# chapters

path: 1122111111121222211111211111111111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Lovers and Liars (3)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So what do you want to do this weekend?" Brad asked. He draped his arm loosely around Ben's shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang out here?" Ben suggested, and snuggled closer.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with your place? You haven't even had me over."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what's wrong with this place?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want to do something new." He pushed aside Ben's hair and planted a thick kiss on a cheek. "We don't do anything here except-- Mm."<br/>
<br/>
"And what's wrong with 'Mm'? You're good at it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but come on. We hardly talk." He caressed Ben's long, flowing hair. "I feel like I barely know you."<br/>
<br/>
"What you see is what you get. Isn't that enough?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Beth," he groaned. "Is that all you want from me? Mm?"<br/>
<br/>
"Funny. I guess I've been holding back. I've figured you were only interested in ... Mm."<br/>
<br/>
A wounded look came into Brad's eyes. "Jesus. I mean--" He seemed to struggle. "Look, is that all you're interested in? Are you also getting ... mm ... from other guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why can't we have more than ... Mm?" He hugged Ben more tightly. "I feel like I'm getting gypped somehow."<br/>
<br/>
Ben said nothing for a good long time. Brad said nothing either. "Alright, Sunday," Ben finally said. "We'll go over to my place then. Just don't expect too much. I'm not a girl with a lot of pretensions."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So, are you going to need me to clear out for the weekend?" Rick asked that evening.<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's why I'm packing up my stuff," Ben said. "I've got someplace else I can take him."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, a secret lair? Why am I not surprised?"<br/>
<br/>
Ben put his hand on his hip: He was still looking like Beth, which somehow gave the gesture more authority. "You know, it's funny, man. You've never really asked me where I came from or how come I've shared this ... shit ... with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, people are always sharing their shit with me," Rick shrugged. "They like me for some reason."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand why," Ben muttered, and turned back to stuffing an overnight case with Beth's things. It wasn't a lie, either. He'd asked himself lots of times why he was so smitten with Rick. So smitten as to-- "I'm not going to share any more if you're not going to ask."<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't planning to ask you anything," Rick retorted. "Except, you know, is thing headed to a climax, do you think? You're making it sound like Brad really has fallen hard."<br/>
<br/>
"He's not really the type to make a big production out of it," Ben said. "But I think so." Again, he turned with a hand on his hip. "When this is over, is it going to finally get Cynthia out of your system?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure, I guess," Rick shrugged. "Is it going to get her out of <i>your</i> system?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's not in <i>my</i> system."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure? You seem really interested in helping me get over a girl you never even met."<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>you</i> I want to help, man."<br/>
<br/>
"It's like I said," Rick smiled. "People like me for some reason."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Brad stood on the doorstep without coming in. His eyes flicked over the living room. "You have this place all to yourself?" he asked.<br/>
<br/>
"Temporarily," Ben said. "I'm trying to find some new housemates. What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
He asked this even though he knew there was plenty wrong. It was a mistake to bring Brad here. He'd spent all day Saturday trying to give the tract house on the edge of town a "lived in" air, but it hadn't been enough to fully dispel the air of shabby abandonment. It had been almost two months since he'd moved out, to take up rooms with Rick.<br/>
<br/>
But it obviously wasn't <i>that</i> which was bothering Brad. He could tell even as they drove up that Brad had recognized it.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to your old housemates?" he asked.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there was just one when I moved in," Ben said, and took Brad by the hand, to tug him gently inside and close the door. "And she was on her way out too."<br/>
<br/>
"Was her name Cynthia?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not even close. Roberta Garrison. Did you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"I knew someone who lived here," Brad said brusquely. "I've been out here a few times." He jerked his chin at the bookcase. "I even remember those books." He cast a hooded look at Ben.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they left them all behind," Ben said, hiding his discomfort at how well Brad recognized things. "They left everything behind. It all comes with the house. I just brought my clothes. Makes it convenient. Come on, sit down. You want something to eat?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not hungry," Brad said. "How did you know these people?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I only knew Roberta, and only for a little while. I heard about this place through a friend."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know her."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know a <i>lot</i> about you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, let me show you the place. We'll make a start."<br/>
<br/>
"You said it isn't even your stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Ben blinked. "Brad, honey, what is this about?"<br/>
<br/>
Brad chewed on his lip. "I don't know," he said at last. "And to be honest, I'm not sure I want to know." He turned back to the door.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going?" Ben asked. But Brad just left without answering.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Rick wasn't at their place when Ben got back, which gave the latter time to reconsider. More time to reconsider, since he had returned in his own form. He was still undecided about things.<br/>
<br/>
Then, impulsively, he charged into the bathroom and pulled off his clothes. The changes were swift; it was like he was exhaling after holding his breath for several months. Brown freckles rippled across his face, and his hair exploded out before dropping in long, dark sheets around his ears. His mouth widened, and he smiled desperately at himself in the mirror. He'd always liked the smile, as toothy as it was. He tucked his hair back and rubbed at his forehead and cheekbones as they grew more delicate. He pressed at the sides of his face, and his eyes--turning brown--grew  large and doe-like. Small breasts sprouted, and he didn't bother to bind them up as he pulled on a loose t-shirt and some jeans. As "Ben" he was already skinny, and didn't have to make many other changes below the neck.<br/>
<br/>
He waited for what seemed like hours--though it was only about twenty minutes--before he heard the key in the lock. He looked up from the divan with a desperate smile as Rick came in. "The door was unlocked," Ben said breathlessly.<br/>
<br/>
His roommate stopped and gave him long glance before shutting the door behind him. He shook his head. "This is fucked up, even for you."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about? I mean, know I should have called first, but I wanted to surprise you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess I should have expected it. Hi Cynthia," he said in a brittle and cheerless tone. "Been a long time. At least a day."<br/>
<br/>
"A day?" Ben echoed, affecting puzzlement. "I haven't seen you in-- I mean, I don't blame you, not after you--"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, cut the crap, man," Rick said, and tossed his books onto the divan. "How did things go with Brad?"<br/>
<br/>
Tears sprang into Ben's eyes. "I told you, the last time we-- I'm so sorry, Rick! I fucked up, so bad!" He raised himself onto his knees and stretched a hand toward Rick. "Can't we--? Please, can't we just try? Or start over?"<br/>
<br/>
"And what have we been doing for the past couple of months?" Rick snorted. "Tell me what happened with Brad."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you stop--? What are you talking about? I haven't seen you since--"<br/>
<br/>
"Your <i>eyes,</i> Cynthia!" Rick wheeled on the girl with a snarl. "I saw it in your eyes the day you showed up as Ben! Even before you showed me this crap you can do, I knew it was you, and not this-- Who was 'Ben'? Some guy you once knew? Or another fake face, like Beth? Yeah, I threw you out, so you came crawling back as a guy, looking for a roommate. How stupid do you think I am? As soon as you showed me what you can do, I figured it all out."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you--?" Ben started to protest, and then wilted under Rick's glare. "Maybe I'm just pretending to be Cynthia," he murmured. "Trying to make you happy."<br/>
<br/>
"It's too late for bullshit," Rick growled. "Just tell me how things went with Brad. Did you finish the job?"<br/>
<br/>
Ben stared at him. "If you knew all this time it was me, why did you--?" He gasped and groaned. "You weren't trying to get back at <i>him</i>," he cried in a sudden fury. "You were trying to get back at <i>me!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Took you long enough," Rick snorted. "But Brad's a dividend. What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," Ben said, and fought back a sob. "Maybe I can--" But he couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't say it out loud--"Maybe I can get back with him"--in front of Ben, and, anyway, he knew it wasn't to be. "Okay, Rick, you made your point. Or you got it out of your system. You did, didn't you?" His voice turned desperate.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm all over it," Rick said gruffly. "It worked for me, throwing you at Brad, throwing you at Tommy, like the trash you are." Ben gasped. "It's all worked out."<br/>
<br/>
Again, Ben stretched a hand out. "So, could we--? Maybe--?" But Rick just gave him a look. "It was just a mistake," Ben said in a quiet voice as he slunk toward the door. "Just one time. Just one little--"<br/>
<br/>
"If it was just a mistake," Rick retorted, "why did you do it with him as <i>Cynthia?</i> I'd never have found out if you'd been smart enough to change yourself over for him."<br/>
<br/>
"Because I thought I'd finally found myself as 'Cynthia.' I'd found myself with <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"And look what you turned out to be," Rick said. "Don't try coming back, Cynthia,"  he added as she went out the door. "Because I know what you look like. For real."<br/>
<br/>
To continue investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122
author_id: seuzz
title: The Adventures of Diana Might and Friends (1)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You flip the pages until your attention is arrested by an image. At the top of a smudgy page of bluish, typewritten ink is a logo: a TV-shaped box containing a cartoon rabbit face and a pair of fat rabbit ears sticking out of the top. Below is written "VARRICK-HARE AUDIO-VISUAL ENTERTAINMENT", and beneath that, "A Division of Cadence Parking Systems Inc." Scrawled in pencil in an upper corner: "Treatment for Episode 1-K, Title TBD."<br/>
<br/>
At the bottom of the page: "The Adventures of Diana Might and Friends."<br/>
<br/>
You start reading ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
TO: Warren Hanrahan<br/>
FROM: Ellis Schwartz<br/>
DATE: 4/9/74<br/>
RE: Story Proposal<br/>
<br/>
Dear Bill,<br/>
<br/>
In follow up to our water cooler conversation of Monday last here is an extended treatment of the idea we discussed. I doubt we can get Burgess Meredith to play the villain, but Jay Robinson would do in a pinch. However, I have called him "Dr. Meredith" throughout this treatment so you will have a firm of idea of how I see the character.<br/>
<br/>
Establish on a modern office/house on a remote, tree-clad hilltop. Inside, at a desk, sits LINDA NEWCASTLE. She is typing a transcription, but removes her earpiece to answer the phone: "Live Technical Solutions. I'm sorry, Dr. Meredith's not in yet, shall I take a message." Just as she hangs up, DR. B. MEREDITH enters through a pair of glass double-doors. He is charming, erudite, avuncular -- and slightly sinister. He inquires after her weekend, chuckles that unlike her he has no time for dating, and reassures her that there is absolutely no rush on finishing the report that she is typing up. At the doorway to his inner office he turns as though remembering something and asks if she is enjoying the report she's typing. "I might if I understood a word of it, doctor," she breathlessly replies. "It's awfully full of big words!" He replies that he himself barely understands it, but chortles that "There's gold in them thar polysyllabic constructions!" He exits. Linda returns the earpiece to her ear, flicks a switch at her waist, but does not resume typing. The camera swings over to the glass doors to the office, and we see the name of the company emblazoned in reverse on them. The word "LIVE" notably resembles the word "EVIL."<br/>
<br/>
Inside Dr. Meredith's office he lays out his briefcase and touches several switches. The blinds on his windows close, and various doors lock. A telescreen descends from the ceiling, and as the doctor perches casually on the corner of his desk with folded arms and a swinging leg, there appears on the screen the fiery corona of O.U.R.O.B.O.R.O.S. THE VOICE OF THE SNAKE declaims: "What is your report, doctor?" Suggested dialogue follows:<br/>
<br/>
M: My secretary is typing it up now. If you want the executive summary--<br/>
<br/>
V: We want the device!<br/>
<br/>
M (shrugs): The device will be in three days. I am polishing it up now.<br/>
<br/>
V: We do not wish it 'polished'! Arrange for its delivery.<br/>
<br/>
M (scowls): I am not in the habit of delivering unfinished products.<br/>
<br/>
V: You will acquire the habit of obedience!<br/>
<br/>
M (again shrugs): If it blows up in your face, it will be your problem, then, not mine.<br/>
<br/>
V: We have immediate need of it! See that it performs as you have promised! If it does not, you will suffer the fate of all who fail us!<br/>
<br/>
The corona fades, and Dr. Meredith with a grimace reflects aloud, "Some days I can't believe I quit the Pentagon to work for these people." With the touch of a switch, he sends the telescreen back into the ceiling. But he gazes still at his desk, and the camera zooms in on a blinking light near the switch.<br/>
<br/>
Inside a supply room, Linda is pressing her earpiece to her ear and talking softly but frantically into a microphone on her collar: "Steve, Dr. Meredith has completed the prototype, and is getting ready to turn it over to Ouroboros!" Intercut with STEVE ANDERSON in O.C.S. headquarters accepting her information and asking her if she has learned what Dr. Meredith's device is supposed to do. But she doesn't answer, and the scene ends with Dr. Meredith with his arm around Linda's waist and his hand over her mouth. "You will regret this attempt to practice espionage upon me," he hisses in her ear. "Or, to put it in words of one syllable -- what comes next will not be fun for you!"<br/>
<br/>
Shift to the mansion of DIANA POUVOIR and her teenage ward SANDRA BOWERS. Sandra is passing through the living room when the doorbell rings. She calls for Diana, but gets no answer, so she opens it. A COURIER has a package to be signed for, and suspiciously asks the teenage Sandra if she is Diana Pouvoir. Sandra stammers, but maintains that she is, and is able to collect the package. Diana, in a robe and her hair in a towel, appears at the head of the stairs and asks who it was. Sandra tells of signing (under Diana's name) to collect the package, which she has already half-unwrapped. Diana wryly suggests Sandra finish unwrapping it—"I'll let <u>you</u> finish what <u>I</u> apparently started"—when the DynaPhone sounds. "Perhaps you'd like to get that, since you're having so much fun being me," Diana playfully suggests to Sandra, then pushes her back to answer it herself in the library. Sandra unwraps the package and shakes her head over the title: "Diffusive Properties of Light in the Holographic Projection of Images." "I wonder who I'd have to pretend to be in order to understand <u>this?!</u>" she marvels.<br/>
<br/>
In the library Diana listens with grave concern as Steve talks. "We placed one of our agents in the offices of Live Technical Solutions, which we believe has been hired by Ouroboros," he explains. "Ten minutes ago she tried to reported that Dr. Meredith, who owns the company, has just completed a prototype for Ouroboros, but she was cut off."<br/>
<br/>
"Dr. Meredith? Is that the expert on holograms? I thought he was at Pacific Tech and working for the Defense Department!" Diana exclaims. Steve replies, "I guess he discovered that Ouroboros would pay more than Uncle Sam." "Well, that's certainly a surprise," Diana marvels. "I've just received one of his books for study." Steve tells her he needs her out at Dr. Meredith's "research ranch" to save Linda. Diana says she'll be right on it. As Sandra enters the library, asking, "Say, Diana, what's a 'lucent transmitter chip'?" Diana seizes her by the wrist and drags her to the secret entrance behind her full-length portrait.<br/>
<br/>
Cut to a tree-clad canyon. DOUG CARPENTER and LYDIA STRAUSS are hiking through the bushes. Both are college-age students: clean-cut, healthy, athletic. They are romantically involved and demonstrably affectionate with each other (by Saturday morning standards, naturally) but are concentrating on collecting wildflower specimens for a class. They grumble about the bugs and the heat and the bushes, but it is clear that they are enjoying the exercise out of doors. They also mention that several of their classmates, including "Jack" and "Cassandra," are in the area as well. On coming around a corner or over a ridge, they stop suddenly and fall quiet to watch. Down below them, an Ouroboros ANDRO-BOT has Linda in its grasp and is leading her away. "What is that?" Lydia asks. "I don't know," Doug replies, "but whatever that mobile tin can is, that woman doesn't want to go with him! You go get help, I'm going down there to see what I can do." He scrambles down the path while Lydia, though worried to see him go, scrambles up the hillside.<br/>
<br/>
The driveway in front of Dr. Meredith's offices. A convertible with an Andro-bot behind the wheel. Dr. Meredith stands next to it. "Just be sure not to break any traffic regulations on the way," he tells it. In its metallic tones it replies, "I am programmed not to reveal myself in public. To drive an automobile is against my programming." "Don't worry, you won't be recognized for what you are," Dr. Meredith replies. He drapes a kind of necklace made of large, flat, rectangular plates around the Andro-bot's neck; each plate has a crystal set in it, with the largest and most eye-catching (a ruby perhaps) set in the plate that dangles at the breastbone. Dr. Meredith touches that crystal now. A glow envelops the Andro-bot, and when it fades the bot is a duplicate of Linda Newcastle (though her expression and aspect should be suitably glassy). "Don't go driving through Hollywood while looking like that," Dr. Meredith chuckles, "or you might get stopped by a talent agent!" He steps back from the car, which drives smoothly away.<br/>
<br/>
Down in a gully, the real Linda is screaming and fighting off the Andro-bot. Doug charges up from behind and tries punching it with his fist. It takes no notice and continues. Doug finds a large tree branch and begins beating at it. This knocks the Andro-bot off-balance sufficiently that it hurls Linda away to turn and fight Doug. He keeps clear of its claws, though, and each time it turns around to go back after Linda, he taunts it with words and rocks into following him. He is contextually aware of his location, and uses that knowledge to lure the Andro-bot to a ridge, and when it lunges at him, he dives for its knees; the bot trips over him and tumbles over. When Doug looks into the gully below, the Andro-bot has been smashed into several pieces, but the limbs still twitch.<br/>
<br/>
The Linda-bot is driving on a lonely country road when a figure darts in front of it. It's Lydia, and the car turns sharply to avoid hitting her and goes sliding down a hillside. Lydia chases it down. The car is on fire. <br/>
<br/>
Cut to Diana Might and Nitro Girl, in the Rocket Car, driving down a similar road. Nitro Girl point to a stream of smoke, and Diana says they'll check it out on the way back: It's more important to find the kidnapped OSC agent. <br/>
<br/>
At the wreck, Lydia gasps over the sight of a seemingly dead Linda Newcastle, and gasps again when with a glow the body changes into an Andro-bot. She removes the necklace from it, puts it on. She touches one of the smaller crystals at her collarbone, then presses the large crystal. A glow envelops her and she transforms into an Andro-bot.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Adventures of Diana Might and Friends (2)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The Rocket Car pulls up in front of Dr. Meredith's offices, and Diana Might and Nitro Girl hop out. They enter Dr. Meredith's office and surprise him there. Naturally, he recognizes them and asks how he can be of help. They ask him about his secretary. He evinces puzzlement that they want her, but explains that he let her drive back to town for lunch, in his own car. "Do you really need to speak to her?" Diana insists strongly that they do. "Fortunately, I have a short-wave telephone installed in it," Dr. Meredith says, and he picks up a phone receiver and presses a button on the base -- then presses another button on the desk, and the camera dollies in close on an alert light by the button that glows yellow, then green.<br/>
<br/>
Cut to the car wreck, where a light on the dashboard below a telephone receiver blinks. The Andro-bot stirs and frees itself from the wreckage. With sparks coming off it, it totters and stumbles around the hillside, as though searching for something. It spots it in a footprint clearly embedded in a patch of mud, and follows.<br/>
<br/>
In Dr. Meredith's office, he frowns -- a real frown of concern and anger -- and tells Diana that Linda doesn't answer, and says that he himself would be obliged if she could find Linda. He relates to them the make and model of his car, and the license number. Though our heroines are skeptical, they leave. Dr. Meredith picks up his phone and calls for his rotaplane to be prepared.<br/>
<br/>
Out in the Rocket Car, Diana relates to Nitro Girl what she knows of Dr. Meredith. "He's a specialist in holograms, which are like three-dimensional photographs. You take a 3D picture of something, then you project it. But you don't project it on a screen, you project it <u>from</u> a screen, and it creates a three-dimensional image. You can walk around it and look at it from any angle." "You mean like a mirage?" Sandra asks. "Like that," Diana says, "but you can get right up close to it. I saw a demonstration project he put on for the National Defense Council. He projected one of his illusions around a cottage. The cottage disappeared and in its place was a church, and then an office building, and then the Eiffel Tower. Even when you got up close, they looked just like the real things. But that's not important. Right now we need to check out that smoke column you spotted. It might be the car with our missing agent!" <br/>
<br/>
[In the margins, here, is a handwritten note: "Lose the technical shit, just say it creates an illusion."]<br/>
<br/>
Cut to an open field, across which an exhausted Doug is carrying an unconscious Linda. An Andro-bot appears in front of him, and he whitens and tries to run away, but he stops when it waves him down and calls his name in Lydia's voice. It touches its breastbone, glows, and turns into Lydia. She hurries up and asks about Linda, and fusses with her collar and collarbone as she talks. Doug says she'll be okay if they can get her to a hospital. "But what happened to you?" he asks. Lydia starts to answer; as she stammers out the story of being almost run over, she accidentally touches her breastbone again -- and transforms into Linda. Cut on her and Doug gaping at each other.<br/>
<br/>
Next scene: Diana and Nitro Girl explore the car wreck. They note that the driver is gone, and they find the footprint and start to follow. They pause at a noise, however, and dive undercover as a rotaplane appears above. Diana recognizes Dr. Meredith at the controls, and tartly observes that it's not every boss who worries so much about his secretary. Ducking under the bushes, Diana and Sandra continue their search.<br/>
<br/>
Lydia and Doug (still carrying Linda) enter a clearing and spot two of their classmates: JACK and CASSANDRA, who are a handsome Negro couple. The latter's car is nearby, and the four students get Linda laid in the back seat. Doug suggests that Jack and Lydia take Linda to the hospital; he and Cassandra will get his van and follow. Lydia, who has been tapping her collarbone and frowning at the very familiar way that Doug and Cassandra are carrying on, pitches a small fit and insists that each couple stay together. After Jack and Cassandra have driven off, Doug rounds on her, and says he wanted to send her (Lydia) to safety ASAP. Lydia retorts, "Are you sure you just didn't want to go off in the woods alone with Cassandra?" Doug stammers that he doesn't, but she cuts him off by saying that she can arrange for him to be alone with Cassandra -- she touches her breastbone and transforms into Cassandra, and pulls a stammering Doug back into some bushes.<br/>
<br/>
Diana and Nitro Girl are searching the underbrush when the bushes part and they are surprised by the damaged Andro-bot. They are worsted by it, with Sandra taking a bad spill, and Diana has to lure it away to a hillside. She knocks it down the side of the hill but the thing is still mobile; she watches as it stalks away, and clearly would follow, but returns to tend to Sandra; she observes that the presence of the Andro-bot pretty well settles it that Dr. Meredith is working with Ouroboros. Her ward is mobile but has a twisted ankle, and Diana must help her hobble back toward the road.<br/>
<br/>
Elsewhere, Doug and Lydia (back in her own form) are coming out from under the trees and approach a van. They are arguing about what to do. Doug warns her that there is skullduggery afoot; Lydia laughingly asks why they can't just go home and keep their mouths shut. "We could have a lot of fun with this thing," she says. "<u>You</u> could have a lot of fun!" As Dan opens the door to the van, she turns herself back into Cassandra, and when Doug angrily tells her to cut it, she turns herself into Linda and hops up into his arms and asks if he'd like to "rescue me all over again." They hear the noise of a motor, and squint the sky. The rotaplane appears overhead. Dr. Meredith growls, "There you are, my dear," and issues instructions by radio: "All Andro-bots rendezvous at coordinates 25448!" He swings about and fires a laser bolt that blows out the engine of the van while Doug and Lydia run back into the woods.<br/>
<br/>
Diana puts Sandra in the Rocket Car, and looks up to notice the rotaplane, about a mile down the road, firing at something. "Looks like I better go check that out," she says, and uses her Turbo-Speed to race to the scene of the action. Dr. Meredith sees her coming and issues another order: "All Andro-bots, avoid Diana Might. Repeat, do not approach or attack adversary Diana Might." He sheers off as Diana approaches the disabled van, and as she watches the rotaplane is surrounded by a glow and turns into a biplane as it flies away.<br/>
<br/>
The camera pans over to the trees, where Doug and Lydia are watching. Doug wants to break cover to talk to Diana, who he recognizes, but Lydia pulls him back. "Maybe it's not really her! There are so many fakes walking around. Let's find another way back." Doug reluctantly returns to the woods, but Lydia lingers, and taps her collarbone while staring at Diana with an enigmatic expression.<br/>
<br/>
Diana approaches the van cautiously. She opens the hood and clucks over the ruined engine, then looks inside the cab before stepping around back to scrutinize the license plate. She calls Steve on her Belt-o-phone to give him the license number. "And Steve," she tells him, "I just saw the most remarkable thing. Dr. Meredith was flying around in a miniature helicopter, and it suddenly transformed into an airplane!" Steve replies that this news coincides with the information that their agent was giving them from the inside. "He's been purchases high quantities of miniature electronics, the sort of the thing that would allow him to create holograms capable of disguising objects smaller than that house he was experimenting on. We've also been reexamining some of the communications we have intercepted from Ouroboros, and we're starting to suspect that his technology is such that it would allow him to create holograms of people. A kind of super disguise!" [Another margin note: "This better not be the actual dialogue!"] Diana exclaims that there's no limit to the kind of mischief Ouroboros could get up to with that kind of technology, and says she will go back to looking for Linda.<br/>
<br/>
As they tramp over the hills, Doug and Lydia argue again about what to do. Doug wants to go to the police, but Lydia wants to use the device. She names one of their classmates, whose father is a millionaire. "What if I disguised myself as her?" she says. "Aren't you tired of having to work in that grocery store part time to pay for your classes? I could use her face to get some of her money -- she'd never miss it -- and then you could quit and we could spend all our time together!" Doug is shocked by this fantasy, but he's interrupted when three Andro-bots come out of the bushes around them. For a moment they appear to be trapped, but Lydia, after cycling through the faces of the Andro-bot, Linda, and Cassandra, appears as Diana Might, and the Andro-bots turn and hurry away. "Pretty convenient, huh?" Lydia says. Then she spots the Rocket Car through a gap in the trees, and adds, "And I think I see a way back to town."<br/>
<br/>
Sandra is sitting in the passenger seat of the Rocket Car, nursing her ankle, as Diana Might emerges. The latter smilingly asks after Sandra's health, then asks her to get out of the Rocket Car. "I need to borrow it for a bit." Sandra is puzzled, but complies. Diana gets in, starts the car. It lurches and jerks, and Sandra shouts after it before it zooms away. A surprised and stricken Doug runs up, and he and Sandra stare agape after it. When Sandra says, "My boss just up and left me in the lurch here!" Doug grimly replies, "That wasn't your boss!"</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111112211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Adventures of Diana Might and Friends (3)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're curious enough about this document that you search out the show with your phone online. You find a Wikipedia stub: "<i>The Adventures of Diana Might and Friends</i> was a one-hour Saturday morning series that aired during the 1974-75 television season. The show combined a forty-minute live-action drama <i>(The Adventures of Diana Might)</i> with a seven-minute cartoon <i>(The Galaxy League)</i> that typically shared a motif." You also find a cast list:<br/>
<br/>
Diana Pouvoir/Diana Might -- Jan Shutan<br/>
Sandra Bowers/Nitro Girl -- Susan Lawrence<br/>
Trini the Car Computer (voice) -- Jeff David<br/>
O.U.R.O.B.O.R.O.S. (voice) -- Ted Cassidy<br/>
Steve Anderson -- John Davey<br/>
Dr. Xavier Luce -- Hans Conried<br/>
Mindy Newton -- Deidre Hall<br/>
Doug Carpenter -- Dack Rambo<br/>
Lydia Steubens -- Judy Strangis<br/>
Malcolm -- Heshimu Cumbuka<br/>
Cassandra -- Ta-Tanisha<br/>
Charlotte Townsend/Androbot -- Sharon Baird<br/>
<br/>
You resume reading ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In his office, Dr. Meredith is using remote cameras to check the road, and he notices the Rocket Car racing along. He is interrupted when the telescreen lowers of its own accord and the corona of O.U.R.O.B.O.R.O.S. appears. The Voice of the Snake asks what has happened to the delivery. Dr. Meredith tells them there has been a complication, but he is working to recover it. The Voice warns him that failure will result in his elimination. The telescreen retreats, and Dr. Meredith mutters that "you will have to find me first."<br/>
<br/>
In the Rocket Car, the fake Diana is surprised when Trini the Car Computer turns on and speaks to her. She stutters as it asks her what services it can perform for her until she asks if it can find out "information" about people. Trini rather cattily replies that of course it can, and that he is insulted at being asked. The fake Diana asks if he can find her information on "Charlotte Greene, the millionaire's daughter." Trini instantly produces reams of data, including a photograph that he flashes onto his console screen. The fake Diana touches her collarbone and then her breastbone; she glows and is replaced by CHARLOTTE GREENE. [Margin note: "How the hell many actors are we g. to hire?!"] She smiles coyly and practices asking her "daddy" for "a little spending money."<br/>
<br/>
Diana jogs up to join Doug and Sandra. Sandra quickly introduces Doug, saying that he found Linda and sent her to the hospital with friends. Doug jumps in: "But my girlfriend found this device, like a necklace that lets her disguise herself as other people!" "She disguised herself as you!" Sandra adds. Doug ruefully says, "I think it's made her go a little power mad." Diana reassures them: "Now that I know what we're dealing with, I can handle it." She turns and races off at Turbo-Speed.<br/>
<br/>
In the Rocket Car, fake-Charlotte notices Diana closing in. She tries speeding up, and evasive maneuvers to throw Diana off. But she loses control of the car and spins to a halt on the shoulder. Diana runs up; the canopy opens and Nitro Girl gasps at her: "Oh, it's you! I didn't know who it was chasing me!" Diana hauls her out of the car with a curt, "I know who you are, sister, so save it!" Fake-Sandra tries arguing, but Diana shuts her down: "You're in a lot of danger, Lydia. That device you're wearing was ordered up by an international criminal organization that will stop at nothing to get it back. You can try hiding from them, but it won't do you any good. And even if you could hide from them, you could never be yourself again. Do you want to do that? Do you want to always be on the run, always being someone else, never being yourself?" Fake-Sandra's eyes fall, but she rallies and smiles when Diana takes her by the shoulders and says, "There are plenty of people who love you for who you really are, Lydia. Doug, for instance. He seems like a heck of a swell guy!" [Margin note: "Get specialist for dialogue polish."] Fake-Sandra touches her breastbone, and Lydia reappears. She and Diana are startled by a crash from the underbrush, and the sparking, malfunctioning Andro-bot emerges from the treeline. Diana forces Lydia into the Rocket Car and tells her to get away, but she snatches the hologram necklace off her first. "Let's make you guys a force for good for once," she yells at the Andro-bot as they close on each other.<br/>
<br/>
In his office, Dr. Meredith is hurriedly packing a briefcase with papers and packets of cash. He touches a button on his desk, and the panel with the lights pulls back, and from the hidden recess he takes out another hologram necklace. Cut to the hanger with its rotaplane, where he puts on a helmet, stashes his briefcase in a compartment, and rolls the rotaplane out onto the tarmac. He looks up before getting in, and sees his secretary, Linda, advancing on him with a blank expression on her face. "Well!" he exclaims with a grin. "I can't say you're a sight for sore eyes, my dear, but at least I can eliminate one problematic witness!" He takes out a pistol and shoots at her. His grin changes to a frown and then to a look of panic as the bullets do nothing. She advances on him, and not until she is very close do sparks and smoke start to come off her. Dr. Meredith throws his arms over his face as there's an explosion. When the smoke clears, he singed but unharmed, and he looks down at the ruined Andro-bot and the half-melted Hologram necklace. "Shoot in haste, repent at leisure," he mutters, and clambers into the rotaplane it was wearing. He shakes his head, gets in the rotaplane, and takes off. Aloft, he chuckles. "Yes, just let them try to find me." He touches his breastbone. There's a glow, and he turns into a double for Diana Might. "And while they're looking, I'll be settling a little grudge," she gloats.<br/>
<br/>
Dissolve to the mansion of Diana Pouvoir, where Diana and Sandra are entertaining two guests: Doug and Lydia. "Diana Might told me how much help you were," she tells them. "On her behalf, I've established a scholarship fund at the college. If you'd like to apply for it, I'm sure you'd stand a really good chance of getting it." The two kids thank Diana, and Lydia apologizes again for "going a little crazy." As they leave, Sandra notices a sports coupe coming up the drive. "Oh, that must be my blind date," she chirps. "A blind date?" Diana asks. "You mean he doesn't know what you look like?" Sandra shakes her head. Diana pushes Sandra back in the house. "Then how about this time <u>you</u> wait upstairs, and <u>I'll</u> answer the door while pretending to be somebody else!"<br/>
<br/>
For the matching cartoon, I propose the following storyline: On a planet of pink aliens, a witch-like character transforms into a beautiful young girl and approaches a palace, where she is saluted as the Princess Azmadara. Inside, she pockets jewels until she sees the real princess coming, whereupon she transforms into a servant girl and falls into the train of the princess and follows her out of the palace unmolested with the gems.<br/>
<br/>
In space, the Galaxy League receives a transmission about a rash of robberies extending across the sector; the perpetrator appears to be invisible. The League is directed to Planet Catador, where the biggest diamond in the universe is set to be exhibited.<br/>
<br/>
On Catador (a planet of cat people), Thing-Man and Light-Spear take up station around the diamond, which is the size of a skyscraper, while Spectra-Girl talks to the museum director, Dr. Purfur, a humanoid Siamese cat with a throaty female voice. The doctor invites Spectra-Girl to look at the Stars of Andromeda, a jewelry collection that is even more valuable than the giant diamond; Spectra-Girl follows, and is struck from behind by a shadowy figure. Thing-Man and Light-Spear are bantering when Spectra-Girl runs out and warns that a giant robot is approaching, apparently intent on stealing the diamond, and directs her colleagues to boost the diamond to take it to safekeeping. They oblige, and fly with the diamond into the hills despite the cat-people firing their laser rifles at them. As S-G (who has unaccountably arrived there ahead of them) directs her friends to load the diamond into a giant rocket, another S-G arrives and tells them to stop. "The thief isn't invisible!" she announces. "She uses disguises to steal things!" The other S-G has vanished when they turn around, and the rocket, with the diamond stowed away, blasts off. Light-Spear soars aloft in pursuit. <br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, Dr. Purfur has appeared in a groundcar and offers to give S-G and T-M a lift back to their spaceship so they can join the chase; she tells them that they'll have to hide in a secret compartment in order to get past the cat-police, who still think the Galaxy League are thieves. <br/>
<br/>
In space, Light-Spear uses his energy bolts to carve a hole in the rocketship wall; inside he finds the cockpit empty and the controls on automatic. He vainly tries to stop the rocket from steering into a sun, but fails, and soars out with the sun's fire trailing off his own corona.<br/>
<br/>
The ride in the groundcar becomes very bumpy, and S-G and T-M feel themselves falling. S-G phases through the compartment walls in time to see the groundcar tumble into a deep ravine; T-M of course is unhurt when it bursts apart on impact. They hear a cackle of laughter and see. Dr. Purfur running off with a large bag, which S-G deduces must contain the Stars of Andromeda. Dr. Purfur runs into the League cruiser and tries to take off, but T-M runs up in time to seize and hold it. S-G phases into the ship, grabs the thief, and pulls her and the jewels out. The real Dr. Purfur (with a bandaged head) drives up with the police, who take the thief (returned to her witch form) into custody. Light-Spear returns with the sad news of the diamond's destruction, and Dr. Purfur reveals it was fake, as the real diamond was too valuable to be exhibited.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To continue investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122111
author_id: seuzz
title: Mad Sci High (1)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>On the next page you find what for all the world looks like a Wikipedia page that has been printed out—even the hyperlinked text has been reproduced in blue, underlined letters. At the very top it says <i><b>Mad Sci High</b></i>, and beneath that the tagline "From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia."<br/>
<br/>
You read ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i><b>Mad Sci High</b></i> is a Canadian-French-Italian animated series produced by Aniglyph Animation that aired for one season on ZTV (France) and UgazzoVisione (Italy). Thirteen episodes were produced.<br/>
<br/>
<u><b>Plot</b> [edit]</u><br/>
The series concentrates on five students at Madison City High School who discover that they are modified clones of five famous mad scientists. Rebelling against their seemingly ordained fate, they try to unravel the mystery of how and why they were created while foiling various bizarre and mysterious conspiracies that afflict their school and their classmates. To this end they form The Wholly Calm and Not Even The Teensiest Little Bit Unbalanced Scientists Club ("The WCNETTLBUSC"). The rest of the school student body perversely dubs them "The Wackadoodles."<br/>
<br/>
It is suggested, but never fully confirmed during the series run, that the original mad scientists they are clones of are also present at the high school, though disguised as members of the school faculty. It isn't clear whether the original mad scientists are following the orders of, or are trying to foil, the mysterious and never seen school superintendent, Mr. Sunday, who is apparently in back of the various attacks staged against the school and its students.<br/>
<br/>
<u><b>Characters</b> [edit]</u><br/>
<b>The WCNETTLBUSC</b> [edit]<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Victor Franks</b> - A chemistry expert, Victor is the leader of the WCNETTLBUSC and is capable of whipping out almost any chemical concoction the situation requires. He is buff and blonde and handsome; despite this, he is notably dense about matters of romance, and always manages to ignore, misinterpret, or misattribute the love notes that a secret admirer sends to his phone or leaves in his locker.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Jean Moreau</b> - An expert in biology and zoology, Jean when properly armed can use pheromones to direct nearby wildlife into battle. She frequently gets into furious arguments with Victor about strategy and tactics. But she is his secret admirer, and is the one leaving unsigned texts on his phone and cards in his locker.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Jake Ellison</b> - Jake is a short, nebbishy white computer whiz whose spastic personality and bad personal hygiene are in stark contrast to his alter ego, who he transforms into when especially excited. This alter ego, Mr. Cool, is a six-foot, five-inch black man with a deep, calm voice, massive muscles, and the ability to defeat opponents without losing his unflappable demeanor. He wears a dark business suit, shades, and a cologne that makes the girls of the school frantic with desire. Unfortunately, Mr. Cool's catch-phrase, "I can dig it", which he is all too prone to utter, returns Jake to his regular form.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Maria Rotwanger</b> - An expert in mechanical and electrical engineering, Maria crafts the Club's gear. It is a recurrent frustration to her that her teammates usually forget all about the tools she's provided them with until after the battles are won, though she herself almost never remembers to use them either.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Fan Lu Chu</b> - "Lou" as he is called is a math whiz and martial artist who is deadly in hand-to-hand combat, thanks to his ability to quickly gauge, visualize, assess, and act upon the masses and velocities of himself, his opponents, and any nearby objects. This makes up for his slight stature and undernourished physique.<br/>
<br/>
<b>Other Students</b> [edit]<br/>
* <b>Nelson Smith</b> - The son of the Madison City police chief is Fan's boyhood best friend and the one who helped him and his friends discover who and what they are. He frequently brings in clues for them to use in solving the villains' latest plot. He is plump and wears round glasses; his blonde hair is cut in a pageboy bob.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Bundt Hogshanks</b> - The football team's star fullback is a hulking giant with a five-foot shoulder-span that tapers down to tiny feet. He wears a sleeveless letterman jacket, and is never seen without a posse of other football players who follow his orders unquestioningly. He is soft-spoken and talks with a California "valley boy" accent, but has an ornate, multi-syllabic vocabulary, using expressions like "intestinal fortitude" instead of "courage", "cerebrally exceptional" instead of "smart" and "disaggregate without remainder" instead of "kill." He and his gang seem to operate as enforcers for the undiscovered villains, and are frequently the muscle that the WCNETTLBUSC must battle.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Gossamer Freebreeze</b> - The head cheerleader is Bundt's girlfriend. She is bubbly, bosomy and blonde, and is never seen outside her blue-and-white uniform. She claims to be identical twins (Gossamer and Golightly) and sometimes answers to one name and sometimes the other, but the two girls have never been seen together. (Bundt, however, is unerring in being able to tell when it is one or the other, and never fails to call her by her correct name.) Despite her cheery, friendly air, she seems to have a psychotic desire to see the WCNETTLBUSC ground into pulp, and is usually on hand with her fellow cheerleaders, on the sidelines, to cheer as her boyfriend and his gang battle the heroes.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Madison Bergman</b> - The most popular girl in school, for reasons that no one can quite explain. She is very pretty and very smart, and everyone thinks she throws the best parties and has the hunkiest boyfriend (who is different in every episode, but is the hunkiest guy in school regardless); but when pressed no one can explain to the WCNETTLBUSC, and to Jean in particular, who hates Madison, what makes her so popular. Madison apparently senses the WCNETTLBUSC's hostility, and though she is very sweet to them in public, in private her complexion curdles and she swears to the WCNETTLBUSC that she will crush them. <br/>
<br/>
