just the use of them," says Connor. He looks you up and down appraisingly. "Maybe the use of that mask you're gonna make of Kelsey, too, when you get around to it."<br/>
<br/>
"Ha! I thought you had a thing for Kelsey!"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, let's just get this thing done," says Justin. "You're gonna need our help anyway. Eva came with bodyguards."<br/>
<br/>
"Bodyguards?" Caleb asks sharply. "Like who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like Jessica and Marc. And Marc brought a date too."<br/>
<br/>
"Goddamn it!" Caleb kicks at the wall. "I knew it was too good to be true."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you expect? You only asked for a study date," Justin reminds him.<br/>
<br/>
"No, <i>you</i> did," Caleb retorts. "But why's she bringing reinforcements unless she's afraid I'll try turning into something else?"<br/>
"The point is," Connor interjects. "Justin and I will distract the others while you get Eva. How many masks did you bring?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just the one."<br/>
<br/>
"But you made three more. Go get them."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"So we can get copies of Jessica too," Connor says with exaggerated patience. "And Marc's date's also pretty hot. I don't know who she is, but I want to see her naked. And we might as well get Marc too. Knock 'em all out so no one notices when one goes down."<br/>
<br/>
"Are they all sitting together?" asks Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"No, the girls are at a table in the back, but they're in sight of Marc and his date. Those two are at the makeout table."<br/>
<br/>
"You know about the makeout table?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course," says Connor. "Why wouldn't I?" He and Justin both look puzzled at your surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know about it," you grumble. "Or, I didn't know that's what it's called."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's right, you don't ever study," Connor says scornfully. Then he corrects himself even more scornfully. "I mean, you don't ever make out with a girl while pretending to study."<br/>
<br/>
You grab him by the side of the head and try shoving a middle finger up his left nostril.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You can't help feeling just a little sour at the way Connor and Justin crashed the private party that you and Caleb had planned. But that sourness is more than counterbalanced by the advantages. It was a hundred to one against you and Caleb scoring a mask onto Eva while her two siblings were along. Even now, you reflect as you drive back to the elementary school, you'd bet against success; but the odds will be much better with the help of the other two. And there's also the promise of what you can do with the masks once you have them. As you were leaving, you heard Justin suggest -- how seriously you're not sure -- that maybe he and Connor could get rid of Manuel for a night so the four of you could have a "girls' slumber party" at the house after you got the masks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>A girls' slumber party.</i> You could almost squeal like a girl at the thought. Crashing such a slumber party hasn't exactly been a fantasy of yours, but now that the tantalizing prospect is before you -- <br/>
<br/>
Someone honks, and you see that the light has changed to green. You need to focus on your driving. It's a good thing you zoned out while sitting motionless at a red light instead of sailing through one.<br/>
<br/>
But the visualization comes back, and your palms become slick while gripping the wheel. It would have been nice enough to use a disguise to infiltrate an actual slumber party -- to show up at the Garners', say, in the guise of one of their girlfriends, already in pajamas, ready to play ... whatever games girls get up to at those things. Seeing your schoolmates with their guard down, and ready to giggle and play and laugh with you, all unaware of who you really are -- that would be so sweet, and you make a mental note to suggest to the other guys that you keep alert for some chance to do just that. <br/>
<br/>
But before that, here's a chance to enjoy a dry run by holding a party where you don't have to worry about keeping up pretenses. A chance to let all your inhibitions turn loose; maybe even a chance to let the inhibitions inside the masks turn loose?<br/>
<br/>
You shiver as you wonder what kind of kinks there are inside the girls you intend to copy.<br/>
<br/>
When you reach the school, you're so excited you don't walk or even run to the basement door. You bound over to it, and can hardly get the lock to work with your trembling fingers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Connor meets you in the men's restroom near the front after you text him that you're back. "What's going on out there?" you ask. "Can we do it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. It's a bit of a mess." He unzips your backpack and peers inside at the masks. "Justin and I managed to crash in on Marc and his date."<br/>
<br/>
"Who is she?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hannah something or other. She moved over from Eastman. Hannah Westrock or Westman?" He raises his eyebrows at you, but you shake your head. "She's on the soccer team. Was on the Eastman team, so -- "<br/>
<br/>
"The girls' team?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she's a transgender case. Of <i>course</i> she was on the girls team. Anyway, that's got Marc interested in her, so -- " Connor makes the universal "jack off" gesture. "But he's circling in slow if he's got some other plan in mind. If we can get these things onto him and her, we can at least get their facsimiles into each other's pants."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God. You're not talking about you and Justin, uh -- "<br/>
<br/>
He at you, poker-faced, then with a sly grin jabs you in the shoulder. "Could be you and me. Don't tell me you haven't wondered what Marc's cock would feel like up your pussy."<br/>
<br/>
You almost burst into flame with some choking combination of fury and embarrassment. You're so hot that Connor is able to douse the fire with his next comment before you can sputter a comeback. "Actually, I'll get a mask on Marc only if there's no other way to keep him from noticing us using them on the girls," he says as he extracts two masks from the bag. "Although maybe we could have some fun by doubling him. Do he and Geoff still hang out?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you manage to say around the throbbing but subsiding wave of anger. "I try not to pay attention to Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why you put his face in the first mask you made, huh? Anyway, maybe there's some mischief to be had if we use those masks together."<br/>
<br/>
"We have to get them onto Eva and Jessica first. Where's Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"With Eva and Jessica. You need to get them off separately."<br/>
<br/>
"You need to get Marc and whatshername off separately."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "I know what we need to do, Will. You just concentrate on Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
You rub your forehead. There's not a lot of conversational overlap between the two of you. About the only thing that you could do is pull her aside privately to talk about Lisa, and she's not going to be keen on that.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" Connor asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to figure out how to do it."<br/>
<br/>
"Just get out there and improvise."<br/>
<br/>
"She's going to expect me to talk about Lisa."<br/>
<br/>
"So surprise and delight her with a different topic."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have anything else to talk to her about. Except Mansfield."<br/>
<br/>
Connor says something -- probably something very cutting -- but you're not paying attention. You've had a flash of inspiration. "Mansfield!"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you hear what I just said?"<br/>
<br/>
"No I didn't! We've got that mask of Mansfield, and you know what you said about using it for something. How about I go back and get it, and I use that to get Jessica off by herself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you do it yourself? As yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I don't have anything to talk to her about. But I bet Mansfield does."<br/>
<br/>
Connor's brow furrows. "We don't have one of those memory bands inside his mask. How would you know what to say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'd improvise."<br/>
<br/>
Connor suddenly looks very tired. "This sounds like a useless complication, and we don't have a lot of time here. If we don't get this done tonight, it'll be a week before I have another night off so I can help."<br/>
<br/>
It would be a complication. But under Mansfield's mask you could talk to Jessica about Lisa -- and maybe make trouble for your rival.</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121112111
author_id: seuzz
title: The False Face of a Friend
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You haven't been getting any use out of that mask you made of Mansfield, but here's your chance. "I can get back over to the school and changed real fast," you tell Connor. "I'll be back before you know it."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll take you a quarter hour just to get into the mask," he protests. But you're already out the restroom door. "Will!" he shouts after you. But he can't catch you.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, you remember to make another stop before racing back to the Acheson Community Center: your house. Geoff Mansfield is half-a-head taller than you, and you'll need another set of clothes to fit his frame. You haven't got any good dress clothes -- of the sort he favors -- in a Mansfield-like size, but you do have some over-large t-shirts and shorts with an elastic band. For shoes you'll just have to use flip-flops.<br/>
<br/>
It takes longer than you'd like to get this stuff together and to get back to the school, and before sweeping up Mansfield's mask, you alarm yourself by glancing at the time. <i>Almost eight-thirty.</i> You're not sure how long Caleb and the others can stretch things out at the library, and your nerves are twitching as you hop onto a table with the mask. Just as you're lowering it onto your face, you remember Connor's warning that you're going to have to meet with some of Mansfield's friends without knowing how to talk to them like Mansfield would. The mask slips a little in your fingers and falls hard onto your face, but you don't have a chance to even wince before a void envelops you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are stiff when you wake, and you sit up with difficulty, but your head is clear. Well, mostly clear: the anxieties that swarmed over you just before making this change are buzzing in your head still. They become more shrill when you glance down at your outstretched legs.<br/>
<br/>
They're not so different from yours, though they feel much longer for some reason. There's less hair on the calves, and that hair is darker. Your feet are now longer and bonier. And the cock --<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lower lip hard, and your eyes water, but you can't look away. It's longer than yours. Even flaccid you can tell that it's longer that yours.<br/>
<br/>
It stirs just the tiniest bit, and you scramble back away from it, as though it were a snake that had dropped in your lap. That little bit of stupidity, luckily, frightens the things back into lassitude. You swallow, and grab up your clothes as fast as you can.<br/>
<br/>
It takes maybe ten seconds to slip into the shorts and the t-shirt and the flip-flops. How dumb does Geoff Mansfield look in a get-up like this? Probably very dumb, but it's too dark to check yourself out in the mirror. At your new height and with an unfamiliar body, you stumble a little as you climb the stairs. Inside the cab of your truck, you turn on the dome light and study your face with the camera of your phone.<br/>
<br/>
It's Geoff Mansfield's face, but it's not wearing any expression like you're used to seeing on it. It looks drawn and worried, with a mouth hanging slackly open and eyes that seem sunk under overhanging brows.<br/>
<br/>
You can't walk into the library looking like this: between the expression and the clothes, the Garners might not even recognize who you're supposed to be. So you firm it up. You close your mouth and tighten your jaw. You shut your eyes and let your shoulders relax. You center yourself with a silent mantra as you inhale deeply and exhale slowly: <i>I'm Geoff Mansfield, and I'm a smooth, cool, superior son of a bitch.</i><br/>
<br/>
In this way you calm yourself so completely that when you feel your dick firming up against your thigh you don't even wince internally. And when you open your eyes again and look at yourself, you see -- Well, you don't see Geoff Mansfield in all his supercilious glory, but you look a lot better. You turn the key in the ignition and drive back to the library.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>about time,</i> Connor texts back when you say you've just parked. <i>still waiting,</i> he adds to the rest of your query about what's happened in the meantime. You saunter around the periodicals section of the library and up the languorously sloping ramp to the second floor. Rounding a bookshelf, you spot your targets.<br/>
<br/>
Directly ahead of you Jessica and Eva Garner are seated at a table with their back to you, with Caleb seated opposite. He does a double-take and his eyes bulge a little when he sees you, but he quickly masters himself. You hope it's the sight of Geoff Mansfield that's startled him, not the sight of someone badly trying to imitate Mansfield.<br/>
<br/>
Glancing to your left you make out the other four at the back table where you met Mansfield and got this mask of him. Connor and Justin are sprawled with their backs to you. Opposite them are Marc Garner and a girl you can't easily make out except for her dirty-blonde hair. You ignore them and stride over to the Garners.<br/>
<br/>
Eva and Jessica show a little surprise when you materialize next to the table, but if they think your wardrobe outrageous, they don't show it. They greet you warmly but casually. "Is that your brother over there?" you ask. "What is it, Garner Night at the library?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that," Jessica says with a tight smile. "What are you here for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bored, had nothing better to do, wanted to get out of the house," you reply, and cock your head in a way that you remember Mansfield doing. You catch Caleb staring at you. "Johansson," you smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"Mansfield," he mutters back.<br/>
<br/>
You poke Jessica in the shoulder with a bony finger. "Hey, can I talk to you? Privately?" You cast a meaningful glance at Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment Jessica stares back at you, as though not comprehending the request. Then she gives a little jerk. "Sure. Um?" She glances at Eva, who doesn't give any response, then gets up. "Do I need to bring anything?" she asks you, her hand on her backpack.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Not unless you need a security blanket," you say. You congratulate yourself on the snide, Mansfield-like line. You lead Jessica back into the stacks by a circuitous route, looking for some chairs out of sight and away from everyone else. You find a spot that will suit you admirably on the other side of the library.<br/>
<br/>
Jessica looks at you expectantly as you sit down. You are suddenly very conscious of your bare legs and bony knees, and raise yourself up to sit cross-legged with your feet under you. "So why are you guys hanging out with Johansson?" you ask her bluntly.<br/>
<br/>
"Studying. Eva and Caleb are studying math, I'm tagging along."<br/>
<br/>
"Along with your brother and -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want to ask me about, Geoff?"<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't seem like such a good idea now, but recklessly you plunge in. "What do you think about me and Lisa as a couple?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks as though you've just punched her in the forehead. "What does it matter what I think about that?" she stammers.<br/>
<br/>
"Just curious. I value your opinion, you know." You raise your nose into the air.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes go very wide. "Uh -- I think you'd make a nice couple." She continues to stammer. "But, you know, that's for you guys to, uh -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You don't think it was kind of a dick move, me coming between Lisa and Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
Now she reacts as though you've punched her in the stomach, and for a moment she can't find any words. "I don't think you came between anyone, Geoff," she says.<br/>
<br/>
That's the opposite of what you'd like to hear. "They were seeing a lot of each other over the summer."<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't mean they were, uh -- " She trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"But they seemed kind of close. It seems like Prescott thought they were dating." You feel good about not stumbling over your name.<br/>
<br/>
"Will probably believes a lot of things that aren't necessarily so."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh like what?" The words tumble out in a rush.<br/>
<br/>
Jessica smiles tightly, but desperation shows in her eyes, and she swallows. "I just mean that, you know, lots of people get the wrong idea about the way things are, in a relationship or, uh -- " She colors hard, and trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"So what kind of ideas did Lisa have about Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
Anxiety pools in her eyes. "Why are you so interested in old news like them?"<br/>
<br/>
Probably you could have forgiven her if she hadn't referred to you and Lisa as "old news." "Maybe I've got a bad conscience," you coolly say. And since you're pissed at her, and you don't care if she winds up being pissed at Mansfield, you don't even try to hide it when you open up your book bag and extract one of the blank masks. "I've got one more favor to ask," you add.<br/>
<br/>
If Jessica has any premonition that you're about to assault her, she doesn't show it, and she doesn't flinch until you're shoving the mask right at her face. It hits her hard, jarring your arm, and then you're mashing her face with your palm as the mask melts into her. You've got snot on your hand when you pull it away. Jessica slumps to the side, and you wedge into the chair next to her to keep her upright, and grapple with her until you get her balanced so she won't fall over. Then you shoot a text to Connor, telling him where you are and what you've done.<br/>
<br/>
Justin comes around the corner a few minutes later, even before the mask has finished its work. His face shows astonishment mixed with fear. "Take care of her, will you?" you say. "Catch the mask when it comes out of her, and then get away. I'm going to take care of Eva."<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just going to smash it onto her. I don't care if it pisses her off, she'll be pissed at Mansfield, not me, and that'll be awesome."<br/>
<br/>
But on your way back to where everyone else is sitting, you spot Marc Garner's date moving through the stacks with a mystified expression on her face. You don't know if Connor got a copy of her yet; but if not, this is a perfect chance to add her to the collection. </span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211121112
author_id: seuzz
title: Three in One Blow
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You decide that you shouldn't risk making a redundant mask, and pass by the girl.<br/>
<br/>
But when you emerge from the stacks and glance around, you catch sight of three people at the "make out" table: Connor and Marc and -- judging by the top of her head -- Marc's date. You glance back at the girl you passed, and pause. <i>Must be a different girl,</i> you think, and turn back toward where Connor and the others are sitting.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore them, however, and move over to the table where Caleb and Eva are sitting. Books and papers are still spread out between them, but your two friends are sprawled out listlessly. They are talking in soft murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over your shoulder and see that Marc -- though facing toward his sister -- seems absorbed in a cheerful conversation with Connor. It must not be much of a date he's on, and you wonder what the girl is thinking.<br/>
<br/>
You position yourself as best you can to block Marc's view of his sister. Caleb looks up with a wary expression at your approach, and Eva turns around. She smiles quizzically, but only has time to open her mouth and eyes very wide before you've covered her face with the mask in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb practically levitates. A choked cry turns into a cough and a gasp, but you ignore him as you catch Eva and lay her head back on her arms, in the position she'd been resting in already. "Marc and them," you murmur to Caleb. "Did they see what I just did?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're only worried now about what you did?" he says in a soft but furious shriek.<br/>
<br/>
"Just look and see if Marc noticed."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb peers around you with a terrified expression. He stares for a moment, then darts back to hide behind your trunk. "It looks like we're okay," he whispers. "Until Eva wakes up, and then Garner's going to kick our asses all the way to the river."<br/>
<br/>
"We're not going to be here when she wakes up. Text Hutchison, tell him to meet us in the bathroom. Caleb, did you hear me?" you add when Johansson doesn't move. "I said -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I heard you, I'm just trying to figure out -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind that! I've got it figured out. I think."<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>think?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh! Just text him."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb seems struck with horror, for it's only very slowly that he takes out his phone and thumbs a message to Connor. "Tell him to stop by the table here first, give me the masks he's got with him."<br/>
<br/>
He gasps. "You're not gonna try hitting more people, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. Just tell him."<br/>
<br/>
With a groan, Caleb complies. A long minute seems to pass, during which you return Caleb's white-faced stare with a stony one of your own, before you hear voices raised behind you. A hand claps you on the shoulder, and Connor looks around and into your face. "So apparently I have to use the head," he says in an undertone. "What's the -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just give me those two masks you took earlier."<br/>
<br/>
"What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"You have to take an urgent piss, remember? Don't argue."<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, I've got a bladder of iron."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why did you tell Marc and his date that you had to use the head?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor grimaces. But something about being taller -- being his height, in fact -- gives you the wherewithal to force the issue. He opens his bag, and you surreptitiously extract the two masks. "Now you two go wait for me by the front door."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Justin?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll collect him later."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you get -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just get the fuck out of here, okay?" <br/>
<br/>
Caleb draws a ragged breath, then quickly scoops his stuff together and follows Connor out.<br/>
<br/>
You keep station over Eva until they're gone, praying that Marc will be preoccupied with his date until you're ready to move. But even though you've figured out what you're going to do, it takes a supreme effort of will to unglue your feet from the ground and turn toward them.<br/>
<br/>
Marc Garner is not one of those big, muscle-bound jocks who make daily life at Westside into a merry game of "Dodge the Bully." But you've seen him without his shirt, and despite his bona fides as an AP jockey, he's got a strong, solid build and the athletic training to use it. All three of the Garners, in fact, go in for a solid mix of brain- and body-building. It's just that he puts his physical training into soccer instead of gymnastics.<br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you now with a cheerful twinkle in his blue eyes and a bright glint in his white smile; his crew cut hair seems to stand at attention. "So everyone takes off the minute you show up," he teases. There's no meanness in it, and you doubt there'd be any meanness in his jest if he thought he was talking to Will Prescott and not Geoff Mansfield, who is a closer friend. It doesn't look like he means to move, since he's got an arm draped around the girl's shoulders. You wonder how long he's had it there.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, they all left, but you'll do," you say. You've got a mask in each hand, but you lay one of them briefly on the table as you stretch across with the other. <i>Got to take Garner out first,</i> you tell yourself. <i>Then it'll be safe to get the girl.</i><br/>
<br/>
Marc is a little faster than his sisters, and he twitches to the side. But he has to move his whole head and body, while you've only got to follow with your hand. You press the mask onto his face with one hand, catch the back of his hand with the other, and let him gently sag onto the desk.<br/>
<br/>
His arm falls off the girl, but she seems too dumbstruck with puzzlement to react. She's been forewarned, though, so she reacts more forcefully when you sweep the second mask toward her. But the much-drilled habit of being quiet in the library keeps her from screaming out, and she's sitting with her back to the wall, so you catch her without much fuss or difficulty. Before lowering her head to the table, you hold it up to study what this girl looks like.<br/>
<br/>
Something about the face reminds you of a lioness. Not that it's misshapen or ugly; she's handsome enough. But she has a strong muzzle, and her eyes are narrow. Maybe it's also the tawny, sun-drenched color of her face and bare arms; Connor said she played soccer, and she does have a healthy, outdoorsy look to her. Her hair is long and thick, and it would have lots of curls in it except that she's got it pulled back in a long, thick braid that falls at least to the middle of her back.<br/>
<br/>
You perch on the table and glance around warily, then text Justin, telling him to meet you once he's recovered the mask from Jessica. Once you've got the other three masks, you'll dash off, leaving Geoff Mansfield to take the blame for this goofball assault.<br/>
<br/>
Ten minutes pass, and you're away with the prizes. Connor and Caleb are outside, waiting around a dark corner when you and Justin come hurrying out, and they hiss at you. "The fuck is going on in there?" Connor demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, it's all taken care of," you tell him, and hold up the bag containing all four masks. Adrenaline is coursing through you, and you can hardly keep from hopping with excitement. "Eva and Jessica and Marc and -- Whatever her name was. Hang on, I'll check."<br/>
<br/>
Connor grabs you by the shoulder. "How did you manage to -- Are we totally fucked or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I bet Mansfield is." You grin. "I just went in and pow!" You clap your hands. "Then I was just bored for ten minutes waiting for the masks to finish up."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are they gonna do when they wake up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wonder what the fuck happened and why Mansfield did it. What are you so upset about? The four of us are in the clear. We weren't around when it all went down."<br/>
<br/>
Connor stares at you, and at the others. All three of your partners seem uneasy. "I was there when you put the mask on Eva," Caleb says. "What am I supposed to say to her about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Say you weren't there. You got up and went to the bathroom. When you came back, she was conked out on the table, so you left without waking her up."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb rolls his eyes. "She's gonna know that I -- "<br/>
<br/>
"She's gonna be all confused, so just lie, man! Now come on, let's get out of here, get these things back to the school so we can seal them up."<br/>
<br/>
Anticipation makes the drive back to Acheson seem unbearably long, and you play the stereo loudly all the way there.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The names of your victims gleam inside the masks, even in the dimly lit basement, and your quartet hands them quietly around. Here they are: magical masks containing exact copies of the minds and bodies of four of your classmates: Eva Garner, Jessica Garner, Marc Garner, and Hannah Westrick. All you have to do is press one to your face, and you will become their exact duplicate.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's all your friends have to do. You have to get out of Mansfield's mask first. You're happy enough to do that. Wearing his form was a means to an end, that's all, and now that you've got these other four masks and stirred up some trouble for Geoff, you are eager to cast him off. While the other three are still passing the masks around and conversing in low tones, you move over to a nearby table and grab onto your face. One darkness merges imperceptibly with another, and when the first kind of darkness returns you're not even sure you're awake again until you kick and flail your legs.<br/>
<br/>
And you seem to be alone. "Hey," you call. "Hey!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's voice floats back from nearby. "Are you finally awake?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Where are the other guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"They home."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? What about the masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"They took 'em with them."</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Banked Fires
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Caleb is on the other side of some furniture, and you don't spot him until you move around a bookcase. His face -- ghostly in the light of the iPhone he's bent over -- is the only thing you can see in the dark.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought we were going to do something with the masks," you cry out.<br/>