* <b>Hillary Honecker</b> - The head of the Speech Club, and the only girl who takes the AP version of all classes, including AP Lunch and AP Between-Class-Breaks. She is driven and hypercompetitive, and in the episode "There's An AP for That!" she trades the lives of the WCNETTLBUSC for a copy of the Ultra-Ultra-Double-Super-Secret-Premium SAT Study Guide.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Viola Mondshein</b> - Viola plays the violin, viola, cello, double-bass and flageolet in the school orchestra. She is on friendly terms with the WCNETTLBUSC, and in "Bottle to the Death" she uses her violin to set off a harmonic vibration that shatters the glass bottles that Mr. Robertson has trapped them in. Lou has a crush on her which he is unable to act upon; she, oblivious to it, only treats him like a friend.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Dudley Pinkberry</b> - At the end of the spring semester, Dudley was a rabbity and much bullied enthusiast of role-playing games. When he returned at the start of the new year, he was six-and-a-half feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle looking for revenge. He has a special grudge against the WCNETTLBUSC because he blames them for failing to stick up for him before he had his growth spurt. He is accompanied everywhere by five waist-tall goblins with blank eyes and sharp teeth, named Munch, Crunch, Punch, Smunch, and Mrs. Wifflepoof. Like piranha fish, they are capable of reducing students to bones and rags in seconds. They aren't able to talk, but are accepted without qualm or question by every student and teacher (except the WCNETTLBUSC, who suspect Dudley and his goblins of being genetically modified by the villains) as regular students, even though they eat their books, pencils, backpacks, and any other academic supplies they are given.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Gertrude Carlotta Spizzicato von Nakashima</b> - A foreign exchange student who, when asked what country she's from, will only mention countries that have hosted her. (There are 145 such countries, by her count.) She is a fat and freckled red-head who wears her hair in Pippi Longstockings pigtails, sports a monocle in one eye, and has lederhosen under her pinafore. She is an expert with double-handed swords, pole arms, nunchucks, and other hand-combat weapons, and keeps trained bats in her hair, which she uses to spy about the school. In "From Mumble-Mumble-Somewhere With Love" she has a crush on Victor and uses her bats to deliver notes to him; when he (as usual) blithely ignores them, she turns against him and is defeated when Jean cripples her bats. In subsequent episodes she is shown to have crushes on other characters, but the WCNETTLBUSC doesn't intervene to save them.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Ken Matsuo</b> - Lou's mortal enemy, who Lou defeated in a mathlete tournament their freshman year and has carried a grudge ever since. He is tall and stereotypically "yaoi" in looks and manner, and flirts in a bitter and sarcastic way with Lou and the other male members of the WCNETTLBUSC. His slinky Siamese cat, Myowi, is often seen curled about his shoulders; Ken never resorts to fisticuffs, and rarely takes his hands out of his pockets, but Myowi, who acts as a kind of "familiar" for him, frequently ambushes the WCNETTLBUSC with slashing claw attacks. It is not clear if Ken is working with the villains or is simply pursuing a private vendetta of his own, as Miyowi is often seen attacking the football players and other villains as well.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You stop halfway through the "Characters" list to blink and shake your head. Something about this show description feels very familiar, but you can't place it.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111221111
author_id: seuzz
title: Mad Sci High (2)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have no idea where this printed-out "Wikipedia page" comes from, and a search of both that site and the internet as a whole turns up nothing on the phrase "Mad Sci High" except a handful of uses from someone's forum for a private table-top RPG game.<br/>
<br/>
You continue reading ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
* <b>Bhodi Banerjee</b> - A hip-hop disc jockey who presides over almost every party on or off school property. His beats are hypnotic, and it is implied in "Hip-notism" and in "Pop Hearts" that Madison Bergman pays him to use his skills to brainwash her crush de jour into becoming her boyfriend. In "Hip-notism" he also used his skills to provoke the student body into a riot under cover of which he steals copies of the answers to all the upcoming tests. In "Badda Bang, Badda Ka-Boom," on the other hand, he used his skills in the climactic battle to help the marching band drive back the football players so that the WCNETTLBUSC could dismantle a sonic bomb that had been planted in the school stadium. He is not otherwise friendly to the WCNETTLBUSC, however.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Julio Hernandez and Almida LeBaron</b> - The captain of the boys' and girls' basketball teams. He is a medal- and chain-bedecked fan of hip-hop music and is best friends with Bhodi Banerjee; she is best friends with Madison and helps her plan her parties and other conquests. The two are rarely seen apart from each other, and their constant PDAs literally sicken most of the students. Almida helps Madison plot against the WCNETTLBUSC, but Julio leaves them alone. <br/>
<br/>
* <b>Thomas Bone</b> - A horn player in the marching band. Despite being the boyfriend of Sarah Spangler, a frequent enemy of the WCNETTLBUSC, Tom usually sides with them. He and his fellow horn players are often able to force back Bundt Hogshanks and his football players, or Dudley Pinkberry and his orcs, with blasts from their horns.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Sarah Spangler</b> - Sarah is Thomas Bone's girlfriend and is a drum major in the marching band. Like Gossamer Freebreeze, she is frequently found on the side of the villains, and her baton, which when thrown will return to her like a boomerang, is a deadly weapon. She also carries confetti, with which she can blind adversaries. Her greatest weakness is an inability to function when thrown off her stride (she marches everywhere) by off-tempo drumming. When this happens she falls over and goes into spastic convulsions.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Booth Oliver</b> - The head of the school's drama club is a glamorous figure with a hawk-like face, scissor-like moustaches, and a dagger-like Vandyke clinging to his chin. He is a master of disguise, but out of disguise he  wraps himself in dark silk shirts that he unbuttons to the navel (exposing a sculpted torso) and leather pants. He changes sides in the ongoing battles, and is as often an ally of the WCNETTLBUSC as he is an antagonist. He is often seen fluttering a black handkerchief around while sobbing over his ex-girlfriend, Desdemona Spink, who he is convinced is dead, even when she walks right past him in the hallways.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Desdemona Spink</b> - Booth Oliver's ex-girlfriend is a rolypoly girl who excels in home economics, especially baking. She is shaped like a dumpling, is usually dusted with flour, and almost always has a box of cookies, muffins or other baked goods which she presses upon people. (They are invariably delicious, and just as invariably cause intestinal distress.) She is friends with everyone, heroes and villains alike, and no one ever troubles her.<br/>
<br/>
<b>Faculty</b> [edit]<br/>
* <b>Mr. Robertson</b> - The science teacher is a small, wild-eyed man with unkempt white hair who apparently lives, like a medical specimen, inside a giant, unbreakable glass jar. This is because he fears that his students will blow up himself and the school while conducting the lab experiments that he assigns to them. He is carried about the school by an enormous, mute, green lizard-man named Krag. In the series premiere, "They Called Us Mad! Mad!" the WCNETTLBUSC distract him and escape his classroom by popping a paper bag behind him. This causes him to shriek and faint.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Mr. Saxon</b> - The shop teacher is a skinny, pop-eyed man never seen without a screwdriver in his hand. He is a tinkerer and a mechanic, and several of the death traps the WCNETTLBUSC fall into appear to have been designed by him. Despite this and his skeletal-like appearance, he has a very mild manner and pays the WCNETTLBUSC frequent compliments. He is married to the school's head of cafeteria services<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Ms. Goodstone</b> - The English teacher is a daffy, dithering sort who speaks in rhyming couplets exclusively and frequently weeps with joy at the sight of bunny rabbits and deer frolicking just outside the school grounds. She is also never to be seen without her "pet skull," Yorick. In "Julio and Romiet", the WCNETTLBUSC discover that Yorick is actually the skull of the previous year's valedictorian, and that in her locked cabinet Ms. Wellstone has a thirty-skull collection, each labeled with a year.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Mr. Wellington</b> - The math teacher is frequently seen stalking the school halls while counting his footsteps in an undertone, and he punctuates the pauses between his sentences by shrieking out random numbers. In "The Square Root of Doom" he is defeated when the WCNETTLBUSC confuse him into miscounting the number of times a clock tower bell has rung.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Ms. Shelly</b> - Apparently no one has ever taken a class from Ms. Shelly, and when the WCNETTLBUSC finally infiltrate her classroom in "Who's the Craziest One of Them All?" they find it completely dark and empty of desks and chairs. She has a reputation for being the craziest of the teachers, and rumor has it she has been seen eating worms and bugs from the cartons of Chinese food that she keeps in the teachers' lounge refrigerator.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Coach Fritz</b> - The gym teacher, who is never seen out of gray, long-sleeve sweatshirts and sweat pants, and who never removes his red cap or whistle, is a harsh task master whose favorite phrase is "Give me twenty-five! Now!" He has bulging, unblinking eyes and a grating, metallic voice (a parody of Kirk Douglas's) that he shouts through gritted teeth and unmoving lips. He doesn't walk but moves about on self-powered roller skates. When he's hit in the chest with a ball, it makes a hollow, booming noise.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Ms. Stevens</b> - The school librarian has the slit-like eyes and forked tongue of a snake, which flashes out when she shushes students for talking. The library itself seems to be organized like a maze, and students frequently get lost when searching the stacks for books. In "Swimmer's Fear" the WCNETTLBUSC discover that some shelves are secret doors into hidden passages.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Mrs. Saxon</b> - The head of cafeteria services, Mrs. Saxon is a mannish figure in a white smock and chef's hat that is rumored to hide a Medusa-style coil of snakes. She is married to Mr. Saxon, the shop teacher, and it's a further rumor that most of the school food is stuffed with the sawdust from his work rooms.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Nurse Lang</b> - Everyone who goes to see the school nurse comes out sicker or more badly maimed than when they went in.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Mr. Orson</b> - The school principal is a friendly, avuncular man with a fatherly air who likes to give out suckers to any students who are sent to him for punishment (which he never inflicts). He is also a giant head that floats about on a rocket-powered hover chair. He claims to have lost his body in a tragic "butt paddling" accident when he was young, which is why he abhors corporal punishment.<br/>
<br/>
* <b>Mr. Sunday</b> - The school superintendent is never seen except on a telecast screen, either the ones in the classrooms, corridors and teachers' lounge, or the others scattered about the city. There he appears in silhouette as a fat, bald figure with the voice, accent and manner of Alfred Hitchcock. He is apparently behind the various evil shenanigans that afflict the high school, but he is also seen manipulating events behind the scene to save the heroes from the worst dangers. His motives are entirely obscure.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111112211111
author_id: seuzz
title: Mad Sci High (3)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><u><b>Episodes</b> [edit]</u><br/>
1. <b>"They Called Us Mad! Mad!"</b> Five students at Madison City High School learn that they are the modified clones of five famous mad scientists. When they overhear voices in the teacher's lounge discussing them and their "satisfactory progress" toward their "ultimate destiny" they fear they are being groomed to become their originals' successors, and decide to rebel. The form an underground club to investigate their origins.<br/>
<br/>
2. <b>"Badda Bang, Badda Ka-Boom"</b> The WCNETTLBUSC discover a plot to set off a sonic bomb at the school stadium during the homecoming game, and that the plot is being orchestrated by the mysterious school superintendent, Mr. Sunday.<br/>
<br/>
3. <b>"From Mumble-Mumble-Somewhere With Love"</b> A foreign exchange student joins the school and forms an instant crush on Victor. When he doesn't return her affection, she unleashes horrific attacks on him and the other members of the WCNETTLBUSC.<br/>
<br/>
4. <b>"The Square Root of Doom"</b>  The heroes do not understand why the science teacher wants to use his shrink ray on all the rulers in the math wing, while the math teacher has built a slice-and-dice pendulum in the clock tower. It turns out the two teachers have switched plots so each will have an alibi if caught.<br/>
<br/>
5. <b>"There's An AP For That! "</b> The WCNETTLBUSC are studying hard for upcoming AP tests, and get lost in the school library when they break in after hours to get the books they need. The episode includes a fight with a minotaur, carnivorous books, and the school's librarian.<br/>
<br/>
7. <b>"Love Bugs"</b> Everyone falls sick when they come in contact with Julio and Almida. The WCNETTLBUSC discovers that they are the unwitting incubator of a virulent, villain-designed pathogen: "The Love Bug."<br/>
<br/>
6. <b>"Bottle to the Death"</b> Mr. Robertson traps victims in "soul jars" which he uses to transfer abilities and traits from one to another, in order to create "the perfect student."<br/>
<br/>
8. <b>"Pop Hearts"</b> Madison plans a party at which every student will end up paired with his or her "true love" - or else.<br/>
<br/>
9. <b>"Hip-notism"</b> The school's disc jockey uses his beats to provoke riots so he can steal copies of upcoming tests.<br/>
<br/>
10. <b>"Julio and Romiet"</b> An accident causes Julio and Almida to switch bodies.<br/>
<br/>
11. <b>"Who Are You and What Have You Done With the Bad Guys?"</b> The villains of the student body are acting strangely, and Lou fears they are being replaced with "good robot" versions of themselves.<br/>
<br/>
12. <b>"Swimmer's Fear"</b> A chemical compound in the swimming pool transforms the swim team into shark-headed mermaids and mermen. The WCNETTLBUSC must administer a cure before the school gets eaten.<br/>
<br/>
13. <b>"Who's the Craziest One of Them All?"</b> The WCNETTLBUSC realize they know almost nothing about Ms. Shelley, so they infiltrate her classroom. Inside they find slimy chrysalises that birth undersized zombies. After failing to destroy these, they discover that the zombies are actually the larvae of the incoming freshman class.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You turn the page, and to your surprise, you find a printout of the Wikipedia discussion page for the show. The comment is: "FOR GODS SAKE HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH? THIS IS!!!!"<br/>
<br/>
You read the deleted text ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<u><b>"Who Are You and What Have You Done With the Bad Guys?"</b></u><br/>
<br/>
<b>Act I</b><br/>
Lou (Fan Lu Chu) arrives at school and is met by Desdemona, who offers him a muffin. He accepts, but asks her why there is a small watch gear sticking up out of it. She tells him it's a new recipe and leaves him. He shrugs, swallows the muffin, and chokes it down while wincing. While sucking his fingertips, he wonders aloud if she's got more, but is interrupted by Nelson, who hurries up. "There was a major robbery last night," he tells Lou breathlessly. "All the clocks in town have been stolen." Lou looks at the digital watch on his wrist. "No they weren't," he says. "Mechanical clocks!" Nelson says. "Oh, so, like, three clocks," Lou smirks. Nelson reminds him that Madison City is home to three major clock factories, and all of them got knocked over. "Every gear, every spring, every shaft, every pendulum got stolen! Enough to build Big Ben a hundred times over!" Lou says he'll call a meeting of the WCNETTLBUSC, and enters his locker and slides down the pole to the clubroom in the basement.<br/>
<br/>
Victor and Jean are already there, holding hands and tentatively smooching. "Whoa, that's unexpected," Lou says. He tells his friends about the clock robbery. "We think you can handle it by yourself," Victor assures him. "Jean and I are going to hang out down by the lake today." Lou asks if he can get backup from Jake and Maria. "Maria's got a dental appointment and will be late to school. Don't know where Jake is," Victor says. He and Maria leave. Lou is puzzled but happy to have a job that he can handle all by himself, and sits down to think about the first step of the investigation. He burps up the clock gear he swallowed earlier, and gets an idea. "Obviously she's the first person I should talk to," he tells himself.<br/>
<br/>
The scene cuts to the cafeteria, where Lou is talking to Mrs. Saxon. He asks her about some food processing machinery her husband was going to install. They look out the back window at a smoke-belching factory, which dwarfs the school, immediately in back of the cafeteria. "No," Mrs. Saxon tells Lou. He cocks a skeptical eyebrow, but decides to get some breakfast before investigating the new school wing. In line he is followed by Dudley and his five orcs, who are as out of control as always, and one of them attacks Lous shin. He yells, and despairs when Bundt and his football buddies approach. To Lou's amazement, though they confront Dudley and force him and his orcs to apologize to Lou. Lou accepts the apologies as best he can -- with winces because he expects a pounding, but is relieved when Dudley and the orcs depart. But he is even more aghast when Bundt asks him if we would like stay after school and toss a football around. Lou asks what the catch is, and Dudley patiently tells him the catch is "you catch the ball." He gently tosses the football he's holding to Lou. "See? Bring it with you and we'll play some." Bundt and his friends leave Lou.<br/>
<br/>
In first period, Lou tells Thomas that there's something funny going on and says he's going to skip second period to investigate. Caught by Ms. Goodstone for talking, Lou is banished to the back of the class. In the next desk over, Dudley glares at Lou and punches his hand meaningfully. Lou bends over to do his work, then looks over at the desk on the other side of him he sees Dudley sitting in it, working diligently on his assignment. Lou looks back and forth: on one side, Dudley glaring at him. The other side Dudley studiously working. Then the last time he looks over, Dudley is working, but when Lou swings around, the first desk is now empty. Lou looks at back Dudley, who has shot his hand in the air and is begging to be called on by the Ms. Goodstone, then when he looks back at the empty chair. Only it's not empty anymore. One of Dudley's orcs is now sitting in it. The orc smiles at Lou, rumbles an orkish "Good morning" at him and takes out a giant book and starts to quietly read it. Lou is thunderstruck.<br/>
<br/>
Class lets out, and Lou sneaks outside to the new annex. He picks the lock on the door and enters. The space is cramped with gears, pistons and conveyor belts whizzing around carrying boxes, some big and some little. Lou grabs one as it goes by, and sees that it's making a clock. He follows the belt into another room, where the boxes are bigger; and then a third room. "It makes clocks," he says to himself, "and uses those clocks to make bigger clocks, and the bigger clocks to make even bigger clocks." He follows the last conveyor belt through a slot in a wall and comes out in a room filled with empty shelves. As he walks along, he comes to two jars. The first holds Ken Matsuo; the second holds Myowzi. "Help me!" Ken yells, and claws at the side of the bottle. Myowzi also claws at the side of the bottle and meows.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Mad Sci High (4)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You continue to read the plot summary to an episode of the animated series <b>Mad Sci High</b> ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<b>Act II</b><br/>
Lou tries breaking the bottle that imprisons Ken, but he deduces it's one of Mr. Robertson's unbreakable bottles. "I'll go get Viola, she got us out of these last time!" he yells at Ken, who pleads with him to hurry. Lou runs out into the cafeteria and grabs Viola, telling her that he needs her help to rescue Ken. As he's talking, Ken and Myowzi walk up behind him; he says "Hi Ken" to them, then does a double-take. "How'd you get out?" he yells. Ken asks him what he's talking about; Lou grabs Ken and Viola and hauls them back into the warehouse. He runs up and down the long corridors, but can't find the bottles that had Ken and Myowzi. When he tries explaining what he saw, Ken gives him a pitying pat on the head before suggesting they get together do their math homework after school. That instantly turns Lou suspicious and he asks why. "Jeez, do I need a reason to hang out with my favorite mathlete?" Ken asks, sounding very innocent. Lou opens his mouth to retort, then freezes and looks down to find Myowzi rubbing her back on Lou's ankles and purring deeply. "What is wrong with your cat?" he yells. " "He just likes you," Ken says. Lou yelps and runs away.<br/>
<br/>
In the library, Viola finds Lou hiding under a table, trembling hard. "Everyone's going crazy," he complains, "especially me!" Viola says she doesn't think that she's crazy or that he's crazy either, and asks why he doesn't get his friends to help if he's so freaked out. Lou says he can't because they left him in charge of this case. Viola suggests he's freaking out only because of the pressure, and that if he just does his job, he'll be okay. That perks Lou up, and with the brain cylinders fired up again he tells Viola it must be a case of mass, personality-altering hypnotism. "And you know who that means!"<br/>
<br/>
The scene cuts to Lou confronting Madison Bergman. He accuses her of using mass hypnotism to improve the personalities of all the boys at the school so that she can have more eligible boyfriends to pick from. She tells him that's silly, as she already has her perfect boyfriend. She reaches into a room and pulls out Julio Hernandez. Lou asks Julio how he could possibly break up with Almida. Julio says, "Easy. I told her I was breaking up with her." Lou reminds Madison that Almida was her best friend. "She was totally okay with it," Madison tells him. "She's already got a new boyfriend." She points, and Lou sees Almida walking along with one of Dudley's orcs, who is burbling happily to her while she giggles. "We're going on a double date tonight," Madison says, and she and Julio walk off. "That's sick!" Lou exclaims. "No, wait, that's actually kind of sweet," he says. "And at least Madison and Julio are just holding hands." He has a flashback to a day when he came out of the boys' restroom and caught sight of Julio and Almida hugging tightly and kissing. He ran back into the bathroom; from inside came the sound of hurling. Back in the present, Lou mutters, "Yes, much better. But still suspicious!"<br/>
<br/>
He goes to the music wing, where Bhodi is laying down beats to an empty room. Lou asks him if he's been spreading hypnotic messages to get everyone to be nice, and tells him that he's "cool" with that if he is. "Naw," Bhodi says. "I've decided that was all messed up. I'm just about the music these days." Lou only barely stops himself from freaking out. Thomas comes in to ask Lou if he's figured out the case. Lou admits he's stumped. Thomas suggests in that maybe there is no case, that everything is just the way it should be. Lou insists it isn't, but Thomas points out that everyone is acting better and doing better things, and that maybe he should just leave things the way they are. "And get your friends in the WCNETTLBUSC to lay off too," Bhodi says. "Did you just call us the WCNETTLBUSC?" Lou asks him. "You and everyone else calls us the Wackadoodles!" "That was messed up," Bhodi says. "I'm all about respecting you now."<br/>
<br/>
Lou stares at him, then asks Thomas if he believes Bhodi. Thomas says he does, and urges Lou to accept that things are better now. Lou ponders furiously, then agrees with him, and says he'll go talk to the others. He leaves. After he's gone, Bhodi tugs on Thomas's shirt and points to his own back; he turns slightly, revealing a giant key stuck there. Thomas winds it up, then turns around, exposing a giant key in his back, and Bhodi winds it up. The camera cuts to Lou spying on them from the doorway. </span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111221111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Mad Sci High (5)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You continue to read the plot summary to an episode of the animated series <b>Mad Sci High</b> ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<b>Act III</b><br/>
Lou races through the halls, muttering, "Got to tell the others, got to tell the others! Viola!" She turns. Lou skids up and starts to tell her what he saw, then freezes. "What are you doing in my locker?" he asks her. "Moving my books in," she says. "I want to share lockers with you." "Why?" Lou asks. "I just thought it would be nice," Viola says, and looks up at him with a dreamy expression. "Maybe we could make it a triple date with Madison and Julio and Almida and Mrs. Whifflepoof." "Yeah," says a freaked out Lou, "I wonder if Almida knows that's Mrs. Whifflepoof she's dating. Are you feeling okay?" Viola sighs. "It's been a long day," she says, "I'm feeling a little run down." She turns around, exposing the giant key in her back. "Give me a little boost?" Lou yelps and runs away. After he's gone, a slim figure in a ninja costume leaps in, winds up Viola, and whips away.<br/>
<br/>
Lou races down to the lake, where Victor and Jean are sitting, holding hands and delicately smooching. "Guys, I really need your help!" Lou yells. Victor asks him how come. "We left you in charge," he says, "because we thought it would make you happy." "It does make me happy but now I'd be happier if you'd just come with me and help!" Victor sighs and stands up. "Give me a minute," he says, and turns to Jean. "Little help?" He turns, exposing a giant key. She winds it, then turns around, exposing a key in her back. "Return the favor?" she says. Lou, screaming, runs away. A ninja-figure leaps into the scene and follows.<br/>
<br/>
Lou runs into the teachers' lounge, begging for help. Mr. Wellington, Ms. Shelly, and Nurse Lang turn to look at him, then turn to look at each other, exposing the keys in their backs. Lou backs away from them, and the refrigerator opens and a metal claw comes out, catching him and pulling him in. The ninja figure jumps into the lounge, and dives into the refrigerator after him.<br/>
<br/>
Lou is dragged down into a dark room, lit only by a telescreen. Mr. Sunday appears on it. "So you're behind it!" Lou yells at him. Mr. Sunday tells him that he is NOT behind the latest plot; in fact, he says that he needs Lou to stop the plot, and that Lou is the only one who can. Before a dumbfounded Lou can say anything, the ninja whips in, grabs Lou, and carries him out. Mr. Sunday mutters, "Oh dear" before his screen fizzes and goes dark.<br/>
<br/>
Lou is carried along by the ninja through the warehouse, which is filled with bottles that hold the kids of the school, all of them calling for help. The ninja takes Lou into an empty room and drops him. They stand face to face. Lou shouts "So it's you!" then adds, "Hang on. But which 'who' are you?" He thinks, and starts rattling off the names of possible students, all of which he recalls have been "replaced by a robot." His eyes light up when he's through. "By process of elimination, that leaves only one person!" He walks around the ninja, examining him. "Height is right, build is right, basic athletic ability is right. Your ex-girlfriend even got into your batch of watch gears. Booth Oliver, master actor, you're the villain of the week!"<br/>
<br/>
The ninja says, "You forget, it's always the person you least expect," and whips off the mask, revealing that he is Lou's identical twin. As Lou flails his arms in astonishment he strips off the rest of his ninja gear to show he's dressed just like Lou too.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm exactly like you," Lou's twin says, and raises his shirt to expose a transparent torso full of gears, chains, and shafts. "I was the first one, and I made all the rest of them, and I made them just the way I wanted them to be. Which is just the way you wanted them to be, because we're exactly the same. So why are you fighting it? This is what you want." "I don't want this, and you're not exactly like me, which makes you my evil twin!" "Don't you want an end to all the bullying, and the villain plots, and the fighting? Don't you want to see romantic couples in the halls that don't make you sick? Don't you want to share lockers with Viola? You have that crush on her. And all of that stuff is good. So if we're not the same, doesn't that make me the good version of you, and make you the evil version?" "But you turned my friends into robots!" "So they'd put you in charge, which is what you've always wanted. They'll still help you, if that's what you want. See?"<br/>
<br/>
Lou's twin brings out a robot of Jake, which starts talking spastically about how excited he is to help Lou out. "But can he turn into Mr. Cool, like the real Jake?" Lou challenges. The twin looks momentarily panicked, then says, "Hold on. Close your eyes." Lou sighs as he does so; there's some scuffling, and when he opens them again, Mr. Cool is standing where Jake had been: "I can dig it," he says, but doesn't change back into Jake. Lou, unimpressed past, just walks past him over to a garbage can, which holds the upside down Jake robot. "That's so pathetic it's like something I would think of," he tells his robot twin. Then Lou asks, "What about Maria?" "I haven't got her yet, but when she comes to school—" "When she comes to school she'll be totally ready for you!" Lou yells, and he whips out his cell phone. "I'm texting her now, telling her all about your plans and where we are! When she gets here, we'll fix you! I mean we'll bust you! I mean we'll--!" Lou's twin only smiles, and closes and locks the door. "Aw, nerts," Lou says. <br/>
<br/>
Then he says, "If you made this perfect world for me, what's your place in it? Where do you fit in? Are you just going to keep hiding down here while I enjoy it?" His twin rubs his chin and says, "You're right, I didn't think that far in advance. So if you don't like the life I made for you, I'll have to take it for myself!"<br/>
<br/>
He flies at Lou, who blocks him and returns the blow, but is blocked in turn. They fight, and prove evenly matched. "You don't get it," the robot gloats. "I'm just as good as you!" "And I'm just as good as you!" Lou retorts. They fight more, until Lou begins to get winded. "Here's where I'm better than you, bro," the robot says. "You'll get tired before me, while I can just—" Then he stops, a panicked look on his face, and twists about, exposing his key. He frantically tries grabbing for it, but can't reach it. "Need a little help?" Lou smirks. The robot runs for the door, but just as he's about to open it, there's a knock, and the knob rattles. Maria's voice sounds on the other side. "I followed your directions, Lou, and I brought something that'll fix everything! But I can't get in to save your butt if you don't unlock the door!" The robot, in a frenzy, runs around the room, trying to grab his key, then stops, runs down, and bends over at the torso with unseeing eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Lou strolls over to the door and opens it. "Thanks for coming," he smirks to Maria. "You got here just in time to save me." "Fake!" Maria screams, and blasts him in the face with a electrical zapper that blackens his face and fries his hair. "You just had to contribute something to this episode, didn't you?" Lou says.<br/>
<br/>
He leads her over to the robot. "It said it was the first one, and it made all the others. But who made it?" As they stare at it, the lights flick on, and Mr. Saxon walks in. As Lou and Maria watch, dumbfounded, he unscrews the robot Lou's head from the torso. "So that's where the little bugger got off too," he says, "some days you can't find your own head, and some days it's someone else's head you can't find. A man's hobbies are sometimes more trouble than they're worth." He walks off with the head, and puts out the light.<br/>
<br/>
All the members of the WCNETTLBUSC are standing by the corner of the school, except for Lou. Someone yells, "Think fast!" and Lou bounces in and comes to rest in a mud puddle. He sighs happily and says, "The world makes sense again." "Except we don't know why Mr. Saxon was making robots," Victor says. "Yes, we do," says Lou, "I went looking in his office and that's how come Bundt's gang took my pants." He stands up to reveals he's in a t-shirt and boxers only. "Go see for yourself. Eh, it could be worse." The others look at each other then trot over to the side of the school building. They sidle up to a window and look inside. The room is piled with boxes that say 'Saxon Toy Co.' and the shelves are filled with mechanical, cymbal-clanking monkeys, but each with the head of a different high school student. The members of WCNETTLBUSC look at each other, and turn away. The camera pans to one monkey, the one with Lou's head. It stares ahead, happily banging its cymbals ... then turns to glare at the window. It claps its cymbals more violently.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To continue investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111222
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-1
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You flip back a few pages, and find yourself in the middle of something that looks like a television script. Backwards you scoop through the pages until you find what looks like the start, and then on the page before that you find what looks like a cover letter. Your interest perks up when you see the letterhead: MARVEL PRODUCTIONS LTD. The date is smudged, and only the month and year—December, 1981—is legible<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Dear Dennis,</span> [you read]<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Enclosed please find a revised script for "The Incredible Hulk," episode 6, lately titled "Bruce Banner Unmasked." I know you asked me only for an outline of my ideas for  revision, but I find I write better by tackling a script directly. I emphasize, THIS IS NOT A SCRIPT SUBMISSION. It is only a highly detailed outline in an unorthodox format.<br/>
<br/>
I found a lot to admire in Michael's original, and I suggest keeping much of it -- there's no point throwing out what works. I won't belabor via typewriter my reasons for throwing out one of its two plots -- which will necessitate a new title; I'm suggesting "The Puppet Master Strikes!" -- and you can telephone me if you want to discuss things.<br/>
<br/>
One warning: I'm changing how the Puppet Master's power works. Hey, I figure if the cartoon can turn Rick Jones into a homosexual cowboy with a pretend girlfriend, it can fiddle with the Puppet Master's powers.<br/>
<br/>
Best, and looking forward to talking to you.<br/>
<br/>
--JSE<br/>
<br/>
PS added just before putting this in the mailer:<br/>
<br/>
Margaret called to say that a burger company is sniffing around about doing a tie-in with the show, and wants to know if this episode could be adapted into a pamphlet-sized floppy for inclusion in a kids' burger meal. I say, "Why the hell not; it can't be any more unappetizing than the cardboard burgers." So I've stuffed a couple of pages of an idea between the leaves of the script. I figure the kids might be intrigued by the Puppet Master's particular threat, so I thought we could give them some character sketches and a description of how the Puppet Master GETS YA! -- make 'em hungry for the actual story, whatever shape it ends up in. I worked up some cheap illustrations, some almost traced directly from the story bible, to give an idea of what it might look like. Cheers, JSE.</span><br/>
<br/>
You turn the page and find a yellowed script. You start to read ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace"><br/>
<div align="center"><u>"The Puppet Master Strikes!"</u></div><br/>
FADE IN:<br/>
<br/>
EXT. DESERT -- ARMY BASE -- DAY<br/>
The frame PANS across a desert. Plants, wildlife and sand.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    Hey, this is Stan Lee! Wouldn't it be<br/>
                    horrible if a super-villain could<br/>
                    control The Hulk? Well, you're about<br/>
                    to see the evil Puppet Master try to<br/>
                    do just that! Will he succeed? Hang<br/>
                    tight, heroes, 'cos here we go!<br/>
<br/>
The frame stops on a pair of soldiers squatting around a grenade launcher as MAJOR NED TALBOT looks on.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Alright men, look lively! Remember<br/>
                    the element of surprise!<br/>
<br/>
THE HULK lands next to Talbot with a HEAVY THUD. Talbot SHRIEKS and dives behind some sand bags.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Battle positions! Man all weapons!<br/>
                    It's the Hulk!<br/>
<br/>
Talbot gapes as SOLDIER #1 calmly walks up to pat the glowering Hulk on the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #1<br/>
                    Surprise, Major. It's just one of the<br/>
                    models we're using in the weapons<br/>
                    tests. Remember?<br/>
<br/>
The frame PANS to take in a motorized catapult, already loaded with another grimacing Hulk model. Talbot stands up.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Of course. I knew that. I was just<br/>
                    practicing my reflexes!<br/>
<br/>
The frame PANS, TILTS and DOLLIES IN on the nearby hills, then DISSOLVES TO:<br/>
<br/>
EXT. DESERT HILLS -- MINING CAMP -- DAY<br/>
On a hilltop, binoculars to his eyes, a short, bald figure grins as he watches the army maneuvers. Behind him stands a Quonset hut. He is the PUPPET MASTER.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    Meanwhile, not far away, we find the<br/>
                    villain we warned you about. The<br/>
                    uncanny Puppet Master!<br/>
<br/>
Insert POV of the soldiers, seen thru the binoculars, shooting at Hulk models.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (O.S.)<br/>
                         (giggling)<br/>
                    Boys playing with dolls. But soon<br/>
                    they shall be <u>my</u> playthings!<br/>
<br/>
He turns to look down into a valley on the other side of the ridge. Below, WORKMEN in vests and hard hats move earth with steam shovels, bulldozers, and dump trucks. <br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (O.S.)<br/>
                    Until now, I didn't have nearly<br/>
                    enough of the atomic clay I use to<br/>
                    control people. But thanks to the<br/>
                    atomic testing, there is heaps of<br/>
                    it here outside Mesa City. With<br/>
                    it, soon there will be nothing I <br/>
                    cannot accomplish!<br/>
<br/>
He moves over to a work table, on which stands a row of clay models (each about a foot tall) that are duplicates of some of the workmen just glimpsed. Beside the models is a pile of glowing clay, and the Puppet Master scoops some up.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Already the men working the clay<br/>
                    mines are my puppets, and with the<br/>
                    clay they are digging up for me, my<br/>
                    computerized factory is working round<br/>
                    the clock making even more puppets!<br/>
<br/>
He gloats with outstretched arms.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Soon I will have control of Mesa City.<br/>
                    Then I will take over the army base,<br/>
                    the state --<br/>
                         (giggling)<br/>
                    And end with an empire of puppets<br/>
                    to command!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. DESERT-- DAY<br/>
The army fires weapons of various kinds at Hulks that fly through the air. One of these plunges from the sky straight into the frame. The screen goes BLACK.<br/>
<br/>
The frame pulls back to reveal a giant wall monitor being watched by GENERAL ROSS, BETTY ROSS, and BRUCE BANNER. The screen turns into a shot of broken film stock.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE BANNER<br/>
                    I hope the cameraman wasn't hurt.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    He wasn't, but that's only because it<br/>
                    wasn't the real Hulk, only a full-scale<br/>
                    model. But from this moment on, our<br/>
                    primary mission is to capture that<br/>
                    menace! <br/>
<br/>
He points at Bruce and Betty.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    Ned Talbot is handling the fighting<br/>
                    end. You two use every computer and<br/>
                    test tube on this base to solve the<br/>
                    mystery of who and what he is!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Bruce Banner as he reacts to the General's order.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    Imagine Bruce Banner's shock! He has<br/>
                    just been ordered to reveal his own<br/>
                    terrible secret, for he is the Hulk!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- DOWNTOWN -- STREET AND SIDEWALK -- DAY<br/>
A modest downtown of store fronts and light foot traffic. RICK JONES and RITA RIVERA stroll with their arms around each other.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    That was a great vacation, Rick, but<br/>
                    I'm glad to be back in Mesa City. We<br/>
                    haven't lived here long, but already<br/>
                    it feels like home.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Well, it should, considering your dad<br/>
                    lives here too!<br/>
<br/>
As they pass a storefront that reads MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS on its window, a WOMAN and her 8-year-old SON bustle out. They brush rudely past Rick and Rita without speaking. The son drops something.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    People should watch where they're<br/>
                    going.<br/>
<br/>
The woman and son stop and turn. Their eyes are blank and colorless, their faces like masks. When she speaks it is with the echoing semi-monotone of the Puppet Master's puppets.<br/>
<br/>
                              WOMAN<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Please<br/>
                    accept my apology.<br/>
<br/>
Rick kneels and picks up the dropped item. It's a foot-tall Tyrannosaurus Rex, and he's very cheerful as he hands it back to the blank-eyed boy.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    That's alright. Say, that's quite a<br/>
                    toy you got there, pardner!<br/>
<br/>
                              WOMAN<br/>
                         (puppet voice) <br/>
                    We bought it in this shop. The owner<br/>
                    does amazing work with clay. You<br/>
                    should go in and look around.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Well, if that dinosaur's anything to<br/>
                    judge by, I think we will!<br/>
<br/>
He and Rita turn. The woman watches them go with dead, blank eyes.</span></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111112221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You turn the page, and are startled to find a sheet with some full-color illustrations and faded captions. It takes you a moment to remember what the cover letter said, that someone wanted to work up a cheap "comic book" to put into a Happy Meal. This must be some of the ideas that the scriptwriter had. <br/>
<br/>
You look at them a little askance. On this sheet, at least, it's just a cast of characters with a thumbnail description. But at least it gives you an idea of what the cartoon characters were supposed to look like.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace"><div align="center"><b><i>The Incredible Hulk</i><br/>
"The Puppet Master Strikes!"</b><br/>
<u>Cast of Characters</u></div><br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg1" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Bruce Banner  [#2235321]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="307" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg1');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870902/item_id/2235321.png" title='Bruce Banner  [#2235321]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
This is Bruce Banner, super-scientist, hard at work on a top secret experiment for the US Army.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg2" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Hulk  [#2235316]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="308" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg2');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870916/item_id/2235316.png" title='The Hulk  [#2235316]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/> <br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">And this is his amazing alter-ego, The Incredible Hulk!</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg3" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Betty Ross  [#2235323]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="305" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg3');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870920/item_id/2235323.png" title='Betty Ross  [#2235323]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">This is pretty Betty Ross, who loves Bruce Banner ... but doesn't know his terrible secret!</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg4" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross  [#2235324]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="308" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg4');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870924/item_id/2235324.png" title='General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross  [#2235324]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/> <br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Betty's father, Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, is the army general who will not rest until  he has captured or destroyed the Hulk.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg5" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Major Ned Talbot  [#2235325]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="307" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg5');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870928/item_id/2235325.png" title='Major Ned Talbot  [#2235325]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/> <br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Major Ned Talbot is the best dresser in the U.S. Army ... and one of the clumsiest men ever to wear a sharply creased uniform.</span></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-3
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The script continues on the next page:<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">INT. MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- DAY<br/>
The shop is spacious. Life-size models of people and animals dot the show floor; the tables and shelves and display cases hold smaller models. The doorbell DINGS as Rick and Rita enter. They look around.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Oh, Rick, this really is amazing!<br/>
                    Does one man really do all this?<br/>
<br/>
The Puppet Master enters from another room. His manner is oily.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Indeed I do! My name is Phillip<br/>
                    Masters, and I make three-dimensional<br/>
                    portraits of people and things.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    You mean like sculptures?<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Oh, they're more than sculptures, my<br/>
                    dear. With them I can capture your<br/>
                    very soul!<br/>
<br/>
He indicates a glass-fronted display cabinet, which holds a row of clay puppets. Included are the woman and boy seen previously.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Would you allow me to make a<br/>
                    sculpture of you?<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Oh, we're just looking.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    There'd be no charge! I would put it<br/>
                    in my display window. A pretty face<br/>
                    such as yours would make superb<br/>
                    advertising!<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Go for it, Rita. If it turns out as<br/>
                    good as he makes it sound, I'll buy<br/>
                    it for you!<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Excellent! If you'll both just stand<br/>
                    over here.<br/>
<br/>
He pushes them to a blank wall where four cameras are pointed. As soon as Rick and Rita are positioned, he produces a pair of scissors.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Excuse me, but my art requires just a<br/>
                    little bit of voodoo magic!<br/>
<br/>
Rita cries a soft "Oh!" as Puppet Master SNIPS at her hair. Rick only grins as his hair is SNIPPED.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    There! Now I'll go mix this with my<br/>
                    special clay while my cameras scan<br/>
                    you--<br/>
<br/>
Rick's pager BEEPS and he checks it.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Uh oh. Looks like we'll have to do<br/>
                    this another time, Rita. Bruce wants<br/>
                    to see us.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Oh, but this will only take a few<br/>
                    minutes!<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Not got time. We have to get back to<br/>
                    Gamma Base One, like, now.<br/>
<br/>
Rick takes Rita's hand and leads her out of the shop. When he's alone, Puppet Master stamps with rage.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Oh, but now I <u>must</u> add those two to<br/>
                    my puppet collection! They would be<br/>
                    the perfect agents for getting onto<br/>
                    the base, so I can begin making<br/>
                    puppet soldiers!<br/>
<br/>
He opens a secret panel and disappears into another room.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- DAY<br/>
Banks of TV monitors hang on the walls. Some show exterior and interior scenes. Others show people, standing in stiff poses, and beneath these a computerized robot arm uses lasers to carve chunks of clay into the likeness of the displayed individual. In the center of the room is a large computer console covered in blinking buttons.<br/>
<br/>
Puppet Master opens two trays in the console, drops snippets of hair into them, and closes them. <br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    I have their hair, but I still need<br/>
                    to scan them.<br/>
<br/>
He then turns and begins to working buttons.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Fortunately, I have special puppets<br/>
                    who can bring them back to me so I can<br/>
                    finish what I have started!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on a display case with multiple clay models standing on a checkerboard. One of these models is a policeman. The square beneath it lights up, and a tone starts BEEPING.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- ESTABLISHING SHOT -- DAY<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- COMPUTER LAB -- DAY<br/>
A cavernous lab filled with computer banks, monitors, and work tables. Betty Ross and Bruce Banner are at work.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    Don't look so glum, Bruce. If<br/>
                    anything can tell us who or what the<br/>
                    Hulk is, the Garth-7 computer can.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    I know, Betty.<br/>
                         (V.O.)<br/>
                    That's just what I'm afraid of!<br/>
<br/>
Bruce crosses over to a keyboard and types at it.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    Desperate to protect his incredible<br/>
                    secret, Bruce Banner changes the<br/>
                    computer's programming.<br/>
<br/>
A display monitor lights up, reading "Data Contradiction: Reprocess."<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    That's odd. I'm sure those figures<br/>
                    were right. I'll check them again.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    While you're doing that, I'll take<br/>
                    these biological samples to the other<br/>
                    lab and start working on them.<br/>
<br/>
He rolls a cart holding an open box of test tubes and Petri dishes out of the room.<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- HALLWAY -- DAY<br/>
Bruce rolls the cart down a corridor past armed guards.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    The army has collected hair and other <br/>
                    samples that the Hulk left at the<br/>
                    scene of his rampages. If they<br/>
                    analyze these, they could link them<br/>
                    to me and learn that I'm really the<br/>
                    Hulk.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- DAY<br/>
Bruce emerges into the open and looks around.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    I paged Rick to meet me here, so that<br/>
                    he can take this stuff back into town<br/>
                    and hide it for me. I hope he shows<br/>
                    up before --<br/>
<br/>
Behind him, Major Talbot steps into the frame.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Hi! Banner! Where are you going with<br/>
                    that?<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- DOWNTOWN -- STREET AND SIDEWALK -- DAY<br/>
Rick and Rita approach Rick's truck, which is parked on the street.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Did Bruce say what he needed us for?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    No, his message just said to hurry.<br/>
<br/>
As he grasps the door handle, a POLICEMAN appears at his side. His eyes are hidden by blank sunglasses.<br/>
<br/>
                              POLICEMAN<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Sir, would you please come with me?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    What's wrong, officer?<br/>
<br/>
                              POLICEMAN<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Just come with me.<br/>
<br/>
The policeman puts his hand to his holster. Rick reacts with shock. Before anyone can move, the policeman is knocked to the ground with a baseball bat by a paunchy, balding, middle-aged man: RIO RIVERA.<br/>
<br/>
                              RIO<br/>
                    Rita! Rick! Oh, thank heavens I got to<br/>
                    you in time!<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Dad! What do you think you're doing?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Yeah, Rio! That was a cop!<br/>
<br/>
                              RIO<br/>
                    There's no time to explain! If we<br/>
                    don't get out of here right now --!<br/>
<br/>
The frame tilts up to take in a wall-mounted camera above. It BUZZES as it focuses on the scene below.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- DAY<br/>
The Puppet Master watches the scene on a monitor. He pounds the computer console.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    No! That meddling --!<br/>
<br/>
He pushes buttons and speaks into a microphone.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    All my puppets! Stop them and bring<br/>
                    them to my shop!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- DOWNTOWN -- STREET AND SIDEWALK -- DAY<br/>
Every pedestrian stops and turns to look blankly at Rick, Rita, and Rio. The crowd includes the Woman and Son seen earlier. They all raise their hands and advance. Rick, Rita and Rio fearfully shrink up against each other.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Dad? Rick? What's going on?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    I don't know, Rita, except that it<br/>
                    looks like really bad news!<br/>
</span></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111222111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-4
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>On turning the page, you find another set of illustrations, continuing the cast list of the cartoon.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center"><b><i>The Incredible Hulk</i><br/>
"The Puppet Master Strikes!"</b><br/>
<u>Cast of Characters</u></div><br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg1" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Phillip Masters, The Puppet Master  [#2235328]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="307" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg1');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870932/item_id/2235328.png" title='Phillip Masters, The Puppet Master  [#2235328]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Phillip Masters is the evil Puppet Master, who with an uncanny magic can control the minds and wills of anyone whose likeness he can capture in clay.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg2" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Rick Jones  [#2235332]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="298" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg2');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870937/item_id/2235332.png" title='Rick Jones  [#2235332]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Rick Jones is Bruce Banner's most steadfast friend, and the protector of his secret identity.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg3" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Rita Rivera  [#2235331]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="306" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg3');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870941/item_id/2235331.png" title='Rita Rivera  [#2235331]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Rita Rivera is Rick Jones's lovely girlfriend, who shows more pluck than most girls.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg4" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='Rio Rivera  [#2235330]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="308" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg4');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870945/item_id/2235330.png" title='Rio Rivera  [#2235330]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Rita's father is Rio. He is a kind-hearted man, but as a restauranteur, he makes up in tenacity what he lacks in luck.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg5" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title="The Puppet Master's Minions  [#2235329]
From &quot;The Incredible Hulk&quot; (1982)" width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="309" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg5');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870949/item_id/2235329.png" title="The Puppet Master's Minions  [#2235329]
From &quot;The Incredible Hulk&quot; (1982)" width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">These are Puppet Master's minions, on the prowl for fresh recruits for their master's army.</span><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> So it was for a kids' meal, huh? The burger wouldn't need any cheese on it. This "comic" would be cheesy enough by itself!<br/>
<br/>
The script continues on the next page:<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- DAY<br/>
Talbot examines a test tube, then sets it back on the cart.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Yuck! This stuff is really<br/>
                    disgusting, Banner. Do whatever you<br/>
                    have to with it. Just get it out of<br/>
                    my sight!<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Yes, Major. Happy to oblige!<br/>
<br/>
Banner rolls the cart off, pushing it into a hangar-like building.<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- MOTOR POOL -- DAY<br/>
The hangar-like interior is filled with trucks and Jeeps. Bruce wipes a sweaty brow.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    I can't afford to wait for Rick to show<br/>
                    up! I can talk my way past Ned, but I<br/>
                    have to get these samples off the base<br/>
                    before Betty or her father catches me!<br/>
<br/>
                    <br/>
He loads the cart into a truck, then gets into the cab. Through the windshield he sees a SOLDIER running up.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #2<br/>
                    Hey! You! Stop!<br/>
<br/>
Bruce grits his teeth and starts the truck.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Well, it's all or nothing now!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- DAY<br/>
Betty, Talbot, and the General.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    I thought Banner was cleared to take<br/>
                    that kind of thing, General, so I let<br/>
                    him go.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    Bruce is acting very strangely, Dad.<br/>
                    First he reprogrammed the Garth-7 so<br/>
                    that it returned a processing error,<br/>
                    then he disappeared after saying he<br/>
                    was going to take some samples to the<br/>
                    other lab.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    But why would he --? Look out!<br/>
<br/>
A truck barrels around the corner. Soldiers chase after it.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    What's going on? Someone stop that<br/>
                    truck!<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- TRUCK CAB -- DAY<br/>
Bruce, his jaw clenched, steers the truck.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (v.o)<br/>
                    This is bad, but at least it can't<br/>
                    get any worse!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Bruce's hands as they grip the steering wheel. They are starting to glow.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Oh, no! The stress! It's causing me<br/>
                    to change! Not now! Please not now!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- MAIN GATE -- DAY<br/>
Guards stand in the road as a truck barrels down at them. They react with shock at the sight of the Hulk behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #3<br/>
                    It's the Hulk! And he's trying to<br/>
                    bust out in one of our trucks!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="right">END OF ACT ONE</div></span><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111112221111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-5
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">FADE IN: <br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- MAIN GATE -- DAY<br/>
Soldiers stand in the road as a truck barrels down at them. They react with shock at the sight of the Hulk behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #3<br/>
                    Look out! The Hulk is stealing one of<br/>
                    our trucks!<br/>
<br/>
The soldiers jump away as the truck barrels down on them. It smashes through the cross guard.<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Major Talbot, the General, and Betty.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    All men to your weapons! Stop the<br/>
                    Hulk!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on The Hulk. He grimaces as he drives.<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    Hulk no like drive truck with hands!<br/>
                    Hulk like smash with hands!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on the truck as it careens off the road and crashes into a sand dune. The Hulk explodes from the cab and flies through the air. Angle on Talbot.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    All weapons fire!<br/>
<br/>
Men with guns, cannon, grenade launchers, etc., all fire them at the Hulk as he bounds through the air, narrowly dodging most of the shrapnel and explosions.<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    Soldiers always fighting Hulk!<br/>
<br/>
He lands and is caught in a freeze ray that forms an ice block around him. He GROWLS and bursts out.<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    If soldiers attack Hulk, Hulk attack<br/>
                    soldiers!<br/>
<br/>
As he rages, multiple beams and projectiles buffet him, knocking him off balance. One powerful explosion throws him high in the air, and he comes down atop a building, crashing through the roof.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    But not even the mighty Hulk can<br/>
                    withstand the combined firepower that<br/>
                    Major Talbot now commands.<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- CHEMISTRY LAB -- DAY<br/>
A room filled with work tables and sinks. The Hulk lays at the foot of a shelf. It teeters and falls over him. Close on the Hulk's arm as it transforms back into Bruce Banner's<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    The Hulk is stunned long enough for<br/>
                    the eerie transformation to wear off,<br/>
                    returning Dr. Bruce Banner to normal.<br/>
<br/>
General Ross, Betty, Talbot, and soldiers rush in, guns at the ready. They look around in confusion.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    We must have driven him off, sir!<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    I don't want him driven off, Major! I<br/>
                    want him captured!<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                         (saluting)<br/>
                    Y-yes sir!<br/>
<br/>
Betty points to the hand sticking out of the wreckage.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    Look! It's Bruce! He must have been<br/>
                    knocked out when the Hulk fell into<br/>
                    the lab!<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    Get Dr. Banner to the base hospital!<br/>
                    You've no idea how important he is to<br/>
                    our mission!<br/>
                         (to Betty)<br/>
                    And I know how important he is to<br/>
                    you, Betty! We'll get the thing that<br/>
                    did this to him!<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    I'll call Rick Jones. He'll want to<br/>
                    know what happened to Bruce!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- DOWNTOWN -- DAY<br/>
Rick, Rita, and Rio run down the street, then duck into an alley between two buildings. They hide in a doorway as a pursuing crowd runs down the street, missing the alley.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Whew, that was close! What's going<br/>
                    on, Rio? Why were those people acting<br/>
                    so strange?<br/>
<br/>
                              RIO<br/>
                    I wish I knew. I first noticed it a<br/>
                    few days ago, right after I got back<br/>
                    from a business trip. It was just a<br/>
                    few people acting strangely at first,<br/>
                    but now it's more and more of them!<br/>
<br/>
The frame tilts up to capture a wall-mounted camera. A light flashes on, and it BUZZES to focus on the figures below.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- DAY<br/>
A monitor shows Rick and Rita in the alley. The frame pans over to take in two hunks of clay. Lights over the clay turn from red to green, robot arms descend and with lasers begin to carve Rick's and Rita's likenesses into the clay. As they work:<br/>
<br/>
                              RIO (V.O.)<br/>
                    Then I started overhearing people<br/>
                    talking about someone they call The<br/>
                    Puppet Master. They talk like he's<br/>
                    building and an empire of puppets,<br/>
                    and I don't think they mean like the<br/>
                    kind with strings!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- DOWNTOWN -- ALLEY -- DAY<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    We should get back to Gamma Base One<br/>
                    and talk to Bruce and General Ross.<br/>
<br/>
He checks his pager.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Betty's trying to contact me anyway.<br/>
                    Do you think we can dodge those creepy<br/>
                    crowds long enough to get away?<br/>
<br/>
                              RIO<br/>
                    We'll try to make it back to my<br/>
                    truck. And watch out for cameras! I<br/>
                    have a feeling that's how the Puppet<br/>
                    Master is spying on everyone!<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- DAY<br/>
The monitor shows Rick, Rita, and Rio running off. The robot arms work a moment longer, finishing Rick's and Rita's head and neck. Then the green lights turn red, and the arms fall still and retract.<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- HOSPITAL WARD -- NIGHT<br/>
Bruce Banner lays unconscious in a bed. His brow furrows and he wakes up. He sits up with a gasp.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Oh no! What happened? The last thing I<br/>
                    remember --<br/>
<br/>
He stands up.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    Well, I don't seem to be in a prison<br/>
                    ward, so maybe everything's okay. But<br/>
                    I've still got to get those<br/>
                    biological samples into town and away<br/>
                    from Betty!<br/>
<br/>
He skulks from the room.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- DAY<br/>
He skulks across the base grounds, which in the dusk are empty. He stares wide-eyed at the wreckage, including the busted gate.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    Oh no! I hope I didn't hurt anyone<br/>
                    too bad! Looks like the Hulk drove<br/>
                    the truck out the gate, at least. I<br/>
                    wonder how far he got?<br/>
<br/>
Insert POV of the parking lot. It is mostly empty.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (O.S.)<br/>
                    I don't see Rick's truck, so it<br/>
                    looks like I'll have to walk back to<br/>
                    Mesa City.<br/>
<br/>
He approaches the gate. A soldier steps up.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #3<br/>
                    Are you leaving the base, sir?<br/>
                    <br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Yes, I'm ... going to take a walk.<br/>
<br/>
                              SOLDIER #3<br/>
                    You don't want to do that, sir. The<br/>
                    Hulk's been by, might still be out<br/>
                    there.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Yes. That's what I'm investigating.<br/>
                    General Ross wants me to retrieve any<br/>
                    biological samples he left behind.<br/>
<br/>
The soldier salutes and lets him pass. Bruce jogs along the road back to town.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    At least I didn't have to tell a lie<br/>
                    back there, and Betty and the General<br/>
                    will believe it if the guard tells<br/>
                    them that's what I'm doing. But I<br/>
                    really need to find those samples!<br/>
<br/>
He stops to look down into a gully. The truck he stole is there. Bruce approaches to examine and look inside it.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    Looks like Major Talbot's men haven't<br/>
                    found it yet. And the samples are<br/>
                    still there! Now I can get them into<br/>
                    town. I hope I'm able to find Rick! I<br/>
                    wonder what's happened to him.</span></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122211111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-6
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Another page of illustrations pops up. At least it doesn't introduce any more characters. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center"><b><i>The Incredible Hulk</i><br/>
"The Puppet Master Strikes!"</b></div><br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg1" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes!-1  [#2235335]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="308" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg1');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870953/item_id/2235335.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes!-1  [#2235335]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">From his hidden lair beneath Mesa City, the Puppet Master conducts a campaign to enslave the minds and wills of all who cross his path.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg2" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-2  [#2235336]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="307" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg2');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870957/item_id/2235336.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-2  [#2235336]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Using scanners that he has planted throughout the city, the Puppet Master is able to capture and store the images of his victims. </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg3" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-3  [#2235338]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="306" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg3');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602807728/item_id/2235338.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-3  [#2235338]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Computerized robots then carve the scanned images into atomic clay -- the puppets that give the Puppet Master the power to control his victims' minds and bodies!</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg4" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-4  [#2235339]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="307" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg4');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870961/item_id/2235339.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-4  [#2235339]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Young or old, man or woman, the Puppet Master doesn't care -- he will turn anyone into a puppet!</span><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You let out a low whistle. Were comics and cartoons really this hilariously over-the-top back in the 1980s?<br/>
<br/>
At least the illustrations give you an idea of what the cartoon was supposed to look like once finished. You wonder if it ever was.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111222111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-7
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">EXT. MESA CITY -- ESTABLISHING -- NIGHT<br/>
The frame PANS over the skyline of Mesa City.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    So Bruce Banner races to Mesa City,<br/>
                    hoping to find help, but little<br/>
                    guessing that the town is now under<br/>
                    the control of someone far more<br/>
                    dangerous than General Thunderbolt<br/>
                    Ross and his Hulk-busters! <br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- STREET -- -- NIGHT<br/>
Rick, Rita, and Rio sprint down the street, pursued by a crowd. They are able to pause and PANT only briefly before the chase is resumed by another crowd that has spotted them.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- NIGHT<br/>
The Puppet Master's factory. The Puppet Master laughs as he presses buttons and watches the wall monitors, which show the fugitives and the pursuing crowd.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    That's it! Little do you know that<br/>
                    you are but sheep, and my puppets are<br/>
                    the sheepdogs herding you where I<br/>
                    want you to go!<br/>
<br/>
INTERCUT<br/>
As the three fugitives pass under a street lamp, its bracket-mounted camera twists around to focus on them.<br/>
<br/>
The Puppet Master's factory. Beneath the monitor that shows the fugitives, robot arms finish the shoulders of the clay models of Rick and Rita.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (V.O.)<br/>
                    Still less do they understand that<br/>
                    every time they pass one of my<br/>
                    scanners --<br/>
<br/>
Rick, Rita, and Rio run past an electronic store's display window. The appear briefly on the two TV screens, and five cameras swivel to track them.<br/>
<br/>
The Puppet Master's factory. Beneath the monitor that shows the fugitives, robot arms finish the Rick and Rita models down to their elbows.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (V.O.)<br/>
                    -- they come closer to becoming<br/>
                    soldiers in my puppet army!<br/>
<br/>
Rick, Rita, and Rio pause in front of an ATM to catch their breath.<br/>
<br/>
The Puppet Master's factory. The monitor shows a fish-eyed image of the three as they talk. The robot arms work details. When the figures run off, the arms fall still, but the models of Rick and Rita are now complete to the waist.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                         (pushing button)<br/>
                    And now to spring the trap!<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- STREET -- -- NIGHT<br/>
Rick, Rita and Rio run up to a shop door.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (panting)<br/>
                    It's no use! Every time we turn<br/>
                    around, someone starts chasing us!<br/>
<br/>
He leans against the shop door, which falls open.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    It's unlocked! Quick! Everyone in<br/>
                    here!<br/>
<br/>
They all run into the shop.<br/>
<br/>
INT. TOY STORE -- NIGHT<br/>
The dusky shop is lined with shelves, and the aisles are crowded with giant stuffed plushies and old-fashioned robots. The three hide behind these and peer out.<br/>
<br/>
The door opens and figures enter. They are black silhouettes, out of which pairs of cold, white eyes shine.<br/>
<br/>
Slowly the puppet crowd files into the store and spreads out, checking behind shelves and cases, moving closer to where Rick, Rita and Rio are cowering.<br/>
<br/>
Close angles on Rick, Rita, and Rio, tensing as they wait.<br/>
<br/>
The puppet crowd is nearly upon them. Rita draws back in terror as one puppet puts his hand on the plush T-Rex she is hiding behind.<br/>
<br/>
Then, as one, the puppet crowd freezes, straightens up, turns, and files back toward the door. Rick, Rita, and Rio watch until the last pursuer leaves, closing the door behind them. The three step from their hiding places.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    That was close. I wonder why they<br/>
                    gave up and went away.<br/>
<br/>
High up on the store walls, multiple cameras turn on. They tilt and BUZZ as they focus on the figures below.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- NIGHT<br/>
The monitors show the view from the security cameras, focused on Rick, Rita, and Rio.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA (V.O.)<br/>
                    Who cares? I'm going to find a phone<br/>
                    and call General Ross!<br/>
<br/>
As she speaks, the frame tilts down, to show the robot arms carving the puppets of Rick and Rita, and rapidly working their way down to and past the knees.<br/>
<br/>
O.S., the Puppet Master LAUGHS maniacally.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- STREET -- -- NIGHT<br/>
An army truck with a crumpled front fender drives down the deserted streets. Angle on Bruce Banner as he looks around, talking to himself. POV shots of the empty streets he passes.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    That's funny. The town looks<br/>
                    completely deserted. Where is<br/>
                    everyone? And where are Rick and<br/>
                    Rita?<br/>
<br/>
Bruce pulls up next to Rick's truck and stares at it.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    There's Rick's truck. But where's he?<br/>
                    Where's Rita? It looks like they<br/>
                    never got my message. I better check<br/>
                    at his apartment.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- STREET -- APARTMENT BUILDING -- NIGHT<br/>
Bruce stops the truck in front of a tall apartment building. As he dismounts and takes the box of Hulk samples in his arm, he looks around at the empty street.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (V.O.)<br/>
                    There's definitely something wrong<br/>
                    here. Whatever it is, I hope Rick and<br/>
                    Rita are okay.<br/>
<br/>
He enters the apartment building.<br/>
<br/>
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING -- DOOR -- NIGHT<br/>
A hand knocks on it. The door is opened by Rita. She looks surprised and relieved.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Bruce! Oh thank goodness, I'm so glad<br/>
                    it's you!<br/>
<br/>
Bruce enters the apartment, which is comfortably furnished in a Western motif. He sets his box on a dining room table. Rita hugs him.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    We've been so scared! I called the<br/>
                    base and they said the Hulk had been<br/>
                    out there and that you were hurt but<br/>
                    then you disappeared from the<br/>
                    hospital! Are you okay?<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    I'm fine. What happened to you and<br/>
                    Rick? Didn't you get my message?<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Yes, but there's been some really<br/>
                    creepy stuff going on here in town.<br/>
                    Someone called The Puppet Master is<br/>
                    on the loose!<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                         (shocked)<br/>
                    The Puppet Master?<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    You've heard of him?<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Yes, and it's very bad news if he's<br/>
                    here in Mesa City. What's been<br/>
                    happening?<br/>
<br/>
Rick enters from another room.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Only that we've had a bunch of<br/>
                    zombies chasing us all over town,<br/>
                    that's all! We managed to sneak back<br/>
                    here, but we think we're trapped! We<br/>
                    don't dare go outside because of all<br/>
                    the cameras around -- we think that's<br/>
                    how the Puppet Master is controlling<br/>
                    people! But Rita called General Ross<br/>
                    to warn the army, and that's when we<br/>
                    heard about you!<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    That's good, but I need you to hide<br/>
                    something for me before they get<br/>
                    here.<br/>
<br/>
He turns to the box of samples.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    The General has Betty and me trying<br/>
                    to discover the identity of the Hulk,<br/>
                    and I need you to hide these<br/>
                    biological samples for me.<br/>
<br/>
Rick takes a bottle from the box and examines it.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    What kind of samples?<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Hair, skin, blood. With their DNA,<br/>
                    the army could link the Hulk to me!<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Hair, huh?<br/>
<br/>
All the color drains from his eyes, and he rears back and hurls a haymaker at Bruce, dropping him to the floor with one punch.<br/>
<br/>
Behind him, a door swings open. Rio, in the other room, is tied and bound to a chair, with a gag across his mouth. His eyes are wide with horror.<br/>
<br/>
Rick addresses Rita in an echoing monotone.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Call the Puppet Master. Tell him that<br/>
                    soon the Hulk will be one of his <br/>
                    puppets, along with most of the Hulk-<br/>
                    busters.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="right">END OF ACT TWO</div></span></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111112221111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-8
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You turn the page. There's another set of captioned illustrations.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg1" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-5  [#2235340]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="304" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg1');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870965/item_id/2235340.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-5  [#2235340]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Carefree shoppers who wander into his studio to admire the amazing craftsmanship on display will little suspect they are stepping into a web that will bind their wills to the Puppet Master!</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg2" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-6  [#2235341]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="302" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg2');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870968/item_id/2235341.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-6  [#2235341]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Even if they escape his shop, the Puppet Master's cameras are everywhere, tracking and scanning every person that passes before their lenses.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg3" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-7  [#2235342]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="299" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg3');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870972/item_id/2235342.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-7  [#2235342]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Even those who are alert to the danger may unwarily linger under the eyes of the Puppet Master's machines, which will busily begin to copy them.</span><br/>
<br/>
<img border="0" height="0" id="protectWMLImg4" src="https://www.Writing.Com/main/trans.gif" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-8  [#2235343]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="0"/><img alt='From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' border="0" height="310" onmouseover="protectMe(this, 'protectWMLImg4');" src="https://www.writing.com/main/images/action/display/ver/1602870976/item_id/2235343.png" title='The Puppet Master Strikes-8  [#2235343]
From "The Incredible Hulk" (1982)' width="398"/><br/>
<span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">Finally, they will succumb to the Puppet Master's control and, robbed of their minds and will, join their master's army!</span></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111122211111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-9
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">FADE IN:<br/>
<br/>
INT. MESA CITY -- APARTMENT -- NIGHT<br/>
Rick and Rita stand over Bruce, who sprawls unconscious on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (V.O.)<br/>
                    Oh, say it isn't so! Bruce's friends<br/>
                    are now under the control of the<br/>
                    Puppet Master?<br/>
<br/>
The front door opens, and a crowd filters in. All their eyes, including Rick's and Rita's, are colorless. Rick points to Bruce.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Take him to the Puppet Master's<br/>
                    studio.<br/>
<br/>
Rita points into the other room, at the tied-up Rio.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Take my father too.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- STREET -- NIGHT<br/>
A Jeep leads a convoy of army trucks through the deserted streets of the city. Major Talbot drives, with General Ross and Betty Ross riding along. Betty SQUEALS and takes out pager.<br/>
<br/>
Insert pager, which reads, "Hi Betty."<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    It's from Rita! She says that Bruce<br/>
                    is at Rick's apartment!<br/>
<br/>
She glances up and points O.S.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    And there's Rick over there now! Drop<br/>
                    me off here!<br/>
<br/>
A crowd is shuffling down the sidewalk. Rick detaches from it and turns to look. The color blooms back into his eyes, and he smiles cheerfully as the Jeep pulls up.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    Rick! I just heard from Rita that<br/>
                    Bruce is at your place!<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (warm and friendly)<br/>
                    Yeah! I'm real glad you showed up,<br/>
                    Betty. Bruce is in bad shape, it<br/>
                    looks like he's been in an accident!<br/>
                    I'll take you to him, you'll want to<br/>
                    look at him.<br/>
                         (to General Ross)<br/>
                    Sir, you really should go to the<br/>
                    police station. There's some spooky<br/>
                    things happening in town that you<br/>
                    need to investigate!<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    Strange things happen every time the<br/>
                    Hulk shows up. Major, deploy the men!<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                    Yes sir! Men, deploy!<br/>
<br/>
Soldiers pour out of the trucks and run up and down the sidewalks.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                    Betty, come find me when you've<br/>
                    checked on Bruce. Major!<br/>
<br/>
The Jeep pulls away.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    So tell me about Bruce, Rick! He's<br/>
                    been acting so strange!<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    I'm not surprised. Everyone's been<br/>
                    acting strange around here, that's<br/>
                    why we called your dad! I'll tell you<br/>
                    about it on the way back.<br/>
<br/>
The frame pans away to take in the soldiers as the spread up and down the sidewalk. One by one, with muffled cries, they are pulled off the streets by hands that stretch from out of alleyways and doors.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- NIGHT<br/>
Rick and Betty enter the frame.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    The Puppet Master? And you think he's<br/>
                    for real, Rick? But in that case --<br/>
                    Why are we stopping here?<br/>
<br/>
Rick grabs her by the shoulder and shoves her into the shop.<br/>
<br/>
INT. MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- NIGHT<br/>
As before, but dark and shadowy, and filled with figures. Only Rick and Betty are clearly lit. The color is gone from Rick's eyes again.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    I am taking you to the Puppet Master.<br/>
                    Soon you will be a puppet and serve<br/>
                    him, like the rest of us.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    Rick, this isn't funny! You're<br/>
                    starting to scare me! Rick!<br/>
<br/>
She screams as the crowd closes about her.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- CELL -- NIGHT<br/>
Bruce sags in a chair. Betty's SCREAM (O.S.) reverberates, and he sits up sharply.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    What was that? Betty? What's going<br/>
                    on?<br/>
<br/>
Bruce and his chair are in a large, unfurnished cell with a transparent shield separating it from the main lair. Bruce touches the barrier, then fruitlessly throws his shoulder against it a few times, GRUNTING.<br/>
<br/>
In the lair, the Puppet Master taps away at his console as Bruce, behind the barrier, watches. The box that Bruce brought from Gamma Base rests near his elbow. Capsules regularly drop with a thunk from a pneumatic tube near where he stands.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    You're awake, Dr. Banner. I'm almost<br/>
                    ready for you.<br/>
<br/>
INTERCUT<br/>
As he talks, the Puppet Master works the console, picks up and opens capsules, empties hair clippings into trays which he closes. Soldiers, including General Ross and Major Talbot, appear on the monitors, and robot arms carve puppets of them. The Puppet Master is very calm -- a man supremely happy in his work.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (V.O.)<br/>
                    I took the liberty of giving you a<br/>
                    little haircut while you were asleep.<br/>
                    By the time I'm ready to let you go,<br/>
                    you will be one of my puppets, just<br/>
                    like the men who followed you from<br/>
                    Gamma Base One.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    So you're the Puppet Master! You<br/>
                    brainwashed Rick and Rita!<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                         (still working)<br/>
                    Yes. Very lucky, them wandering into<br/>
                    my shop. Lucky for me, I mean. Very<br/>
                    unlucky for you.<br/>
<br/>
Angle on the box of samples.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER (O.S.)<br/>
                    Like it was very lucky you brought<br/>
                    these hair samples from the Hulk.<br/>
                    Soon, he will be one of my puppets<br/>
                    too!<br/>
<br/>
He breaks out in a maniacal LAUGH.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce looks around. POV shot of the clay puppets being carved.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    But you need to scan him to make a<br/>
                    puppet, don't you. What if he doesn't<br/>
                    show up?<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Oh, he will. Puppet!<br/>
<br/>
Rick enters the frame.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    How do we get the Hulk to appear?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Bruce Banner is the Hulk. When he<br/>
                    becomes over-excited or angry, he<br/>
                    transforms.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    And where is Betty Ross?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    She is waiting for you to make her<br/>