<br/>
"It was getting late -- "<br/>
<br/>
"It's only, like, nine thirty!"<br/>
<br/>
" -- and this didn't seem like the place for it." Caleb turns a pinched expression on you. "And you were conked out."<br/>
<br/>
"So they just took off with the masks? That's bullshit, they should have left them here!"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that part made sense. Come on, let's go," Caleb says, and shuts his phone off. He continues to talk as the two of you feel your way to the stairs. "There weren't any clothes to go with the masks, so Connor said that he and Justin would take the masks home, get into them, make notes on the kind of clothes the girls have in their wardrobe. They'll go buy a few a things tomorrow. That way we're not all naked when we put them on."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that was the point of getting masks of Eva and Jessica," you say, and you don't keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "So we could be naked as them."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shrugs. "More chance for roleplaying, maybe. We could go out as them if we had clothes -- "<br/>
<br/>
"We can't go out in public! We'd get caught or get in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns, and even in the dark you can feel the chill of his gaze. "That didn't stop you at the library tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"That was so we could get the masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Caleb says, "We'll get together with them tomorrow night at their place. Manuel should be going out, and we can have that 'slumber party'."<br/>
<br/>
A shiver rattles you down to your core, and you clutch Caleb's arm. "Oh my God. We're going to have a slumber party, and we're going to be <i>girls</i> at it!" You'll be able to touch a naked girl -- a couple of naked girls -- and you'll be touched back by them!<br/>
<br/>
"Three of us will be," Caleb reminds you. "We've only got masks of three girls."<br/>
<br/>
You don't let that dampen the sudden burst of enthusiasm that has overwhelmed you, and you're in a daze all during the short trip back to your house. You even make an early night of it, so that you can be alone in the dark, in your bed, with your fantasies for as long as possible.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't have any classes with the Garner siblings, and the next morning you don't hear any news about the odd events at the municipal library. Not even Caleb has any real news when you ask him at lunch about what Eva had to say. "She was mad, but she wasn't mad at me, as near as I could tell," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"What did she say? Did she say anything about Mansfield?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but she kept glaring over at him during second period. And she didn't really say anything to me, and I pretended like I didn't see anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Told you it would be okay."<br/>
<br/>
He snorts. "How about next time <i>you</i> play the stooge and I be the guy who makes trouble."<br/>
<br/>
"That's the way we did it when we got a copy of Mansfield." You mean it in a teasing way, but Caleb still seems grumpy.<br/>
<br/>
You're tempted to do a little snooping, to find out if Marc Garner has pasted Mansfield in the face; it would be awesome to see Geoff in trouble with his friends. But you play it cautiously instead, for you don't want anyone to link you or your friends to what happened; and if there have been any fireworks, they haven't been loud enough for you to hear about them. By the time the final set of classes roll around, you've mostly forgotten about last night and are looking forward intently to the evening's entertainment. You haven't heard back from Connor or Justin by the time the final bell rings, and you send each of them a text asking about plans. <i>come over at eleven,</i> Justin replies. <i>can u stay out all nite?</i><br/>
<br/>
You're in the parking lot when you get the text, and you hop and wheel in place impatiently. <i>Eleven? That's more than six hours away!</i> It'll probably also be a challenge getting your parents to let you stay out overnight. It was hard enough getting your dad to let you stay out last Saturday, and that was with a promise that you were only camping out nearby. You bet he's going to be a lot less sympathetic if you ask to spend a Friday night at a house shared by some college students.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you can deal with that when the time comes. Right now you're too excited to go home, but you've nothing else to do. After driving around aimlessly for a bit, you decide to go back over the school basement. That'll put you close to the magical implements, at least; and you can spend the afternoon preparing a few more masks and brain-bands. After all, you got a copy of the Garners so you could get close to Kelsey to make a mask of her.<br/>
<br/>
It's not until you've got two more blank masks made, and are just starting work on one of the brain bands, that you look around the basement with the perplexing feeling that something is wrong. But there are no noises coming from outside; nothing is missing; you don't have the feeling that someone has been hiding and watching you; but something in the place is not as it should be. <br/>
<br/>
You realize what the problem is when your glance lights on that pile of dirt you and the other guys prepared last weekend. It's supposed to be burning, but it isn't.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart quickens. The fire going out is a sign that it's done! You rush over to examine it.<br/>
<br/>
It's no longer a loose pile of dirt, but has begun to resemble a crude bit of stone work. The mass has tightened up into a solid and vaguely cylindrical form. It is still soft to the touch, though, and you see no obvious utility in it. So you pull out the grimoire and consult the spell.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. If the fire goes out you are supposed to relight it.</i> Only when it fails to relight will it be finished. You dig out the cigarette lighter and set the flame to the mass. To your disappointment, it again blooms out in purple flames.<br/>
<br/>
You've just turned your back on it when it makes a noise: a cracking sound, as of breaking stone. You whip around. The thing has split: a great rent has opened up one end, fracturing it almost in twain up to the middle. You bite your lip. If you've fucked up and have to start over again --<br/>
<br/>
After a couple minutes of agonizing indecision, you text Justin, to ask if he can come out to the basement to look at the thing. He says he'll be out in thirty minutes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It wasn't on fire last night," says Eva. She looks between the burning pile and the grimoire. "I remember now that it wasn't, but we were all too distracted to notice. I wonder how long it was out for. Have you been checking it every night?"<br/>
<br/>
She turns her brilliant green eyes on you. Your own eyes water, and you can't answer, for all your concentration is bent on keeping your erection at that point of delicate balance where your cock is pleasantly engorged but not actively throbbing. It's a hard trick, because for almost the first time in your life you feel like you could lay your hands upon Eva's bosom without risking the complete destruction of your high school career.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, actually I've been forgetting to come in to check on it," you confess.<br/>
<br/>
She sighs through her nose. "What's the fucking point of it if you're not checking on it?"<br/>
<br/>
You grind an eye with a finger. "You're right. I'm sorry. Uh, do you think it's broken or fucked up?"<br/>
<br/>
"If it is, then we start over again, and <i>you</i> go out and get the dirt for it."<br/>
<br/>
Her words move you to maudlin self-pity: possibly an overreaction after the excitement you felt all day. "I guess I could do that tonight," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say it <i>was</i> fucked up," she says. "Besides, we've got the party tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. I have to ask my dad, and I'm not sure he'll go for it. I mean, you guys are graduated, and -- Well, when you're not looking like this." You point at her boobs.<br/>
<br/>
The corner of her mouth goes up. "So tell him you're sleeping over with a friend. With Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sure he'll believe it. Besides, we've only got masks of three girls, and there's four of us."<br/>
<br/>
She glances around your waist. "You're making up some new ones, right? We've got a couple of hours for you to get a copy of a fourth girl. You want Kelsey, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's who I was thinking of."<br/>
<br/>
Her expression turns thoughtful. "Eva can get in to see Kelsey at her place any time she wants. If you get a new mask set up by seven -- Oh, but it's Friday, and Kelsey's probably covered up with plans tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to get home for dinner anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Eva doesn't reply immediately, but chews thoughtfully on her lower lip. You'd love to chew thoughtfully on it as well, but only suck on your own -- longingly -- instead. "Let's go back to our place," she says at last. "Take that mask of yourself with you. I can go eat dinner for you, try to talk your dad into letting you stay out. Meanwhile, you finish making up a new mask, and use this mask to get in to see Kelsey. Or someone else if you can't catch her. What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa.</i> Yeah, what do you think?</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121112111211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Anticipation of Your First Time
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Justin's suggestion would meet almost every dream you could have for the evening. It's so awesome you briefly wonder if there's a catch hidden in it somewhere. But you grab it before you can have any serious doubts. "Can I call Caleb, bring him out to help, put him in the mask of -- " You swallow. "Of Jessica?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, that's probably a good idea," says Justin. He grins in a way that you've never seen Eva Garner grin before. "Just don't get distracted. You're supposed to be finishing some of these masks."<br/>
<br/>
You assure him you'll keep your mind on the job, though you're far from sure you'll be able to do that. Just having Eva's body in close proximity to yours is intoxicating, and the sense of availability gives it an attraction about a thousand times more powerful than you've felt around the real girl.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb will be free within an hour to join you at Justin's place, and you'll use his car to get out to Kelsey's after you're ready to attempt the job. Meanwhile, Justin assures you that Manuel won't be in the way. "We talked him into going along with some of his friends on a weekend road trip," he tells you. "That's why we were able to plan for an overnight party tonight. He even joked about us having some girls over," he adds with a laugh.<br/>
<br/>
That's what he tells you at  his house, after he's changed out of Eva's mask but before he's put on yours. Even though Eva's body is not his -- and even though you'll be inside it soon enough -- he insisted on taking it off out of your sight, in the bathroom. While waiting, you sat on the sofa, rubbing your sweaty palms on the knees of your pants.<br/>
<br/>
It's funny that you're so excited. Now that the moment is almost upon you have the concentration moment to reflect on how funny it is. Up until now you'd been exploring the masks almost as a science project: figuring out what each spell does and how to progress to the next one. As for the masks themselves, you'd been thinking about them as a device for making trouble for Mansfield, or for taking a sideways step away from your life by inhabiting the life of someone else briefly. Even when Caleb had suggested copying the Garner girls you were mostly thinking about using them as a way of getting close to Kelsey. When Caleb had suggested other kinds of "fun" with them, you had ragged him mercilessly. But as you'd gotten closer to this moment --<br/>
<br/>
 You wipe the back of your hand against your mouth, and it comes away a little wet.<br/>
<br/>
You've never been close to a naked girl. You don't think of yourself as a virgin, not since you got that fumbling blowjob almost a year ago at a summer camp from a girl whose name you now don't even remember clearly. But you and she had kept your clothes on the whole time. As for Lisa, there was no question of getting naked with her. And though you did fantasize about her over the summer, even those fantasies were rather chaste. It suddenly occurs to you that maybe you always knew that you and she were never destined to be together, since even in your dreams she would never give herself to you.<br/>
<br/>
There's even less question of Eva Garner giving herself to you, but somehow that makes it more exciting. Even now you flinch a little at the thought of exploring Lisa's body from the inside -- such an invasion of her privacy. But Eva and Jessica -- though they treat you decently at school -- aren't friends the same way Lisa was, or could have been. In a sense, you're secretly getting back at them for not treating you with more respect.<br/>
<br/>
You were jerked out of these thoughts -- how long were you zoning out? -- by the opening of the bathroom door. Justin comes out, looking a little groggy and with his hair disordered. He's clad only in a pair of boxers. Everything else -- Eva's mask, and the clothes that Connor had bought this morning for the disguises -- is bundled up in his arms. He drops them wordlessly into your lap, scoops up the "Will Prescott" mask, and snaps his fingers. You realize that he's telling you to get out of your clothes. You do so, and after he's gone into the bedroom to complete the transformation, you fetch a towel from the bathroom to cover yourself as you sit cross-legged. The mask covers your erection.<br/>
<br/>
The anticipation is terrific, but it feels so good that you don't want to end it quite yet, so you sit there in that state of tense expectation while waiting for a new Will Prescott to come out of Justin's bedroom. You decide you'll wait until Caleb gets here to change into Eva. In the meantime -- You look around for the bag containing the mask you need to finish, but it's out of reach, and you don't want to disturb what you've got so nicely arranged in your lap.<br/>
<br/>
Justin didn't tell you anything about the clothes that Connor had bought, though they seem like clothes you've seen the Garners in, so he and Justin must have used the memories they found inside the masks as a guide. There is some plain feminine underwear and a bra; some jeans shorts; a short-sleeve, floral-patterned blouse; and some cheap flip-flops. In other words, clothes for a day when a girl wants to let her toned and beautiful body do the work of looking good.<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and put your head back. You drift off into a little fantasy about what the clothes will feel like when you've got the parts that fit inside them.<br/>
<br/>
You're still inside that fantasy when -- again -- a door jerks open. Now it's the bedroom door, and it's a Will Prescott who comes out.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow at the sight of you, and he resettles the cap on his head. "You doing a slow-motion cum on those things?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna wait for Caleb to show up."<br/>
<br/>
"You're gonna look like a real dork if Manuel comes in while you're sitting like that."<br/>
<br/>
"You said he was out of town!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but who knows?" He cocks his head. "You got a favorite excuse you want me to try out on your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you think of one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two heads are better than one."<br/>
<br/>
Maybe, but it seems like an impossible task, and you're sorely distracted. "Do the best you can."<br/>
<br/>
He rolls his eyes. "Same goes for you. You should really get to work."<br/>
<br/>
"Hand me the stuff, will you." You reach ineffectually for the bag.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus." With one more roll of his eyes he hands you the stuff, then takes his skinny ass out the door. You wait until you hear the roar of your truck motor before digging out the work that you've promised to finish.<br/>
<br/>
And after you turn your attention to it, you find it oddly absorbing, so that you lose track of the time, your previous fantasies, and a sense of the awkwardness of your position.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're not far from being finished with that metal band when a hard rap at the door jerks you back to an awareness of your position. When there's another rap, your heart gives an answering knock of your own, and gingerly you lay aside Eva's clothes and your own work, and with the towel clutched to your waist you creep over to the front door. There's no spy hole in it, so you open it a crack and peer out.<br/>
<br/>
It's Caleb. "Jesus, man, get in here," you say, and open the door just wide enough and long enough to pull him inside. The towels slips from around your waist.<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't you changed yet?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"You can see I'm not. I was waiting for you to show up."<br/>
<br/>
He blanches as he looks up and down your naked frame. "Christ, Will, we're friends, but we're not <i>that</i> kind of friends."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. I just figured -- Okay, I don't know what I was figuring, except that I wanted to wait for you to show up. I got Eva's mask here, Jessica's is in the guys' bedroom. Or do you want to be Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're twins, Will, I'm not sure it -- " Caleb stops, and gnaws deeply at a lip. "Well, I'll take Eva, if it's all the same to you."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not all the same to you?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shrugs awkwardly.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, here." You scoop up her things and shove them at him. "We can do it in the bedroom. Or, separately, if -- "<br/>
<br/>
Caleb starts to follow you into the bedroom, then pulls back. "Yeah, maybe separately is the way to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like, maybe I don't want to wake up to find you fingering me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't!" Then you blink. Now that he's said it, he might be thinking about doing the same to you. "Okay, but you take the bathroom. I'll take the, uh -- "<br/>
<br/>
'The bedroom, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up." Why do you feel so flustered suddenly?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. Right.</i> It's because you're about to turn yourself into Jessica Garner. That sets off the thrill all over again as you shut the bedroom door behind you. And the thrill comes harder because now it's a different girl in the fantasy, which recharges the batteries, so to speak.<br/>
<br/>
There are three masks laying on Connor's unmade bed, and you have to sort through them to find Jessica's. You're about to take it over to Justin's bed with you when you pause. There's the mask of that girl Hannah. She might be interesting, since you know so little about her.<br/>
<br/>
And then there's the mask of Marc. That's not so exciting, but you've been having so much fun anticipating getting inside the skin of one of his sisters that it might be fun to delay that changeover a little longer. It might also be more useful to go as Marc over to Kelsey's.</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211121112113
author_id: seuzz
title: Unfamiliar Skin
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The new girl intrigues you. You don't have her in any classes, and you're not conscious of having seen her in the halls—though there's no reason you would have recognized her as a "new senior" if you had; and, anyway, when you are scanning the faces in the crowded hallways its for the kind of guys who will slam you against the walls. But she was hanging out with the Garners, and you have the hazy impression that she ... plays on the soccer team? Or was that only because she was hanging out with Marc?<br/>
<br/>
Before the impulse can alter, you hop backward onto Justin's bed, sweep your legs onto it, and lower the mask of Hannah Westrick onto your face. It's like a black anvil dropping into the front of your skull.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a grunt and a gentle throb of blood in your temples: not quite a headache on its own, but possibly a headache ready to spring into existence if you move. With infinite care you cover your face with one hand and draw in a deep breath. God, you didn't get hammered again last night, did you? <br/>
<br/>
Wait, since when do you get hammered?<br/>
<br/>
Your guts swirl in a sudden maelstrom, and a lightheaded feeling sweeps through your brainpan, lifting you into a sitting position. You recognize the bedroom instantly—it's that of Connor and Justin—but you don't recognize your own legs.<br/>
<br/>
Or, you do, but a sense familiarity and unfamiliarity, of naturalness and deep unnaturalness, battle for possession of your instincts as you stare goggle-eyed at them, and at the bush of tangled hair between them when you let your knees drop apart.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God!</i><br/>
<br/>
You swallow. Your hand seems drawn magnetically toward it, and before you've decided to do it, you're scraping the tip of your middle finger over the gentle hump and hidden cleft. You suck in a sharp breath, and sweat springs out on your brow. This isn't the first time you've touched it like that—<br/>
<br/>
You tremble hard. No, this finger and this pussy are not strangers to each other. You remember—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Pussy.</i> You drop back onto the pillow. You've got a pussy.<br/>
<br/>
More than that. Your hand goes up to the breast. It's a handful, very large and firm. The nipple hardens under the fingertip. You squirm. It is so easy to turn yourself on, you feel you could lay in bed and just play with yourself all afternoon and evening.<br/>
<br/>
No wonder Justin warned you against getting distracted. Probably he and Connor spent all last night—<br/>
<br/>
You gasp. <i>Did they? Did they spend all last night in this mask, with this body—?</i> What's the last thing you remember?<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's easy to answer. The last thing you remember is coming into this bedroom and deciding to put on Hannah Westrick's mask. So what's the last thing Hannah Westrick remembers? That's more difficult. In the churn of excitement and adrenaline it's a little hard to get a grip on her mind. <br/>
<br/>
The library, the municipal library, you remember that. You clutch your temples and clench your eyes shut as it comes back to you, from two points of view, simultaneously. Your own memories recede as you concentrate on Hannah's.<br/>
<br/>
You were sitting in the back with Marc. <i>He's so sexy, practically as sexy as Kyle but without that peroxided—</i><br/>
<br/>
Wow, when the memories they come in high-definition with Surround Sound, both inside and outside!<br/>
<br/>
Anyway, you were having some low level fun with Marc, and he had his arm around you, and you were talking about something that wasn't important, the important part was that you and he were talking with your faces close together, and then Geoff Mansfield came over.<br/>
<br/>
Your lip curls at the recognition that Hannah isn't that fond of Mansfield either.<br/>
<br/>
And Mansfield leaned over and put something blue to Marc's face, and while you were trying to figure that out he shoved something blue at your face. And after that—<br/>
<br/>
Well, you woke up here.<br/>
<br/>
Except it wasn't right now. You were ... over in the other bed.<br/>
<br/>
You sit up and peer at Connor's bed. Some very long hair tumbles into your face, and you push it back.<br/>
<br/>
That's right, you were over there, and you spent some time staring and thinking, but about what you don't remember. It must have been about clothes, though, because you had a notebook and you wrote down a list of clothes, of things you like to wear. It wasn't in your handwriting, though. You shiver a little to remember that detail.<br/>
Then you'd covered your face with your hands and that's all.<br/>
<br/>
Clothes! They must have bought clothes for Hannah too, so with excitement—mixed a little with dread—you search the room. You find them in a large bag, and you know they must be for Hannah because they include a bra in her size. <i>Very nice,</i> you think as you pull out a dark blue jersey and some black running shorts. They also found some cheap running shoes.<br/>
<br/>
You're just thinking about going in to check on Caleb when there's a tap at the door, and it opens. "Hey, Will, are you—? Oh God, I'm sorry I—"<br/>
<br/>
The door starts to close again as you look around—you too had momentarily panicked—but then it opens again and Eva Garner looks in."Hey, you're not my sister!" she exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
You grin broadly, and stretch your arms broadly. "You know me, Eva. Hannah Westrick."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to Jessica?"<br/>
<br/>
"I decided to give Hannah a try. What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face. "I'm wondering how come you're not dressed yet."<br/>
<br/>
"It took me a minute to settle on a mask. You got dressed in a hurry." Caleb is in the clothes that Justin had Eva wearing.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I felt kind of funny without any— Hurry up, so we can talk." She starts to close the door.<br/>
<br/>
"We can talk while I get dressed. Come on in. You can help me."<br/>
<br/>
"With what?"<br/>
<br/>
"The bra, I guess." You put your arms through the loops. "Hook me up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you know how to work these things?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but I'm trying to give you some fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God." Eva's fingers brush at your back. "Your hair is all over the place."<br/>
<br/>
"Not surprised. You'll have to help me with that. Did those guys—?" You reach for the bag, but Caleb pulls you back and gets the bra fastened. "I need some hair ties for this stuff. And a brush."<br/>
<br/>
"Get the rest of the clothes on. I'll look for a brush or a comb—"<br/>
<br/>
"Not a comb. It's too thick for—" But Eva is already gone.<br/>
<br/>
You pull on the very trim underpants and the running shorts, which hug the tops of your thighs. Very tan and muscular are your legs, because—yes—Hannah is a soccer player. She's got big plans for the Westside team, too, if she can get Anita Nuevo out of the way.<br/>
<br/>
You pause. Ambition swells.<br/>
<br/>
Hannah Westrick didn't have to move from Eastman High to Westside. Her parents bought a new house that put them in the other district, but such things don't lead to an automatic transfer. She could have stayed at Eastman if she had wanted to, and Westside's reputation is such that few Eastman students would care to make the transfer.<br/>
<br/>
But Hannah wanted to. She had to get away from Jenny Taylor.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, there's nothing wrong with Jenny Taylor, either personally or in her capacity as captain of the Eastman High girls' soccer team. She's smart and she knows what she's doing. But Hannah has opinions of her own, and Jenny never listened to them, and she and Hannah banged skulls way too often for either of them to be happy sharing a team. So when the chance to change schools—and hence teams—arose, Hannah grabbed at it. Westside has its own team captain, of course, the aforementioned Anita Nuevo, and she's not bad. But Westside's girls' team isn't all that it should be, and Hannah has already impressed Coach Puente enough that he's telling Anita to listen to the new girl. A few more hard pushes, and by Halloween Hannah figures to be team captain herself.<br/>
<br/>
The door opens again. "Are you still feeling yourself up?" Eva demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just thinking." You pull the jersey over your head. "You get me a—? Thanks." You catch the brush that Eva tosses at you. "So, I need to finish making up a metal band. Think you can polish up the new mask while I work on the band? Justin says they keep the car buffer in that weird wooden tool box thing in the back yard."<br/>
<br/>
"It's gonna look funny, Eva Garner working a car buffer."<br/>
<br/>
"Oooh! We should hold a car wash while wearing these masks!"<br/>
<br/>
Eva gives you a look and goes out the back door with the mask. A solid five minutes pass before you hear the car buffer start up.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, you comb out your new hair. Hannah's hair is a light chestnut, and it comes down to the small of her back. She likes to wear it in single, rope-like braid, and after you've got it untangled, you weave some thick strands loosely together and tie them together every couple of inches with some hair ties. While you're doing that, you ponder the strike on Kelsey. You can find no clear intuitions on Hannah's part on how to handle that kind of approach, since Hannah doesn't know Kelsey well, and only shares a single class with her: sixth-period French. <br/>
<br/>
The car buffer whines nearby, and your own thought fall into a random, darting manner, like a housefly, moving through your own memories and Hannah's. It's in this way that you come up with an alternate plan: Hannah shares Zoology with Karl Hennepin. Might it be easier to approach and copy him instead of Kelsey?</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111211121132
author_id: seuzz
title: Two Girls and a Goober
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Yes, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense to you to use the mask on Karl rather than Kelsey. That's the long-range plan: to get masks of both so that you can stage a photo op of the two of them at the Donna Motor Court, and under present circumstances, it will be easier to get the mask of Karl first, then use it to get a mask of Kelsey, than to do it the other way.<br/>
<br/>
So satisfied with this plan, you turn back to the metal band with renewed vigor and concentration.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're practically finished when Eva comes inside with the polished mask, and goes into the bathroom to clean up a little after dropping the new mask by your side.<br/>
<br/>
Do Eva and Karl get along? You ask the girl herself a little later while carefully attaching the band to the inside of the mask: "How's your relationship with Karl Hennepin?"<br/>
<br/>