                    into a puppet.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce GASPS.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    And didn't you tell me that she is<br/>
                    Dr. Banner's sweetheart? Do you think<br/>
                    he will become angry if he sees me<br/>
                    turn her into a puppet?<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    He will want to kill you.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Then we'll just have to finish the<br/>
                    Hulk's puppet before he can break out<br/>
                    and kill me. Give me her hair so I<br/>
                    can make her my puppet.<br/>
<br/>
Rick hands hair to the Puppet Master, who drops it into a tray and closes it.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce throws himself against the barrier.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    Don't do it! You monster! You --!<br/>
                    Rick! Snap out of it, Rick! You don't<br/>
                    want to do this!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Rick as he stares blankly back at Bruce. Then the color floods into his eyes, and he grins.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Sure I do, doc! We all love working<br/>
                    for the Puppet Master! You'll love it<br/>
                    too, when you're one of us. We'll all<br/>
                    hang out together just like we did<br/>
                    before, like nothing's changed!<br/>
<br/>
His eyes fade again.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Until it's time to help the Puppet<br/>
                    Master make more puppets.<br/>
<br/>
A monitor shows Betty being dragged against a wall and pinned between two puppets.</span></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211111222111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Puppet Master Strikes!-10
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><span style="font-family:courier new, monospace">INT. MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- NIGHT<br/>
Betty, struggling, is held against the wall by two figures, as the four cameras BUZZ and focus on her.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    What are you doing? I don't want to<br/>
                    have my picture taken! Dad!<br/>
<br/>
General Ross and Major Talbot enter the frame.<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Stop fighting, Betty. It will be<br/>
                    better when you are one of us.<br/>
<br/>
                              TALBOT<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    One of us!<br/>
<br/>
                              GENERAL ROSS<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    Shut up, Major.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- NIGHT<br/>
Bruce rages as he watches Betty on the monitor.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    Are you losing control yet, Dr.<br/>
                    Banner? Do I need to start the<br/>
                    machine that will turn her into a<br/>
                    puppet?<br/>
<br/>
Close on finger as the Puppet Master hovers it over a button.<br/>
<br/>
Bruce grabs his head and starts to SCREAM.<br/>
<br/>
He transforms into the Hulk.<br/>
<br/>
Close on finger as it shifts to push a different button.<br/>
<br/>
Close on a heap of clay as robot arms come to life and begin carving it into the likeness of the Hulk.<br/>
<br/>
Angle on the gleeful Puppet Master.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                         (cackling)<br/>
                    Yes, there he is! There he is! And<br/>
                    soon he will be my puppet!<br/>
<br/>
Angle on the Hulk as he throws himself against the barrier.<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    Hulk hate funny little man! Hulk<br/>
                    smash funny little man!<br/>
<br/>
INTERCUT<br/>
The Hulk bashing the barrier, which slowly begins to crack.<br/>
<br/>
The robots, completing the Hulk puppet: head, shoulders, torso, waist and hips, legs, feet.<br/>
<br/>
One last spider-web of cracks spreads through the barrier at a mighty blow.<br/>
<br/>
The robot arms stop and withdraw from the completed model. A square lights up beneath it, and the model glows.<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Puppet Master as he throws his head back and LAUGHS maniacally at the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    It is done! He is mine! Mine!<br/>
                    Kneel, puppet! before your master!<br/>
<br/>
The Hulk ROARS and shatters the barrier, and leaps into the room.<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    Hulk hate way you laugh! Hulk smash<br/>
                    your toys! Then Hulk smash you!<br/>
<br/>
The Hulk raises his fists and smashes the computer console. The Puppet Master leaps away.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                    No! No, it can't be! You're supposed<br/>
                    to be under my control! <br/>
                         (screams)<br/>
                    You are my puppet!<br/>
<br/>
INTERCUT<br/>
The Hulk picks up machinery and hurls it around while ROARING.<br/>
<br/>
Machinery smashes puppet models.<br/>
<br/>
On the shop floor, in the town, on the streets, people stop. Color floods back into their eyes, and they clutch their heads as though suffering a migraine.<br/>
<br/>
Angle on Rick as he too comes to life, groans, then leaps away from flying machinery.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Bruce! Hulk! Stop it! You'll tear the<br/>
                    place apart!<br/>
<br/>
                              HULK<br/>
                    That what Hulk want! Hulk smash!<br/>
<br/>
INT. MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- NIGHT<br/>
Some of the puppets are alive again, others aren't. The secret panel opens and Rick runs out.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    Quick! Everyone outside! The Hulk is<br/>
                    smashing the place to bits!<br/>
<br/>
People run to the exit, dragging others behind.<br/>
<br/>
INT. PUPPET MASTER'S LAIR -- NIGHT<br/>
The Hulk, in the midst of fire, smoke and carnage, ROARS.<br/>
<br/>
EXT. MESA CITY -- MASTERS' 3-D PORTRAITS -- NIGHT<br/>
The frame shakes. Dust puffs from the building. It crumples, implodes, and falls into a sinkhole.<br/>
<br/>
The Hulk rises from the sinkhole, holding the Puppet Master up with one hand by the neck.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                         (screaming)<br/>
                    Cheat! Cheat! You cheated! It wasn't<br/>
                    your hair! It wasn't ... your ...<br/>
                    erk!<br/>
<br/>
The color drains from his eyes, and he goes limp like a doll.<br/>
<br/>
                              PUPPET MASTER<br/>
                         (puppet voice)<br/>
                    It wasn't the Hulk's hair in the box.<br/>
                    It was someone else's hair. Do your<br/>
                    worst, monster, this puppet has<br/>
                    served its purpose.<br/>
<br/>
The Hulk tightens his grip. The Puppet Master's head swells and pops like a balloon, and the ruins run like wet clay all over the Hulk's hand and forearm.<br/>
<br/>
Dissolve to:<br/>
<br/>
INT. GAMMA BASE ONE -- LAB<br/>
Bruce, Betty, Rick, and Rita stand around, talking.<br/>
<br/>
                              RICK<br/>
                    I don't mind telling you, I think<br/>
                    it'll be a long time before I want to<br/>
                    take in a puppet show. Or a muppet<br/>
                    show.<br/>
<br/>
                              BETTY<br/>
                    That goes for all of us, I think.<br/>
                         (to Bruce)<br/>
                    So I guess that's why you were acting<br/>
                    strangely, Bruce. The Puppet Master<br/>
                    must have had a puppet of you too,<br/>
                    and he made you bring him those<br/>
                    biological samples of the Hulk.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    That's right, Betty, though I don't<br/>
                    really remember a lot. I guess it was<br/>
                    lucky that Ned and his men got the<br/>
                    samples mixed up and mislabeled, or<br/>
                    else the Puppet Master would be on<br/>
                    his way to conquering the world right<br/>
                    now.<br/>
<br/>
                              RITA<br/>
                    Do you suppose he's really gone? That<br/>
                    thing that the Hulk squeezed into a<br/>
                    ball, that didn't look like a person!<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE<br/>
                    I don't know, Betty. <br/>
<br/>
Dissolve to close up of a hunk of clay being hand-carved with a knife into the likeness of a person.<br/>
<br/>
                              BRUCE (O.S.)<br/>
                    All we can do is watch.<br/>
<br/>
Dissolve to:<br/>
<br/>
EXT. GAMMA BASE ONE<br/>
The camera pans and tilts toward the sky. The Hulk comes flying out of it at the screen.<br/>
<br/>
                              NARRATOR (O.S.)<br/>
                    That's right, happy heroes! And you<br/>
                    can keep watching out too, for more<br/>
                    incredible adventures of ... THE<br/>
                    INCREDIBLE HULK!<br/>
<br/>
FADE OUT<br/>
<br/>
THE END</span><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pull at your nose and sniff. Well, that was certainly ... something.<br/>
<br/>
To continue investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Nightmare
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>We descended from the saddle pass in harrowing arcs, with a yawning valley on our left.  Pine groves yielded to pine scrub and thence to plain scrub; the brown hills prostrated themselves to the sky.  Then our coach came to a fork in the highway:  One road went on as before, but the other spanned the valley over an impossible bridge.  The driver, without pause, took to the bridge.  It groaned piteously beneath our wheels, and one saw a bird pass beneath us, circling the chasm below, scavenging for prey.  Then we were over, on the opposite side.<br/>
<br/>
At once we were each of us was seized by the horror of being cast onto a tempestuous wind.  Looking out, we saw that indeed a chaotic breeze had sprung up, and the sky was tinged with gloom.<br/>
<br/>
The road now turned back into the hills, evidently with the purpose of ascending before descending again.  The country was thick with stunted growth, hard, dry and ready for the fire.  The road itself had an air of abandonment, with dangerously deep holes and fissures.<br/>
<br/>
On coming around a bend, we were obliged to stop at an accident.  A large vehicle, a wagon, had fallen into a ditch; the rampant weeds and grass that partially obscured it signified it as derelict of some antiquity.  A nearby mound of dust and human clothing remained unexamined, for our eyes were upon the sacks in the back.  We opened them, and found them stuffed with coins of gold and silver, and amazingly untarnished, for upon inspection they proved to have been struck nearly one hundred years before.  Apparently we had stumbled upon the wreck of a payroll wagon, and taking the money and congratulating ourselves on such tremendous good fortune, we reboarded the coach.  But not one of us saw fit to wonder at the abandonment of such quantities of money.<br/>
<br/>
The wind had become more sustained, and the hills were hazy with dust and incipient precipitation; a few of us wondered aloud if it would not be wise to turn back toward the bridge.  But the road was too narrow, and so we continued forward.<br/>
<br/>
Imagine our relief when we topped a ridge and beheld the old inn.  Surely this abandoned road had once been a highway of some importance, for the inn had once been a grand edifice of two stories and colonnaded porches.  But not a shred of dignity or grandeur clung to it.  Indeed, though structurally sound, it had seemingly fallen past mere dilapidation into a kind of senility.  Windows gaped vacantly, and the front door had fallen from its hinges.  Paint had long since weathered away, and those few touches that suggested continued tenancy reinforced an air of barrenness, and of sterility.  <br/>
<br/>
Even so, we welcomed its appearance, for despite the wind it had an air of stillness, of shelter from the elements.  Had we been more perceptive, we might have wondered if this was because the wind itself shied away from the it.  But then, had we been perspicacious we would not have hazarded the bridge.<br/>
<br/>
A solitary figure stood on the porch, rigidly waving us in as we unloaded boxes and trunks.  'Come in, come in against the falling night!' he cried in a raw baritone.  He was tall with very red skin--almost burnt it looked.  A prominent Adam's apple rose and fell over a worn collar, and he looked at us with wide, tragic eyes.  'The wrath of God falls on an unrepentant world!  Come in, against the falling of the night!'<br/>
<br/>
The interior of the inn continued the air of gibbering ruin.  Furniture that was not smashed into matchsticks sagged and smelled unwholesome.  The walls closed in, as though resentful of the open spaces, and the open doorways and windows suggested blinded eyes that had fixed only accidentally upon one.  The stairs were ruined, so we could not reach the upper rooms; the lower floor was mostly given over to a ballroom that gave off a sickening, wrenching odor caused, some of us speculated, by the foundation's buckling over the underground recesses of a hot spring.  And so we camped in the lobby.<br/>
<br/>
Our host soon had us thoroughly unnerved.  Dressed in a black suit, thin and worn, he proved to be a missionary of Protestant extraction, though how he had come to the present country we could not discern.  The calling had never deserted him, though certain of his faculties perhaps had.  'Know ye not that there is one true Path!' he proclaimed with broad conviction at one point, and then abruptly stalked from the room.  Later, while some of us played out a poor hand of cards (we had only a very partial deck), he suddenly reappeared to urge the mortification of all flesh, then turned and stared out the window, all the while gesticulating wildly.  <br/>
<br/>
So we soon gave thought as to how to protect our newfound treasure from one who was apparently quite deranged.  Exploring a little further, we found the kitchen, and in it a chest of drawers containing potatoes and rice and some rather ancient looking vegetables.  As we were all quite hungry, it was agreed that the women would prepare a meal from these modest staples, and that the money would be secreted away in the bottom drawer of this makeshift pantry.<br/>
<br/>
Others, meanwhile, watched the weather, which appeared to be slowly growing worse.  On the horizon lay a dark redness bespeaking a violent sunset; part of the sky was already black, though from twilight or thunderhead we could not tell.  But though the atmosphere grew more oppressive, strangely it never approached a breaking pitch.  The gusts grew stronger, but they never blew into a gale.  You may make the fantastic surmise that such a storm might only grow more and more threatening, without ever breaking.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually, a stew was ready.  The women had put what ingredients appeared salvageable into an enormous pot to boil; a few spices had been added, and it did not look to be a bad meal.  But as they dished it out into shallow and misshapen bowls, a quiet settled on the company, for the stew had a cadaverous odor, and the liquid was thick and red.  Upon sampling, it proved to have the taste and texture of raw blood.<br/>
<br/>
We tried again.  More potatoes and rice and vegetables were found; more spices added.  The cooking was checked at regular intervals and found on all occasions to be perfectly consistent with a poor but edible soup.  That is, on all occasions but the last.  Upon distribution, it again transmuted into a product of the charnel house.<br/>
<br/>
It was too much for us, and someone suddenly gave orders that the coach be repacked:  The inn was leprous and must be quitted.  While we stowed the luggage (the wind, now quite strong, hampered us), the women retrieved the money.  The sacks remained where we had left them.  But now they found them filled with rice and moldy potatoes.  In vain did they plunge their hands into the rice, or search the rest of the pantry and kitchen.  Our treasure was not to be found.<br/>
<br/>
When told, the rest of us were phlegmatic.  Let the ruin keep the money and its secrets, we reasoned.  Such disappearances merely heightened our resolve to quit it and brave the storm.  The creaking of a board out in the lobby reminded us of our host, and some two or three of us grimly marched in to settle accounts.<br/>
<br/>
The owner was nowhere to be seen, having apparently just passed into another room, into which we had seen him previously repair on giving signs of exhaustion, and which we took to be his bedroom.  The door was tightly shut, but we opened it without knocking.<br/>
<br/>
Behind us, the deepening red of sunset bathed the lobby and all within a molten crimson, and the wind mindlessly tormented the landscape.  But the bedroom before us was dark, save for two dim sources of light.  One was a window, through which we glimpsed a black night, above which shone a gaping and hollow moon that revealed (but did not illumine) a chilly landscape of perfect silence and stillness.<br/>
<br/>
The second was a patch of phosphorescence shining from the bed.  It was a pale light that clung to the sheets, and to a headless and limbless torso, decayed, into and through which crawled a mighty and muscular python, itself revealing neither head nor tail.<br/>
<br/>
For an instant only did this tableau present itself; at once, there was a distant clap and the door sprang shut against our faces.  A moment later it reopened.  Our host stood in the doorway of a decrepit room, bare of all furniture, betrayed by the same ruddy light as in the lobby.<br/>
<br/>
When we explained our intention to depart, he cried against it.  'The wind, the wind!  Only here is it safe!  You cannot turn back, and will abandon your only shelter!'  But we persisted, and he abruptly acquiesced, requesting only that we take with us into the valley below certain letters for his superiors.  We quickly agreed.<br/>
<br/>
The road fell speedily and straightly onto the desert plain.  The sun had vanished below the horizon, swallowed by a red glow that suggested less the celestial than the subterranean.  It dimly illuminated the undersides of enormous thunderheads, in whose flanks were torn gaping fissures.  The wind was now a hard and steady gale, and the road was soon vanquished by vast, shifting sandbanks.  We dismounted from the coach, marooned in a simple and senseless chaos, and were all too soon swallowed by a howling blackness filled with blowing sand and flying snakes.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111121
author_id: seuzz
title: Squire Korbes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Turning the page you find next a story written on thick paper and richly illustrated. It appears to be from a children's book, and the story is certainly very much in the style of a children's story. But the illustrations are deeply disturbing. The cat is clearly a witch's familiar; the rooster is demonic; and even the innocent egg is swollen and monstrous. You read very quickly and try not to look at the pictures.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It was a hot day, and a dusty one. One would hardly have believed that it was already late October, but for the fields that were newly mown of hay, and a certain watery look to the sunlight. It had not rained for many weeks, and off the narrow country lane there drifted faint clouds of dust, to mix with sharp bits of cut grass and set to sneezing suddenly any who might have found their business leading them down that track. But for all that you would not have found it unpleasant to walk there, provided that you had your coat off, for the sky was blue, and the bird were singing, and it was not yet winter. <br/>
<br/>
(But you weren't there, were you? That is why this isn't your story, but someone else's. And a good thing it is, too, you will probably agree when you get to the end of this tale.)<br/>
<br/>
Instead, we find that the road belonged to a rooster. <br/>
<br/>
He was a large, fine, black thing, with a vivid red comb and a confident swagger as he strutted along in a stately way. He looked neither to the left nor to the right, and neither did he let anything hurry or slacken his pace. Occasionally he would cluck meaningfully to himself as a thought escaped his beak, but no other noise did he make. There was also a gleam in his eye, of determination and anticipation.<br/>
<br/>
He had been walking for many miles from a place you have never heard of, and had seen no other living being along the road, but on rounding a bend he came upon a cat. She was a long and sinewy thing, as dark as coal. But he paid no more attention to her than if she had been a hollow place by the side of the road.<br/>
<br/>
She, however, was struck by his appearance. "Come," she murmured to herself. "This is a fine fellow, and no mistake! By his manner, too, I'd warrant, he is not walking for his health. Brother Rooster!" she called out as he walked by. "Where are you meaning this fine afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
The rooster neither looked at her nor paused. Instead, he simply replied <br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' I am going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
The cat's eye's widened. "Ah," she purred. "So <i>that</i> is the way it is, then. I will come with you." And with that she fell alongside him, and the two passed down the road without speaking to each other as they went.<br/>
<br/>
They had not gone far when they passed over the crest of a small hill, at the top of which was laying a needle-with-one-good-eye. This needle looked at them narrowly as they approached. "An odd pairing," it thought to itself. "A prince of the barnyard and a vagabond cat. Into this I must inquire, in case a report needs to be made.<br/>
<br/>
"Ho!" he called as they stepped past. "Turn aside and state your business! What, you will not give an account? I'll mend your business for you!"<br/>
<br/>
The cat and the rooster would not pause, however, and instead merely chanted<br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' we are going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
The needle blinked when it heard this. "Ho ho!" it chortled. "I see! I see! This road can stand sentry over itself for a little while, no doubt. I will come with you!"<br/>
<br/>
And so saying the needle-with-one-good-eye leaped upon the back of the cat and nestled within her fur.<br/>
<br/>
They passed down the other side of the hill and around a copse of tree, on the other side of which they saw a duck coming. He was smiling and laughing to himself as he walked, for he was a cheerful fellow full of amusing stories and jokes, which, lacking an audience, he delighted to repeat to himself. His eyes lit up when he saw the three companions, and he waggled his tail feathers expectantly.<br/>
<br/>
"Heh heh," he laughed hoarsely as he hurried up. "A fine day for a walk, is it not, neighbors? It puts me in mind of the story of the Irishman who—" <br/>
<br/>
His story need not detain us, for it did not detain his listeners. He fell in beside them and walked with them back the way he had come, for he was not out for any purpose. He never noticed their silence as he repeated more stories and jokes, and it was purely out of friendly interest that he finally asked them what business they were about. They replied:<br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' we are going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Ah hah hah hah!" the duck laughed long and loudly. "I set out today intending no adventure, but here is one indeed! And wrapped in a fine joke too! I will come with you."<br/>
<br/>
And so he fell into their company but spoke no more, though he smiled a great deal and could be heard chuckling to himself all the way.<br/>
<br/>
The road now passed through a gate and vanished into a trackless field, but the company kept on, in something like a straight line, over brown earth; the dry, newly cut stalks of flax whispered meaninglessly as they passed. They were deep in the field when they chanced upon an egg.<br/>
<br/>
It was very young and shy, of course, and couldn't bring itself to speak as they passed, but after a moment's hesitation it rolled after them eagerly. "Please, sirs, I do beg your pardon," it said very humbly. "But you seem to be such fine lords and ladies, and I am a poor egg who has seen nothing of the world. And yet I would beg to hear what news you see fit to share. If I might just go a little ways with you, then, I would be most grateful, and will not interrupt your fine talk."<br/>
<br/>
The companions merely replied<br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' we are going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
The egg stumbled and stopped and turned very white. "This is a great matter," it said with a tremble in its voice, "far too great for such a one as I. And yet, if I may, might I be permitted to go with you?" They said nothing, but the duck quacked in a way that seemed encouraging. The egg fairly leaped for happiness and rolled along joyfully with them.<br/>
<br/>
On the other side of the field they found another fence with a gate, beside which stood a table-with-very-sharp-corners. "The farmer will set his dogs on you," it muttered darkly as they passed. "You have left tracks all over his field." This table was not, in fact, a bad sort, but it was in a foul mood for no longer being wanted, and for being left out by the road to be collected by any who would take it.<br/>
<br/>
The companions said nothing as they passed, which irritated the table even more. "And what right had you to pass through his field in the first place?" it called angrily after them. "Trespassers will be shot," it added, recalling the words of a sign that had once stood near the gate but had long since fallen during a rainstorm.<br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' we are going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
said the companions.<br/>
<br/>
The table's legs nearly buckled beneath it. "Oh. Well. I see," it stuttered. It was, as I said, not a bad sort, and was abashed at having spoken so rudely, only to earn that mighty reply. "That puts a different light on matters. We mustn't stand on our dignity, must we?" It coughed. "I have nothing to keep me here. I will go with you." So saying, the table-with-very-sharp-corners wobbled along stiffly behind them.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Squire Korbes, Concluded
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>They came to a deep and cold river, but the ferryman would only take people who were passing the other way, so the table stepped into the flood and carried them all across, except for the duck, who, momentarily forgetting himself, delighted in paddling circles around the make-shift mariners and laughing as they struggled to the other side. When they came out of the water again they found a very thick law book sitting on a fencepost.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Lex tremendae majestatis!</i>" it bellowed at them. <br/>
<br/>
None of the companions understood these words, but so awful was the law book's demeanor that they dared not fail to acknowledge them. So<br/>
<br/>
          <i>To Squire Korbes' we are going<br/>
          For a visit has long been owing.</i><br/>
<br/>
they replied.<br/>
<br/>
"That is what I said," retorted the law book, sounding very pleased with itself. With that, it threw itself with a tremendous thump onto the table and rode along with them, encouraging them all the way with a lot of fine Latin phrases.<br/>
<br/>
The road straightened out at this point, and from very far away the companions watched an old mill stone that was laying athwart their path; it too watched them. As they stepped over it, it sighed. "Long have I dreamed of this day. You have finally come. Let us go together." With a great and heavy rumble, it raised itself from the dust and rolled along with them.<br/>
<br/>
No one else did they meet before they came to gate in a high wall. It swung open as they approached, and let them pass up a path to the door of a very fine looking house. Without pausing to knock or await admittance, they passed within: all but the rooster, who leaped onto the high-pitched roof to watch the road.<br/>
<br/>
The last hours of the day passed in silence under the phlegmatic sun; the wind was still. And then, if you had stood at a particular point on the side of a small hill, you would have seen a distant figure tramping down the road and stirring the dust as he came. His name was Squire Korbes.<br/>
<br/>
The squire was in a foul temper. Business had taken him into town, where he expected to collect some substantial sums of money. But he had found few of them he intended to collect from, and those that he found pleaded poverty and would pay him nothing, and even the constables he complained to were surly and refused to lend him aid. So he was returning to his house in a rage, and kicking stones as he went.<br/>
<br/>
"Damn that sun!" he muttered as he stomped along with his head low. "Damn them that I should have been delayed and forced to return home with her in my eyes. I am quite dazzled and can hardly see where I am going. And oh! my head aches from her and from this blasted dust! And the noise of that cock has set my skull ringing!" For the rooster, high on his perch, had sent up a great cry when it saw the squire, and continued to scream loudly with every step that he took to his porch.<br/>
<br/>
The squire shaded his eyes when he came to his door and glared up at the cock. "I shall have to fetch a ladder to chase it down! But not now. I only want a cool drink and a place to rest my feet." So saying he passed inside.<br/>
<br/>
All was black after the dazzle of the setting sun, and the squire cursed as he felt rather than looked for a lantern or candle. "Where did I set my matches? I thought I put them on the mantle— Yeargh!" With a great cry he pitched over and onto his face and broke his nose, for the cat, invisible in the darkness, had brushed by his feet and tripped him. <br/>
<br/>
"Blast!" he cursed through the pain. "Who let a damned feline in here? Well, at least I've found the matches." He had, in fact, put his hand into the fireplace itself; fortunately, it was cold, and in the hearth he found the box. He continued to mutter as he scratched a match and lit a candle. "I must bandage my face, but let me just sit for a moment and— Yow!"<br/>
<br/>
The squire leaped back to his feet and hopped in place while rubbing the seat of his pants; by the light of the candle he saw the needle-with-one-good-eye gleaming in the cushion. "I will have the hide of the seamstress who repaired that chair," he roared. "Her carelessness has drawn yet more blood from me today. Now I <i>will</i> have to bathe."<br/>
<br/>
He passed into the kitchen, where a sink of tepid water was already waiting. He had just bent over it when, with a jolly quacking, the duck dropped from the top of a cabinet and merrily splashed most of the sink's contents into his face. <br/>
<br/>
"Great Stars of Zoroaster!" the squire exclaimed. "I was blinded by the sun, and then by the dark, and now by the water. Where did that duck come from?" His head was dripping, with water and with blood, so he grabbed a towel and put it to his face. <br/>
<br/>
Crack! The egg had nestled in its folds. Now truly sightless, the squire tried feeling his way out of the kitchen, but the cat, as she passed, had taken care to untie his boots, and he tripped on their laces. This time he put out his hand to catch himself, and cracked it directly on the sharpest corner of the table with very sharp corners. <br/>
<br/>
His howls now contained no words—unless, indeed, they were new blasphemies he was inventing on the spot.  He stumbled backwards, clutching his hand, and bumped into a tall bookcase; the very thick law book fell and smote him on the crown. "Oof!" he said as all the air blew from his lungs. <br/>
<br/>
"The house is bewitched!"  he cried when he had his breath back. "Or I am!" A sudden terror enveloped his heart, and he ran out the back door, only to dash himself senseless against the millstone that was standing patiently there.<br/>
<br/>
A short time passed, and his neighbors, who had heard his cries and curses, came to investigate. They found the squire, bleeding copiously and bruised as though he had been set upon by robbers and left for dead, flat on his back in his own yard. They lifted him up and took him to the hospital, where the doctors bandaged him up and set his fractures in splints.<br/>
<br/>
When the squire was awake again, his neighbors came to inquire after his story, and he told them of his adventure with the rooster and the cat and the needle and the duck and the egg and the table with very sharp corners and the law book and the millstone. And when he was finished, his neighbors looked one to the other and said nothing, but begged him to tell the story again. And with his face very red (for he suspected they thought he was delirious) he told it, and again they looked at each other with pale faces. But when they asked him a third time, he cursed them all and told them to leave him in peace.<br/>
<br/>
Many days later, when he was well, the squire left the hospital but moved into an inn rather than return home. He sold his house—for much less money than he and everyone knew it was worth—and moved to a distant city, where he lived and died in obscurity. But the story of Squire Korbes remained behind, and was the subject of much discussion and puzzlement. No one in his native country could quite decide what it meant, but they all agreed that only a very wicked man—or a very unlucky one—deserved the kind of visitors that had descended upon him that day.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111212
author_id: seuzz
title: Disappearing Ink
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You rifle through a few pages, and stop at the sight of handwritten manuscript. The writing is atrocious, so nearly unreadable that you almost pass on. But as you stare at the words they seem to come into focus, and you find yourself able to decipher them easily. It's as though something has shifted in your brain, allowing you to see them with the writer's own eyes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *<br/>
Disappearing Ink</div><br/>
<br/>
You are asked to imagine a man, a very young man; a man perhaps of only twenty-two summers, and still so plastic that were it not for his height—he stands slightly over six foot, two inches—and a robustness about the shoulders, he might be mistaken still for a boy. Certainly the sheen of his hair suggests one who spends most of his time outdoors, for its locks have caught and still refract the golden sunlight of a summer afternoon. "Still refract," did I say? Yes, for as we look in on him now it is most emphatically not a summer afternoon, and he is not outdoors. It is autumn, and the wind has already begun to crack the stones, and he huddles in a small, cold room on a high floor in a large college library. His robes indicate that he is no unwarranted intruder.<br/>
<br/>
He is bending low over a dusty book he had to ask be brought special to him, and is reading it with a strained intensity. With one finger he traces a line under the words as he scratches down the occasional note into a journal specially bought for that purpose. The glazed windows—the only source of light on this cloudy afternoon—rattle in the wind, but he pays no mind to that. He is too absorbed, and barks softly to himself as he blinks over a word, and he repeats it to himself a few times. "Why do I know that name?" he mutters. He writes it in the margin of his notebook and stares into a dark corner as though there he might find the answer.<br/>
<br/>
In this attitude he is caught by a stern young lady wearing sensible glasses. "Excuse me, but it's four o'clock, and we'll be shutting up here in thirty minutes," she tells him.<br/>
<br/>
"So soon?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, sir," she says, and departs. Such are the mysterious ways of certain of these libraries, that some rooms keep hours quite different from those of the library as a whole.<br/>
<br/>
But the young man is able to relieve his mental discomfort before she can reappear with another warning, and after quickly searching through his earlier notes confirms the excited discovery he has made. He quickly pushes his things into a small pack and hurries out, very nearly trodding on the toes of that stern and sensible young lady as he goes. What she thought as she regarded the back of his head we shall never know, for she does not come into this story any further than this.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I can see why you <i>would</i> hurry over," says the young man's tutor some twenty minutes later. He settles into a chair by the fireside, pulling a dressing gown more tightly about himself and crossing his legs so that the slipper of one foot dangles from his toe. "Forgive me, Willoughby, if I'm not quite as excited as you."<br/>
<br/>
"But the names are identical," protests his pupil. He sits on the edge of his own seat, and presses his notebook on his tutor. <br/>
<br/>
The latter takes it with an amused smile. "They are similar," he says in a correcting tone, and deigns to glance at the open page. "You know not to trust these things too much. Is the name Malborne? Is it Melbourne? Is it something else entirely?"<br/>
<br/>
"But surely it's worth investigating."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. You've exams coming up." The tutor's eyes remain locked on the page, and he taps it. "I think you've made a mistake here," he murmurs. "You'll find that the Chetham Society published their edition in 1845, not 1745."<br/>
<br/>
"That hasn't got anything to do with—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know it hasn't, I'm only remarking. But you see how errors can creep in. Imagine you made that dating error in a catalog <i>you</i> were compiling. I imagine it's the same sort of error as this 'Malborne' that you think you've found."<br/>
<br/>
"But isn't it worth looking into?" Willoughby repeats.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I daresay, when you've time. But be logical. If this catalog— When was it drawn up? 1692? Then either this book you've pegged is still at Cowdray Hall, or it has gone. Or it was never there to begin with. In only one of these hypotheticals is there any need to dash down to check. And if it still there, it is unlikely to go wandering in the meantime."<br/>
<br/>
Willoughby accepts this, and after sharing a drink departs for his own rooms. His tutor, though, sinks into a deeply ruminative state.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Actually, it's the first time I've ever had such a request," said Lady Wallace. "And now that it's come, I'm not sure whether to be flattered you've made it, or resent that it has been so long in the coming."<br/>
<br/>
Her visitor made a stiff and very slight bow: a gesture he was not used to making. It was one of many new experiences for him this day; and now that he was on the giving end of this gesture, he rather ruefully found himself sympathizing with the old Levellers.<br/>
<br/>
"Still, I suppose there should be some use in it," Lady Wallace continued. "I've been giving some thought to renovating the Hall. It would be most useful to have photographs of it as it was before— Well, before whatever I happen to do with it." She lowered her chin to regard her visitor directly. "Which rooms were you asking to photograph?"<br/>
<br/>
"The library," her visitor said easily enough. "And, er—"<br/>
<br/>
"The banqueting hall," she declared firmly. "The south sitting room. Oh, and the Rose Bedroom. The bend at the staircase, if nothing else." A hungry gleam came  into her eye. "Certain sections of the garden."<br/>
<br/>
Her visitor's heart sank rapidly, and for a moment he wondered if he might demand compensation for his labors. But he quickly suppressed the thought. It was enough that he'd gotten in the door, so to speak, with the imposture of being a manor house enthusiast eager to photograph the interior of Cowdray Hall.<br/>
<br/>
He began his exposures, at Lady Wallace's direction, in the long and high-ceilinged banqueting hall, which was dark despite the many tall windows piercing its western side. His enthusiasm for photography was not feigned—he was a keen amateur—and was not likely to be caught out by the lady as she hovered and pestered him with questions which he answered patiently. But he had to hoard his plates, and pretended on more than one occasion to take a photograph when in fact he was only pointing the lens at the object of Lady Wallace's decision. He carefully refrained from asking about the library, and only when her ladyship had finally tired of supervising, and said she had other business to attend, did he plot a careful course toward that wing of the Hall. Even then, he spent twenty minutes making slides of a south-facing sitting room before sidling into the library, attaining at last his real object with a deep sigh of relief.<br/>
<br/>
Even then, Furston—for that was his name, and he and the skeptical college tutor we met above are one and the same—moved carefully. As part of his pretense he had already established that his plates required long exposure, so that there would be no question about his poking into corners while his camera sat unattended. So now he crept about the library, which like the banqueting hall was very long and tall. Despite the occasional chair tucked into a corner or next to a window, it was not a room that invited relaxation and contemplation. Nor did it remind him of the libraries at his own college, with their thick, scholastic atmospheres of knowledge and learning. No, the library at Cowdray had the air of an enclosure for curious—or even dangerous—zoological specimens. Many of the shelves were shut up inside glass cabinets or locked behind screens, and an atmosphere of watchfulness hung over it. More than once he mistook a shadow for a looming figure, or thought he caught eyes gleaming at him from beneath a dark shelf. (It proved only to be twin reflections off the back of the book case.) As he quietly pulled the catalog from a great desk in the middle of the room, he spun around, for he was sure he'd heard a sharp intake of breath directly behind.<br/>
<br/>
There is no need to trace in detail his next steps. In the catalog he found the location what he was searching for—you will have deduced that it was a book associated with a man named Malborne, a title turned up by George Willoughby, his prize pupil. So guided, Furston found and plucked it from an obscure shelf, and tucked it into one of his boxes of plates, then spent some more minutes setting up photographs here and there. Only once was he disturbed, by Lady Wallace entering to ask if he would like to stay for tea. Begging the late hour, he demurred, and with many thanks to her ladyship for her generosity, and promises of sending her some photographic plates, he mounted his things onto a bicycle and departed.<br/>
<br/>
"I beg your pardon, ma'am, are the gentlemen gone?" asked a housemaid some minutes later. "I only asked," she continued, "because I know your ladyship likes to have the guest book signed, and I don't think they put their names in it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, very good, Gladys," said Lady Wallace. "But I don't remember his name. Just write 'a photographer' in your own hand, thank you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes'm. And for the other one?"<br/>
<br/>
"What other one? Our visitor was quite alone."<br/>
<br/>
"I beg your pardon, ma'am. Only I was quite sure I saw two of them leaving."<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211112121
author_id: seuzz
title: Disappearing Ink, Part 2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There was one village nearby, but despite the failing sun Furston pedaled through and past it to the next village over, where he at last attained a small inn. The landlord showed him a place in the alley where he could put his bicycle, and after guiding him to a small room in the back of the upper floor offered to help Furston with his boxes. "I only want this one at the moment," his guest said, indicating the box tucked under his arm. "The others can come up later."<br/>
<br/>
His room, of whitewashed plaster, was furnished in a very sparse manner, having only a bed and a small dresser, atop which rested an even smaller mirror. Furston closed the shades and opened the single box of plates. From it he drew and placed atop the dresser—<br/>
<br/>
"Come in," he called at the soft knock. Even as he bent greedily over his purloined treasure he saw the door opening in the mirror. A shadow detached itself from the hallway and slid inside. "Just set them anywhere," he said without turning around, for he deduced it was the landlord with the rest of his things. But he was too concentrated on the book to pay close attention.<br/>
<br/>
It was bound in thick, tough, brown leather, and very carefully he opened it, for if it was what he thought it was, then it was more than half a millennium old. But the parchment pages were heavy, and the binding tight, and the ink shone as though fresh. He smiled at the title. "So we've caught up to you at last, Sir John," he murmured as he read the Old Saxon. He'd need a dictionary to translate—he'd brought his copy of Somner along—and it would be in his small bag. But hullo, the man hadn't brought up the bag yet. In fact, he hadn't brought up anything. Furston frowned as he looked about, finding himself quite alone with only his single box. He cocked his head on noticing that the door was quite fast shut.<br/>
<br/>
On looking into the hallway he found the landlord now puffing up the stairs with all of his things. The tutor gladly relieved him of the burden, and thanked him profusely. Back in his room he noticed just how gloomy it had got now that the sun was down, and he put on the light.<br/>
<br/>
He bent back over his find once he had the dictionary out. He only spent such time on the dedication as to confirm the contents promised: "Know that revealed herein are such devices and artifices as by them shall things not seen be made seen," Furston translated it. "So too artifices to veil are described." Furston ceased to translate, and merely let his eye run down the page. The author had written carefully and clearly, in that way which made a treasure of all medieval manuscripts, but at the bottom a new hand had interpolated a single sentence. It wasn't in Old Saxon, either, and it seemed swiftly written, and jagged, as though made by a shaking hand: "What is shewn may not be what is wisht to be seen."<br/>
<br/>
There was more Saxon on the next page, and on the next, but on the fourth were only three lines, written in a highly florid hand, so that Furston had to peer closely at each letter to make them out. "Resest?" he muttered. "No such word. And the rest of the line, why those aren't even letters, or not letters of any alphabet I've ever seen. What about the next line? Ade— Adessein? What is this— Hang on. Sinistram? By Jove, it's not Saxon, it's Latin. Oh, I see. <i>Ad esse in sinistram.</i> Well, so can say any man, but what is it that's on the left, eh? Whatever is referred to on the line above, I suppose. Oh, and up there, that's not resest, I see, that's just good old <i>res est.</i> Again, that's all very good, but what thing is it talking about, and what is it supposed to be? A pox if the secret is in the chicken scratchings that fill out the rest of the line. So what about the third line? Esse non apparet. No, it certainly is not apparent. And dash it all, the rest of the line is only more of those hatch marks, just as in the lines above. Curious placement for this epitaph. It's justified down the middle of the sheet. And look at this, the sensible halves of the lines all end in the middle of the page, exactly where that strange writing fills out the rest of the line."<br/>