When there's no answer, you look up. "Who are you asking about?" your friend asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Karl Hennepin. You know, the dongleberry in the fedora."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean are you asking me or, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at  her evenly. She looks so uncomfortable. You think you know what she needs.<br/>
<br/>
Lazily you smile and lazily you uncross your legs and lazily you lay aside your work to get to your feet. "You gotta relax, girl." you tell her. You catch her by the shoulder and with practiced hands knead the bottom of her neck. "This is what you wanted, right? Masks of Eva and Jessica Garner so you could play with them? So roll with it, have fun with it. You're Eva Garner now." You put your mouth and nose into the side of her neck. "This is your skin."<br/>
<br/>
But she stiffens. "Is Hannah a dyke?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." A few memories flash back, and you feel Hannah's guilt and embarrassment. "Or not usually. Get a few drinks into her and she gets a little handsy and doesn't care who she's with." You let go of your friend and slap her on the rump. "So let's go find Karl."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean Kelsey?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, Karl. I figure if we get a mask of him we can get a mask of Kelsey easy."<br/>
<br/>
"We've only got one new mask done."<br/>
<br/>
"So we won't get Kelsey tonight. We'll get Karl and then—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought Justin said we were supposed to get Kelsey."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm the one who wants to get Kelsey and Karl, and I think we'd better off trying for—"<br/>
<br/>
"But don't we want another girl? For the party tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's just try to do things my way, okay?" You give her another squeeze at the shoulders, and run your hands up and down her arms. "Eva? We are friends, aren't we?"<br/>
<br/>
Her reply, when it comes a few moments later, is slightly acidic: "I think it's my brother you're trying to be friends with."<br/>
<br/>
You slap her lightly on the back of the head and bend to pick up your shoes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sunglasses. The guys forgot to pick you up some sunglasses while getting things for the disguises. You almost shoo Eva—who is driving—into a convenience store so you can pick up some cheap plastic shades, but then you remember you haven't got any money. "Talk to me," you tell her instead. "Give me some gossip." You wriggle around in the seat, for you delight in the feeling of the fabric against your supple skin, especially the skin of your thighs. You stroke your knee.<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like about Karl and Kelsey, I guess. Did you and Jessica know about them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Am I supposed to be talking like I'm Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"You are having the hardest time getting into character. Should we do some practice, some drills? Be Eva, tell me about Karl. I don't know him, you know, so us crashing in—Oh hey, we need to—"<br/>
<br/>
"You know Hennepin just fine, dude. You had that art project together your sophomore year, remember?" She does a little double-take at your glare. "Sorry. Was that supposed to be you being Hannah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so start over. Why are we going to see him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a total ditz? We have that mask, we're—"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, what is so hard about this?" You jab her in the shoulder with a hard finger. "I'm Hannah Westrick. You're Eva Garner. We're on our way over to see Karl Hennepin. Why? Try to think like the girl."<br/>
<br/>
"I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's I?" you snap. "Eva or Caleb? Be Eva when you say 'I' and 'me'."<br/>
<br/>
Eva's gets the kind of pained expression on her face that you often see on Caleb's. You continue when she doesn't reply.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think I have a crush on him," you say. You cluck your tongue and cross your arms. "Maybe I should pretend like I'm interested in him?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva opens her mouth, and you wait for a reply that is very long and hard in coming. And in the end it doesn't come at all. She closes her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you say slowly. "Maybe we're—" You snap your fingers. "You told me about him and Kelsey. I'd be interested in that. Are Karl and Kelsey serious about each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," she says warily.<br/>
<br/>
"How did you find out about it?"<br/>
<br/>
Again she's a long time in answering. "Jessica heard about it. From Yumi, I think."<br/>
<br/>
"Does Kelsey know you guys know?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so. I'm getting nervous just thinking about Kelsey finding out that we know. It's best not to get into her business, even when she invites you in." She blinks as though she's surprised herself, then furrows her brow. "I really don't know what Eva thinks about it all," she says in a faltering manner. "I think she doesn't want to know about it, or to think about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so here's why we're going out there. You told me about Karl and Kelsey, and since I have him for a class I got curious and talked you into taking me to his place so I could get a closer look at him. Now, what story should we tell Karl about why we're there?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have school work to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's just Zoology. Maybe we don't need a reason." You turn to her with a grin. "I've crashed in on boys before. Have you?"<br/>
<br/>
You can tell that Caleb wants to say something cutting in reply, or at the very least wants to deny that he's ever crashed in on a "boy." But maybe you've banged on about the pretense enough now—or maybe he's starting to warm to the impersonation—so he pulls back.<br/>
<br/>
"Not really," says Eva. "Not like—" A little pink shows in her cheeks. "There was one time—I can't believe I'm telling you this, talking like this. But there was this one time last year when Bonnie Trask and I went over to where Alec Brown was working, and we basically picked him up and took him out dancing." The color in her cheeks deepens and covers her entire face.<br/>
<br/>
You know who Alec Brown is, but you feign Hannah's ignorance. "I don't think I know Alec."<br/>
<br/>
"Brownie," she corrects you. "Everyone calls him Brownie. He's totally your type. We should go find him instead of Karl."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I want to see Karl. What are we going to do with him? Where do you want to invite him to go?"<br/>
<br/>
"Out to the river?"<br/>
<br/>
"With both of us?" You grin. "Would he like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"It would make him blush. That's be fun." She lays a palm on your thigh.<br/>
<br/>
You push it off roughly. "This is about Karl, Eva," you say with some slight frostiness. "Save it for later."<br/>
<br/>
In the end, you decide that if you're going to crash in on Karl, you'll just play things by ear. The way real girls would.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Hennepin lives in the central-west part of town, where the houses are small and compact and old without being gentrified. As it's a Friday night, you'd expect him to be out with friends, but he opens the front door himself when you ring the bell. "Hey, Karl," you say with a low-throated growl and a twinkle in your eye.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen a little, but they go over your shoulder to your friend. "Hey— Eva," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"And I'm Hannah," you say with slight asperity. "We've got Zoology. Maybe you don't recognize me because you're not wearing your hat like usual?"<br/>
<br/>
Hennepin is almost six-foot-three, and looks a little taller when wearing the fedora he likes to sport. At the moment his hair is free, though, springing out in a bohemian bouffant of dirty-blonde curls; with the gray sweatshirt and paint-flecked jeans, he looks like painter who has stepped away from his canvas and out of his garret. <br/>
<br/>
"No, I know who you are," he stammers. "I just—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're just surprised that you're inviting us in? You are, aren't you? Or is this a bad time?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's fine." He steps aside to let you pass inside the pokey little entryway. "I'm here by myself—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's nice."<br/>
<br/>
"And I was just heating up some canned pasta for supper."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why don't we go out? The three of us?" You pinch the front of his shirt. "Are you fixing for your family?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I said I'm here by myself. My mom's working a night shift at—"<br/>
<br/>
"Or we could stay here, sit around, talk. I bet you have girls over here all the time."<br/>
<br/>
A slightly feverish light comes into his eye. You hold his gaze. A familiar feeling creeps over you. You are signaling your interest in a boy, and he's picking up on it. Judging by the kind of look Karl is getting, you could easily get lucky together tonight.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm supposed to meet friends at the Warehouse later tonight," he says. "Would you guys be interested in going?"<br/>
<br/>
You only want a mask of him; you've got plans for tonight; you can sense Caleb's hostility to the idea behind you. But Hannah would want to say yes. The Warehouse—the most exciting and disreputable party scene in Saratoga Falls—isn't a place she gets to go to very often.</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121112111211321
author_id: seuzz
title: Party Girls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"The Warehouse?" you exclaim. "That sounds awesome! But what can we do until then? Just the three of us?" You bite on your lower lip and grin at Karl.<br/>
<br/>
His Adam's apple wobbles hard. The sight gives you a thrill: <i>It's so much fun to fuck with a guy.</i> "I don't really have any plans until going out, and that, uh, that won't be until around eleven."<br/>
<br/>
"Then that gives us lots of time to do something on our own." You pluck at the front of his sweatshirt again. "You want to go check on your spaghetti? It smells like it's—"<br/>
<br/>
It smells like it's burning to the bottom of a pot, and with a gurgling gasp Karl hurries into the kitchen. Your co-conspirator takes advantage of his distraction to sidle in close. "So how about we pop him with the mask when he gets back in here and—"<br/>
<br/>
"What's the rush? This is fun. He's totally into me."<br/>
<br/>
"You're acting like you're totally into him. We should get the mask on him before—"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's wait until we're on our way to the Warehouse, or until we're there. That'll make it—"<br/>
<br/>
Karl calls from the kitchen: "If you guys want some of this, I'll have to open up another can!"<br/>
<br/>
"That'd be so sweet of you," you call back. "Thanks!" To Eva: "It'll be a huge scene if we jump him right away, right now."<br/>
<br/>
"We made a big scene last night," Eva points out. "Why don't you want to make one now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because we just got invited to supper. You don't want to be a bad guest, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva looks at you as though you've just sprouted an extra head, a pair of wings, and maybe something worse. You smile at her sweetly and stride off into the kitchen. Karl's standing over a stove, emptying a can of gooey pasta into a sauce pot.<br/>
<br/>
"I like a guy who can improvise with the basics," you say, and stroke his back. He tenses. "I can help? What else did you want to put with it?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's not much in the Hennepin pantry or refrigerator to make a meal, so for accompaniment you're only able to make a very sad kind of garlic bread and a cheap salad. You're the one who has to come up with the ideas and execution, because Caleb just sits in the living room, and Karl turns out to be totally useless. But you still flatter him for his ability to make a good meal from unready materials: Hannah's instincts give you that insight.<br/>
<br/>
Conversation—held on the floor as you and Eva sit cross-legged; Karl splays out across several square feet—ranges over lots of topics. Zoology (which Hannah and Karl share): "Is it just me," you ask while wrinkling your nose, "or is there, like, a weird smell in that classroom?" Other teachers: "Oh God, Mr. Hagerman? He is so much hotter than the English teacher I had last year at Eastman." Hannah and her reasons for moving to Westside: "We moved west of the river, you know? Out close to the country club? And it would have been this completely lame commute to get back to Eastman, and I can still see my friends whenever."<br/>
<br/>
Mostly, though, you keep the conversation on Karl: flattering him and teasing him and making him feel like he's super attractive to you. "Why aren't you on the basketball team? You're so tall!" and "I heard you write poems. Are they awesome? Can I read one? Can you write one for me?" and "I bet you'd be really good at an instrument. Can you sing? Is there a band at the Warehouse you could join up with?" You help him wash the dishes, standing side by side at the sudsy sink. The time passes quickly, and by eight o'clock Karl has not only lost that dazed look, he's leaned in to ask if Eva can drive out separately to the Warehouse, leaving you and him to drive together. <i>Maybe she can leave early, leaving just the two of us here?</i> seems to be an unspoken subtext to his suggestion.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Two-timing son of a bitch,</i> you think even while grinning back at him. <i>If Kelsey knew you were trying to get Hannah into your bed—</i><br/>
<br/>
At no point have you heard anything from Justin about whether "Will Prescott" can get away for a sleepover. That changes after you and Karl have flopped back onto the living room floor, and while you're trying to figure what—if anything—to say to Caleb, who has gotten increasingly impatient and irritated. Your phone alerts you to a text: Justin, reporting that despite all pleading and promises, your dad won't let his son out past midnight; and he asks you to meet him to do a switch back.<br/>
<br/>
Now you're glad that you delayed action against Karl, and text back that you're still trying to get a new mask onto someone. That done, you turn to Hennepin with a toothsome smile and a meaningful look that you hope he'll interpret correctly. He does, and excuses himself to the bathroom. You scoot over next to Eva.<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like the party's off tonight," you tell her in a low voice. "Justin's stuck at my house, so there'd only be three of us anyway. We should totally hit the Warehouse with Karl, do the thing there, make it look like he's passed out."<br/>
<br/>
"People will see us!" she hisses. "Hell, Eva and Hannah might be there!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will they?" You cock an eyebrow. "Does Eva go out there ever?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, not a lot, but if we get spotted there—"<br/>
<br/>