<br/>
He puzzled over this a bit more, then with a feeling of vexation turned the page.<br/>
<br/>
And now his vexation turned to dismay, for the next page, and all the subsequent pages, were quite blank. There must have been a hundred sheets of parchment in the book, but except for the first few they were white and creamy and perfectly without crease, as though freshly made and bound.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Sir John Malborne, curse you for a clever devil," he exclaimed. "Write a book about how to hide things in plain sight, and how to find things that are hidden, and you <i>would</i> write it in invisible ink." But of what sort? He would have to consult an expert, for he knew nothing about the techniques a thirteenth-century author would use for making invisible letters, and he didn't dare damage the book by making his own experiments. It would be too valuable, even with an invisible text. <br/>
<br/>
Or would it? Perhaps this was why it had lain in plain sight at Cowdray Hall for at least two centuries, because its authenticity and thus its value were dubious. It would be no great trick, Furston reflected, to compose an elaborate introduction, and a riddle, and to leave the rest of the book blank as a joke. <i>Why, here is Sir John Malborne's famously lost book on conjuration, with the very words conjured out of it. What, can you prove it isn't?</i> Furston knew quite well what he would retort had Willoughby or any other brought him this book and that reasoning: <i>I need not prove it isn't. You must prove it is.</i><br/>
<br/>
Furston closed the book with a thump, and had a very disconsolate supper downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
But after that he reproved himself for his temper and his impatience, and fetching the book from his room took it downstairs to a sitting room, bringing with him too a notebook and pen and the Somner for translation. He'd got almost half of the initial Saxon translated—discovering in it a short account by Sir John Malborne of his birth and life and upbringing, by way of introducing the techniques he had learned and developed—before the landlord appeared. "That's a fine antique book as you've got there, sir," he said in a jolly tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but I'm not certain it is antique," replied Furston in a carefully neutral tone. "I'm inclined to think it spurious, if not an outright fabrication."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't see as how it can't not be a fabrication, exactly, seeing as how books don't exactly grow on trees." The landlord chuckled. "That might make a fine riddle, mightn't it, sir, as how books don't grow on trees but are certainly made from them. You grow a book from them, but you can't grow a book on them. Yes, it might be turned into a very old-fashioned sort of riddle, as that s'pinks might have asked." He chuckled again. "So it being fabricated sir, as all books is fabricated, what makes you frown over it so, if I may trouble you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean it may only be a kind of hoax, a book made up to look old when it is quite new," said Furston, still smiling indulgently at the landlord's attempt at wit.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah." The innkeeper's eyes grew wide. "That would be a terrible thing, sir, seeing as how some of these antique books can be so valyable, as I've heard. There's a many a valyable one down to the Hall, so they say, and it would be a terrible thing if some of them proved to be not what they pretended to be."<br/>
<br/>
"What hall?" asked Furston cautiously, and winced a little at the answer: "Cowdray Hall, sir. They say old Lord Rotherwick, of the family that had the Hall before Lord Wallace's family, they say he gathered up great heaping armfuls of antique books, and had special rooms for 'em to be locked up in, though I can't suppose as he had what you might call the security as we have in these modern days, as he lived nigh on two hundred years ago. But then they also say as he had a ghost there to keep 'em off, which ain't something you can get modern, can you?" He chuckled again.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Disappearing Ink, Part 3
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"A ghost," said Furston, still in a very neutral tone, and could not help thinking back to the sense of watchfulness he'd experienced at Cowdray Hall. "Rather a literary conceit, it sounds."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I don't think pride had anything to do with it, and now that I think on it I never heard as any harm came to anyone. I 'spect it was only an idea someone got, as you hear that sometimes you get these authors that haunt libraries, to watch if any body still reads their books. Though now that I recollect, I think the story was that old Lord Rotherick picked up the ghost when he picked up another library, so it came with the antiques. I wonder if he had to pay extra for it." And now he roared with laughter.<br/>
<br/>
"It would be a charming story," said Furston, though he didn't think it all charming, not after creeping into Cowdray Hall and working beneath the shadows there. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, as I say, they have many of those antique books up at the Hall, and if you was interested in them but I'm sure her ladyship wouldn't object to a scholar such as yourself—if you'll presume me judging you're a scholar, as you can read such as that—but she wouldn't object to one making a study of some of what old Lord Rotherwick, him of the old family, what he collected." Furston thanked him for the recommendation. "And where's your friend got off to? Has he an opinion on the fabrication of this antique?"<br/>
<br/>
"Friend? What friend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why, him what was in here just a few moments ago, though I didn't recognize him."<br/>
<br/>
"I've been quite alone in here up to now," Furston said, rather pointedly it must be feared.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, now that's strange," said the innkeeper. "When I glanced in just a few minutes ago, I saw someone bending by your shoulder, like he was about to point something out to you in your antique. Can't be old Bill, I said to myself, for though he often comes in here to sit and keep me and my guests company, he's laid up with the croup this past week. But I was on my way back to the kitchen for a little something to keep the chill off—" Here the landlord winked broadly. "And you was alone when I came back in."<br/>
<br/>
Furston refrained from suggesting that the landlord must have already had a little something to "keep the chill off" before looking in, and merely thanked him for his kind attentions. The innkeeper shortly bade him a good night, but in a way that threatened to have a sequel if Furston kept to the front sitting room for too long.<br/>
<br/>
But he didn't give up on his work, not right away, for the interruption had perhaps cleared away some of the mental jam that had kept him from understanding the gnomic Latin. He turned back to it now, and was startled to realize that he could make out the odd markings, which he had dismissed as nonsense, much more clearly. "Why, they are only backwards capitals," he said to himself, and quickly set about transcribing the mirror writing back to front in his own notebook.<br/>
<br/>
"It is and it is not," he mused when he had finished the first line. "It is on the left, and it is on the right," was his finished transcription of the second. "It does not appear, and it does appear. Hmm. Still says nothing about what 'it' is, though. So it's a riddle. What patterns has it? It begins with <i>it is and it is not,</i> a positive and a negative. Then a pair of complementaries. And it ends again with a negative and a positive. And they are arranged reflectively, so that the right-hand text— Well, it's not a mirror image of the left-hand text, but if you lined up a mirror on the exact middle of the page, the right-hand text would be reflected right-ways round. Oh dear, it would have been too much to hope that the solution would have simply been hidden in the mirror writing. Instead, the riddle itself contains that mirror riddle. Oh well, ten o'clock. More time tomorrow to puzzle on it."<br/>
<br/>
So he rose, and—not before bumping again into the landlord and wishing him another good night—went upstairs to bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
Furston paced restlessly. He could not see the room clearly, but instinctively he knew he was in a study. In his hand he clutched a paper. It was a letter. It worried him, it worried him greatly. It made no peremptory demands, but what it did ask was terrible enough. <i>Tongues have been wagging that should have kept still.</i><br/>
<br/>
Still he paced, and now he held a book. He couldn't see it clearly, but again instinctively he knew what it was. It was the book that this lawyer was inquiring for by letter. Why, what was he after it? <i>Old Tom, it must have been Old Tom who let something slip, he's the only one left alive who knows about it.</i> Five years since his acquittal for conjuration, but Old Tom has said something to this lawyer, and now this lawyer is asking about Sir John's book, from which Old Tom told him he learnt his skills. <i>Shall he show it to this lawyer? Impossible, out of the question! Let this lawyer, this justice, whatever he be, keep in ignorance. Give him a soft answer, a demurral.</i> But would that suffice? If this lawyer then wrote to others, and those others should write in turn—<br/>
<br/>
A great dread fell over Furston, a despairing realization. There was yet one artifice Sir John described, one surety against the discovery of the book. An agony it would be to employ that artifice, for unto the last trumpet would he then have to keep a vigil. And what after that? <br/>
<br/>
Furston briefly felt curtains against his face, and a rushing, and the ache of an ardent but arid prayer in his heart. Now he stood before a mirror, but his own face did not appear there, only the shadow of his form. He held the book before him and genuflected and murmured quickly and softly, and genuflected again. His words tumbled out, becoming meaningless in their repetition, and still more meaningless as in mid-sentence turned and backward ran they. The light dimmed and the shadow in the mirror deepened, enveloping all in the frame, except for the pages of the book, which shone brightly as from an inner light. From without he heard the drum of hoof beats, which became a loud thunder, until it was only thunder, and with the sound of thunder in his ears Furston woke, and blinked, and sat up in his bed. The sun was just rising, and it was still very dark.<br/>
<br/>
He staggered from bed, haggard and stiff in his nightshirt, and put on the light. Blinking heavily, he opened the Malborne at random. He didn't really expect to find anything but what he did find, namely, blank pages. But he now thought he had a lead, and he would test it once he had bathed and dressed and eaten and otherwise made himself presentable. For though the book he held in the dream was as blank as the one on his dresser, in the dream its reflection in the mirror was covered in a dense, black script.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221111212111
author_id: seuzz
title: Disappearing Ink, Part 4
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Over a breakfast of coffee and eggs Furston thought on the matter, trying to convince himself that his reasoning was correct, fantastic though it seemed. He was in no hurry to try something that would look very foolish, so when the landlord invited himself to the table, Furston happily accepted his company after first turning the conversation away from books and libraries and other antiques and onto the local weather and the implications it had for the spring planting, a topic on which his host had many opinions. When he had finished, he inquired as to when the next train would be leaving the next village over, and asked to have his luggage—including the bicycle—sent on ahead. And when it was gone he retired with a studied casualness to his room for some last minute tidying up.<br/>
<br/>
"It's all there in that infernal riddle, isn't? it" he muttered anxiously to himself. "It mirrors itself right down the middle, left to right, with that queer mirror writing. Mirrors itself top to bottom, too. First line contains a positive and a negative, and the third a negative and a positive. That middle line? Your left hand is in a mirror your right, that's obvious. To be and to appear, though, the predicates of the first and third line. How does that fit? Bless me, did they make so much of the contraries of appearance and reality in the fourteenth century? I don't recall."<br/>
<br/>
He had only his rucksack and the Malborne upstairs with him now, and with a thumping heart he picked up the latter. So keen was his anticipation now that he actually fancied that a hoarse voice muttered "Haste!" in his ear. Before the mirror, he slowly raised the book to his chest and opened it so that the text reflected backward at him. He turned first one page and then two more, until the Latin epitaph appeared. Now the mirror script appeared perfectly formed; it was the forward-running script that seemed unreadable. He held his breath and turned the next page.<br/>
<br/>
Blank it was, as were the next few. "Ah, there must be a trick to it," he said, "so that it can't be found by accident. If I <i>am</i> on the right path."<br/>
<br/>
He turned back to the epitaph and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps I've got to <i>show</i> that I've figured it out," he said to  himself. And so he cleared his throat and in a low but firm voice enunciated the first line. <i>It is and it isn't,</i> he thought to himself, and surprised himself with the liquid deduction that ran after. <i>It is</i> in the forward script; in the mirror script <i>is not.</i> Meaning, plainly, that whatever is not in a mirror <i>is,</i> that is, <i>it exists</i>; but that which is inside a mirror <i>is not,</i> that is, <i>it does not exist,</i> for it is a reflection only. So clearly did this occur to Furston that it almost felt as thought it had been given to him from outside.<br/>
<br/>
Now he enunciated the second line. <i>It is on the left and it is on the right.</i> Without consciously willing it, with his left hand he turned to the next page, a blank page; in the mirror, his reflection used its right hand to turn the same page. But in the mirror it was blank as well.<br/>
<br/>
The third line? <i>It appears not, and it does appear.</i> Again, as though prompted from without: "Of course. They won't appear in the real world, the world that <i>is,</i> in the world that we can easily read. They'll only appear in the mirror world, the world of the mirror writing, in the mirror. Why, I've only to finish this bloody incantation, and the hidden things will appear in the mirror even if they don't appear in the book. I am sure of it, O, but I am more certain of that than—!" And before he could stop himself he enunciated the final line of the epitaph.<br/>
<br/>
And as he'd anticipated, words of Old Saxon, written in a bold, firm and very clear hand appeared on the page in the mirror. He cried out. <br/>
<br/>
But it was not a cry of triumph.<br/>
<br/>
For did Sir John Malborne's book teach one how to see hidden things? Very well. And so Furston now saw clearly in the mirror that which was standing directly behind his shoulder, and which he now realized had been standing behind his shoulder all this time, and for a considerable time before.<br/>
<br/>
He had only briefly the presence of mind to make out its elements. A discolored white face that grinned fleshlessly and stared at him from empty sockets. A soft hat with four peaks, and a black coat with a high collar. A spider that sat on the thing's bony cheek like a black tear.<br/>
<br/>
The book fell from his nerveless hand, and he shrieked again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What did you say was the nature and significance of this book, young man?" Lady Wallace demanded. "Something to do with prestidigitation?"<br/>
<br/>
George Willoughby smiled tightly. "Conjuration," he said. "Though it's much the same thing." He consulted the catalog again, and pressed a rueful fingertip into the gap on the bookshelf. "The art of making things appear and disappear. The title is very rare. It would have been the only known copy in existence, if you had it."<br/>
<br/>
She snorted. "And if there are no copies, how could you know there would be such a thing to be found?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it's mentioned in the literature, your ladyship. A Renaissance scholar learned of it from an acquitted conjuror, and through him he traced it to a parson in Sussex. But the parson refused to show it to him, and no more was ever heard of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, by the sound of it, I can't say I'd be distressed to discover that it's missing, regardless of how rare it might have been. I don't hold much with spiritualism, and I think it would have left my library the worse for its presence. Not that any here like our library overmuch. I confess I've never had much use for it." She shivered, and glanced vaguely around. <br/>
<br/>
But now that she was here, she couldn't quite see why she had ever found it objectionable. True, it was dark and muffled, but so was the banqueting hall on the other side of the house, and that had never bothered her. And in the wintry chill the shadows of the library now felt like great woolen comforters. Yes, after this young man left she'd have a fire lit, and some tea brought in. Maybe it just needed a bit of living in. A bit of kindness, she thought.<br/>
<br/>
"You may have the run of the place," she said briskly before departing. "But do look in on me before you leave."<br/>
<br/>
And so she left young Willoughby, and some hours later he left Cowdray Hall, feeling depressed and mystified. To a friend back at the college he related the results of this most unsatisfactory investigation. "I was sure I had a lead on that Malborne book."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh? What kind of lead?"<br/>
<br/>
"A cryptic line a catalog I was rummaging through. I found a list of titles that got trucked out to one of those big country houses in Dorset about two hundred years ago. It had the names 'Malborne' and <i>Praestigiarum</i> on one of the lines. Ye gods, I shouted, and hurried off to talk to Furston. He pooh-poohed it, of course."<br/>
<br/>
"Furston. Ah," his friend said. "Speaking of things that softly and silently vanished away." He sipped his beer.<br/>
<br/>
"Indeed. No leads on him either, I've heard, any more than on the book at Cowdray. Just a hole on a shelf, and now a hole in the literature faculty."<br/>
<br/>
"What are they going to do with his personal library?" the friend asked. "I mean, if he is actually, you know— Well, I've seen some things on his shelf that—"<br/>
<br/>
"Going to the college, I heard."<br/>
<br/>
It was several months before Furston's literary possessions were fully transferred to the keeping of the college library, for he had been generous in lending out titles, and for weeks after his books came trickling in. One package that arrived early came from Dorset. "Gentleman left this in a hurry," said the enclosed note, and it was certainly generous of the proprietor to send it along, as he'd not been paid for various troubles taken on behalf of its owner, who'd simply up and left without leaving a word. The librarian to whom the cataloging of Furston's contributions fell found himself glancing over his shoulder the entire time that this book—a product of the High Middle Ages, bound in tough brown leather—lay in his work room, and his distraction was such that he forgot to enter its information into the library's own catalog before he slid it onto a distant shelf in a back corner. From that day forward library patrons ceased to dawdle in that particular part of the library, and complaints were made about the dim lighting.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111122
author_id: seuzz
title: A Tragedy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Flipping randomly, your attention is caught by a single page that has clearly been torn from another book. It contains a brief poem illustrated by woodcuts. Something about them reminds you of the classic Tenniel illustrations from <i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,</i> but they are even more grotesque, and their detailed line work threatens to engulf your senses. You turn your attention to the words, but they make even less sense than the scenes of mayhem and debauchery that illustrate them:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
We get in debt while on the pill.<br/>
(Brunette, well-met, was set, I bet.)<br/>
While on the pill we get some pet<br/>
Coquette in debt, and yet, and yet . . . <br/>
<br/>
And yet around the hill sextet<br/>
Brunettes make out a will.  They get<br/>
The windowsill.  We get in debt.<br/>
<br/>
Forget, sextet, the watermill<br/>
Upon the hill that Jack and Jill<br/>
Dun et; they let a vet sex-tête<br/>
Some pet around the hill, still wet.<br/>
<br/>
Sextet, forget that Jack and Jill<br/>
(Well-met) sub-let the windowsill.<br/>
Take ink and quill, but mind the till<br/>
Was set in debt to pay the bill.<br/>
<br/>
To bag the kill that Jack and Jill<br/>
(Brunette in debt while on the pill)<br/>
Sub-let, the vet offset the pet:<br/>
Brunette, still wet I bet, dun et.<br/>
<br/>
Somehow, it fills your mind with pictures even more unpleasant than the illustration.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story of the Rich Man in Rags
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You flip to another section of the book and find yellowed pages that seem to have been cut from an old book. It is headed "Chapter LXVII: The Story of the Rich Man in Rags"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To the house of a powerful and wealthy merchant an old rag-picker was summoned, bringing his wagon of cast-off clothes, that the merchant might look over them in the cool of his own courtyard. This he did, in the company of his chief servant, speaking freely and laughing the whole time. But the old rag-picker, who was blind, only stood by and said nothing, adding the impression of deafness and dumbness to his infirmities. <br/>
<br/>
Said the merchant, Goods from Africa and Asia have I seen pass through my warehouses, but never before did I suspect rags could come in such an abundance of styles—There are only so many ways to make a tunic, replied his servant, but there are many ways to tear one—True words, I now see, said the merchant; how wonderfully adorned our friend's wardrobe looks now that my eyes are open; how shall we find what we seek?—We shall find what is close enough to his, and mend the difference, rejoined his servant—What? We are not tailors!—My lord shall not be a tailor but the very opposite—Curb thy wit, laughed his master; open thy eyes instead; what, ho! Hast thou found a thing?—Verily, the very thing, said the chief servant; oft have I seen our friend in a robe this very color, and likewise ill-used—Indeed, laughed the merchant, but the odor is not displeasing enough; rag-picker, thou hast laundered thy wares before coming. <br/>
<br/>
The rag-picker stirred at this, saying, I am thy servant. What wouldst thou have of me?<br/>
<br/>
Said the merchant, I would have rags, a cloak, hat and tunic like those of a wretched carpenter I see every day in the market, though thou would not know him to see him.—Indeed I would not, said the rag-picker, and I fear you mock me and my wares; rags are rags, even to one such as me—But not to me, said the merchant, for my rags must be as much alike to this carpenter's as can be, lest my business miscarry.—Thy business is not my business, said the rag-picker, who would listen no more, but the merchant was free in his talk, saying, 'Twill be quite the jest at his expense, and I fear not to share it with thee. I covet his wife, and would lie with her by making pretense of being him.<br/>
<br/>
What is this thou speakest, cried the rag-picker. This is not a jest!—But it is! said the merchant, laughing the more, and saying, Upon them both it shall be a wonderful jest! His wife is a comely creature, and I desired her from afar, but she is obstinate, and when I declared myself to her she would not heed my sweet words, but cleaves the more tightly to her penurious husband. So I will call him away on business, and when it is dark go to his house in rags very like his and be with her until morning. For they are too poor for candles, and she shall not see it is not him.<br/>
<br/>
With such wickedness let no man consort! cried the rag-picker, and in great indignation departed with his wagon.<br/>
<br/>
And the merchant was dumbfounded, and then turned in anger on his chief servant, for it had been the servant's suggestion to seek out the rag-picker and take him into confidence. Have mercy! cried the servant; for all I have done hast been and will be to thy even greater profit!—Fie! cried the merchant, saying, I am shamed by a vendor of rags!—Not so, said the servant, for he will help thee greatly, now that my master sees he must not be approached with a light heart, as I knew my master would.—What! exclaimed the merchant. Am I to abase myself to a man little better than a beggar?—No indeed, my lord, said the servant. But if I had told his story first thou wouldst not have seen how he must be cradled by thee. Now I will tell his story, which I have heard from one other who knows it but is now dead, and when I have told it thee, thou will gladly take up my plan, which will win thee far more than a single night with the woman you covet.—Come then, said the merchant more softly. If this tale have merit great reward shalt thou have from me.<br/>
<br/>
And so the merchant's chief servant proceeded to tell him—<br/>
<br/>
[You turn the page.]<br/>
<br/>
The Story of the Rag-Picker<br/>
<br/>
When the King of Yunan died, his wife the queen rent her garments and would not be consoled, for all was dark in her eyes. This was not for the sake of her husband the king, who in truth she had not loved. But while he had reigned she had by her skill and cunning dominated him and ruled the kingdom through him. But her son the new king was of sterner stuff made, and in him she saw the twilight of her influence. <br/>
<br/>
But when her time of grief had passed she took counsel with herself, for she was skilled in dark arts, and steeped within her own thoughts she surmised how she might again make the throne of Yunan her own.<br/>
<br/>
So it passed that she invited the king's guard, his fifty loyal soldiers, to a banquet where she also invited fifty maidens her servants to entertain. And in their presence she prepared by her own hand a dish, cutting up the meat of many animals and the flesh of many fruits, and mixing them and over them throwing divers spices and medicines, and setting them on bronze plates over coals in a brazier. And over this dish as she served it she uttered words—<br/>
<br/>
<i>The strength of men is in the arms of women, yet cunning of woman deserteth her not.<br/>
Cleave, womanish tongues inside mouths newly made beardless; yield virtue to those who thy vices they'd learn.</i><br/>
<br/>
by which were changed the king's soldiers into her maidens and her maidens into the king's soldiers, and these led them back to the queen's apartments, for they were the queen's creatures and knew her heart; and the next morning the maidens she had changed to soldiers took up station about the king, and he knew not of the imposture.<br/>
<br/>
Then the next night the queen invited the Wezir to sup in her apartments, and in the presence of him and the chief slave of her own household she again cut up the flesh of many animals and fruits, and mixed them with spices and medicines and set them over flame, saying—<br/>
<br/>
<i>The slavish mind to rule's no stranger, but graspeth the scepter by its other end:<br/>
To pull down, consume; to expel; to tramp o'er; high office perfumeth the foulest ordure.</i><br/>
<br/>
And she changed the chief slave of her household, who was her creature, into the Wezir, and changed the Wezir into the chief slave, and put him into the harem with the changed soldiers, and then the changed slave as the Wezir returned to stand beside the king, who knew not of the imposture.<br/>
<br/>
And on the next night she invited the chief general and the chief eunuch to sup, and she changed the one into the other by means such as she had done before and the words—<br/>
<br/>
<i>When this man is not this man then not a man he'll surely be; <br/>
Let the is-not man become man; now is virility quench'd. </i><br/>
<br/>
And she sent them back each into the other's place, the chief eunuch her creature to command the king's army—an imposture the king detected not.<br/>
<br/>
And then, the king being surrounded all about by her creatures, she invited he himself to sup. And the king was loath to go, for he abhorred and suspected the queen though she was his mother, but those he thought his loyal advisers and protectors urged him on, for their spirits were affixed to hers like a compass on the star. Then the king dined with the queen. And for him she cut up and mixed the flesh of many animals and fruits, and mixed in them spices and medicines, and set them to flame over charcoal.<br/>
<br/>
<i>From mother's flesh the child is torn; he sucks her milk and will betime consume her needy self.<br/>
But Nature turns backwards; return O my flesh; for over thee now do I make myself king.</i><br/>
<br/>
And she was changed into the king and he into her. Then she rose and in the guise of the king summoned the king's guard, saying, Imprison this wretch for plotting to take the crown. And the soldiers, who were her own servants in changed form, roughly seized and with much abuse took to a high tower their prisoner. <br/>
<br/>
And the queen, now having the throne and all about her changed into those she held and worked as with her own hand, rejoiced greatly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story of the Ragpicker, Concluded
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Now, none save two knew aught of this. One was the king's bosom companion, whom he had known since childhood, and who saw in the king his friend a great and sudden change. And he wondered over it, but held his tongue. The other was the king's chief spy, whom he had set to watch the queen secretly, and who had seen her change the soldiers, and the wezir, and the chief general. But this spy knew not whom to trust after seeing such wonders, and held his tongue, and so by this act of cowardice the king was taken by the queen. But this man, seeing the king so changed, sought to flee, only to be taken and brought before the king's friend, who had charge of the magistracy of the palace. And this friend of the king abused the man and threatened him with death. And seeing that death would surely take him whatsoever he said or did, the king's spy chose the path of truth, and told all that he had seen. He guessed that all he met were the queen's creatures in changed form, and he guessed the same of the man who questioned him, and he expected death. But to his surprise he was instead told to hold his tongue, and was given a horse, and told to flee to the farthest kingdoms of earth, lest death come to him in the guise of a friend.<br/>
<br/>
Then the king's companion sat and brooded, and the sun was darkened in his eyes. For three days he lay upon his bed, then rose and put on mourning and went to the king, though he feared now it was not the king to whom he spoke. And he begged leave to depart for six months, saying, My father sends news that my three brothers are killed in a shipwreck, and begs that I journey to Adaneh to put their affairs in order. And he received permission, and by this token he knew that the spy had spoken the truth, for the king his friend knew that he had no brothers and that his father was already dead.<br/>
<br/>
Then the king's companion journeyed down river, but before coming to the sea he departed his course and, crossing many mountains, came to a desert, and there he fasted and gave himself over to contemplation. And on the fortieth day he grew sick and the light faded from his eyes, and when he awoke he found he was in a dark, cool cave with rough bread and water by his side. And he ate and drank, and when he had finished a child bearing a green branch came in and removed his cup and bowl. And he asked the child, What is this place? and the child said, Stir not, for you are very weak. And so he slept a day and a night.<br/>
<br/>
When he awoke he found fruit and wine by his side. And he ate and drank, and when he had finished a great Head, whose brow was wrapped in ivy, entered and removed his cup and bowl. And he asked the Head, What is this place? and the Head said, Hush and be still, for you are not yet well. And so he slept a day and a night.<br/>
<br/>
And when he awoke he found meat and strong beer by his side. And he ate and drank, and when he had finished a man made of copper entered and removed his cup and bowl. And he asked the man, What is this place? and the man said, Be silent but content, for tomorrow my mistress will visit and speak with you, for you are almost whole. And so he slept a day and a night.<br/>
<br/>
And when he awoke he saw the child, and he said, Where is thy mistress, for I have been promised I should see her. And the child said, Here she is, and the child changed and was the Head. And the king's friend was amazed and said, Where is thy mistress, who can conjure such servants? And the Head said, Here she is, and the Head became the man of copper. And the king's friend was afraid and cried, I dare not see thy mistress, for she must be very terrible to have such servants. And the man of copper said, Here she is, and the man of copper became a small woman of meek and kindly mien, only three hands high, clad in green silk.<br/>
<br/>
And the king's friend fell to his knees and begged her mercy. And she smiled on him, for he had won her favor. She said to him, Thou hast talked much in thy sleep, and of thy woes know I all, and am resolved to show thee how to amend them. Then she led him into another chamber, of silk hangings and carpets, and bade him sit upon soft pillows. Then she clapped her hands, and there entered a lovely maiden, of dark eyes and high cheeks and hair as thick and black as a horse's tail, and she carried with her plates of food and a brazier. <br/>
<br/>
And the lady jinn (for such she was) gave him the maiden as his servant, and then she prepared him food with her own hand. She named and showed him the meat and the fruit, and showed him how to cut and mix them. And she named and showed him the spices and medicines, and how to mix them. And she showed him how to set it all into a brazier. And doing so she said—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fair with fair should traffic only; all else with corruption doth soon overflow.<br/>
Mate spirit with matter, wed form and true aspect; birth justice, though cunning the midwife be.</i><br/>
<br/>
And she changed the king's friend into the maiden his servant, and the servant into him.<br/>
<br/>
And then the lady jinn said, By this art did the queen thy friend's mother alter and falsely imprison him. And by this art may thou do the same to her. Return in this form to the city of Yunan, and the king (who is not the king) will take thee into favor, for I have set an enchantment upon thee that will arouse his lust, and he will take thee into the palace. But do not slay thy enemy, or surely wilt thou have cause for regret.<br/>
<br/>
Then the king's friend, arrayed in silks as a comely maiden, returned to Yunan and took up a place in the market. And the king, passing by, saw and was consumed with desire, and seized him whom he thought to be a comely maiden, and returned to the palace. And the king's friend, in his disguise, begged for the chance to show favor unto the king by preparing a luxurious dish, and the king granted this favor. And so was prepared in the presence of the false king the meat and the fruit and the spices, but the false king saw it not, being consumed by desire and blind to all else. Then by the words—<br/>
<br/>
<i>A royal nature hath the faithful servant; a slavish mien the king who hath it not.<br/>
Crumble, dissembler, and show they true aspect; let friendship in trust kingly office now hold.</i><br/>
<br/>
the king's friend was changed in form to be like unto the king, even as the queen had been, and in this guise he summoned the palace soldiers. And the queen was changed into the servant girl, and gave a terrible cry when she saw how she'd been tricked, and glimpsed the fate that surely awaited her. For though he remembered the lady jinn's warning, the king's friend feared he would regret the life of the queen his friend's enemy still more than her death, and so he ordered that her head be struck off forthwith. And the soldiers, though the queen's disguised creatures, obeyed, for they knew not of the imposture. <br/>
<br/>
And then the king's friend ordered that the old queen be brought to him, for he meant to restore to the king his form and position. But the soldiers returning brought the news that the old queen was dead, for they had found her with her head separated from her body, as the head had been separated from the body of the maiden. And this was a great mystery to them, for they had locked away the king in this changed state in a cell from which none could enter or exit. <br/>
<br/>
And then the king's friend rose and rent his garments, for he understood the meaning of the lady jinn's warning.<br/>
<br/>
Then he summoned the Wezir and the chief general and the chief eunuch and the chief slave and restored them unto themselves, and then he restored the soldiers and the queen's servants unto themselves. And the creatures of the old queen he caused to be flung from the top of a cliff and left unburied. Then he gave rulership of the kingdom to the Wezir and returned to the desert to the jinn, to reclaim his old form. But he found her not, and was forced to wander the rest of his years bearing the face of his friend the king, glimpsing it in pools where he went to drink. And so he blinded himself, and became a poor man, and a gatherer and mender of rags.<br/>
<br/>
The Story of the Rich Man in Rags, Continued<br/>
<br/>
—and that is the story of the rag-picker, said the merchant's chief servant. And in his art thou canst perceive how thou might have the carpenter's wife not only for one night but for all.—Speak plainly, said the merchant, for thy meaning is yet dark to me.—And the servant said—<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story of the Two Brothers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>—and that is the story of the rag-picker, said the merchant's chief servant. And in his art thou canst perceive see how thou might have the carpenter's wife not only for one night but for all.—Speak plainly, said the merchant, for thy meaning is yet dark to me.—And the servant said, Let my master and the carpenter be changed by the rag-picker's art, so that his wife knows not the imposture. Then shall we ply the carpenter with spirits and poisons, so that it appears that my master hath died. But first shalt thou have drawn up documents bequeathing thy estate and all it containeth to the carpenter, for the sake, it will be supposed, of his wife that he loved. Then my master shall return to his dwelling and all it contains, but his wife shall think him her husband yet.<br/>
<br/>
And this seemed good to the merchant, yet he wondered how the rag-picker might be persuaded to exercise his craft, for by his words the rag-picker had shown himself unfriendly to the merchant's desires. And so the servant said, Let my master invite the rag-picker to another of his houses and there disguise his voice and tell a story of such woe that the magician will offer his aid. But being blind he will not know that it is my master who entreats him, and shall unawares make the transformation thou seekest.<br/>
<br/>
The merchant rejoiced at his servant's words, and resolved to do as he said. So he went to another house he had in the city and giving himself another name summoned the blind rag-picker to sup, and after plying him with food and wine spoke unto him, saying—My father, it is known to me that thou hath an art whereby one man may be so changed as to seem in face and body like unto another, so that none can tell the change. And the rag-picker in an agonized voice said, Who hath told you this thing?<br/>
<br/>
And the merchant said, Be at peace, for this is known only to thou and to myself. And yet I have need of thy art. But the rag-picker shook his head saying—It is a thing from which no good hath ever come.—And the merchant said, Let me tell you my tale, my father, and then you shall judge whether thy art may be lent to justice.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with words his own servant had in him rehearsed, said—<br/>
<br/>
The Story of the Two Brothers<br/>
<br/>
In the days of his youth my father went with darkness before his eyes, for though he had a wife that he loved very much, yet he had no children by her. And though it was suggested that he take a concubine and by her make himself children, this he refused to do for the love of his wife. <br/>
<br/>
And yet it came to pass that when age had begun to creep onto his cheek she did conceive by him, and when I was born my father rejoiced, for though I was small I was healthy. Yet his wife, my mother, still kept to her bed in pain, and the next day cried out in agony, for she was still with child; and so another son was born, and he and I were so alike that none could tell us apart. And yet in aspect and spirit we differed greatly, for I was the oldest, and my brother was jealous of me. <br/>
<br/>
Now, ten years ago our father set aside for each of us five thousand talents, to do with as we would. I did not touch my portion but left it with my father, and instead hired myself out to a shipmaster. And from my wages I saved up a hundred talents, which by careful trading I built into two hundred. But my brother improvidently spent all his on luxuries. <br/>
<br/>
Then, when I was at sea trading on the islands, my brother put on clothes like those of a sailor and went to our father, and made a pretense of being me, saying—O my father, give unto me my five thousand talents, for the ships are lost at sea and all my cargo, and I have nothing left. Then our father gave my money to my brother, for we are so much alike in appearance that even he could not tell us apart. Then my brother took the money that had been apportioned to me and went away, and I have heard that he has squandered much of it again.<br/>
<br/>
But I was shipwrecked before I could return home, and indeed lost my cargo and all that I had saved, and when I returned to my home my face was much changed by my woes. Then I went to my father in despair, saying—O my father, give unto me two hundred of my talents, that I may replace what I have earned and lost. But my father refused me, saying that I was my brother, a scoundrel changed by hard living, and he would not give me a copper coin—Lo, your brother, he said to me, hath already taken his money and journeyed to lands far away, to escape thy evil influence.<br/>
<br/>
And then from his house he barred me, and I have not seen him these four years since. I have repaired my small fortune in those days, but my father will not recognize me, corresponding instead with my brother, who ceaselessly urges him against me. And today I learn that my father hath taken to his bed and is dying.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story of the Rich Man in Rags, Concluded
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Then the rag-picker said, Thy tale fills me with amazement and pity, yet what hath it to do with me?—Here in my house I have my father's chief servant, the merchant said; he is a man who like my father believes I am my brother, but is not stirred up against me. Yet I have brought him here and plied him with drink, for I know he would not approve of what I would do, thinking that I am my brother still. I would have thee use thy art to change me and him, for a week only, so that I might visit my dying father, and minister unto him as a pious son should; and if I come not to him in some other visage, then shall he turn his face away from me, and that I cannot bear.<br/>
<br/>
The rag-picker groaned at this, and begged release, but the merchant pressed him. How shall I know the hearts of men when I cannot see even their faces, said the rag-picker. I fear thou art false.—Only a pious son would wish this of thee, said the merchant.—Swear by the Most Great Name of God, said the rag-picker, that thy tale is true.—And the merchant so swore. But still the rag-picker was loath, and the merchant gave him words which his servant had composed, saying, By this conjuration know that thou wilt not do ill.<br/>
<br/>
<i>For love unchanging bends the world, and all therein doth alter form and shape;<br/>
To love now bend and for love's sake forsake this form, bending as thou would to whom one lov'st.</i><br/>
<br/>
And the rag-picker, believing these words in one sense when the merchant meant them in another, consented to his importuning, and gave directions for the bringing of meats and fruits and spices and medicines. And he was taken by the merchant to another room, where the carpenter, the husband of the woman coveted by the merchant, lay plied with wines and poisons. And there the rag-picker prepared the dish as had been shown him by the lady jinn, and by the merchant's conjuration changed the merchant with the carpenter. And then the merchant left, for he was eager to be with the carpenter's wife, and to lay with her until morning. <br/>
<br/>
But once the merchant was gone his chief servant took the bequest composed by his master, which was to leave all his possessions to the carpenter—who would secretly be himself—and he cut it into small pieces and burned it in the fire, and then with great agitation he went to the rag-picker, who was sleeping in another room. And to him he said, Rise my father and weep, for thou hast been deceived.<br/>
<br/>
And the rag-picker rose, saying, Thy voice I heard this morning.—Verily, said the chief servant, for that was my master and myself.—I will go, said the rag-picker, for I will have no dealings with thee—Thou art too late, said the chief servant, for thou hast already done a terrible service for my master.—What dost thou mean? said the rag-picker, trembling—After thou departed my master, he waxed wroth and swore by a terrible oath that he should cause you to change more than just the outer casement of his being, and so deliver the woman he covets unto him. And so he hath brought you here and by cunning lies deceived you, changing him into the form of the husband of the woman he covets.<br/>
<br/>
And the rag-picker cried aloud at this, and struck himself across the face many times, saying, May I be struck down should I ever to another dissembler give service.—Thou may yet redeem thyself by acting quickly, said the chief servant.—What sayest thou? said the rag-picker, and clutched at the servant—I am lately come, said the servant, too late to prevent what thou hast done, but not so late that I did not see my master in his changed form as he left this place, and I struck him down for the evil he intended to do; and though he still breathes he knows not where he is; so come thou with me and change him back.<br/>
<br/>
Then the rag-picker took up the meat and fruit and spices that remained, and the chief servant took him and them to the room wherein he had laid the changed carpenter. And he told the rag-picker that his master lay elsewhere, and that he would fetch him. Then the rag-picker began to prepare the dish with his hand, and when all was in readiness he called to the chief servant saying, Hast thou brought the wretch?—Verily, said the servant, but in this he lied, for he did lay himself upon that couch. Then the rag-picker threw the mixed meat and fruit onto a bronze plate and set it over the charcoal brazier, saying—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Treason contests truth forever; plainly lies a face that painted visage wears;<br/>
No art I invoke; now change those I here grasp; this comedy now do I end. </i><br/>
<br/>