"We won't be there long, and who cares what a bunch of drunk party-goers say about Eva and Hannah being there? But if you don't wanna go, that's fine. Go hook up with Connor at Starbucks. I'm trying to get rid of you anyway, so me and Karl can get some quality alone time before heading over there."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you crazy?" Her voice is practically a shriek. "You're going to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh! No. Or not all the way. Just enough to get his guard down."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not leaving you alone with him!"<br/>
<br/>
"What business is it of yours? Okay, fine, let's tell him we want to head out to the Warehouse early. The good stuff won't be getting started until eleven or midnight, but there'll be some people and some fun there now."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hannah knows. Doesn't Eva? Anyway, if I can get him in a corner, get a beer or two into him, we can get the mask on and off him and be out before too many people show up."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb grumbles, but gives in suddenly when you hear a toilet flush and a door opening. When Karl comes around the corner, you turn on those high-beams and suggest making an early start of the evening at the Warehouse. He's okay with that, more so after you announce you'll get a ride with him while Eva drives out by herself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Warehouse is not the only warehouse in Saratoga Falls, but is the only one like it.<br/>
<br/>
There's nothing special about it as a warehouse. What's special is what it's used for. It's the setting for a kind of permanent high school party.<br/>
<br/>
Or, that's what you understand now, with Hannah's brain and inside Hannah's body, as you buckle yourself into Karl's car. You yourself have never been out there, and have only heard of it as a sometime hangout for the more bohemian crowd, and as the stage for musical acts and improvised nightclub stuff on Friday and Saturday nights.<br/>
<br/>
Hannah knows that if it's a nightclub, it's a nightclub that never closes. Only the nature "customers" and the nature of the "refreshments" changes from hour to hour and day to day. Hannah has only ever been there on weekends, when it's relatively safe in a crowd of mostly respectable high school students. But she knows kids who go on weeknights, or who hang out there during daylight hours. And though she might feel safe with some of them, she's not much interested in what they do.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's playing tonight?" you ask Karl. "Is it Slow Fast Hazel? Oh my God, they are, like—" You sway in time to a beat only you can hear, the fast, complex rhythms of one of the best of the high school bands.<br/>
<br/>
"I think it's the Hi-Hats tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, no. Well, I guess it'll be okay."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like them?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're okay. No, they're actually really good. Just the girl who runs it. Chris Yves?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's a lesbian, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah." For some reason Karl's forthrightness makes you feel warm and fuzzy toward him; it's a sign he's now totally relaxed and comfortable with you. "Not that I mind that. I mean, I've kissed a girl before." You giggle at the way Karl's mouth falls open, though he keeps his eyes on the road. "But she and I— Like, I told you back at your place how Jenny Taylor and I didn't get along. Kind of the same thing with me and Chris Yves. You don't mind a strong-willed woman, do you?" You're surprised yourself by the bluntness of the question, and being so caught up in the pretense you don't yank your hand back when it slides over to rub up and down Karl's thigh. Turning a guy on really isn't hard, but the buzz from being able to do so is a real rush.<br/>
<br/>
The lot next to the Warehouse is mostly empty, so Karl gets a prime spot up near the door. The site is surrounded by a tall cinderblock wall on all sides, which gives it some privacy. A thumping beat so low that it's inaudible—it can only be faintly felt through the air—comes from the wall of the Warehouse. Karl puts his arm around your shoulder as you approach the doors leading inside, and you put your arm around his waist.<br/>
<br/>
The dance floor and musical stage are inside and to the left; to the right is a makeshift bar. Idly you wonder how it gets stocked and whether it makes a profit; it seems strange that high school kids should have organized a makeshift business. Karl jerks his chin at the shrimpy kid with long blonde hair who's manning it. "My credit good with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't give a shit either." The kid eyes you openly. "Buying for two? Whaddaya want?"</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211121112113211
author_id: seuzz
title: Blackout
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's probably not the best plan, buying something alcoholic. But the idea is to get a buzz onto Karl, then get him somewhere alone, then get a mask onto him. Taking a courtesy beer of your own will ease things in that direction, surely. "Cerveza and lime," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Cerveza and lime," the guy repeats. "The girl knows our specialty." From beneath the plank bar he takes out a bottle of very cheap beer and a wedge of lime. Karl asks for the same. No money changes hands.<br/>
<br/>
The main dance floor takes up the entirety of the western half of the warehouse; the rest is divided into relatively intimate spaces, like the bar and your current locale, the hang-out space, which is where people go when they mostly want to talk and socialize. There are a few tables, and even some booths that got rescued—or stolen—from a restaurant or real bar, but most of the furniture consists of disgusting old bean bags and smelly old furniture. You and Karl plop onto a cast-off futon against a side wall near the front where, on another makeshift stage, two guys are manning the music stand out of which is coming that tuneless song with the driving beat. They look up as sit down, and you recognize them as two of those Eastman students Hannah knows but doesn't care to get involved with: Drew Jeffries and Lane Overstreet.<br/>
<br/>
You and Karl clink bottles, swallow some beer, and since you've got your arms around each other already, put your faces together start to make a meal of each others' mouths. Karl's mouth is warm and wet, and he's very good with his tongue, and Hannah's no slouch either, you can tell. You grip the back of his neck and pull him in hungrily. You breathe in deeply, snuffling at his cheek and the side of his nose, but he's too well-scrubbed—and there's too much stench off the room—for you to get a good noseful of his musk.<br/>
<br/>
After a solid minute, you come up for air with a gasp, and that's the first moment you really have to realize where you are and what you're doing. You're making out with Karl Hennepin. And you're enjoying it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, Hannah is enjoying it,</i> you tell yourself. You're just using her face and body and instincts to get close to Karl's face. But Hannah, you can tell, would really be into this moment and into Karl. You knead the side of his face with one hand, and with the other pull one of his hands up to a breast. He cradles it expertly. You close your eyes and are about to dive back onto another wet experience when—<br/>
<br/>
A low whistle breaks your concentration. "You're gonna set off the sprinklers. Good thing we don't got any." You look up and over. Drew is leering down at you.<br/>
<br/>
He's not a bad-looking kid: blonde, with an elfin face and a grin so pointed it's almost a V that's been carved into his face beneath his nose. But he's augmented his look with gangbanger attire that—for you and Hannah both—functions as a "Do Not Touch" sign: wife-beater, baggy shorts, tats on his shoulders, and piercings in his ears, nose, eyebrows, and tongue. He's got a drink in a Styrofoam cup, and he grins as he bites down on the tip of the straw.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Drew," you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. "You know Karl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Seen him around." Drew keeps his eyes locked on you. "Glad to see you around. I heard we lost you to the other side, thought maybe you'd stop showing up here."<br/>
<br/>
"Why would I? Everyone comes here."<br/>
<br/>
"But all the cool kids are from our side of town. You like what we're playing?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's wallpaper."<br/>
<br/>
"But it looks like it's workin' on ya." He bobs his head. "Gets you in the mood. You gonna take it upstairs?"<br/>
<br/>
That's another part of the Warehouse Hannah hasn't explored, though she's heard about it: upstairs rooms, only loosely partitioned, with makeshift mattresses for penetration parties. That part of the place, you've heard, definitely comes with a charge. "We're just here to be casual, have fun." You squeeze Karl.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," says Drew, and it occurs to you that not once has he blinked since coming up, and not once have his eyes left yours. "But if this is how you start, you might get a request to move it someplace private. Don't want to make all the other guys—and maybe some of the girls—jealous of what your friend's getting."<br/>
<br/>
"How about you go take care of the music," Karl says.<br/>
<br/>
"How about—?" Drew starts to reply sharply, then catches himself. "Okay. But remember, there's fun, and there's too much fun, and too much fun comes with a charge." He sucks noisily on the straw, then turns back to where he'd been working.<br/>
<br/>
"You know that guy," Karl observes.<br/>
<br/>
"Only through my junior year. That's when he stopped coming to classes. I don't know what he thinks he's going to do with himself."<br/>
<br/>
"He'll make some convict a pretty girlfriend."<br/>
<br/>
Almost instantly, the intoxicating attraction you'd been feeling for Karl vaporizes. It was just pretense, and you wonder how much of it was self-hypnosis, even on the part of "Hannah." But you've got an act to maintain, so you pull him back into another kiss.<br/>
<br/>
This one doesn't last as long, because when you come out of it again Eva is in the doorway looking at you warily. You wave her over. "Don't let me interrupt," she says in a pinched voice. <br/>
<br/>
But her presence is a relief, since it gives you a reason to throttle things back with Karl. You pull each other close, but now your time is taken up with mild, senseless chatting and lots of pulls on the beer. It goes away pretty quick, and when Eva mentions that she'd like one, you order a second when Karl gets up to oblige. "Do they ever turn the lights down in this place," she asks. "That'd make it easy to get the mask onto him." She indicates the bag she's holding close to her side.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll get another beer into him. Don't throw up, but I might have to suck on his tonsils a little."<br/>
<br/>
Karl returns with a second beer for himself and a second one for you. But as there's now a third at the futon with you, you start to attract attention. Stacey Ventura—one of Hannah's old friends on the Eastman soccer squad—comes in and comes over; and since Eva Garner appears to be with you, Eric Harlin and Andrew Harding come over as well. You're personable and charming to them all—to make up for Eva's frostiness—and when Karl says he can't afford to get you any more beers Eric and Andrew say they'll put you on their club tab. That gets you a third beer and quickly thereafter a fourth.<br/>
<br/>
Then there are some shots that go around. Andrew must have gotten the first, but you're not sure how the second or the third got in your hand, though you've an impression you weren't much too fond of whoever it was that brought them to you. The lights become dim—or you're losing your vision—and you know that's important for some reason, but you're having too much fun laughing and screaming with people to remember what. People keep shouting in your ear to make themselves heard, or maybe it's only one person shouting over and over again. Your head is swimming so you're very uncertain. Your feet don't want to work either, which is amusing, and then it doesn't matter because you've got your spinning head on something soft. Something heavy and comforting is nearby, and you pull it close, loving the touch of its warm, firm, but yielding surfaces. It's very big—it's a person, surely—and you try to put some of it in your mouth, and then you try to put other parts of it inside other parts of your body.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Something is pulling at your arms, and you really want it to stop. Not because it hurts but because it's trying to make you move, and that's making the world rock in a really unpleasant way. You try to tell it—or them—to stop it, but it only comes out as a kind of moan. You feel yourself lifted upright, and you've just the presence of mind to realize that you're being asked to walk. You're a polite kind of girl, helpful and considerate, so you do your best to oblige.<br/>
<br/>
It's slow going, and you slide toward the ground more than once. But you're getting lots of help. You can't see anything because there's too much noise, and you can't hear because your nose is in your eyes, and you're numb all over because your hair is itching, and time seems to be moving sideways in a circle because you never seem to get anywhere even though it feels like the clock is racing breathlessly. But the air turns very cold and the noise drops away, finally, and after shuffling over rough ground for another instantaneous eternity, you bang your temple against something hard that has corners. The air becomes muffled, and you sink gratefully down into darkness. But there are voices—you can't make out the words—and you bat at someone who lifts you by the chin. Hard fingers close about your temples, and—<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You come awake at the press of strong fingers about your arms. Reflexes flash, and you slap them away. "The fuck?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Will," says a voice filled with barely retrained irritation. "Work with us. Help us out." The fingers grope at you again.<br/>
<br/>
"I will if you tell me what the fuck's going on!"<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. "Can you get out on your own?"<br/>
<br/>
"Get out of what? What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
Another pause. "Are you sober?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you high? Who is that? Connor?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. We're at my place. Come inside, I want to get a look at you."<br/>
<br/>
As you struggle out of the back seat of his car, you discover that you're wearing Hannah Westrick's clothes. Only then do things start to make sense.</span></div></div>


path: 11122231221221212111211121132111
author_id: seuzz
title: Aftermath
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Come inside, I want to get a look at you.</i> That's what Connor said to you in the car, but once inside his house it's more like <i>I want to glare really hard at you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Caleb too. He's sitting on the sofa next to Connor. Both of them are leaning forward, elbows on their knees, staring at you unwinkingly. "Are you sure you're sober?" Connor asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you feel? Feel sick or hung over, like you've been slamming shots all night?"<br/>