And seizing the hands of the chief servant and the changed carpenter he changed one into the other. And then the chief servant, being changed now in form unto being like his master, as he had long intended and by slow degrees plotted, rose and struck down the rag-picker with a sword, thus fulfilling the rag-picker's own oath, and the changed carpenter he also slew. For now a perfect imposture of his master he possessed, for besides his form he had studied his manner for many years.<br/>
<br/>
And when his master, being changed with the carpenter, returned the next morning, thinking to find his chief servant waiting with his possessions, he was turned out and denounced by his own servants. And having no recourse to law he fell back upon his supposed trade, but had no craft at it, and soon even the woman he had coveted, who had never deserted her husband in former times, left him, and sought out the man she thought was the merchant who had once declared his love for her; and the chief servant, who now in all eyes was thought to be the merchant himself, took her for his own. <br/>
<br/>
But even this story, said the old fisherman when he had done relating this tale to the three Sheikhs, is not more wonderful than—<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The section ends there; the next page is in a different type face.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112112
author_id: seuzz
title: The End of the World
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't like the way the tale keeps extending itself; you have the feeling it could continue indefinitely. You grab a fistful of pages and turn them all at once to:<br/>
<br/>
"The End of the World as Seen from the Caboose of the Last Departing Train"<br/>
<br/>
Tuesday had come late that week, and it came all the more violently for having to follow Wednesday; it came with girdles loosened and dirndls undone.  It was the last Tuesday of the month and it looked to be the last Tuesday for a good long time, such was the tumult of its coming.  It looked as though a whole monthful of Tuesdays had elbowed their way into the day, between a bitter yellow sunrise that smelled of almonds and a bloody sunset that curtained the west like a crash of rotten tomatoes.  It was the Tuesday between Wednesday and Thursday, with all that that entailed.<br/>
<br/>
The dew had scarcely been wrung from the dawn when a great smoky chasm opened between those who dared and those who preferred.  The Profundities exited their hotel a little after ten while newspapermen chucked rocks.  It was too late for most, however, and a thin pale smile appeared in a hovering cloudbank, momentarily, then dissipated.<br/>
<br/>
Noon-time was a great-dancing bear, and a hundred Boy Scouts, each bearing a different colored regret, caught the mood in oils.  One elderly woman was overheard to remark that, while in her day the crow had been a harbinger of death, more often than not she found it to be a harbinger of bank presidents; her companion opened his umbrella and released a sea-squall.  At four o'clock precisely a squad of little men, entire and from the <i>Post,</i> watched attentively as the last train of the afternoon arrived, disgorging a foreigner bearing guarantees of safe internment.  All died within minutes.<br/>
<br/>
Dusk fell abruptly, to the embarrassment of those caught out-of-doors.  At Bracton House the residents moved and mooed like cattle of uncertain temper; several, to their chagrin, actually gave milk.  But although a Chinese Emperor once observed that an entire universe passes away in the drop of a butterfly's wings, not one saw fit to stay up and observe.  Most retired early, or stayed up until midnight with cigars and poker.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
The hell--?<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Other Self
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You flip to another section of the book and a piece of paper falls out. Examining it closely, you see that it had been attached to the book but that the binding has given way at that point. At the top you find a note in Blackwell's handwriting: "Literary tripe, included solely for reference." Does that mean that he is the compiler of this scrapbook? It seems likely.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your narrator knows the beginning of a certain tale, but its conclusion only dimly:<br/>
<br/>
In the days when Haroun al-Rashid was still Caliph in Baghdad, a youth of Aleppo avoided the company of society, and even honest toil, to labor over the subtle and secret arts of the ancients.  Eventually such poverty encroached as reduced his possessions to his books and a small and very shabby room.  The latter in addition contained a great mirror to which, however, he paid no heed.<br/>
<br/>
Now it passed that one day his artistry and knowledge encompassed an obscure spell that loosed a djinn taking the form of an old, devious and very dirty man.  This djinn, perceiving the bent of the youth’s desires, opened the portals of the mirror and showed him a vast library of learned books and scrolls.  He offered them to the youth in exchange, he said, for only the smallest of trifles.<br/>
<br/>
“My soul is God’s,” said the student solemnly.  “My mind is my own, and my heart I have never given.  These I will not exchange.”<br/>
<br/>
The djinn laughed.  “Nay, good lad.  I never took thee for a fool.  I seek the very opposite of the great treasures you name.  All I ask is for your reflection.  Not even for your likeness--a very pretty one, if I may say so.  But for the reflection of that likeness I will exchange the books you see in the mirror.”<br/>
<br/>
The student immediately concluded the bargain, and when he had done so, the books that he had beheld appeared in his own apartments, so that he scarce had room to move or sit.  But he also saw that his reflection had ceased to follow his own movements, but instead now mimicked those of the djinn.  Then the djinn, approaching the mirror, passed into it, and the student’s reflection passed out, so that the djinn now bore the reversed likeness of the student.  And in that guise, the djinn departed.<br/>
<br/>
The image of an old and dirty man, however, remained in the mirror, grinning out at the student.  That face soon grew abhorrent in his eyes, as it occasionally imitated his movements with what the youth deemed a mocking manner.  He resolved to ignore it, however, and to devote his study to the new books that he now possessed.  Alas!  They were books of the mirror, and their script--already so archaic as to be indecipherable--ran backwards, and he could not read them save by holding them up to the mirror, from which the ghastly face leered back.<br/>
<br/>
This unexpected curse soon proved intolerable, and in a state of near madness the student quitted the apartment.  The books he had purchased became worthless in his estimation, for every mirror he saw reflected back the hateful face.  Fearful that this face would become known to the world, and be taken as his true likeness, the student departed for the desert to become a hermit.<br/>
<br/>
He had few visitors in his remote cavern, and those as saw him rarely lingered.  The news they bore seldom interested him, but he soon noticed with mounting disquiet that some of their tales were wound around a singular figure, whom he recognized to be the changed djinn.<br/>
<br/>
Contradictory tales were offered about this being.  By flattery and smooth pleasing, it was said, it had won a place at court and the good-will of many lords and ladies.  It had teased the affections of some of these, and in doing so had enraged many with broken or forgotten promises.  It spoke falsely; it spoke frankly; it seduced, but never consummated.  It was by some accounted a great general or a great wizard, though it had never been seen to direct a battle or cast a spell.  It sometimes vanished for weeks at a time, and mounted cavalry would scour the plains, seeking to capture it, or to trample it beneath their hooves.  Then it would emerge from the palace with the sun shining brightly on its features.  It mystified, enraged, entranced, and refused to be trapped.  And some doubted its very existence, maintaining it to be merely a sort of hallucination which had suddenly and simultaneously seized every inhabitant of the city.<br/>
<br/>
The student would tremble when these tales were told, and hide himself deeper in the crevasses of his dwelling place. . . .<br/>
<br/>
Your narrator discerns three ending to this story; but the true one may still be hidden.<br/>
<br/>
In the first ending, years and decades pass, and stories concerning the djinn cease to trouble the hermit.  He descends from the hills at last and enters the city.  The people glance only briefly at the figure that creeps down their streets, bent with age, filthy with poverty, twisted into devious attitudes by long-accumulated fears and suspicions.<br/>
<br/>
The second ending comes when a princess skilled in magic sees through the false nature of the djinn, and beholds the real student in her magic mirror.  Banishing the djinn, she restores the student’s reflection to him, and the two wed amid general rejoicing.<br/>
<br/>
The third ending is no ending at all.  The student, maddened by stories of the djinn, descends into the city, seeking justice.  But the djinn, though conspicuously present, is never to be found.  Often mistaken for the other, the student is thrashed and beaten for the other’s misdeeds, rewarded and praised for his services.  But this other self remains always elusive.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122
author_id: seuzz
title: The Silken Fan of Kaori
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The next includes an illustration, purportedly of a wood-cut, but the bad printing and cheap paper suggest it has been torn from a paperback. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The village of Shirahama was the home of a beautiful young woman named Kaori.  Her father was poor and thrifty, but her mother had been a woman of breeding, and had taught her daughter the subtle arts of silk weaving. Kaori soon exceeded her in skill, particularly in the making of silken fans.<br/>
<br/>
Now, the town of Kasumi-zawa, which lay just over a crest of wooded hills, was a center of much commerce; indeed, many of the merchants who traded there lived in Shirahama, for Kasumi-zawa was close to a marsh with unhealthy odors.  So it was that Kaori’s skill became known to the merchants, and her fans held in great esteem.  When pressed to explain her great skill with the delicate silks, she merely remarked that the pressure of one’s breath is infinitely more gentle than even the most skilled fingertips.<br/>
<br/>
The merchants prevailed upon her father to sell these silken fans in the town below, and in this way they became known to the world beyond the village.  And so in the days of high summer when the sun and clouds were still new, a marquis of the neighboring province passed through Kasumi-zawa, searching for the maker of the silken fans he prized so highly.  Kaori’s parents were ambitious for her, and her mother was of some standing. So although Kaori’s love was for a young man named Tarou who gathered and sold scraps of rag and bone, she was soon betrothed to the marquis.<br/>
<br/>
The parting of Kaori and Tarou was bitter indeed, for the marquis resembled nothing so much as a fat, grey toad, and Tarou scorned the girls in the village.  The night before Kaori's departure they met secretly in a ruined temple that lay near the road between the village and town.  There they swore an obscure oath, and separated.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually the summer withered and withdrew.  Autumn crept over the wooded hills, laying a carpet of scarlet and gold for the merchants’ feet.  Twice a day they passed the ruined temple, in the morning to the town to buy and to sell, and in the evening back to the paper houses where cooking fires twinkled.  Each evening on his way home, Tarou laid a small bone on the temple altar, and each morning from it he collected a silken fan, with which he cooled himself during the still hours of the day.  From the fan would sigh the sweet breath of Kaori, caressing his cheeks.  But with the setting sun it would crumble to dust.<br/>
<br/>
The marquis was not blind to the peculiar absences his wife suffered.  “Your eyes are the eyes of a doll,” he chided her.  “They are dark and lustreless.”  And he found Kaori limp in his arms, like a thing of rags.<br/>
<br/>
The marquis was not moved to anger, however; nor did he seek to unravel the causes of her strange absences.  He could guess at its reasons, for he was not beautiful even in his own eyes.  But even so, he passed the nights sleeplessly, in his own bed.<br/>
<br/>
So he took to riding far and wide, to distance himself from a wife whom he scarcely knew.  In furtherance of such he put himself under another lord, to fight in his wars, to forget.<br/>
<br/>
(And his departure pleased Kaori, for he had made himself a nuisance with small and pitiful gifts; nobility had prevented him from mastering the subtle arts of self-abasement.)<br/>
<br/>
War took the marquis outside the province, and in the spring he came again to Kasumi-zawa, to sleep in a ruined temple above the town.  Wearily he slept and wearily he awoke, to find a silken fan on the altar.  Taking it to cool himself he was suddenly struck by a keen and wholly unlooked for presence.  “Kaori!” he exclaimed in a whisper.<br/>
<br/>
When Tarou came to the temple he found the fan, laying not on the altar but on the ground, trampled in the dust. Taking it, he found that it blew only a dry and bitter air that stung his cheek and drew hot tears to his eyes, and that it soon withered as though consumed by an invisible flame.  Angered, that evening he laid on the altar the charred bone a self-immolating suicide.<br/>
<br/>
The marquis rode hard in horror all afternoon, and it seemed to him that the wind in his face mocked and goaded him; at evening the sun fell boiling into a black sea of storm clouds.  He reached the doors of his fortress only late that night, and took the stairs to Kaori’s bedroom four at a step.  He found the servants had laid her on the bed and cut the silken noose from around her neck; her thighs were blackened with blood and bruises.<br/>
<br/>
The marquis sought out and slew Tarou, though it gave him neither comfort nor satisfaction; and now in the evenings he sits alone in his fortress and repeats to himself this sad and meaningless tale.<br/>
<br/>
To put aside the book and keep investigating the room: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1510047">Disposing of Lucy</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1510047/action/view/chapter_map/11221111111212222112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221
author_id: seuzz
title: The House at the Center of the World
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You rustle through a few pages and are startled to find some that are made out of a kind of flimsy cardboard. To these have been glued pages torn from a cheap paperback. Examining them, you find that they have been pulled from one of those old "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. A cursory glance shows that most of the pages seem to be there, and you are soon absorbed in the branching, diverging storylines.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The House at the Center of the World<br/>
<br/>
You are standing before a red brick wall and large, wrought-iron gate, with a soft but insistent wind pushing at your back. The sky is a dull pewter, streaked with darker bands that could be smoke, but otherwise bereft of texture or shape. One horizon is dimmer than the other, but the milky glow from the hidden sun gives little enough light. At this time of year and at this latitude, it never sets, but neither does it ever rise far above the horizon. The sky has been this way for a week now; that, and the unchanging light have given the impression that time itself has been suspended.<br/>
<br/>
Would that time had stopped for you. You are only 19, but already your blonde hair, never thick, is thinning at the front and top, and the wind prickles your scalp as it brushes strands that are already too inclined to fly away on their own. Despite the clouds, your umbrella is still tightly wrapped and your mackintosh dry, and you're not particularly winded or hot from the walk here, despite the heavy carpetbag in your left hand. But you're not feeling very young, either; you're not particularly well-built, and your studies have left you thin and a trifle near-sighted.<br/>
<br/>
This wall and gate are at the top of a rise; the road'if you can call the dirt track you are standing on a "road"'leads up a little farther to the bare top of a hill; the other end winds down through scraggly conifers to the city below.<br/>
<br/>
You came up the road from the city, but have just now come down from the hill's summit, having initially bypassed the gate on your way up. You had glimpsed something through the trees and wanted a closer look, and had been rewarded with some stone work, possibly the ruins of an ancient observatory or set of battlements. But you didn't linger.<br/>
<br/>
As you came down the road you were able to glimpse the house on the other side of this wall: a great manor of three stories and multiple wings, each faced with immense but blank windows and punctuated by several towers themselves separated from each other by steeply pitched roofs and tall chimneys. The grey stone is spotted with age, but you could see no ivy, and the black windows gave it a vaguely ruined appearance: you were briefly struck by one tower whose arrangement of windows suggested the face of a skull.<br/>
<br/>
The house is set deeply back from the wall, inside a great expanse of garden. The grounds are capacious, but though the wall's perimeter is immense, it wouldn't take more than an hour to skirt it, if you chose to hazard some of the steep bits where the hill falls away.<br/>
<br/>
Or you could just go back to the city, and give up the whole thing as a bad job.<br/>
<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112211
author_id: seuzz
title: To go in through the gate, turn to page 2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The gravel walk is lined on either side by a broad fringe of dead grass, beyond which are unkempt hedges, the gaps in which suggest the presence of twin mazes, or of one large maze that girdles the entire house. A few large bushes still hold a basic shape suggestive of topiary—you recognize an elephant and a gryphon and something that might be a centaur. Water drips from yew trees and has collected in small puddles under the hedges; apparently a small squall has blown through, adding a dull sheen to the garden's already ill-used favor.<br/>
<br/>
The house, now that you're close, is less imposing, and you feel less nervous as you mount the stone steps to the front porch. The bell chain hangs from a gargoyle's mouth, and you give it a firm pull; bells ring distantly inside the house.<br/>
<br/>
Only a few moments pass before the heavy door is opened by a plump woman in a starched hat and apron. She is no longer middle-aged, but there is still a dusty rose flush in her grey cheeks, and her eyes are undimmed, even behind the spectacles. "Good afternoon," she says with a faint Scots lilt. "May I help you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Good afternoon. My name is Meierson. I'm here to see Professor Lachmann."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, do come in, Mr. Meierson." She stands aside and you step past her into a foyer. A dark, narrow staircase goes up into shadows above, while a narrow hallway leads back into the house; at its end you can see a room illuminated by a window through which bleary light falls onto a table holding a large bowl of half-peeled apples: a kitchen or scullery, apparently.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your only bag, Mr. Meierson?" She reaches to take it from your hand. "Shall I take you in to see the Professor, or show you to your room first?</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122111
author_id: seuzz
title: To see the Professor, turn to page 11
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Certainly, then."<br/>
<br/>
She takes your bag and leads you down the passage and around a sharp corner into another, darker hallway. Closed doors lead off it, but she takes you to the very end and into a small study. A narrow window looks out into a courtyard, and there is a small roll-top desk; otherwise, the room is dominated by a set of gigantic double doors, now closed. She pulls a silken cord, which rings more bells. "The Professor does not like to be directly disturbed," she explains without looking at you. "So we must always announce ourselves. He will buzz us in—ah, there!—if he is agreeable."<br/>
<br/>
She opens the doors; you follow her into a large room, almost two stories high and domed in white plaster, whose walls are covered in books. There are some oaken tables with small lamps, but it is otherwise empty, and so she leads you through an arch into another room, this one larger than the first, with free-standing shelves, and then into a third: glancing around, you see other archways leading into other rooms, themselves given over entirely to books but also to tables holding strange scientific instruments made of brass and glass.<br/>
<br/>
The Professor is a stooped man with a pendulous belly and sad eyes, but he looks better than when you last saw him; then he was recovering from a fever. He takes your hand limply in greeting and directs you to a chair.<br/>
<br/>
"I am immensely gratified that the department is taking this seriously," he says after you have exchanged pleasantries. "I did not leave the university on the best of terms, and was afraid that my letter would be regarded, frankly, as the work of a crackpot."<br/>
<br/>
"You are still spoken of with great respect," you lie. In fact, you have been asked, in part, to ascertain the Professor's mental equilibrium, as the university is not keen on footing the bill for a lengthy stay in an asylum, whatever it says in his pension agreement.<br/>
<br/>
"I have worked up a full set of notes," he says, taking out a bundle of untidy papers and handing them to you. You smile, put on your glasses, and begin to look over them with a veiled by deeply felt skeptical amusement.<br/>
<br/>
Your amusement soon fades, however, as does your skepticism. The first few pages are, of course, taken up with schematics, but the equations that he has provided in the later parts have at least a prima facie plausibility, and the more closely you examine them the more seriously you take them. You have soon turned and set the notes on a table so that you can ponder them more comfortably, and are asking the Professor for the use of a magnifying glass: the lines of numbers and symbols, curling back into themselves as they express the lineaments of his projections, are difficult to read on their own.<br/>
<br/>
When you have finished—and have reread several pages whose initial implications had escaped you—you look back at the Professor. He has all this time been gazing out a window, trying not to watch you impatiently. "I suppose there is no other course now but to make an experiment?"<br/>
<br/>
A small but child-like smile leaps to his face. "You are convinced?"<br/>
<br/>
"I am impressed. I see no obvious errors. And the counterintuitive conclusions notwithstanding, each step is plausible."<br/>
<br/>
"I am gratified," he says. "Now, would it surprise you if I said I had already made a test?" You are astonished, and show it, which seems to please him even more. "I will show you," he says, rising and motioning you to follow.<br/>
<br/>
He leads you through another door and into a hallway, at the end of which you find a staircase that leads up several flights to something like a garret. The room is bare and badly lit by a milky glare pouring in through several great skylights. There are only two doors in the room—the one through which you enter, and another, on the opposite side.<br/>
<br/>
"I had a workman put it in late last week," says Professor Lachmann, gesturing at the other door. "I had him follow my calculations exactly. Now watch!"<br/>
<br/>
He twists the key in the lock and opens the door: it leads onto a dim and dusty hall and flight of stairs that plunge into hidden depths below.<br/>
<br/>
"Have you explored it?" you ask after peering down it for a long time, but without crossing the threshold.<br/>
<br/>
"No. After I first looked, and then meditated, I sent the letter to the university, and resigned myself to waiting."<br/>
<br/>
You rub your chin. Here <i>is</i> a mystery!</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221111
author_id: seuzz
title: To explore the hallway, turn to page 5
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You step gingerly over the threshold, but the floor is solid enough. There are two more doors here, but when you try them you find they are both locked. You step in a little further and look down the stairs.<br/>
<br/>
It is a short flight leading down to a landing. Peering down, you make out two more doorways, one of which is open. Spreading across the floor you can see the shadow of a person, and hear the noise of someone moving around busily.<br/>
<br/>
Looking back, you see that the hallway you have entered turns a corner just past the door you came through. Light is coming down it.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112211112
author_id: seuzz
title: To return to the Professor, turn to page 15
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Well," he asks when you return.<br/>
<br/>
"It seems to lead back into the house," you say, describing what you have seen.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah!" he says, and there is a light in his eyes. He leads you back down to the library.<br/>
<br/>
You chew on your thumbnail thoughtfully as you sit and stare at his manuscript again. "It is ... unexpected," you admit. "Your equations are incomplete, however."<br/>
<br/>
"I followed them out only far enough to see their implications," he replies. "And, I expect, the phenomenon surpasses the mathematical. A little empirical investigation is called for."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "It should call for a team. I must say, I'm surprised my friend Garson hasn't arrived yet."<br/>
<br/>
The Professor gives you a puzzled look, and only then do you notice Garson, who has been sitting in a corner all this time, quietly smoking a cigarette. You give a slight cry.<br/>
<br/>
"I was wondering when you were going to notice me," he smiles, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and extending his hand in greeting.<br/>
<br/>
"But how long have you been here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Several days. I caught a train as soon as I heard." You look back through the Professor's equations, and find confirmation. "I don't know how you missed it before," he says, shaking his head.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Palacki?"<br/>
<br/>
Garson looks troubled. "I think he missed a connection. He should have been here by now."<br/>
<br/>
"Gentlemen, I am <i>so</i> very pleased to have you here, and seemingly so open to my madcappery," says the Professor. "But it is nearly dinnertime and I <i>will</i> be wanting it. Will you join me, or continue your speculations and investigations?</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122112
author_id: seuzz
title: To go to your room, turn to page 12
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>She sets your bag down briefly and peels the mackintosh from your shoulders. "I see the nasty rain has stopped at last," she says, brushing it and folding it. "This way please, Mr. Meierson."<br/>
<br/>
Your bag in one hand and your mackintosh in her other, she leads you up the stairs to a dark landing. Three broad hallways here intersect, and she takes you down the left-hand one, which is lit by a few gas lamps, and to a broad door about halfway down. Inside you find a large bed covered in red damask, and the usual dressers and tables and chairs. Another door, slightly open, apparently leads into a bathroom. The heavy curtains have been pulled back and the large windows opened slightly to let in fresh air. There is still an oppressive atmosphere, however, and you can't feel yourself relaxing, even after removing your shoes and stretching out on the bed.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes you rise and move to a writing desk, where you find paper set out. The room's previous occupant had left part of a letter, and you wonder slightly that the housekeeper had not removed it. It reads, in part:<br/>
<br/>
"... to Cecilia, who of course didn't know what to do with it. I tell you this privately and in every confidence that word of this catastrophe will not reach our mutual friend.<br/>
<br/>
"I am otherwise occupied with surveying the foundations that were uncovered during last year's excavation, but I cannot find that they have evolved in the meantime. Vanderburg is of the opinion that there is more to be found on the next ridge, but I cannot agree; he does not know this territory as I do. We had a tedious discussion over dinner about it, and I fear we both lost our tempers. It is increasingly apparent that we are profoundly out of sympathy with each other; the premises of our antithetical philosophies cannot be reconciled but cannot be refuted by each other without question begging. I think one or other of us will be forced to resign if the chancellor does not intervene first and bring the investigation to a halt. Precious time will be lost in the latter case, but it is being wasted now.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you for the currant jam, by the way. I know it is expensive and difficult to procure this time of year, but it is a comfort to have on hand, especially with the weather turning as it has. We lost our observation balloon in a storm on Tuesday, and that will be another matter to lay before the Regents, regardless of the embarrassment it ..."<br/>
<br/>
There is no more, and no other sheets, but you cannot stimulate any interest in the matter.<br/>
<br/>
A gentle knock at the door brings you out of a reverie that had led you to the window, and the housekeeper enters with a tray and some tea things. "The Professor is inquiring whether you will be joining him for dinner," she says matter-of-factly. You look at your watch; it is a little after four o'clock, but you feel no hunger.<br/>
<br/>
"Please convey my regrets, but ask if I might attend him at eight," you say. "If he would be so kind as to send up his manuscript, I would like to look it over before we talk."<br/>
<br/>
She has only been gone a few minutes when the telephone by your bed rings harshly. Through the tinny receiver you hear the Professor's asthmatic voice. "I'm told you won't be at supper tonight," he says hoarsely. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I understand you must be tired. I'll have Mrs. McDonald fetch you at eight, though. I thank you for your interest."<br/>
<br/>
"Thank <i>you</i>," you reply pleasantly. "Might I have a look at your manuscript beforehand?"<br/>
<br/>
"I asked Mrs. McDonald to set it on the writing table in your room," he says. "Is it not there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yes, I see now," you say, glad to have that particular mystery cleared up. "Yes, I will definitely have something to say when we meet. Thank you again."<br/>
<br/>
You return to the writing table and look again at what you had mistaken to be a letter. Reading it more carefully you begin to see nuances that your earlier, more cursory reading had missed, and you are soon lost in the complexities of the Professor's thought. It contains many implications that you find obscure, but others you are able to tease out on your own, and you are decidedly impressed at the variations he has been able to extract from his initial and deceptively simple thesis. You take out a notebook of your own and scratch down a few of your own thoughts, before writing "REVOLUTIONARY" at the bottom. You underscore the word twice.<br/>
<br/>
When you next look at your watch it is a little after seven, and you wonder if you should take a wash or a nap before meeting the Professor.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221121
author_id: seuzz
title: To take a bath, turn to page 27
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The tap gives out only tepid water, so you don't linger in the tub. You don't mind; you only looked to remove the grime from your walk. You are soon in fresh clothes, and Mrs. McDonald is leading you downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
The Professor has prepared a light meal for you, and you eat as you talk. He is pleased that you are pleased with what he has shown you, but you try to keep your enthusiasm in check; the press has a tight budget, and you don't want the Professor thinking he can extract an exorbitant amount of money for his work. It is a pleasant conversation, however, even if you cannot feel at ease with the man, but you soon plead exhaustion and return to your bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
Emily has unpacked while you were with the Professor and there are easels and canvases everywhere. "I'm glad you found something to amuse you while I was downstairs," you say dryly. "I'm afraid this trip is going to be taxing for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry about me," she says. "In the morning I will paint the garden."<br/>
<br/>
"If it doesn't rain," you say. "The housekeeper mentioned rain earlier."<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't say anything about it to me."<br/>
<br/>
"It was a pleasantry only, I suppose."<br/>
<br/>
You look out the window. It is, perhaps, slightly darker than it had been earlier, but it's not going to get much dimmer. You feel irritation as you look at the hedge maze below. It would certainly be impossible for the wedding party to find their way to the center of <i>that</i>, you think. In fact, you cannot even see a center from where you stand.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what your mother was thinking," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"She's sentimental. She grew up here, remember."<br/>
<br/>
"With that cold fish of an uncle downstairs, too."<br/>
<br/>
"He's my great-uncle, and she barely knew him," she says mildly. Apparently she is not going to be provoked into a quarrel. "Anyway, it is in the nature of great-uncles to be cold fish."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you figure?"<br/>
<br/>
"As relations they are close enough that they feel they have to be familiar. But they are far enough that they rarely know you well. It makes meetings with them clammy."<br/>
<br/>
"But he's not my relation. Not yet, anyway. And then it will only be by marriage, not blood."<br/>
<br/>
"The principle is still the same, if only by anticipation."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and say nothing. She takes a warm bath and is soon in bed. You disrobe and crawl under the sheets beside her. Her light and regular breathing is relaxing, but the insistent tic-tok of a clock in the next room over disturbs you, as do thoughts of the upcoming wedding. You are still awake when it chimes two in the morning.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Prank Present
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You try finding the page indicated by the first choice, but your thumb slips and the pages flutter, and then you can find neither the page you were looking for nor the page you were on. You seem to have landed in another "Choose Your Own Adventure"-style story, though.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
"Hey Eric! Hey, wait up, you fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
You gun the engine and grin as your best friend, Tim Ryan, hurls himself across the parking lot toward you. As he grabs at the frame of your Jeep, you pop the clutch and he jumps back with a glare as the car jackrabbits forward a foot. You laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Asshole," he mutters as he clambers in. "Just for that I ain't gonna give you your present.".<br/>
<br/>
"You got me something? Gimme!"<br/>
<br/>
"The park," he says, and he jams a paper-wrapped package under his leg. "Give it you there."<br/>
<br/>
"That and a blow job," you retort. But Tim just drops his sunglasses onto his face and relaxes into the passenger seat with his feet propped up on the dashboard.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a blazing day in late August—the kind of day where asphalt softens and the air bubbles with humidity. That doesn't stop you and Tim from chasing each other and a soccer ball across the municipal athletic fields until you're so sopping with sweat you might have climbed out of a swimming pool. You've thrown your sodden shirts on the grass and are plucking and hurling grass at each other when Tim remembers your "present." "Is that why you were late catching up?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
He nods and lays back on the grass. Even now, at the end of the summer, his skin is almost fish-belly pale, for with his red hair and Celtic coloring, he burns and peels without ever tanning.<br/>
<br/>
"What is it? A ring? A necklace?"<br/>
<br/>
"Thbpt! What am I, your girlfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"You got a mouth made for sucking me off."<br/>
<br/>
"Seriously, why the fuck would I buy you a ring or a necklace?"<br/>
<br/>
"So I can give it to Melanie. Dur!"<br/>
<br/>
He raises his sunglasses long enough to give you a heavy stare from under his lids. "Girls like that kind of shit," you explain to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you can fucking buy her some of that shit yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what she likes."<br/>
<br/>
"Go fuck yourself, man."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't got any money, neither! My dad cut me off!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't got any money either, asshole, you expect me to carry you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yes.</i> So when gets to his feet you throw yourself onto his back. He throws you off.<br/>
<br/>
"Here," he says when you're back in the Jeep, and he hands you that package. Greedily you tear it open, then gasp in disbelief as your "present" falls into your lap.<br/>
<br/>
It's a book. "The fuck am I supposed to do with this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Read it. Maybe it's educational."<br/>
<br/>
"Goddamn it, I'm'a gon' have enough books at school! Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Read it and give me a book report."<br/>
<br/>
"Go fuck yourself!"<br/>
<br/>
Tim chuckles in nasty way, and you fume all the way to the Dairy Queen. But not even a Dilly Bar will console you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Who the fuck does Tim Ryan think you are, that he'll give you a motherfucking </i>book<i> as a present?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You forget about it for the few days, and you forget about Tim, too. Instead, you spend those last blissful days of the summer before your senior high school year in the hammock in the ratty little yard behind Melanie Saxon's trailer. You spend them with her, with her shorts and underpants around her ankles, and with your shorts and underpants around your ankles, and with your bare, bony ass humping at the sky as your straining cock plunges into and probes her hungry pussy.<br/>
<br/>
When you first came on to Melanie, at a Fourth of July party by the river, it was almost a joke. Sure, Melanie in her tank top and short-shorts gave you a hard boner, but your line—"I got some fireworks for you, baby, in my shorts"—was just a bit of dirty talk. But she taunted you about your "rocket" and you bragged some more about it and everyone there laughed but nothing happened. <br/>
<br/>
Then she asked you out the next day—<i>she</i> texted <i>you</i>—and you wound up back at her trailer, where you kissed and slurped at each other on the living room sofa while her mom was away, and you even took your clothes off so you could touch each other in all your most sensitive spots. Your second date (the next day) she took you into the hammock and held onto you until you creamed your shorts.<br/>
<br/>
After that, she let you cream yourself inside her. No protection, either. Sometimes you do it in the living room, sometimes in her bedroom. Most often, though, you do it in the hammock.<br/>
<br/>
You keep your hands off her, though, when any of her friends are around. The way Brianna and Genesis and Philippa glare at you, you think they might bite your arm off if you put it around her.<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself wondering lately, though, if you want to keep on seeing Melanie. Sure, she's available—man, is she available!—but there's still a whole school of girls to explore after classes start. Even after three years at Westside High, you've probably only talked to ... sixty percent of them?<br/>
<br/>
Besides, even you are starting to get a little nervous at the way Melanie blows you off when you suggest that maybe you <i>should</i> put on a rubber.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
School is to start on Thursday, so on Monday your mom—Jesus, bad enough she gets on your case about your room!—orders you to clean out your Jeep so it will be "fresh" for the new year. Amid the pile of curdled and browning fast food bags you find that book Tim gave you. You settle back long enough to look at it.<br/>
<br/>
It's a thick book, and big. It's bound in red leather with with gold lettering and a gold pentagram on the spine. You open it, and find a series of stylized faces drawn on the end papers.<br/>
<br/>
You sniff over it. <i>Fucking Tim.</i> He gave you an old-fashioned encyclopedia like your grandmother has!</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122122
author_id: seuzz
title: Of Pranks and Punks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Something about the story seems familiar, but in a way that is odious, like a nightmare dimly remembered on a sunny morning. "Put it in the garbage," you mutter, and flip to the corresponding page.<br/>
<br/>
You have to read and re-read the first few paragraphs several times before it dawns on you that it's the same story, but that it has started over again with a different set of characters. These and their situation carry an even more vivid sense of familiarity, and you feel sure that you have met them before in some other story. But you cannot place them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
"That'll be seventeen-fifty in store credit," Tom Arnholm tells you as he sets the small stack of books on a cart. "Unless you want to take something out in trade for them."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I think I'm fine," you reply. You're not interested in collecting on the credit that the used bookstore is giving you for the books, or in collecting anything on them. <br/>
<br/>
For they're not even your books—they belong in the Westside High school library—and you and your best friend, Carson Ioeger, lifted them from Erik Carstairs's locker just before summer vacation started. Stealing and selling his library books is your petty revenge for the muddy game of Keep Away that the football player and his friends played with your own school books just before spring break. <br/>
<br/>
"Petty revenge is like <i>petit fours,"</i> Carson retorted when you pointed how small-minded his idea was for getting back at Carstairs. "Both are pretty damn sweet." Now you're wishing that the books had come out of the Keyserling College library instead of the Westside library. Those would be even more expensive for Erik to replace!<br/>
<br/>
You saunter over to one of the bookstore's work stations, where Carson is arguing with Ted Arnholm, Tom's brother. "Ready?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a minute," he snaps. "Seventy-five cents," he tells Arnholm.<br/>
<br/>
The grizzle-bearded owner reddens. "You're haggling over a dollar fifty?" he says in a strangled voice.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>You're</i> haggling over a dollar fifty," Carson retorts. "I don't have two twenty-five to my name, and who else is gonna buy it?"<br/>
<br/>
Arnholm's face twists into a bitter scowl. You hide a smile. <i>Ted Arnholm could make a living as a metal press,</i> your dad has said, <i>if he didn't make more money pinching pennies at that book store.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Fine," the storeowner says, and thrusts a book at Carson. "Seventy-five cents."<br/>
<br/>
"Outta store credit."<br/>
<br/>
"Cash!"<br/>
<br/>
"On the barrel-head," says your friend. He looks at you and jerks his head at Arnholm. "Pay the man, James. I don't even got lint on me."<br/>
<br/>
You take out your wallet. "Got change for a twenty?" you ask Arnholm. He turns an even deeper shade of purple.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So what's the deal with this?" you ask Carson after you're in his car and driving back to his place. <i>This</i> of course is a book—the book he bought at Arnholm's Used Bookstore—but what sort of book you can't immediately tell. It's large and hefty, with red leather covers with gold thread running through them. But the lettering is too ornate to be easily deciphered, though the golden pentagram on the spine is very suggestive.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a book," Carson says. "So keep it away from the football players, unless you want them to try eating it."<br/>
<br/>
You grin at his jibe, but he fumes. He lost a very expensive Physics textbook in that same scrum, and his mom made him pay for it out of his own pocket money.<br/>
<br/>
"So what'd you pick it up for?" you ask. "And how'd you get talk old Leatherbutt down to seventy-five cents?"<br/>
<br/>
"Examine the evidence yourself, Holmes. You're supposed to be smart."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. Behind the cover are heavy end papers covered with ornate lines and stylized faces. But the rest of the book, you find to your surprise and dismay, is sealed tightly shut. You frown as you try to peel back the next page, and clench the tip of your tongue between your teeth as you try to slide a thumbnail between any of the other pages. "The hell's going on?" you ask. "Someone glue all the pages together?"<br/>
<br/>
"Seems like it. Basically, that's a leather brick you're holding."<br/>
<br/>
"So what'd you get it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got it for seventy-five cents, you were standing there when I made the deal. Gonna make a hidey-hole out o' it," he continues. He glances over his shoulder, and jumps over into the right-hand lane. "Gonna carve out the insides and make a hollow place. Put in a magnetic lock you have to open by sliding a nail file or a knife under a flap or into a slit. Oh, speaking of slits," he adds with a grin, "we gonna crash Cindy's party tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
That would be Cindy Vredenburg, cheerleader. "Ha!" you exclaim. "But no. Seth 'n the rest of them'll be there." That would be Seth Javits, who plays basketball when he isn't hassling and bullying guys like you and James. <br/>
<br/>
"So they'll be there. That'll make it fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Fun for who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fun for us. Cindy's parents'll be there too. Seth won't be able to do anything. We, on the other hand—" He leans over to waggle his eyebrows at you.<br/>
<br/>
The car in front suddenly brakes. "Jesus!" you yell, and jam your feet into the floorboard. Carson swerves into the left-hand lane at the last possible nano-second, missing the other's rear bumper by centimeters. "Every day's a fucking adventure with you, man," you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And that near-collision is enough adventuring for you. You stay in that night, and Carson lets you keep his book for examination and brainstorming. It's too handsome a book, you feel, for it to be repurposed so brutally as he has suggested.<br/>
<br/>
But after thirty or so minutes of struggling with it, you decide that pages really must be glued together. That, or the book is a complete fake, being carved out of wood and decorated to resemble a real book. There are a few real pages with legible script at the front, however, and you settle onto your bed to peruse them for a clue as to the book's origin and purpose.<br/>
<br/>
The language is in Latin, but you had AP Latin I last year, so it's not hard for you to translate. The message is all very curious and more than a little mad. The title might be translated as "Book of Faces" or "Book of Persons", and the pages that follow promise that it can teach the reader how to construct magical disguises. There is also a design that looks like a stylized thumbprint, and the invitation to complete your purchase by possessing the book with blood.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221222
author_id: seuzz
title: Punks and Persecutions
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Again, you are driven by a presentiment of imminent catastrophe to choose the more cowardly option: <i>Give the book back to Carson,</i> you decide.<br/>
<br/>
Having experienced one "reset" already, you are less confused when the story again returns to its starting point. Grimly you thrust aside the sense of deja vu that settles oppressively upon you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"There it is, honey," your mom says. "Your new school."<br/>
<br/>
You turn away to shut out the sight. Your stomach, already quivering with anxiety, turns over.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment the gush of the air conditioner is the only sound in the cabin. "You know," your mom says gently, "you're going to have to look at it when school starts next week."<br/>
<br/>
You slouch lower into your seat, but open your eyes and turn your face toward Westside High School. Its white buildings, domed with blue roofs, gleam and waver like the clouds in the hot August sky. Your stomach quakes.<br/>
<br/>
"It's one of the best schools in the state," your mom says. "AP classes and computer science classes, and they've even got a program where you can take college classes at the local university for credit."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Like that'll do me any good,</i> you mutter to yourself. <i>What ninth grader takes college classes?</i><br/>
<br/>
And, anyway, the college would be just as new and just as unwelcome ... and just as temporary ... as the high school. You'll probably be in it only a year, and then your dad will get transferred to <i>another</i> military base and you'll be off to <i>another</i> school, that one also with AP courses and computer science classes and college credits up the wazoo.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What say we drive around town today, sport, check out the happening spots," your dad suggests with a wink a few days later. You instantly perk up, for you don't get to see much of him anymore since his promotion to major. All last week, for instance, it was just you and your mom unpacking things while he was busy at Fort Suffolk from seven in the morning until eight at night. <br/>
<br/>
It's a special day for you, too, being the last Saturday of the summer before school starts. <i>No way!</i> was your horrified reaction when you found out that all the schools in Saratoga Falls start on the next-to-the-last week in August instead of waiting until after Labor Day. It was like finding out that your day of execution had been moved up so the guy who flips the switch on the electric chair could leave town for an early vacation.<br/>
<br/>
At least your dad gets you laughing a little as you tour the town and he jokes about its various absurdities. The coffee shops by the university with crazy names like "The Flying Saucer" and "The Milagro Beanfield Warehouse." The restaurant that advertises "Spider Sandwiches." The abandoned hospital that looks like it was modeled on Arkham Asylum from the Batman comics and video games. "And they say the phantom doctor still roams the empty halls," your dad whispers hoarsely, "with his fizzling electrodes and his giant syringe, and the head of his last patient tucked under his arm!" You giggle at the ghost story he has clearly just made up on the spot.<br/>
<br/>
But your smile fades as the car turns past a green and grassy athletic field where squads of sun-burnt teens are running up and down kicking soccer balls. "You gonna try out for one of the teams?" your dad quietly asks. "Football again, maybe?" You shrug. "You're really good at it," he says. "I know you think you aren't, but you are."<br/>
<br/>
He's wrong about what you think, actually. You do know you're good at it. You just can't work up any enthusiasm for it. It's a team sport, after all, and team sports need team spirit and camaraderie, everyone working and pulling together. And there <i>was</i> a lot team spirit at the middle school back in Maryland last year, and in Utah the year before that, and in Georgia the year before that, which was when you first tried out for football.<br/>
<br/>
But no team spirit has never enveloped you.<br/>
<br/>
Because, somehow, you were always the "new kid." You were always the outsider. Sometimes you were even "the weird kid," which especially hurt. The other students went out of their way to remind you that you were new in town, even when they embraced other "new kids" and happily added them to their gangs. They did things to your last name "Hosey", turning it into "Hoser" or "Horsey" or "Ho-sucker." <br/>
<br/>
And they held it against you even when you did good on the field, and when the coaches praised you as one of the best players. After the next-to-last game of last year's season, when you scored half the touchdowns, the other guys hauled you into the showers, ripped your clothes off, and told you that you'd better be too sick to play in the last game, if you knew what was good for you.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad has to drive past your new school as you make your way home afterward. Your chest aches as you stare dully at it. If only you could disappear before school starts. Or disappear <i>into</i> the school, so that no one would notice you or suspect you had ever been there ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
On Monday your mom takes you shopping for school supplies. Then, as compensation for that revolting task, she takes you first for ice cream and then to a used book store that your dad read about online. It's a huge place, taking up a couple of stories in an old brick building across the street from the university, and you happily dive into the stacks in search of science-fiction, horror, and fantasy books. You bring a stack of them to your mom after an hour, and she doesn't even ask you to cut them down. While she's paying for them, your eye is caught by a nearby glass case.<br/>
<br/>
It's full of old books, and one in particular, with a cover of red leather, catches your eye. Or rather, it's the pentagram, embroidered into the spine with gold thread, that mesmerizes you.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112212222
author_id: masktrixie
title: Persecutions and Photographs
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Leave it alone,</i> you mutter, flipping back to page 7, once again backing away just as the story could begin to turn into a horror that feels all too real and familiar. This time you’re prepared for the queasy sense of the story resetting itself, the paragraphs aligning into a world that is familiar yet different. <br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath and read on.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You’re sat on your board, a cool breeze blowing through your wet hair. The long curve of the coast twists away to your right, while the white sands of Carmel Bay stretch behind you and off to the left. You kick your feet in the warm, clear waters of the Pacific, staring out into a tranquil infinity of blue sky and blue sea. Ahead, a wave has begun to crest, and you kick your legs, ready to get into position to ride it back to shore, spray in your eyes and dark red locks thick and damp against your wetsuit. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Paradise… if this wasn’t a dream.</i><br/>
<br/>
You wake with a jolt. Next to you, a sweaty businessman has gradually expanded his girth beyond the confines of his seat, pushing you against the cabin window. That’s the problem with regional jets: no class seating. You take a breath, trying not to suck in his body odor, and look down at the lush green below. The hum filling the cabin tells you that you’re landing. It’s the third flight of a day that started far too early (especially when you factor in time zones), connecting in Las Vegas, then Chicago, and finally arriving here. <br/>
<br/>
Jocelyn Moss. At 17 years old, already a continental traveller.<br/>
<br/>
From your small window you watch the cars roll along the highway like ants scurrying to their hive, and see the sleepy, one-horse town that is Saratoga Falls before it vanishes behind the treeline and the small jet comes into a bumpy landing. <i>More like Saratoga Fails. So, so good to be back.</i> <br/>
<br/>
Ten minutes later, rucksack slung over your denim jacket, you are walking through the airport with your head down, typing furiously away on your phone. You have five group chats open. It's the usual shit– half of it memes about returning to school, the rest chatter about room assignments. Prefects, the six students selected by the faculty to enforce the school’s honor system and conduct dorm inspections, get their own rooms, of course. But you have to squeeze in with one of the other girls. Alexis Garnet-Jacobs has already arrived at school, it seems, and is spilling the details on who’s been picked as everyone’s roommate for the coming year. <br/>
<br/>
<i> NO ONE!!!! OMG I got the spare rm! Sux 4 u! </i><br/>
<br/>
<i> Fck u, Alexis. Who mine?</i> Corinne’s far more direct in chat than she ever is in life – usually she only speaks when spoken to.<br/>
<br/>
<i> Ur good, in with Bailey. Mary wth Sam T I thnk. Macklin and KWW together opposite Steiner. ::eyeroll::</i><br/>
<br/>
You enter the chat, taking a deep breath. <i>Who hv I got?</i> <br/>
<br/>
A pause. Those dreadful ellipses to show people are typing. Then: <i> Sry, JM. U with Tammy-Lynn.:( :( :( </i><br/>
<br/>
You tap you reaction, even as you drop your head and sigh, feeling the weight of the world compress upon your spine.  <i>FML.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your final year at boarding school before university and you’re cursed to spend it with Tammy-Lynn Acker, a girl who can’t keep her mouth shut if she tried. Any contraband in your room is going to get sniffed out immediately, and any trips outside to vape are going to be reported by that blabbermouth to anyone who asks. <br/>
<br/>
You mutter a curse and head to the cab stand, hopping in to the first one available. You’re supposed to head straight to your home for the next few months – The Francis Xavier School, an elite boarding school some 11 miles from Saratoga Falls on the banks of the Mohegan river. But you don’t need to be on its campus until the evening, so you’re going to relish every hour of freedom you have left. “Take me downtown,” you command.<br/>
<br/>
“Just downtown?” The cab driver says as he begins to pull away. “Any particular place?”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t know, it’s only one street isn’t it?” you snap back, letting your irritation at being stuck with Tammy-Lynn for a year creep in. You put your phone down. “Sorry. I guess…” you search your mind for any kind of landmark, “uh, the courthouse.”<br/>
<br/>
“The courthouse,” the taxi driver says tersely. “Which one?” <br/>
<br/>
“I dunno, whatever the oldest one is.” You return to your phone, watching the conversation waterfall. <br/>
<br/>
After five minutes of chat you set the phone in your lap and watch out of the window as the cab weaves its way along empty streets. Saratoga Falls: the kind of lame Americana that people who haven’t been anywhere interesting think is charming. You drive past a park and some run-down, gothic hospital, then along a street lined with fast food franchises and not much else. You glance back at your phone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey JM. Decided on yr photo prjct?</i><br/>
<br/>
“Shit,” you hiss out loud. You’d forgotten all about it. Last week an email came through. As part of your final year’s photography class, you’re supposed to put together a project on ‘Your American Life’. Ironically, you’ve been so busy <i>living</i> your American life you hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. <br/>
<br/>
You leave the question hanging for a moment. The taxi’s lurched to a stop outside a quaint building filled with fake authority called the ‘Old Court House’. You check the meter, then slip the driver a $20 that easily covers the ride. “Keep the change,” you mutter, grabbing the arm of your rucksack and climbing out. You take a deep breath and smell the familiar scent of smalltown USA. To someone used to a sea breeze, it’s got a slight note of manure to it.<br/>
<br/>
You sling the rucksack on your back, pick a direction at random, and walk down the leafy street with no real destination in mind. <i>Photo project. What the hell are you going to do?</i> Then it hits you: Saratoga Falls isn’t exactly inspiring, but, you think, it’s a lame enough excuse to get the hell out of St X! If you make your photo assignment something to do with this stupid town, you can probably convince one of the prefects to give you an exeat, permission to leave school grounds, whenever you want. Being stuck in Saratoga Falls isn’t great, but at least it’s better than having your every movement reported back to the powers-that-be by Tammy-Lynn Acker.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gng to do a project on Saratoga Falls.</i> you type. <i>History and modern life. A then + now kind of deal.</i><br/>
<br/>
The replies trickle down near instantly: <i>Rly? WHY?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>This Inbred Life? C’mon, JM.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Sounds boring Joss-Moss LOL.</i><br/>
<br/>
You sigh and tuck your phone away, agreeing with the girls’ verdict. At least it will get you out of the school. Without really thinking about it you find yourself turning into an old bookstore, a vast depository of tomes, and begin looking for any crap about the local area. It’s a huge place, stacked with old junk. It immediately reminds you of a vaster version of the St. X library, with its own rows of dusty volumes that haven’t been touched by student hands for decades. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey,” you say to the owner, a man with a white beard busy marking a stack of acquisitions. “Do you have anything on local history?”<br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you, then indicates dismissively with a pencil toward an aisle. “Have you tried the local history section?” he asks, voice tight and peevish. “Be quick. We’re closing in 10 minutes.”<br/>
<br/>
You give him a half-assed smile and walk over to check the aisle. Five minutes later, and you decide this is a dead end. Saratoga Falls’ history seems to be about railroads, farmers and the land-grant college: about as photographically interesting as a website dedicated to rating poop. You shove the books back and walk back to the entrance, brushing past a glass cabinet as you do so. The door creaks a little as it opens from your accidental nudge, and it stops you in your tracks.<br/>
<br/>
“Young lady, do not touch,” the owner calls out. “That’s our rare items collection.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re about mutter an apology and turn away from the cabinet when a glister from one of the books catches your eye. The shop’s light has caught golden pentagram, etched against a blood-red cover. With a defiant glance back at white-beard, you pull the book out, and look at it more closely. For a moment, the cover seems almost hypnotic, with dancing, swirling patterns that seem to change in the light. You open it up, and look at a title page complete with stylised faces along the bottom that seem to shift as you turn the book in your hands. <i>Huh, it’s some kind of old fashioned hologram.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Young lady,” the owner says again. You take a breath, snap the book shut, and walk over with it. <br/>
<br/>
“How much?” you say. You still don’t know if you’re going to buy it, but you can at least put this guy in his place, wave a few bills in front of his face before he shuts up shop without a sale.<br/>
<br/>
The owner flicks his pencil up again, taking the book from you and opening up the title page. With a withering gaze, he slowly circles the $225 in the top right corner. “A little out of your price range?” he asks sarcastically.<br/>
<br/>
The face he makes when, without hesitation, you pull out five crisp $50 bills is worth the cost alone.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122122221
author_id: masktrixie
title: Unpacking Your Life
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You look up from a huge stainless steel trunk sprawled across your new bed. Your mom paid for summer storage with a local company, which also saw your items delivered to your dorm room. Uniforms, bedding, towels, casualwear and even a small fan for hot nights. Anything really important – laptop, chargers and toiletries – came with you in the rucksack, which you’ve since tipped onto your study desk in a heap. Top of the pile, next to your texts for law and politics classes, is the red book with its little pentagram. <i>What the hell is it, anyway? Probably a first edition of something lame.</i><br/>
<br/>
Mary Occam is standing in the doorway. Short, imperious, dark brown hair parted precisely down the middle, your friend’s arms are folded tight. “Hurry up, JM.”<br/>
<br/>
“I only got here half an hour ago,” you protest. “I can’t exactly sleep with this thing on my bed.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can finish up later,” Mary says. “We’re having dinner together.” As usual, Mary isn’t asking but ordering. You sigh and slouch toward her. “And what are you wearing? That’s not regulation.”<br/>
<br/>
“I wasn’t going to fly from California in dress code,” you reply. The faculty always give students a pass on the first night, anyway. “Don’t tell me Corinne did?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Mary concedes. “She’s just as…” there’s a pause while she searches for a word with the right level of in-built disapproval, “casual.”<br/>
<br/>
You shove the lid of the trunk closed and follow Mary downstairs. Sixth formers live on the first floor of Founders Hall, the school’s original building; fifth formers on the floor above, and all the lower forms in a modern, purpose-built block across the quad. Everywhere is chaos, with girls trying to find their new rooms and catch up with friends, all with their steamer trunks outdoors, blocking the already narrow corridor, waiting to be taken down to storage. Mary, tiny as she is, navigates with sharp turns and ruthless sidesteps that cause others to halt in their tracks. You just follow in her wake as she turns into the school's cavernous, high-ceilinged dining hall. It's like something out of a <i>Robin Hood</i> movie, except with cafeteria-style steam tables.<br/>
<br/>
“Good summer?” you ask the back of her head.<br/>
<br/>
“Exceptional,” she says. “Spent most of it in the Hamptons, of course, and father got rid of his stupid curfew.” She doesn’t ask about yours, but then Mary wouldn’t. You’re about to start a new line of questioning when a light body bumps into yours, and you turn to see Corinne Kennedy’s huge teeth grinning. The three of you, back together as always. You give her an affectionate bounce in return.<br/>
<br/>
“Can’t believe she stuck me in with Acker,” you grumble as you all collect a tray and line up. <br/>
<br/>
“Who stuck you?” Corinne asks. <br/>
<br/>
“Steiner.” <br/>
<br/>
Corinne’s brow furrows. She knows Abigail Steiner isn’t prefect for either of your houses, so should have no say on your dorm assignments. “How?” <br/>
<br/>
“Todd Baldwin,” Mary interjects. “Abi must have told him to mess with us. That or tricked Kate into it.” She spoons on a slither of mashed potato so fine it could be a slug’s slime trail. “You see, Corinne, it’s not about JM. It’s about me. Abi wants to stay top of the social pile, but knows that we are more popular than her little gaggle. They might have the staff eating out of their palms, but they’ve burnt too many bridges among the sixth form. She couldn’t touch me, so she went after JM.”<br/>
<br/>
You grab a banana for dessert and follow Mary to one of the seats. “Why couldn’t she touch you?” you ask, following close behind. <br/>
<br/>
“My room assignment was – how can I put this? – pre-determined,” Mary says with a flourish, flicking her hair a little as she sits down. “I didn’t know I’d be sharing it with Sam Tait, but G9? Garden view, away from the prefects, and a little larger than most of the other rooms too? It’s the best dorm in the school.”<br/>
<br/>
Both your and Corinne’s mouths fall open. “You bribed someone?” you say, staggered Mary would be so brazen. Her smile tightens, indicating it’s even better. “You <i>blackmailed</i> someone?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have plans for the year. Plans I can’t afford to have interrupted with an unfortunate room assignment.” She flicks her eyes over to a table on the far side, and both you and Corinne turn your heads, trying  to see who she’s looking at as casually as possible. <br/>
<br/>
“Marius?” you whisper. He’s sat a few tables down, a football Adonis, head boy with that easy quarterback smile. Already his dad is grooming him for Washington. Get your hooks into Marius Hall, and who knows? One day you could be First Lady. Your own sights are slightly more modest. You briefly look at the tight, tight shirt being worn by Rolf Draxler, but your eyes continue to the next table over, where a bunch of students are laughing and joking. Emily Dustal, Tyler Van Buren… and Mark Pederson. You almost swallow your tongue. <i>He’s even hotter than he was last year. That easy smile, and scruffy hair, and that bomber jacket he’s always wearing…</i><br/>
<br/>
“Jesus, JM, learn some subtlety,” Mary snipes. You turn your head back, and pretend to listen to her as she explains, in overblown detail, how she intends to make Marius hers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Tammy-Lynn Acker is in the room when you arrive back a short time later, having resolved to finish unpacking as quickly as possible. At first you figure she must have confused which desk will be hers, but with growing annoyance you realize she’s doing something else entirely.<br/>
<br/>
“What the hell are you doing with my stuff?” you demand, stepping in and shutting the door. <br/>
<br/>
Tammy-Lynn, all Mid-West fake-nice, simpers at your coming. “Calm down, I was just looking. That book caught my eye, is all.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Looking for mischief,</i> you think. Since the second form, Tammy-Lynn has been a notorious snoop, on a gossip level with someone like Hallie Lamb. But unlike Hallie, who can keep her mouth shut when it matters, Tammy-Lynn won’t stay quiet about anything. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, it’s mine, not yours,” you say, walking over.<br/>
<br/>
“What is it? Some kinda paganism guide? You joining Margot Corrigan?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say, not really sure yourself what the book is but with no interest in joining the school’s resident wiccan. “Just something I picked up in town today, from the rare books store. Cost $225, so it better be good. You can look at it when I’m done reading it.” You pick up the book and open it up… only it doesn’t open at all. You’re caught off guard: it’s like the pages have been stuck together. Furiously, you open up to the title page, and try and push it to the next. It moves, revealing a page beneath that isn’t even written in English. Beyond that, all the pages seem stuck together. <br/>
<br/>
“Ha!” Tammy-Lynn says. “Looks like someone got you good. It’s just a fancy theater prop.”<br/>
<br/>
“Piss off, Acker,” you snap at her, color flushing to your cheeks and breast tightening. By lunchtime the entire sixth form is going to know you were conned. You think of that white-bearded bastard down in his hick bookstore, laughing at you. You snort with fury, shoving the book back on your desk. You’re going to storm down there on Monday evening and demand a refund. <br/>
<br/>
Your mood continues to sour as you finish unpacking, then haul your trunk into the corridor with the others, ready for it to be taken down into storage. And you’re still furious with the world when you head to the showers, and let the scorching hot water flow down your back, kneading away the tension of a day that began far, far too long ago. Towel wrapped around your waist, you look at your reflection in the mirror and wonder how the hell you got stuck with this shitty life: red hair, plain face with a nose that’s a little too long, and parents that think it’s fine to ship you across the country to some $40,000 a year school. <br/>
<br/>
You stifle a yawn and head back to your room. Tammy-Lynn’s got her nightlight on, but it’s not enough to bother you. You just hope she doesn’t snore in the night – you haven’t bought any earplugs with you. You’re about to dive under your comforter when a thought begins to itch in your brain. What language <i>was</i> that in the book? You know a little French, a little Spanish too, but the only language you’ve really studied (including weekly sessions with an online tutor) is Mandarin. Sitting on your bed, you lean over to the desk and grab the book, flicking it open to its fastened page.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Latin. It’s got to be Latin.</i> If you can’t get a refund, maybe you can sell it to someone like Scott Ricci. It looks creepy and he could probably have a field day scaring the crap out of some first formers with it. You flick back to the title page, preparing to close it, only there’s something on the inside sheet. You could have sworn it was blank when you bought it, but now there is a large, intricate symbol that looks straight out of a horror movie. It gives you the creeps. <br/>
<br/>
And, as you type the sentence beneath it into an online translator, you’re even more disturbed… and intrigued.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Claim me with money; possess me with blood.</i><br/>
<br/>
A stupid thought pops into your head. It’s ridiculous, like something out of a horror movie…</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221222211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Outsourcing a Mystery
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A book asking for your blood? Now you’re curious, and this stupid thing cost you <i>two hundred and twenty-five bucks</i>. You can afford it, but that’s hardly the point.<br/>
<br/>
Rummaging through your things, you pull out the small sewing kit you brought with you and, back turned to Tammy-Lynn in case she’s watching, prod yourself in the thumb. You wince as a small pool of blood rises into a bubble, dark and shiny in the dim light, then begins to dribble down. You give a moment’s hesitation, then press your bloody print onto the page filled with Latin. It holds fast there for a moment, stuck. And then, to your horror and surprise, as you pull your thumb away the page comes loose. Beneath is yet more incomprehensible Latin, set around a diagram of a beautiful Venetian mask.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t know how you’re going to translate it, but one thing’s clear in your mind: there’s no way you’re returning this book.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Hey JM,” Sean Ince says as he slides up to you in chapel. It’s Monday, 1 September, the first day of term, and the chapel is mostly empty while the lower forms go through orientations of what is expected of them. As such, only the fifth and sixth forms are present, all dressed in your neat green and gold trim uniforms. “Buy any good books recently? Anything you’d recommend?”<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. Tammy-Lynn really didn’t waste any time, did she? “Yeah,” you reply, “I bought your book, <i>How To Be A Virgin</i>. Can you sign it for me?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why would you buy a book called that?” he asks, bursting out in peals of laughter as he watches your face fall.<br/>
<br/>
Your morning is an easy affair, with most of the classes really establishing the agenda for the coming semester. It’s not until lunch that you have a chance to really delve into the book’s mysteries – and you know just the trio to help. The building out back, set aside for private study and computer work, is called The Stables. As it’s the first day back no one really has any homework, but you still expect the nerdier elements of the school to congregate there. And, sure enough, occupying a table are three of the biggest dorks you know, a box filled with a book and old computer discs open in front of them.<br/>
<br/>
Some kids are cool. Some try to be. And some just never even bother. Aiden Nichols, Niamh Stirland and Mariah Alloway are in the latter camp. Only Aiden is a boarder; Niamh and Mariah are locals – although unlike the charity cases paid for by the local church, Niamh is on a scholarship and Mariah’s parents pay full tuition.<br/>
<br/>
“’Sup guys,” you say, giving a slight wave and walking over.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey yourself,” Niamh says, with her fake-ass Irish lilt. She’s had a haircut over the summer, shorn her lock blonde locks into a pixie crop, and you can’t help but think how awful it looks. She’s blatantly trying to copy Roxanne Hurley, one of the cooler kids, but while Roxanne is a natural beauty who gives the cut a punk vibe, Niamh just looks like an office worker. <br/>
<br/>
“Good summer?” You keep the question open to all three.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh yeah,” Mariah says. “So much going on. The county fair was a hoot. There was a hay ride and everything. Where’d you go, the Bahamas?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, I just stayed at home, mostly.” There’s no point telling Mariah Alloway that ‘home’ is a sprawling mansion in Pebble Beach and you spent every morning paddling out past sealions. “What you got there?”<br/>
<br/>
Niamh answers. “A very old computer game. <i>Starcraft.</i> Comes with a manual as thick as your arm and filled with lore.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I’ve got a manual of sorts, too. I was wondering if you’d take a look, tell me what it’s about.”<br/>
<br/>
“Is this the legendary prop book that Tammy-Lynn was harping on about?” Aiden says, noting your face fall into a tired scowl. “Oh, we’ve heard. Everybody’s heard. Where’d you get it, some flea market back west?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you grunt defensively. “I picked it up in town at some bookstore. Huge place, owner was kind of an asshole.”<br/>
<br/>
“Arnholm’s?” Mariah says, suddenly interested. “Huh. That place is full of interesting stuff. The owners are kind of jackasses, but I’ve never heard of them knowingly cheating someone with a fake book, and their prices are always about fair. Slide it over.”<br/>
<br/>
You set the book in front of them, flicking through to the open page, the illustration drawing an appreciative murmur. “It’s only three pages, the rest of them seem bonded shut. But I think it’s Latin.”<br/>
<br/>
“It is,” Aiden says, taking charge almost immediately and dragging the book into his vision. “Really <i>bad</i> Latin, though. I think… this is like… some kind of… alchemy textbook?”<br/>
<br/>
“Definitely,” Niamh says. She points to a picture of a wheel that takes up the bottom half of the page. Intricate symbols, like a cross of algebra, Arabic, and Chinese, are written in an elegant script around the inside of the rim. "This symbol is intense, too. Pretty rad.”<br/>
<br/>
“More like it’s some kind of hard math problem using geometric distribution,” Mariah chips in. “And look, calx… as in calculus, to calculate, right?”<br/>
<br/>
Aiden furrows his brow and gives her a look. “Calculus means ‘pebble’, dumbass. It’s talking about some kind of stone.” He and Niamh take charge, hunched over the book with fascination, their old-ass game manual forgotten for a moment.<br/>
<br/>
“So, what does it say?”<br/>
<br/>
“Honestly?” Niamh says, looking at Aiden briefly. “Not a clue.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nor I,” Aiden says. “I think it’s an alchemy recipe. But for what… something to do with a face? It’s incredibly sloppy Latin. It’s almost like the owner was trying to be a pretentious ass and wrote it in a foreign language to get laid.”<br/>
<br/>
“Because all those alchemist groupies love pig Latin, huh?” Mariah interjects, twisting herself to look up at Aiden with a grin. “Talk Roman to me, big boy.”<br/>
<br/>
“Alright,” you say. “So, it’s some kind of, what, a spell book? Lead into gold, that sort of stuff?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Aiden says. “Alchemy wasn’t like that. Sure, there were wizards like John Dee, but most alchemists were scientists: chemists, physicists and biologists. They were trying to make sense of the world they could perceive, and it <i>looks</i> like spells. Plus a bunch of them wrote mystic mumbo-jumbo to keep their secrets obscure, prevent rivals from copying them.” You take a step forward to reclaim the book, only for Aiden to gently tug it away. “Let us work on it a bit? We’re not going to have any homework assignments proper for a week or so, we should have a translation by then.”<br/>
<br/>
You think about it for a moment. The book is way too valuable to simply hand over to anyone, and you’re a little embarrassed you tried some kind of blood ritual last night – you chalk that one up to jet lag. But if you’re going to trust anyone in this school with something, it’s Aiden and Niamh. The two are probably the most honest kids in your year.<br/>
<br/>
“Kay,” you say. “Just let me have it back when you’re done.”<br/>
<br/>
You watch as the trio seem to perk up with hardcore nerd energy. “This is gonna be so sweet!” Mariah exclaims, hopping up animatedly. “For science!”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You forget about the book for the next few days, lost in the repetitive rituals of the St Francis Xavier school. Then, on Wednesday, whole girls’ wing is subjected to a 10pm ‘surprise dorm inspection’ by a furious, wild-eyed Abigail Steiner with an apologetic Kate Gross in tow. You breathe a sigh of relief as Kate just checks you’ve made your bed and organized your personal items, then takes only the briefest glimpse inside your footlocker, apologizing for your time. Any room with an Adams girl, however, gets tossed by Hurricane Abi, with bedding thrown and drawers ransacked in search of contraband. You watch from your open door as she rushes past, eyes wild and nostrils flaring in a state of near-psychosis, sweating and jittery, looking for another victim. <br/>
<br/>
“What the hell is this about?” you ask Tammy-Lynn, knowing she’s going to be fully plugged in.<br/>
<br/>
“Tennis,” she replies. “You’re not going to believe it, but for the first time in, well, ever, the school got knocked out in the county qualifying round. Abi won her game convincingly, but Tom Darke lost a tie break and Hope O’Malley goofed up her match real bad. And you know how Abi doesn’t like to lose at anything.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Great,</i> you think. <i>Abi’s going to be like this for the next few days at least. I just hope it doesn’t put paid to our planned ‘welcome back’ party on Saturday night.</i><br/>
<br/>
It’s not until Thursday that Aiden approaches you in the corridor of Founders Hall, while you’re getting a coffee during a break in your study session with Mary and Corinne. Waving the book, he gives you a delighted grin.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s an alchemical recipe,” he says, excitedly. “A weird one, that uses a metal bowl and a convex mirror, but it’s pretty straightforward to do. Ice cubes, quicklime, some other stuff. We can snag it all from the chemistry department. I’m thinking we try it tomorrow? Niamh and Mariah say they can hang back for an hour or so, and I’m sure you know somewhere we could work?”<br/>
<br/>
Although Abi is now back into her good-girl routine during classes, you know she’s still smarting from the school’s tennis defeat. If she catches you, Aiden, Niamh and Mariah doing anything even remotely out of the ordinary, she’s going to come down on you all hard. <br/>
<br/>
But you want to know what the book is actually about. And this is the perfect chance to find out…</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112212222111
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Little Magic Trick
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The underground footprint of the St Francis Xavier school is sizeable. The Latty family seemed to love digging down, building wine cellars, ice houses and an undercroft that was, ultimately, never used. Instead, it simply became 'The Crypt', a relatively small space used to store fold-away desks and seats used during exams. Apparently there's an even bigger labyrinth under the amphitheater, although you've never met anyone who's been down there, and the only group that goes into the wine cellar is a pretentious reading group chaired by Mr Scott, the school's obnoxious head of English.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't think we're allowed down here," Niamh says, a little nervously. You swing your flashlight in her direction.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not," you reply. "But we can't do it anywhere else. I picked it because it's the best place. You said this thing requires fire, right? If it starts smoking it'd set off the smoke detectors in Founder’s Hall." For all your playing it cool, you haven't been down here since third form, when you came to play spin the bottle and ended up trying to summon ghosts. <i>Until Scott Ricci jumped out and sent us running back to our rooms, screaming.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Fire's the final step," Aiden says. "And do we really want to do that bit? It's all a lot of bull anyway, so if we're going to be extra careful—"<br/>
<br/>
"If we were going to be extra careful," you interrupt, "we wouldn't be doing it at all. So let's do it by the book."<br/>
<br/>
You swing your rucksack to the ground and open it, pulling out a neatly folded sheet of paper. You spent all last night tracing out that intricate design in the book, and you show it to the others by the light of their phones. "And people say art class is just an easy pass," you smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"It <i>is</i>," Niamh says. "And pretty useless in the long run."<br/>
<br/>
"Says the girl taking Latin." You hand the paper to Aidan. "Here."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's part of the instructions."<br/>
<br/>
Aidan opens the book and studies the formula with a frown. "It says to use the one here on the page."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's do it by the book," he retorts, and gives you a smug smile.<br/>
<br/>
So with a snort you let Aidan take over. Like a surgeon commanding an operation, he calls for each of the components in turn, dropping them one at a time into the metal bowl he's set atop the open book. Nothing happens until he drops some rapidly melting ice cubes into the mix. That's when it begins to fizz and pop.<br/>
<br/>
"Christ!" Aidan exclaims as a cloud of acrid smoke fills the confined space. Everyone gags and coughs, and your eyes begin to water.<br/>
<br/>
"Freakin' great, Aiden." Niamh says, furiously waving her hand in front of the bowl, which is now shaking and vibrating away. "You must have read it wrong." She stands up, trying not to gag. "That is one whiffy b-word of a project. Know what, tell me how it goes later, I'm not going to have my clothes reek of stink bombs. Mariah, I'll be in the games room when you're done clowning."<br/>
<br/>
"I read it right!" Aiden says, even as Niamh leaves. He waves away the cloud and points to the bowl. "Look, it's settling down. Still want to continue with this?" You and Mariah both nod, and he holds pushes the bowl off the book and replaces it with a concave mirror he managed to scare up. With a nod, he directs Mariah to pour out the bubbling goop across its reflective pane. Almost instantly, it hardens into a shell. "Alright," Aidan says, "last step is to burn this sucker. Joss-Moss, you want to do the honors?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>JM</i>," you say sulkily. You haven't been able to ditch ‘Joss-Moss’ since first form. You pull out your lighter and, warily, set the mixture aflame. It goes up like a gas BBQ, a dancing blue flame that, Aiden speculates, must be to 'burn away impurities'. You spend the next 15 minutes watching the fire and packing stuff away as Aiden and Mariah gabble about some computer game. You're just about to suggest dousing the burning mass and quitting when the flame suddenly goes out, and you're back among the darkness of your Maglite and the others' phones.<br/>
<br/>
"So, what is it?" Mariah asks. You cautiously touch it with a finger tip. It's cool! And smooth, like alabaster. In the poor light, it looks strangely dull: almost grey. You pull it from the mirror, only for it to spring from your hands. You curse and scoop it up again.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything as you stare at the object, and you are strangely aware of your own rasping breath. "JM?" Mariah says.<br/>
<br/>
"Look at it," you say, and your hand is numb as you hold it out for her and Aidan to examine. "It... it changed!"<br/>
<br/>
Indeed it has. It was a smooth hemisphere when you picked it up, but now it is a shallow and distorted oval. But that's the least of it. It is now the shape of a mask.<br/>
<br/>
Aidan takes it from you and turns it over in his hands. The light catches the shadows of its bumps and ridges: a brow, a nose, lips, cheekbones, sunken eyes. Mariah takes it in turn. "How did it do that?" she breathes.<br/>
<br/>
Aidan laughs – a loud, brazen sound. "Don't be so gullible!" he exclaims. "Cool trick, JM," he snorts at you, "except it's not real impressive when you do it in the dark."<br/>
<br/>
"Do what?" Mariah asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Sleight of hand. You got us good, JM. You're the last person I'd peg for a practical joker."<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't a joke!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure it isn't." He gets to his feet. "Come on, Mariah."<br/>
<br/>
She drops the mask and follows him, ignoring your protests. "She made that mask thing in art class," he explains to her as they trudge off, "and switched it in after she pretended to drop that other one... "<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You forget about the mask for the rest of the evening, and leave it along with the ingredients and book in your rucksack. While the Wednesday dorm check was unexpected, it's effectively ruled out any future checks for at least a few weeks – and as long as you keep things out of sight of Tammy-Lynn nobody's going to disturb your stuff. Saturday morning brings its usual mix of pointless classes, and you spend Saturday afternoon with Corinne, her roommate Bailey off home for the weekend. It's all a prelude of course, to the first party of the year.<br/>
<br/>
It's about 9pm when you make your way out of the building and toward the woods. Your curfew isn't until 11pm, so technically a small gathering with friends isn't breaking any rules, although they're kept quiet from most of the prefects. The exception, of course, is Lucas Tanner, without question the most laid back of the St. X's students who are supposed to be in charge of discipline. He's there when you arrive, sat around the fire on cut log benches with Mike Best, Greg Coulter and – keep it together, JM – Mark Pederson. They've got a few soft drinks and a bag of potato chips out, and are laughing and joking with Corinne, Mary and a few others. Life of the party so far is resident space-case Loki Swain, who's taken his shirt off despite the chill in the air and is doing some kind of freeform dance to the amusement of the others.<br/>
<br/>
You head over to the fire and sit down, a few inches away from Mark, trying to play it cool. Across, in the gloom, you see Corinne's toothy grin as she shoots you an encouraging look before going back to talk – or rather listen – to her own group. You wiggle sideways, a little closer to your target, hoping he'll notice you.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't. Instead the conversation is just the usual stuff. There's a general complaint from Mark about how there's no booze – a sentiment that everyone else agrees with, and Lucas jokingly sticks his fingers in his ears for – and a pledge to get some for next time. You sit through it all, staring at the flames, half wondering how to speak to Mark, half remembering the strange hue of the fire from your mask experiment a few days earlier. By 10.30 things have simmered down, and people are beginning to think about heading back. It's your chance to strike.<br/>
<br/>
"It's freezing tonight," you say, hugging yourself a little and sliding oh-so-slightly nearer to Mark. "Should have bought a jacket or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Go back inside if you're cold," Mark replies, almost indifferently.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I probably should," you say, twisting a finger through your hair. "Anyone want to walk back with me? I don't want to get lost in the woods."<br/>
<br/>
"Just stick to the river, you'll be fine."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you say, standing up. "I guess I'll make it back alone. Well, goodnight."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," you hear a voice say. "I'll go with you." Your heart pounds in your chest for a moment… before you realize it's just Lucas – a guy who's too chilled to even think about asking you, or anyone else, out. <i>Fuck. My. Life.</i><br/>
<br/>
You make it back to your dorm by 10.45, once again throwing you under your comforter. You want to scream, or kick, or yell but you know Tammy-Lynn's just going to tell everyone about how 'Jocelyn was crying all night', and you've got better things to be than the subject of school gossip. Instead, you reach over to the rucksack, feeling the cold touch of the mask you made, and whip it out. You pull the book out too, and check the instructions. It says the last step is to polish it.<br/>
<br/>
So you pull out a chamois wash towel, hoping to fidget away your blues.<br/>
<br/>
You've no idea how long you sit and polish it, even after the lights go out. But in the morning, as you rise for a slow Sunday filled with nothing in particular, the mask catches your eye on the nightstand. A small patch has changed color. While most of the mask remains a dull grey, there's now a small patch that's an eerie light blue. What's more, in the early morning rays that penetrate your room, it almost seems to be glowing…</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122122221112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Meet The Locals
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It takes five days to fully polish the mask, squeezing the time in between school routine and study time while trying to keep it out of sight of Tammy-Lynn. Worse, the second week back is always ‘Charity Week’, with volunteers recruited at the end of last term taking part in visits to care homes, local outreach and student car washes down in Lattyville. Some of the more eager students are even taking in donations from locals, gathering up a big pile of junk that can be shipped off to Africa or used to feed local families in hardship. It’s meant to remind everyone of how privileged they are to go to St Francis Xavier, although this year’s donation drive has been taken over by Dalton Reeves, whose habit of treating the drop spot like a military supply pool makes you wonder if people will be so generous in the future.<br/>
<br/>
But by Wednesday night you have rubbed all the grayish-white from the mask so that it is a burnished blue inside and out.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you sneak back into The Crypt to cast a second mask, and when you get your second real surprise. To your shock, the page of instructions is stained with an oval, like water damage. <i>Is this Tammy-Lynn's doing?</i> you wonder. <i>Was she snooping through my stuff?</i><br/>
<br/>
But as you glower at the stain, you notice that it's about the same shape and dimensions of the mask you made. You set the mask atop it, and find it's a perfect match.<br/>
<br/>