<br/>
"I feel totally normal. You want me to walk a straight line, try touching my nose? You got a fucking breathalyzer you want me to—?"<br/>
<br/>
Connor turns on Caleb. "You told me he was passed out drunk."<br/>
<br/>
"He was! You saw him."<br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck is going on?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"You spent the last three hours drinking and dancing and partying and, uh—" Caleb colors. "Finally I gave up on waiting for you to get that mask on Karl and called Connor to come out and get you. You wouldn't listen to me."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?" None of that sparks a memory. "I remember I was— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer right away, but put your face in your hands.<br/>
<br/>
It was the first thing you said to yourself when you woke up in Hannah's mask this afternoon: <i>Did I get hammered again last night?</i> You look up at the others with a grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"Hannah, uh, she and alcohol don't exactly, uh— Well, when she gets to drinking she gets a little wild and sometimes doesn't remember—" You trail off.<br/>
<br/>
In the silence you can hear Connor's breath whistling through his nose. "That's right, blame the girl, Will," he says acidly. <br/>
<br/>
"It's true! And I'm not—!" You turn to Caleb. "You tell him! I don't get drunk, I don't pass out or get blacked out—"<br/>
<br/>
"We don't drink that much, Will," he replies. "Not like you were tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!"<br/>
<br/>
"So I don't know what you're like when you get that drunk."<br/>
<br/>
You slouch and return Connor's glare with one of your own. "Well, I'm sorry I caused a problem and you had to come rescue me. I was trying to get a mask of Karl—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you wanted one of Kelsey."<br/>
<br/>
"So I could use it to get a mask of her!"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that why I found you on a mattress with two guys who weren't Karl Hennepin?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
He smiles faintly. "I don't know who they were, but they weren't Karl Hennepin. Lucky for me one of them was as drunk as you and the other didn't care when I pulled you out."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" Your guts try to play musical chairs with each other. "I didn't—! Uh, was I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you were and I think you did. You want me to get you some other clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
You're still in Hannah's things, and at the thought of what you were apparently doing in them—<br/>
<br/>
You nod and swallow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Conversation continues after you change. Maybe Connor and Caleb want to go easy on you after telling you the worst, or maybe they've gotten tired of being mad at you, but the talk becomes much less fraught. After some speculation, it's decided that you are sober because all the alcohol got poured into the image of Hannah Westrick inside that mask, and that removing the mask removed its effects. And when Caleb recounts how strongly you were channeling a foreign personality during the afternoon and evening, Connor grudgingly accepts that it might have been "Hannah" who got roaringly drunk and not you. He's still not happy with you—you ruined the "slumber party" that he and Justin had planned—but he allows that it was not completely your fault. He makes you sleep on the sofa instead of taking Justin's bed after Caleb goes home.<br/>
<br/>
There is one silver lining: Caleb managed to get the blank mask away from you while you were at the Warehouse, and he got it onto Karl Hennepin. So at least he managed to accomplish the mission.<br/>
<br/>
About nine o'clock the next morning the door bursts open and a very pissed-off Justin Carr comes in. And he's looking like himself too, though he's buttoned up in some of your clothes. He gives you a fast, hard snarl before charging into the bedroom he shares with Connor. You hear voices: Connor, sleepy, and Justin, angry. You can't make out the words, but you get a report a few minutes later when Connor comes out. He looks amused, though disheveled in his t-shirt and boxers and unkempt hair. He tosses some clothes—those Justin was wearing—to you. "You got chores at home. Justin volunteered you."<br/>
<br/>
The blood drains from your face. "What kind of chores?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think gutters are involved. I'm sure your dad will remind you when you get back."<br/>
<br/>
He does, and you spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon doing outside, upper-story work: not only cleaning out gutters but washing windows and vacuuming. There's no use grumbling, and you do a good enough job that your dad gives you forty dollars pay for the work, which is welcome, and a gruff set of thanks. To dodge any additional work he might think up, you rush from the house at around four-thirty, and run over to the elementary school basement to check on the new spell.<br/>
<br/>
It looks bad: the thing, whatever it is, seems to be falling apart. More fissures have opened up in it, so that it now looks like a blob of dog shit onto which four more cylinders of dog shit have been attached at odd angles. It's also developing a weird knob at one end. The fire has also gone out; though you wonder if it is any use, you relight it.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes the call from Connor: You are to wait there at the school for him and Justin and Caleb, in order to have a conference. You're sure you're going to get yelled at, and spend the next half hour moodily waiting for the others to show up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Okay, first of all," says Connor, ticking the item off with a forefinger, "we use one more mask to make a copy of Kelsey, and after that we stop with the copying. That'll give us four girls, and we don't need any more. Will, your chore is to make that last mask. Have it ready to go by Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that all?" You don't try to blanket your sullen tone.<br/>
<br/>
"You also come in here and check on that thing—" Connor looks past your shoulder at the burning pile of crap. "Jesus. You check on that thing every day. When the fire doesn't relight, well— Shit, we might have to start over again."<br/>
<br/>
"And I'll have to go digging up the cemetery by myself."<br/>
<br/>
"Stop your wanking," Caleb growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you and Caleb show up at our place at eight o'clock Monday morning," Connor continues. Justin just glowers at you. "Will, you go in to work as Justin while he covers for you at school. I'll go to the school too, for you, Caleb. You can cover for me at home, but I don't work in to work until two in the afternoon, so that won't be hard for you."<br/>
<br/>
"How long am I covering for you?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"And how come you're going in to the school?" you add.<br/>
<br/>
"We're going in to get the mask of Kelsey, or at least to set it up," says Connor. "We don't want any more fuck ups."<br/>
<br/>
You stifle a groan of anger.<br/>
<br/>
"After school, the four of us will meet at Starbucks to do a trade off. Caleb, you can go home after that, but Will's gonna cover for me until the end of my shift."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw falls to your breastbone. "You're gonna have me working— What is that, a fourteen-hour shift?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right." Connor's mouth tightens into a line. "You fucked things up for all of us on Friday night, so you pay the price. That fourteen-hour shift pays your debt. All right?"<br/>
<br/>
A furious resentment claws at your chest, but you nod. Curtly. Once.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
This is a crap punishment, as far as you're concerned. It's like Connor thinks he's your dad or something. So as to break this bullshit "conference" up quickly, you tell the guys you'll get started on the blank mask right away. Caleb waits with you while they leave to fetch the car buffer. It seems like he's on their side, but you test him anyway while you mix up the basic ingredients. "I liked it better when it was just us playing with this stuff," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"It's your own fault," he retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one who crashed their party with that fucking Mansfield mask."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean what you're having to do now," he says. "If you'd stayed focused—"<br/>
<br/>
You bump into a table as you turn, and Caleb turns beet red. "Fuck you, Will," he says, and stalks off toward the door. "If you're going to be a fucking dick about it—"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb!" you call, but he flips you off and goes out. Then you do kick the table on purpose.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You finish the mask and stew at home. Sunday morning services and lunch don't improve your mood, though by two o'clock, when you head over to the school to check on the new spell, you're so worn out with anger that you don't feel much of anything any more. You shove the cigarette lighter against the stony mass in the back corner of the basement.<br/>
<br/>
Nothing happens.<br/>
<br/>
You catch your breath and try again. Nothing. No matter where you put the flame, the pile refuses to relight.<br/>
<br/>
There's a tremble in your limbs as you open the grimoire. The page holding the current spell refuses to turn. Then you have the idea of pressing it against the thing the spell has made. When you lift the book again, that page lazily flips over all on its own.</span></div></div>


path: 111222312212212121112111211321111
author_id: seuzz
title: Dummies and Other Dummies
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"It's a minion," says Connor. He looks from the grimoire to the now-extinguished pile, then glances sideways at the iPad he's been using for translation work.<br/>
<br/>
It took him and Justin twenty minutes to get over to the school; Caleb is stuck doing housework for his mom, but told you to call back as soon as you'd figured out what the thing is. While waiting for the others you had tried your hand at translating the exposed conclusion of the spell, but hadn't been able to quite wrap your head around the various parts of the description. But with Connor's succinct summary it all comes into focus for you.<br/>
<br/>
You snap your fingers and look around. <i>A mask, where did you put the—</i> They're inside one of the big desks, and you rummage around until you find the one that copies Caleb. You look up, showing it to Justin and Connor; they look back a little palely, then nod. Gingerly, you approach the stone-like figure resting on the back table.<br/>
<br/>
Those rents and fissures that opened up in it still worry you, but not as much as they did before. For a start, the fact that the grimoire has opened up a new page argues that the spell executed correctly; for another the shape of the thing now suggests a rough human figure. The great rent up the center separates out two thick, stubby legs; the two fissures on either side separate out two rude arms from the truck. The knob at the other end is like a turnip-shaped head.<br/>
<br/>
The head is where you should put the mask, as the reverse of the spell page directs. If it works the way you now think it should work—<br/>
<br/>
You place the mask upon the thing. It vanishes, as though you've dropped it into a pool of deep water. There is, maybe, the faintest suggestion of a ripple in the mass; maybe it is only your imagination wanting to see some kind of intermediate change. But it lasts for the shortest fraction of a second. Where there had been a massive pile of congealed stone and clay there is now a skinny human body of flesh and hair.<br/>
<br/>
A male human body. You yank your eyes away from the patch of bushy hair at the midpoint of the creature.<br/>
<br/>
It sits up, and Caleb Johansson rubs his eyes and peers at you. "Will?" He notices Connor and Justin behind you. "Guys? What's—?" He raises a knee, and notices that he's naked. He pulls himself into a tight bundle and flushes. "The fuck is going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb?" You clear your throat and say his name again, a little more strongly.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you all staring at me?" this thing that looks like Caleb demands. Its eyes are wide and wild. "What did you do to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Words die in your throat. Connor speaks. "We didn't do anything to you. Are you really Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who the fuck else would I be? Shit, did you do something to my face?" He looks down at his body with obvious trepidation. "Anyone got a phone or mirror or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You look fine," you blurt out. "It's just that, uh—" You glance back at the other guys. "What's the last thing you remember?" you ask the thing with Caleb's face.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! Nothing that should end with me sitting here like this!"<br/>
<br/>
"Were you just at home, helping your mom clean house?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you remember going to the Warehouse with me Friday night?"<br/>
<br/>
"What warehouse?"<br/>
<br/>
"We were dressed up like Eva Garner and Hannah Westrick, and I got drunk—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes bulge.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a minion in a mask, Will," says Connor. "It's not gonna remember any of that."<br/>
<br/>
"I was thinking maybe it was Caleb and he got, I dunno, transported here magically."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a minion," Connor says firmly," not the real guy." He snaps his fingers. "Caleb, come stand over here."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I said so."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you." Caleb scoots back, pressing himself against the wall.<br/>
<br/>
"It acts just like him," Justin observes. "I was expecting more like, uh, a magical robot thing."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's voice rises to a shriek. "Did you motherfuckers put some kind of hex on me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb tries making a break for the door. Since he has to get off a broad table first—and in his bare feet he can only hop around gingerly—it's no great trick for you and the others to catch him and push him onto another table. He howls until Connor gets the mask off, at which point he reverts to that mass of hardened clay.<br/>
<br/>
The three of you pause to catch your breaths and stare haggardly at each other for a moment. "Maybe it only obeys the person it's a duplicate of," Justin suggests as Connor returns to frown over the grimoire.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," Connor allows. "But it's really not clear. As near as I can make out, it's supposed to obey the guy who made it. But we all pitched in to help make it. And if it only obeys the original, then—" He trails off. "Well, we can try."<br/>
<br/>
So you try a variety of other masks, without success. It's pretty creepy, putting masks of yourself or of Connor or Justin onto the thing, and getting a naked duplicate of someone already in the room. The duplicates seem to think it's pretty creepy too. The Will Prescott that materializes stares back at you with a slit-eyed glare that mingles loathing and terror, and the Connor Hutchison and Justin Carr that appear looks hardly any happier. You don't keep any of them in existence for very long: only long enough to establish that they are failures as "minions" as they don't obey anyone's commands, and that you are getting different "minions" every time, for Will doesn't remember popping into existence as Caleb, and Connor doesn't remember sitting up as a naked Will.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You and the others are on the point of concluding that the spell didn't go off correctly when Caleb finally shows up, looking both eager to plunge into the new spell and vexed that you hadn't called him with any updates. His vexation deepens when you tell of what you have made, and how it doesn't seem to have worked. No one believes it will do any good, but at his request you put a mask back onto the thing when Caleb requests to see it for himself.<br/>
<br/>
It's your mask that's snatched up, and your doppelganger wastes no time in springing back away from the crowd. He bares his teeth, and does a double-take at the sight of Caleb. "Where the fuck did you come from?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got here," your friend says, and his voice sounds weakly. "Jesus," he adds. "The thing looks feral." Indeed, its hair—your hair—is sticking up every different direction, and its limbs are bent beneath it as though it's a spider monkey looking for a chance to spring. "What kind of orders did you try giving it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just simple ones," says Justin. "Like, 'Come here' or 'Go stand over there'."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," Caleb tells the thing with your face and body. "Go stand over there." He points to corner.<br/>
<br/>
Will Prescott springs, and everyone flinches. But it springs in the direction of that corner Caleb pointed to, and it looks as surprised as everyone else when it reaches it. "The fuck did you just make me do?" it cries.<br/>
<br/>
"I just—" Caleb blushes as everyone turns a gaping look at him. "Uh, go stand over there now," he says, pointing to another spot. Prescott, his feet dragging unwillingly complies. "Now go, uh—Go—" Caleb stammers. "Go bring me that mirror from off the desk over there."<br/>
<br/>
Everyone dives out of the way as Prescott pushes through your little knot to where the concave mirror is sitting. His lip is curled up in an ugly way as he hands it to Caleb, and he hisses loudly.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb swallows a couple of times, then tells Prescott to lie down on a table, and removes the mask from. It almost slips from his fingers before he can, with a tremble lay it next to the bare minion.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Similar experiments with the other masks give similar results: however reluctantly, and with however much loathing, the doubles of Connor, Justin, and Caleb himself will obey him but no one else. Caleb becomes increasingly smug as you and the others become increasingly exasperated.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't make sense—you're the owner of the grimoire, and everyone cooperated on making the raw minion—until you pore over the ingredients list for about the fourth time. "Hair," Justin says, pointing to the line and then to Caleb. "We used your hair when we made the thing."<br/>
<br/>
It's the only theory that makes sense, and it leaves everyone but Caleb unhappy at he alone having a minion. "I'll let you borrow it sometimes," he says airily.<br/>
<br/>
"Borrow it to do what?" Justin asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Send it in to work for you, or for classes," Caleb says. He catches his breath. "Whoa! I might never have to go to school again!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm making one for me," you blurt out, "even if I have to lug the dirt over all by myself!"<br/>
<br/>
You see the same thought in everyone else's eye, and plans are soon made for another raid on the cemetery later that night. Space is cleared in the basement for three piles of dirt, and Connor and Justin leave to pick up more sandbags at Wal-Mart.<br/>
<br/>
Only after they're gone does Caleb remind you that you're still on Starbucks duty tomorrow. "Are you going to be able to handle all that work on so little sleep?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"What can I do about it? They're not going to let me out of either job."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks cagey. "What would you give me if I could get you out of the cemetery run tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"How would you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just tell me what you'd give me."<br/>
<br/>
"My stamp collection," you sarcastically retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Be serious. Will you let me have the key to this place tomorrow night?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"None of your business. I'll give it back to you at school the next morning."</span></div></div>


path: 1112223122122121211121112113211112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Booby Falls Into a Trap of His Own Making
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What do you want the key to the basement for?" you ask Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
He looks very pinched. "Just for something," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna know why you want it before—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, never mind then," he says, and paces the floor. "It's none of your business, okay?" He's blushing.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is it something to do with sex?</i> you wonder. <i> Is he going to—?<br/>
<br/>
Eww!</i> Now you don't want to know what he wants to do, and you don't want to help him out. "It's my key and my lock," you tell him, "so if it's not my business I won't lend them to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh come on, Will! I can get you out of that cemetery run tonight if—"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh uh. All our magic stuff is down here, and you sound like you want to get up to something."<br/>
<br/>
"And you could get up to something if <i>you</i> wanted! We're all supposed to be sharing this stuff—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then you can share with me what you want to do down here."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks like he's going to burst, but he masters himself and shakes it off with a shrug. "Okay, never mind." Then he gives you a sidelong look. "I could still help you get out of working tonight. What'll you do for me if I let you use my minion?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a tempting idea. But you don't want to put yourself in Caleb's debt, and you also don't much like the idea of a fake you running around, even if it's for only one night. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to get into any more trouble with the other guys, so let's just do it their way." Caleb gives you a disgusted look, but drops the suggestion, and the two you start pulling together the rest of ingredients you'll need to make three more minions.<br/>
<br/>
Connor and Justin return with the sand bags not long after you've made up a large batch of volatile chemicals: after that, you've only to separate it into three containers and add hair. Then, with nothing else on the agenda, the four of you gather round to study the next spell in the grimoire. Caleb wonders aloud if maybe you shouldn't have done that before preparing to make more minions. <br/>
<br/>
But he changes his mind after you've all digested it, and the book is put away. The consensus—felt with a little regret mixed with a lot of horror—is that there will be no more new spells to play with, as no one wants to unlock any more spells by executing the next one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Come on, Prescott, you can move faster than that."<br/>
<br/>
You ignore the sharp tone of the speaker and glare over at Caleb. "Can't you make him shut up?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's grin shines brightly in his dirty face. "I could but I won't. And he's right, you know. Pick up the pace."<br/>
<br/>
With a curse in the back of your throat you pour the few reserves you've got into your arms and shoulders, and heave the dirt out of the hole a little more quickly.<br/>
<br/>
It's almost three o'clock in the morning, and you're on your fourth shift of digging. Connor and Justin have taken your truck—its bed loaded with a second freight-load of cemetery dirt—back to the elementary school, leaving you alone with Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
Well, not quite alone. Marc Garner is an unwelcome third wheel.<br/>
<br/>
Except it's not Marc Garner, not really, and Caleb's plan to substitute a Will-minion for yourself wouldn't have worked anyway. It was Justin's idea: get a fifth hand to help out, and who could help out better than a Marc-minion with his deep chest and strong arms? It came at the cost of some fraught and confused talk, but Caleb even managed to talk the initially confused and angry Marc-minion down into a state of docility and even helpfulness; remarkably, the thing now understands perfectly well that it is a fake version of a real person and must obey Caleb without question or backtalk. It has also pitched into the work of moving more than a thousand pounds of dirt with alacrity and even enthusiasm, and to Caleb's delight has even taken to yelling at the other guys when they've shown signs of slacking.<br/>
<br/>
And it's easy to slack. You've only moved six hundred pounds so far—enough for one and a half minions—and you and everyone else are completely worn out. You see no way that you'll be able to get the rest of the dirt moved before sunrise, so you've decided to get enough for a second minion and then bag it for the night.<br/>
<br/>
You turn over a dozen more spadefuls into the bag that Caleb is holding open, then stop to catch your breath and rest arms that are burning from exertion. "There's no way I can work nineteen hours tomorrow after tonight," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"It's the price you pay for that pussy party you had Friday night," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"You were at the pussy party too."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't get laid."<br/>
<br/>
You jerk your head at the Marc-minion. "I wonder what he would have to say if you did get laid Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing I wouldn't let him say." Caleb's grin turns into a smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"I should put that mask onto my minion when I get it made, tell it to kick your ass."<br/>
<br/>
"If you worked out the rest of your muscles the way you work out your tongue," says the Marc-minion, "we'd be done by now."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't piss him off," Caleb says. "I won't stop him if he decides to kick your ass on his own."<br/>
<br/>
"Can it really get pissed off?" you wonder aloud. "Or is it fake all the way through?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's it matter if he goes medieval on your ass?"<br/>
<br/>
You groan and return to work. Each spadeful is lighter than the last until Connor and Justin return, at which point they take over digging duties for awhile and you hold open the sand bags and haul them over to the truck.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's nearly four in the morning before you've got the last of this night's work offloaded into the basement: enough dirt for two more minions. But everyone is so exhausted that it's agreed to put off finishing the mix until tomorrow afternoon. You won't be on hand to help out, though, as Justin reminds you that you're on tap to work at Starbucks for him and Connor until nearly midnight. You're too tired to flip him off.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's back home. You had such success the last time you snuck out that you try the same tactic, coming in quietly through the front door and sneaking through the living room to the stairs, with the plan of hitting the bathroom and a shower.<br/>
<br/>
You've got one foot on the first step when the living room light clicks on. Your dad, in his bathrobe, is in his easy chair, glowering at you.<br/>
<br/>
So you're caught in the act. There's no point recounting the conversation that follows—one so loud that it draws both your mother and your brother to the landing to gape and blink at you—for you can only stammer and sputter and utterly fail to improvise excuses or explanations. The best you can do is admit that you were out in the middle of the night doing manual labor—which causes your dad to turn almost purple with incredulity—and when he presses you to explain what kind of "manual labor" has to be done in the middle of the night, you can only say that you're doing it to help some college-age guys you know. "I think they're digging a storm shelter in their back yard," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
His voice is strangled. "And it can only be done in the middle of the night?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, they sleep during the day?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're <i>vampires?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! I mean, they're not vampires, but this is the only, uh, time that they can, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
The consequence is that you're grounded for a month, and are expected to be home by four o'clock in the afternoon every school day, and on weekends can only leave the house to run errands.<br/>
<br/>
You text the news to Connor before falling face-first—still filthy from the night's work—onto your pillow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The alarm goes off at seven—since you have to make an early start—and find no answer to the text you sent. So you drag yourself into the shower and into fresh clothes and out to your truck. You're supposed to meet Justin at Starbucks for the change-over, and he's just unlocking the door when you pull into the lot. The bags under his eyes are probably as bad as the ones under yours. "I got grounded," you tell him. He only blinks heavily. "Did you hear me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. So?"<br/>
<br/>
"So, how am I supposed to get home tonight, after I close up here?"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll figure it out later." He opens the door.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think I can do this, man."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes harden. "You said you would. You have to make up for—"<br/>
<br/>
"I will! But I don't think I can do it today, not after last night, and not after getting grounded, and I can't even think straight. I'll fuck everything up."<br/>
<br/>
Justin's fingers tighten on the door handle. "Listen, you pussy, I'm just as beat as you—"<br/>
<br/>
Your iPhone buzzes. It's a text from Connor, saying he'll call Justin, and a second later Justin's own cell rings. He pulls you inside and pushes you into a corner as he mutters darkly into his phone. You slump into a chair, splay yourself over a table, and are about to doze off again when Justin shakes you rudely.<br/>
<br/>
"Here's the deal," he says. "You cover for us today, like you promised, and you get to have one of those two new minions. If you postpone it until Wednesday, though, Connor and I get the next two minions."</span></div></div>