And as you lift the mask, the page beneath, which all this time has been firmly stuck to the rest of the book, flutters free. You feel the blood draining from your face as you examine the reverse for signs of glue. But there are none. There is no sticky residue at all that could explain why the page wouldn't come loose earlier.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is officially crazy,</i> you decide, and set about translating the reverse of the page.<br/>
<br/>
When you're done, you cast that second mask and take it back to your room to polish. It gives you something to do while thinking. For if your translation is right, these masks are able to copy people, letting their wearers disguise themselves!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You spend Friday morning daydreaming your way through law, art and politics, thinking of different people whose life you’d love to sample, just for a day. It’s all fantasy, of course – the mask probably doesn’t do anything special at all. What if it does what it promises? So much weird shit has happened in the past week and a half around that book that you’re starting to believe in the impossible. What if it’s really magical, like some YA fantasy novel? What could you do with it?<br/>
<br/>
Who could you turn yourself into?<br/>
<br/>
Abigail Steiner is an obvious choice, beautiful and with prefect power to boot. The idea of surreptitiously stealing her identity, roaming around and commanding people to do whatever you want, is intoxicating. Kate Gross could be fun, too, although you doubt that you could pretend to be that nice for so long. By lunch, you’ve decided the girl you really wish you were is Mathilde Ambard. A French noble with beauty an effortless, Parisienne grace, you know from Vicky Benjamin she’s got a vast collection of clothes in her dorm room – so much so she started occupying half of Vicky’s own wardrobe (without permission) just to hold her shoes. Mathilde often takes off for the weekend, and if you could borrow her looks, that accent, maybe a few pieces of clothing, with careful planning you could spend the whole weekend as her! Maybe you could talk to Mark as Mathilde, seduce him with your newfound figure, hold a secret tryst under a magical glamour. You pinch your lips just thinking about it.<br/>
<br/>
You’re still picking over fish and fries in the dining hall, wondering the best time to get the mask on Mathilde and see what happens, when Mary sits down opposite you. She is practically shaking with fury.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s up?” you ask, only catching Corinne’s rapid shake of the head too late.<br/>
<br/>
“Marius. Hall.” Mary says, her voice slow and deliberate. “Who. Does. He. Think. He. Is?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… head boy?” you offer. Mary’s eyes narrow to the thinnest of slits.<br/>
<br/>
“I am an <i>Occam</i>, JM. An Occam.” Her hands tighten against the bench, knuckles turning white. “How am I not the right ‘fit’? How can he, can <i>anyone</i>, turn down <i>this</i>?” she gestures to herself. “Huh? Well, Mr Young Republican, you’ve just made the worst mistake of your political career. You could have had the perfect ally to take us all the way to the White House. Instead, you’re going to end up with some nasty, fake-dye skank from new money, or worse, some pauper. Whereas I…”<br/>
<br/>
She keeps ranting, but you zone out. So, Marius turned Mary down. Great. Now any move you make with your weird magical mask is going to have to wait. You’re not even sure if the mask <i>works</i>, after all, whereas Mary is a friend that needs a distraction. Calmly, you listen, trying to nod in all the right places as she tells you about last night’s study date with Marius, and how, with a kind and gentle smile in the middle of a supervised study hall, he’d told her he didn’t share ‘mutual feelings’. Objectively, you get the impression Marius was trying to be kind. There’s little point telling that to Mary, though.<br/>
<br/>
“We’re going into town tonight,” she finally declares, with a hiss of breath as she composes herself. Next to her, Corinne nods sympathetically. “You’ve got your little photo assignment thing to do, JM. Surely that includes how ladies can entertain themselves.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, yeah,” you say. “I guess. We could go out, have some fun. I’ll take a few pictures ‘n’ stuff. I’ve got my country club membership, I can get us…”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Mary says quickly. “I’ve already decided where we’re going.”<br/>
<br/>
You look at Corinne, who just shrugs. You guess you’ll find out when you get there.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You’ve spent Friday nights on beaches. Friday nights in bars. Friday nights watching Broadway shows. You have never, ever, spent Friday night playing <i>mini golf.</i> Worse, it seems next to some kids’ go-kart track, the air humming with the buzz of two-stroke engines. At Mary’s request you’ve taken an Uber out to the fringes of Saratoga Falls, and the kind of weak-ass arcade that passes for entertainment around here. You’ve coordinated your look, white tops and blue bottoms, and you know it makes you stand out in this dive. <br/>
<br/>
You don’t want to be here, but at least it means you can get some shots for your project. You fish your phone out of your shoulder bag, the ready mask also nestled inside, and take a few shots for your photo project. First, two locals playing on a tacky, soda-stained arcade machine next to a nacho stand; then a determined, shaking old man with <i>atrocious</i> form trying to complete out his mini golf round as if he were going for the Claret Jug.<br/>
<br/>
Next, you turn your camera lens to the booth, focusing it on another specimen from the local high school. He’s about your age, slouching, with a lean face and a stupid tuft of beard that needs either shaving or styling. Unlike the two at the arcade machine he’s at least tried to make an effort, with cargo pants that have actually been ironed and neat plaid shirt. He looks kind of like a budget version of Mark, or perhaps the ‘after’ photo if Mark developed a severe meth addiction. You snap a photo, only to pause as you spy the girl he’s chatting to – and realize why you’re <i>really</i> here.<br/>
<br/>
Sat in the booth is Roxanne Hurley. One of the ‘paupers’ – the kids who got into St X through the church – she’s a hipster who’s carved a niche for herself as an effortless standard to which other kids aspire.  You’ve always liked her. Mary, on the other hand, has always viewed her money-can’t-buy cool with envy. <i>We’re not here to play mini-golf: we’re here so Mary can make herself feel better by waving money in Roxanne’s face and abusing her power as a paying customer.</i> <br/>
<br/>
You head over to see if you can rein her in. You get there just as Mary passes over a $100 bill, only for Roxanne to check to see if it’s legit. Having gained that small measure of revenge, she thrusts three clubs at Mary, who says something to the local boy then saunters away in victory.<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry about Mary,” you say quietly, heading up to the booth. “She’s in a pissy mood ‘cause Marius turned her down for a date last night.”<br/>
<br/>
Roxanne shrugs. “It’s alright, JM. See you in class Monday.” <br/>
<br/>
You nod and head after the others, catching up with them on the first hole. Mary’s just about to take a putt when a voice cries out, interrupting her swing.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, ladies!” The boy with the plaid shirt is heading over, with his two friends from the arcade in tow. “Fancy a game?” He jogs over, already embarrassingly out of breath – he must have covered a whole 30 metres. “What I mean is, do you want to play us?”<br/>
<br/>
You all look at each other. Mary’s a bogey golfer, you're reasonable (growing up in Pebble Beach you have to be) and Corinne’s handicap is in the single digits. This is just going to be embarrassing… and you don’t like the gleam Mary has in her eye.</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221222211121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Green-Eyed Monster
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There have been one-sided matches in history. Sporting contests so unbalanced you wish someone would just call it off. Your systematic demolition of the three boys foolish enough to challenge you might be the worst of the lot. The trio are 21 strokes behind before you even hit the first proper obstacle. By the time you stop counting (with seven holes still to go), the boys are 37 over par – and a full 42 strokes behind. Mary hoots with laughter at each of their shots. Corinne focuses even more on the game. And you just let your red hair tumble in front of your face and try to avoid meeting them in the eye.<br/>
<br/>
They try to make up with it with chatter, and they’re funny and sweet. The guy in the plaid shirt, Will, is their leader. He asks you your school, where you’re from, what classes you’re taking. It’s adorable how much effort he throws in to impressing you, even getting excited about some goofy spot prize when Corinne hits a hole-in-one on some stupid windmill set-up. He’s pretty naïve though, and Mary teases him mercilessly about hitting on Roxanne, playing hard on the school rumor that Hurley is bisexual.<br/>
<br/>
Next up, more vocal than Will but not quite as witty, is Keith. He’s got a dumb look about him, with dark hair shaved in a buzz cut and face covered in red splotches and random bursts of hair. He’s a goofball who throws himself into everything with energy, and occasionally blurts out something that makes Corinne crack up, if only because it’s so inane.<br/>
<br/>
The last of the trio is Caleb. Hair clinging to his head in curls, long face with a sharp nose, he looks like central casting for a young nerd. He realizes – vocally – how futile the game is pretty much from the start. By the end, he’s ready to call it a night.<br/>
<br/>
You wonder why you’ve taken such an interest in them. Then you realize: you’ve got a mask in your bag and you need a guinea pig.<br/>
<br/>
"Girls," Mary declares after sinking her last putt on the eighteenth hole, "we have met the enemy and they are ours. What are we going to do with them?"<br/>
<br/>
Corinne looks puzzled. She’s been so focused on winning – throwing herself into the game – she forgot Will offered to let you name your price if you won. You move toward Mary.<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s just go,” you mutter into her ear. “You’ve had your fun.”<br/>
<br/>
"No, a deal is a deal," she says. "We won fair and square. Tell you what," she says, addressing Will and his friends. "You guys have fake IDs, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ..." Will looks dumbfounded for a moment. With growing irritation, you realize where this is going. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck me, don't tell me you don't." Mary lays on the disbelief thick. But just as Keith begins to stick up his hand, you decide to call it quits on her game – and find a whole new use for the trio.<br/>
<br/>
“Your forfeit is you’re going to take us to a party tonight,” you interrupt. Mary’s head swivels, the glare in her eyes so hot you suspect it will leave scorchmarks.<br/>
<br/>
“JM!” she snaps, clearly having something better in mind.<br/>
<br/>
“I need photos, remember?” you say, calling Mary out on her bullshit excuse for dragging you here to begin with. “I want shots of high school life. You’ve got a car, right, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uhm, truck.”<br/>
<br/>
Mary leans into you and whispers. “The fuck, JM? These imbeciles were about to get us enough liquor for the rest of term. I lost half of my fucking stash in Abi’s dorm sweep last week, and you know Dalton’s going to spot-check anyone at the gate.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll get you your booze,” you say defiantly, not entirely sure how. “But I want to see what counts as a party in this one-horse town.”<br/>
<br/>
Mary looks disgusted. “Slumming it, much? Well, I for one am not riding in a <i>truck</i>. You are on your own.” She turns and smiles viciously at the boys. “Gentlemen, Corinne and I are going to leave you in the hands of JM. Remember, we had an arrangement. I expect you to treat her with the respect she deserves.”<br/>
<br/>
“See you both back at school,” you say with a wave.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, you <i>absolutely</i> will,” Mary says, more of a threat than a promise. Corinne, for her part, gives you a friendly, if confused, smile. Later you’re going to have to find some way to cool Mary off, but a chance to get one of these boys alone – and see exactly what the mask does – is too good to pass up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Will’s truck is an old, gas-guzzling model full of cheap lining that clanks and rattles. You half-expect its guts to be held together by string and rust. You sit in the cab, Keith and Caleb in the flatbed, while Will drives you around. He seems twitchy and nervous, and it briefly crosses your mind how stupid it was to climb into a murdermobile with three boys you don’t know. You’re beginning to grow nervous when, abruptly, he pulls into a parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, the parties, uhm, start later,” he says. “So we can, ah, kill some time here.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and climb out with the trio, walking into – you can’t believe this – a <i>fucking Dairy Queen</i>. You find a booth that isn’t covered in sticky goop and check your phone, the boys heading up to the counter. Except Will… who’s not making an order at all. Instead, he’s talking to a group sat near the window, where he looks like he’s begging for help from a pretty Asian girl in a cheerleader uniform. <i>Jesus,</i> you laugh as you realize what’s going on. <i>He’s asking her if there are any places to go because he doesn’t actually know!</i> You hold up your phone again, pretending not to notice. But, gradually, you pick up that the group of girls Will’s speaking to are all staring at you. The feeling of being watched a little too intense, you get up and head to the bathroom for some privacy.<br/>
<br/>
At the far end of the stalls you set your bag on the counter, opening it up and looking at the mask. So far there’s been no chance to get one of the boys alone, but you have your target – Will. Sure, he’s kind of rabbit, but you can’t imagine Caleb’s going to last much longer tonight, and there’s no way you’d want the blotchy mass of Keith’s face anyway. You’re holding the mask, taking a breath as you try to work out what you’re going to do, when…<br/>
<br/>
“Hi.” <br/>
<br/>
You look up. One of the girls has followed you inside – probably making a lame excuse to break away from the others. You give a weak smile and pretend you’re looking in the mirror. She keeps walking over to you. Where you’re pale, with freckles splashed across your nose and stupid carrot hair hanging down, she’s toned, her skin almost bronze, with short blonde hair cut around her shoulders. <br/>
<br/>
“I saw you came in with Will Prescott.”<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her, intimidated for a moment. You have no idea why; if she lays a finger on you, your parents will sue her family into the stone age. Then it hits you – her piercing green eyes. It’s almost the opposite of Abi Steiner’s infamous ‘hypno eyes’; while Abi’s eyes are soft and inviting, Stephanie’s are hard emeralds.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, that’s right. Just hanging out ‘n’ stuff.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh huh,” the blonde says, curt and bossy. “You dating?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why’s that any of your business?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just trying to work out your angle,” she says directly. You narrow your eyes. You’ve dealt with bitches like this in the past; girls who just think they have a right to know what’s going on, even to people they barely care about. Will’s probably not even good friends with her. You steel your jaw.<br/>
<br/>
“He’s just going to help me with a project,” you reply. “But like I said: it’s none of your business.”<br/>
<br/>
The girl makes another step forward, but never gets her next sentence out. In an instant, you scoop up the mask and shove it on her face. You’re not really sure what you’re expecting, but what <i>does</i> happen scares the crap out of you: the girl collapses to the floor unconscious, eyes rolled back and legs giving way. And the mask <i>vanishes</i>.<br/>
<br/>
You stare for a moment in blind panic, shocked, then drop to your knees. The girl’s still breathing, but there’s no sign of the mask – it hasn’t skidded off under one of the stalls. <br/>
<br/>
You gulp and wonder what the hell you’re going to do. Another girl could walk in here at any moment – and you’ve no idea whether something magical is happening, or you’ve just sent whoever this is into a permanent coma. Breathing hard, you grab her arms and drag her, slumped, onto the seat of a nearby stall. She weighs a ton – there’s barely an ounce of fat on her and plenty of muscle – but you manage to squeeze her into the cubicle and shut the door. Then, nervously, you wait.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a terrifying experience. Every slight noise makes you glance toward the door. After a few minutes you at least have the presence of mind to fish into her pockets and pull out a wallet with a driving licence. Stephanie Wyatt. Well, now you know who you’ve zapped unconscious. Two minutes later you hear someone come in, but they don’t seem to be looking for anyone, and, after what feels like the longest bathroom break in history, finally leave (without washing their hands – fucking yokels). A few minutes later, your heart racing only faster, you glance down and notice the mask has magically reappeared. Without a word, you grab it, filled with excitement at the magic you’ve just witnessed. Stephanie, whoever she is, is already murmuring awake, and so you do the only sensible thing – leave.<br/>
<br/>
You shove the mask in your bag, take a breath to compose yourself, then stride into the Dairy Queen as if nothing happened. Indeed, as far as everyone’s reactions would suggest, nothing <i>has</i> happened. You walk over to Will – Keith and Caleb seem to have vanished – and give him a smile. You want to get out of here before Stephanie wakes fully: the only question is where to go.</span></div></div>


path: 112211111112122221112212222111212
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Whole New Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You walk over to Will, trying to hide your excitement at what just happened. In the Crypt you weren’t sure what you witnessed; the book you could explain away with logic, too. But you just made a mask vanish into a girl’s face! It’s all real – and it’s all yours. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m not feeling too good,” you say, trying to explain away your 15-minute bathroom break. “Uh, I think I’m going to call it a night.”<br/>
<br/>
“What? Uh, you’re sure?” He looks forlorn, like he’s blown some opportunity. You give him a small smile.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. I’ll get an Uber back to Lattyville.” You’re about to leave it there, when his little rabbit face makes you even more guilty and you decide to at least keep his hopes alive. “And that means you still owe me a forfeit. So give me your number, and when I’m ready to cash it in, I’ll message you.”<br/>
<br/>
You walk with straightened posture out of the Dairy Queen, leaving a hopeful Will Prescott in your wake. And, as you walk past the gaggle of gawping girls by the window seat, you make damn sure they see every dollar’s worth of your white top and blue trousers and the designer name on your bag. You only look back while you puff on your vape pen waiting for the Uber to arrive, and watch as this ‘Stephanie Wyatt’ rejoins the gaggle. If she remembers what happens, she doesn’t show it – if anything, her defiant body language suggests she’s telling the girls you left because of her. <br/>
<br/>
She has no idea how right she is.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You arrive back at your dorm room eager to start with the next phase of creating the mask: you suspect it has to be coated with some kind of stuff, for the spell referred to a "seal" being put on it. The excitement has only been heightened by the brief glimpse of the mask you managed to get in the back of your ride. Maybe it was the highway lights playing tricks on you, but you could swear that, faintly, you could make out the floating image of a girl, as if trapped under some muddy lake. You rush up the east stairs and swing open the door, eager to get started… only to come to a halt at your desk.<br/>
<br/>
The book is <i>open</i>. You could have sworn you left it shut. You turn straight at Tammy-Lynn, sat on her bed and reading from a Kindle as if nothing’s amiss. “Have you been going through my stuff again?” you demand.<br/>
<br/>
“No, of course not!” Tammy-Lynn protests. “I mean, I had a peek at that book, but you told me I could read it after you were done.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do I look like I’m done with it?” you snap.<br/>
<br/>
“Geez, JM, don’t get your bra in a twist. You’re almost as worked up as Emily Dustal. You know I heard her bitching about Vee Macklin in the showers earlier. Apparently she’s quit the soccer team, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t change the subject,” you say icily. “My stuff is off-limits. You just keep on your side of the room, and I’ll keep on mine. OK?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
With Tammy-Lynn snooping, there’s no chance to perform the second spell until Saturday morning, when you’re able to disguise what you’re actually working in the middle of your elective. Saturdays are for blow-off classes in the name of cultural enrichment, and so you do just that, working on the translation in the library. It makes some kind of sealant that needs to be applied to a mask in order to ‘fix’ an identity to it – and comes with careful instructions of how to remove a mask once you’ve put it on. You spend the whole morning going over and over the translation, making sure you’ve got it right. You’re only interrupted once, when you overhear Jacob and a bunch of the boys talking about an excursion to the watersports centre off Russian Lake later this afternoon. Your heart beats faster. If Jacob’s going, then Mark will be, too. It’s the ideal opportunity to spend time with him. <br/>
<br/>
Your excitement heightens as soon as the bell rings for the end of the day and the boarders descend on the lunch hall. Rather than join them (and suffer some pointed questions and glares from Mary), you rush up to your room, open up your locker and gather up the materials for the sealant – the same used for the initial mask. You sort the ingredients out on your desk, opening the window to avoid any fumes, and follow the steps to create the glue. Soon, a small bowl of paste is on your desk, which you paint onto the waiting mask. It dries surprisingly quickly, and you’re tempted to put on your creation there and then. But that Stephanie girl was out for something close to 15 minutes when you put the mask on her, and you can’t risk being passed out – especially if it's in her form – for anything like that long, given the danger of being discovered. Instead, mask in hand, you rush to the girls’ bathroom, pull the flimsy door of one of the shower cubicles closed and sit down on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
“Here we go,” you say to yourself, taking a deep breath as the mask draws closer to your face and still  not completely convinced it will work. “3, 2, 1…”<br/>
<br/>
You blink your eyes open, escaping a momentary vortex of black, and suck in a deep, hale breath. The sound is the first thing that surprises you – it doesn’t sound like you! Looking down, your pasty, freckle-laced arms have transformed into strong, supple limbs that glow with health. You make a fist, and feel a bicep bulge under your school uniform, a muscle in a place you’ve never really had one. Gasping, you leap up to your feet – your shoes are now a size too small but everything else seems to fit – and you hastily open up the cubicle and rush to the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
That girl from town – Stephanie Wyatt – looks back at you. Those same hard, commanding eyes – a gem-like green – that she tried intimidating you with last night are now yours. You reach to your neck and pat the blonde, shoulder-length locks that now sprout from your head, tugging at them as if you expect them to give way to your usual curtain of red hair. You laugh, pulling your lips down to look at your new teeth, sticking your tongue out, poking your eyebrows up into an arch. You can’t help but pull up your shirt, too, checking out your lean midriff, and placing a hand over breasts that are far more developed than your own. <br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit,” you say, Stephanie’s voice strangely inflected with your California accent. “Holy fucking shit!” You spin around, mind ablaze at the possibilities, only for the door to open halfway through your third pirouette. You come to a halt almost immediately, freezing in place as Portia Haas walks in, dressing gown on and towel thrown over her shoulder. She looks at you strangely, frowns, and then, after what feels like a lifetime, opens her mouth to speak. <br/>
<br/>
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. <i>Shit, I’m going to be busted in the body of some random townie by the dumbest girl in school.</i> You don’t reply, and she speaks patiently and slowly. “Fifth form bathrooms are <i>upstairs</i>. This bathroom is for sixth formers only.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, sorry,” you say, with a smile. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, no problem. I make the same mistake *all* the time. Just don’t let the prefects catch you.” She gives a friendly smile, and slips into one of the cubicles. <br/>
<br/>
You blink and laugh some more. With Portia taking a shower you can’t risk removing the mask here, so you slip out of the door and, giggling almost drunkenly, slip back into your room, confident Tammy-Lynn won’t have missed the chance to hang around and gossip in the dining hall long after service has ended. Then, speaking the words as best you can recall them, you reach up to your forehead and pull. It takes a few panicked tries before you get your thumb in the right place, then suddenly… you wake up again, on your bed, mask having slipped to the side. You don’t know how much time has passed, but you notice Tammy-Lynn’s sat on her bed.<br/>
<br/>
“Y’know,” she says, “if you hadn’t gone out last night, you wouldn’t be so pooped you need a midday nap.” You’re back as JM! “Oh, but seeing as how I got you, have you heard about the caca those weird Brits in the fifth form have got into? They’ve only been here a week and already…”<br/>
<br/>
You let Tammy-Lynn’s gossip wash over you. Your mind is full of far more important things. In your footlocker is the greatest power you could imagine: the power to be someone, anyone, else. The thrill of imposture is such a rush you want to try it again, finding some suitably sporty clothes and adopting Stephanie’s guise to have some fun in town. Or you could get a lift up to Russian Lake and a chance to impress Mark. You were surfing in the Pacific practically before you could walk, so it could be your best chance to show him what you’re worth. And if he’s not interested in Jocelyn Moss, you doubt he could ignore a body like Stephanie Wyatt’s.<br/>
<br/>
But Tammy-Lynn’s already been snooping several times. Perhaps you should wait and find a more secure place for the book. You’ve got that second mask to work on, after all – and, if the book’s magic works in the way you think it does, the spell on the next page will now be available. You can’t wait to see what it does.</span></div></div>


path: 1122111111121222211122122221112122
author_id: masktrixie
title: Making a Splash
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“What’s this?” Todd Baldwin grunts as you hand him a sheet to sign, looking down at you. A towering wall of solid bulk, Baldwin’s a battering ram given human form. Why anyone made a school’s tight end and rowing star a prefect is beyond you.<br/>
<br/>
“Exeat for this afternoon,” you say. “Please.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bit late, isn’t it?” He smirks. “Usually these things require notification. I’ve got to process them, y’know. Each one takes at least <i>ten</i> minutes,” he pauses for emphasis. “I can’t jump you to the head of the pile.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s a shakedown. You fish out your wallet and drop $10. You have no idea why Baldwin even bothers with small change. Todd grins and signs the slip, and you grunt a brief thank you.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, and Moss,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “Meeting. You, Marius and I. In the dining room, before dinner.”<br/>
<br/>
You raise an eyebrow. The dining <i>room</i> isn’t the dining <i>hall</i>, but the formal chamber for prefect meetings – used almost exclusively for disciplinary action. “Why?”<br/>
<br/>
“Just be there,” he says with a tiger’s smile.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
It’s easy enough to get out to Russian Lake. It’s not far, although your ride has to cut across tracks that are little more than farmers’ routes once they leave highway 44, but eventually you see the glimmer of dark blue and the flecks of white from the soft breeze running over its surface. It doesn’t seem that vast from the drop-off point, although apparently you’re looking at only a small triangle of the lake’s furthest reaches, with the body of water opening out around the bend into a mass that could swallow Saratoga Falls whole.<br/>
<br/>
It’s Saturday afternoon in September, still warm enough for summer fun, so there’s quite a crowd along the small beach area: families having BBQs and groups of kids chatting on the shoreline, occasionally dipping their toes in the small, netted off swimming area shared with canoes and body boards. You can see the boys already – Tyler, Jacob, Mark and Travis, guitar in hand as usual. You make sure they aren’t looking your way and head to the shop to rent a wetsuit and book a slot with a boat, then slip into the small changing area. <br/>
<br/>
Five minutes later and Stephanie Wyatt, clad in a figure-hugging neoprene shorty with neon pink flashes, emerges. You shake your hair as loose as possible, shove Jocelyn Moss’s clothes into a locker, and stride out, letting your body do the talking. First, you step into the beach shower, and make sure your hair and suit is soaked through, water still glistening off your exposed skin. Then, with a deliberate effort to show off your newfound curves, you walk across the beach and directly in front of the boys’ eyeline. You don’t let Stephanie’s lips curl away from their natural seriousness until you’re a good 20 metres away, allowing yourself a satisfied grin. <br/>
<br/>
But that’s just the starter. For the main course, you need to get onto the water itself. You walk up to the small dock and find your ride to the start of the course. Then, fastening the wakeboard securely against your feet, you hop off the back. The chill of the water sends a momentary chill up your spine, but any cold is gone with a quick dunk of your head. You hang on to the bungee handle and give the OK sign to the driver.<br/>
<br/>
The boat lurches. Most amateurs would try and stand, but it’s a mistake: you have to wait for the boat to build up speed or the board’ll sink too deep. You stay in your crouch, letting the board drag you up through the spray, before stretching out your legs and feeling the exhilarating rush of wakeboard and girl skimming across the crest of the water, the bounce of each wave reminding you how great it is to be alive. If you closed your eyes, you could be in California again. But closing your eyes will only make you fall, so you keep your head up, a beaming grin on your face as the boat turns and brings you through the course. You slip over the first jump, crouching to catch air and steady yourself for landing, and manage to stoop up again. You’re not a pro at this – you’ll never be able to do a flip – but you can at least fly a few feet off the ground. You manage it again on the second jump, before losing control of the board and skidding off to the side, eventually wiping out after a few feet.<br/>
<br/>
You bob back up, lean back, and enjoy the chill of the lake water.<br/>
<br/>
You have another couple of attempts before your booking runs out and the boat takes you back to the dock. You never get around the entire course, but you land a few jumps and, in the distance, you can see the boys have taken note. Tyler seems to think he has the best shot, but Mark seems interested as well. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions and hot, hot lust in check and play it like the body you’re borrowing would. Summoning up fake confidence, you walk down the dock toward the St. X boys.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit, Stephanie!” You stop dead in your tracks. Two complete strangers, both boys, have rushed up and are holding a phone in your face. “That was amazing! How come you’ve never said you could do that shit at school!”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you say, trying to think of an answer. “Hi, uh, guys.”<br/>
<br/>
“It was insane!” the other blurts out. “We got the whole thing recorded. Wait ‘til we get it on YouTube, it’s gonna blow up.”<br/>
<br/>
“Not ‘blow up’, blow up,” his friend says. “It’s not like you were doing the 900 out there. But you weren’t falling off all the time, and it’ll go viral around Westside at least. Surprised you’re only on the basketball team with skills like that.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>SHIT.</i> “Well, I’m good at all sports.” You say, trying to sound like a bossy-ass bitch. “And I don’t want this on YouTube. Delete it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Why would we do that?” the first boy says.<br/>
<br/>
“Because I told you to.” You try and stare intensely with Stephanie’s green eyes, but you’re pretty sure you just end up squinting.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, no?” the second boy says. <br/>
<br/>
“Look,” you say, trying to dredge up a reason. “It’s a secret. I’m practising for a… school thing.”<br/>
<br/>
“What thing?”<br/>
<br/>
You think for a moment, but nothing comes up. “None of your business. Now are you going to delete that, or not?”<br/>
<br/>
The boys discuss it for a moment. “Why can’t we just hold onto the footage until after this ‘thing’?” the second one states. <br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, realizing that you’re about to do something horrible. But what option do you have? You reach out and snatch the phone away. The boy tries to resist, but Stephanie’s far too strong for him, and you rip the phone out of his hands, shoving him back hard. He flies back onto the deck, while his friend just looks at you, shocked. Within seconds, you flick into his phone's photo stream and delete the videos – permanently. <br/>
<br/>
“What the fuck, Stephanie!”<br/>
<br/>
You throw the phone onto the dock next to him, and are about to say something when a group rushes between you all, fanning out for your protection.<br/>
<br/>
“You alright, miss? These creeps bothering you?”<br/>
<br/>
Your heart beats in your chest as you look into the eyes of Mark Pederson, knight in shining armor. On one flank is Tyler Van Buren, a kid who could easily kick the ass of half the boys in St X if he wished; on the other is Dawson Young: a tall, slim drama kid with a blonde pompadour who at least looks imposing. <br/>
<br/>
“No, I’ve dealt with it,” you say, looking down at… whoever the kid is. “Let’s just forget about this, alright? Forget it happened.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fucking bitch!”<br/>
<br/>
You’re pretty sure that last comment gets a kick in the ribs from one of the St X boys, but you’re too busy being led away to see.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You feel terrible about what happened to whoever Stephanie’s friends were – and the reckoning the real Stephanie is going to have with them – but not bad enough to let it sour your afternoon with your new 'protectors'. The boys all introduce themselves, and you make a play out of double-checking their names, and asking what school they’re from. It’s amusing how many white lies they tell, especially as you know all of their secrets already. Jacob doesn’t even say his surname, probably worried it’ll tip you off that his mom’s in some shitty police procedural. Travis strums his guitar a little and you’re sure to compliment him on how good he is, even though you know he gets lessons from some rock has-been and mostly just plays the start of ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’.<br/>
<br/>
But none of that matters, because you’re closer to Mark than you could ever have imagined. When you mention the stiff breeze, he lends you his beach towel, and you wrap it over your shoulders. When he asks you your name, he <i>actually listens</i> as you lie. And when he compliments you on your wakeboarding it’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to you.<br/>
<br/>
You play it cool, taking your time and trying not to be overly eager as you enjoy their company. It’s a world of difference, not being Jocelyn Moss, and you fantasise for a moment about whether the book holds the key to escaping that stupid life altogether. <br/>
<br/>
But you can’t. And Jocelyn Moss has an appointment with Todd Baldwin and Marius Hall – about what you don’t know – at dinner. If you blow them off, you’d hate to think of what they could do: the prefects control the school’s discipline, after all.<br/>
<br/>
And yet, here and now, being Stephanie Wyatt has given you a better shot at making out with Mark Pederson than you’ve ever had before. Just a few more minutes and he could be yours… or, at least, Stephanie’s. Surely it’s worth the risk?</span></div></div>


path: 11221111111212222111221222211121221
author_id: masktrixie
title: The JM Witch Trial
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There’s no way you can let your chance with Mark slip. You don’t know what Todd and Marius want, but it can’t be that important and you’ve got a spotless record. So, instead, you flick your blonde hair and stretch out those long, smooth thighs right in front of Mark’s eyeline. The boys talk; you laugh and try to say as little as possible as always. Yet while in your usual body that comes across as morose and dull, somehow Stephanie Wyatt makes it feel like you’ve got a timeless allure. And when Mark ‘accidentally’ bumps his hand across yours, you don’t fight it.<br/>
<br/>
You wish you could stay here forever. But you can’t really; a wetsuit isn’t particularly comfortable, and you need to switch back to your real self before the boys invite you somewhere. So, you make an excuse about needing to get home and stand up. It only takes a slight tap on Mark’s arm to get him to follow you.<br/>
<br/>
“So, Stephanie. Do you prefer something shorter?”<br/>
<br/>
“Steph’s fine,” you say, trying to keep the air of command. <br/>
<br/>
“Alright. Steph. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out together sometime?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh?”<br/>
<br/>
“You’ve got incredible eyes. Has anyone told you that? They’re like emeralds.”<br/>
<br/>
You trace your fingertips up the sides of his arms. “Yeah,” you lie. “But you can keep on telling me.”<br/>
<br/>
And then it happens. He stoops, and your lips meet, and you feel the warm slip of his tongue inside your mouth, and your body quivers so hard to feel as if you’re going to melt into his chest. You swing Stephanie’s arms around his neck, and you stare deeply at each other until you know what eternity feels like.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Your trip back to the St Francis Xavier School is a happy one, a dreamy grin on your (real) face. Your afternoon as Stephanie Wyatt, you think, might just have been the greatest of your life. You’re going to be late for dinner, but that’s fine: you’re not hungry. You walk into Founders Hall as dusk falls, still smiling stupidly, then make your way up to your room, swinging the door open. Tammy-Lynn leaps to her feet almost immediately, and you’re about to ask why when you realize your bed has been tossed.<br/>
<br/>
“The fuck!?” you say, dropping your bag and rushing over. Your desk drawers are open and the lock on your footlocker has been smashed off, leaving it hanging meekly from its hook.<br/>
<br/>
“Todd and Marius,” Tammy-Lynn begins. “They came up about 15 minutes back, knocked, then began searchin’ through your things.”<br/>
<br/>
You shove your personal items around looking for the book. You breath a sigh of relief when you spot the half-finished second mask and the leftover paste, but the book and the ingredients are all gone.<br/>
<br/>
“It wasn’t the whole girls’ wing, just you. Apparently it’s Washington house business, so…” ,<br/>
<br/>
For the briefest moment you wonder if this is Mary’s payback for you putting paid to her messing with the townie kids. But she’s more subtle and calculating, and sure as hell wouldn’t have got the prefects involved. You turn on your roommate, face now as red as your hair.<br/>
<br/>
“Why, Tammy? Why me?” you jab a finger at her. “What the fuck did you say?”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t say anything!” she gasps. “I just mentioned to Todd that you were spending a lot of time reading that book and it was distracting you from your studies and…”<br/>
<br/>
You dash off down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time, second and third-formers scattering in front of you as you rush into the dining hall. At one of the tables, eating their dessert, Marius and Todd are sat. They look up at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, there she is,” Todd says with a malicious grin. <br/>
<br/>
“Why the hell are you doing going through my stuff?” you snap. <br/>
<br/>
“Jocelyn, please. We’re trying to eat.” Todd says.<br/>
<br/>
“The hell…”<br/>
<br/>
“After our meal. Why don’t you go wait outside?” Todd’s enjoying this.<br/>
<br/>
Marius sets his spoon down. “Todd told you about the meeting,” he says, calm and direct. “Before dinner, in the dining room?”<br/>
<br/>
“He never said what it was about.”<br/>
<br/>
“He didn’t need to, JM. He’s a prefect. We’re here for your safety and the safety of others.”<br/>
<br/>
“And how does that mean you get to raid my fucking locker?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oooh, language, Jocelyn,” Todd says, barely able to hide his glee. <br/>
<br/>
Marius sets his food aside. “What’s done is done. Come with us, we’ll get it straightened out.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re shaking with fury as the duo put their trays away. Marius treats the whole thing like a business meeting, walking with you to the dining room and offering you a seat at the polished table, before sitting opposite, joined moments later by a smirking Todd.<br/>
<br/>
“First up,” Marius says, his face serious but voice light as he tries to sound measured and reasonable, “I’m sorry that we had to break into your footlocker. But the school operates on an honor system, and breaches of the code have to be investigated. I had hoped we could settle this amicably, but your no-show at the meeting meant we had to take a more direct approach for the good of the student body.”<br/>
<br/>
You look at him blankly. “Marius, what the hell are you talking about?”<br/>
<br/>
He takes a breath, giving Todd a chance to interrupt. “Jocelyn Moss, do you denounce Satan and all his works?”<br/>
<br/>
You snort in surprise. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
Marius gives Todd a hard stare and goes back to his calm – and ridiculous – line of questioning. “JM, this is a Catholic school, although of course we accept and tolerate other recognized faiths. And, as part of the honor code you signed up to, the possession of…” he tries to think of the right words, “occult paraphernalia is prohibited.”<br/>
<br/>
You blink, barely able to restrain your incredulity. “You’re accusing me of, what, <i>devil worship</i>? Is this an actual <i>witch hunt</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“JM, please,” Marius says. “This is serious. For now, we’re keeping it a Washington house matter. But, and I know this sounds ridiculous, it’s written in the school bylaws that, uh…”<br/>
<br/>
“Thou shalt not tolerate a witch to live.” Todd interjects again with a grin, only to fall silent from a sharp gaze from Marius. “We found your book, JM, with its stupid little pentagram and fancy-ass, creepy Latin. Acker told us how you’re looking at it virtually every night.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s just an antique!” you protest. “I picked it up in town, and I thought it made a cool art project.” <i>It’s Todd. He’s hoping on some bullshit old rule as a chance to cause trouble.</i><br/>
<br/>
“I get it,” Marius says. “But rules are rules – I didn’t write ‘em.” He scratches his nose. “Thing is, if it was <i>just</i> the book we’d let it go. But when we searched your locker – as per school regulations – we found a few other things. A vape pen, lighter, and several chemical bottles marked as school property. You want to fill me in?”<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes. “I told you! I’m doing an art project, OK? As for the vape pen, you know half the kids in this place smoke or drink. Shit, Baldwin here’s…”<br/>
<br/>
“Todd isn’t the one we’re talking about,” Marius says, his voice grave. “Any of this on its own, we could probably turn a blind eye. But all of it together?” He thinks a moment. “Two weeks, no exeats. You stay on campus. And obviously the pen and the chemicals are confiscated.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh come on!” you say with a groan, watching Baldwin lean back and smile viciously behind Marius’ back. “Fine, sorry I took the stupid supplies. And I confess, you caught me vaping. What about the book? It’s totally innocent.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s staying with us,” Baldwin says. “Until we determine whether it’s,” his lips curl into a laugh at Marius’ ridiculous phrase, “occult paraphernalia. I’m going to pass it over to Vee Macklin, Marius. She’s a Latin scholar, she’ll soon tell us what it’s about.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh no,” you interrupt, both prefects turning their attention to you. There’s no way you can let a bitch like Vee Macklin get hold of the book: if she realizes it’s real you have no idea what she’d do. “No. Like I’m going to let you drag <i>her</i> into your dumb inquisition. You said this was a Washington house matter. Macklin’s in Jefferson. Pick someone in our own house.”<br/>
<br/>
Todd’s about to argue, but Marius nods his head. “She’s right,” he says. “I’ll get Mathilde to translate it when she gets back tomorrow, she’s just as good as Macklin. In the meantime, I’m going to hold on to your ‘art project’.” He taps the desk, as if calling a meeting to order, then repeats your punishment. “I’m disappointed in you, Jocelyn,” he says. “you’re supposed to be a role model for younger students.”<br/>
<br/>
It takes all your restraint not to tell him to kiss your ass.<br/>
<br/>
Meeting over, you head out of the dining room and along the corridor to the games room, sinking against the wall and closing your eyes.  You have to come up with a way to get that book back. Right now Marius has it, then he plans on giving it to Mathilde. But how you’re going to get the book without either of them noticing isn’t going to be easy – at least not without help. Mary’s probably still pissed about you spoiling her fun with the townies, but there are other options. You doubt Tammy-Lynn meant the prefects to go this far: you could easily guilt trip her into helping you get the book back. Or maybe you could expand your magic conspiracy? You’ve got a working mask, after all, and it’s more than enough to convince Aiden you weren’t messing around.<br/>
<br/>
And, you realize, you don’t just have one mask: you have two. With a little time, you can get your spare mask ready. Maybe there’s an identity you could borrow to sort out your prefect blues…</span></div></div>


