%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Mature Choice"  by Nostrum If you're going to experiment on someone, you should probably do it on someone who's not close to you. So when Marc comes in, you give him a very warm and welcoming smile. "Thanks for keeping me company," you say as he drops into the chair beside yours. "No problem, bro," he says. "You were looking a little glum." You shrug. "Well, it was nothing big." "Was it about Lisa?" he asks as he pulls a gigantic math book out of his bag. The question leaves you thunderstruck. Marc knows about you and Lisa? Almost as quickly, your surprise dissipates. Of course he does. He hangs out with Kelsey Blankenship's crowd, as does Lisa. And he's Eva and Jessica's brother (they're a set of triplets), so he probably would have heard about it all through them. Still, the fact that he knows and will ask you about it gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling of gratitude. But it also gives you an idea for how to get the mask onto him. So you lean over. "Can I talk to you about that?" you ask him in a low voice. Marc gives you the tiniest of double-takes, and for a moment you think you've miscalculated—that he's thinking you want to overshare. But then he gives you a quick and friendly smile. "Sure." "Not here," you say, glancing around the crowded library. "Can we go outside, around back somewhere, talk about it, um—" "Man to man?" You were going to say "privately," but "man to man" sounds better. You grin, and start to pack up your stuff. Marc follows suit. Outside, you take the lead, and after glancing around you head off toward the music wing. Around the corner, you figure, you can sit and talk and maybe bring out the mask and then kind of casually maneuver Marc into putting it to his face. But you're antsy to get started, so even as you set your bag down against the wall, you are unzipping it and fishing the mask out. And as you look up and around you find Marc hovering right over you shoulder, smiling with curiosity. I'll pretend it's a joke, you tell yourself as you balance the mask in your hand. I'll just reach up and— You push it into his face. The mask, glowing a faint blue, briefly covers the front of his head, then vanishes. Exactly as though you had pushed into him. You hardly have time to react before he's falling atop you. The back of your head hits the wall. You think you hear a distant shout, like a bark, and then the world first goes gray and then goes dark. -- "Well, no damage done that I can see," Nurse Schaeffer says as she lowers the pen flashlight she was using to examine your eyes. She asks you again to track her finger as she waves it back and forth. "Unless you put a dent in the wall." "I told you I feel fine," you insist. That isn't strictly true. The back of your head smarts, but after examining it the school nurse told you she didn't even see any blood. "I don't think it really knocked me out." "Well, you tell your parents about it," she says. "And keep an eye on it. If you hit your head bad enough to see stars, well—" She breaks off and purses her lips. "Well, I'll let you go now, check up on our other patient." She waddles out the door into the front room of the school's nurse's office. You slide onto your feet from the examination table where you were sitting. If you were knocked it out, it was only for a few seconds. What was worse was the situation you woke up into: Marc Garner, fallen in a heap onto the ground with his mouth open and his eyes out of focus. And looming over the pair of you, three football players. Two of them, after examining Marc, picked him up and carried him into the nurse's office, while the third—Scott Bickelmeir—half-carried and half-hustled you along behind. No one spoke. You listen now to the voices in the other room. One of them sounds like Marc. In shame and fear, you hang back until Nurse Schaeffer returns and tells you to go home. Her office and the hallway outside are clear when you peek out. At least, they seem to be. Until, as you are hiking your pack back onto your shoulders, hands seize you from behind and rush you into the nearest restroom. You are spun about and flung back against the far wall. Scott Bickelmeir, his eyes blazing, leans in at you. "The fuck did you do to Garner?" he growls at you. Scott's a football player, but he's the lean kind, with lots of muscles and little fat. Which means he will tear you apart if he gets mad at you instead of squashing you like a marshmallow by sitting on you. So you don't waste time trying to answer him. "I didn't do anything!" you squeal. "We were just—" "Bullshit!" Scott slaps the wall beside your ear with an open palm, and puts his face—teeth bared—into yours. "I'll give you one more chance, and then I'm gonna—!" "Isn't Marc all right?" you plead. "Didn't Nurse Schaeffer—?" Scott pounds the wall again. "I want to know what. You. Did to him!" he roars. "It was just a joke!" you plead as you cower. "I had this thing, like a mask, that's all—" "Mask?" Scott asks sharply. You nod. "And— And I was going to show it to him. So I took it out, and he was standing next to me, and I just, I just got this idea, like, you know, it's a mask, I'll put it on him, push it into his face. You know, like you're supposed to wear a mask." You twist beneath Scott's hot glare. "I didn't know it was going to— What did it do to him?" "Where did you get the mask?" Scott demands. "Get?" you echo. Scott catches you by the neck, under your chin, and lifts your head. "Listen, you fucking little pissant, you are going to tell me everything you know about this mask thing—" "I made it!" you shriek. "I found this arts and crafts book, it talks about how to make—!" "What kind of arts and crafts book?" "I don't know! Just a— Alchemy!", you blurt out, remembering the word your dad used. "It was all in Latin, and my dad told me it might be an old book of alchemy, like, you know, people tried to do magic with? Back in the Middle Ages?" Now you're just babbling, but Scott is demanding more words from you than you know how to give him. "And it showed how to make this mask, and I—" "Where'd you get the book?" "Arnholm's?" "Are you guessing or are you telling me?" His grip on your throat tightens. "Definitely Arnholm's!" You gargle the words out. "It was in the special collections section! I got it for two dollars!" Scott drops you, and frowns fiercely as you cough your lungs out. "Bring it to me," he says when you recover yourself. That sets off another spasm of coughing in you. "What?" "I said, bring it to me! Tomorrow!" "Tomorrow's Saturday!" "I don't care if it's Christmas! You bring it— No!" His eyes blaze anew. "You bring it to me tonight. This afternoon. Where do you live? I'm following you back to your place, and you're gonna bring it out to me. Gimme your address." He takes out his cell phone. "But it's mine!" you exclaim. "You wanna wind up in the hospital?" Scott again grabs you by the neck, and twists you around to face one of the sinks. "You want me to knock out all your teeth on the edge of that sink?" he roars. "You want me to break your fucking face with a urinal? You will bring me that book, and— You paid two dollars for it? I'll give you two dollars, you'll sell it to me, and we'll be square! But you are going to—!" He's frothing so hard now that he can't speak. And you, with your teeth chattering from terror, can only nod and promise that you'll bring it out to him if he follows you home. -- There was another burst of anger from Scott when you told him your name and confirmed that your dad is named Harris and that he works at Salopek ("You're Prescott's whelp!?"), but he didn't explain himself. He only marched you out to the student parking lot, shoved you at your truck, and followed you bumper to bumper out to your house. He got out and leaned against the side of his car, glowering, as you ran inside. Your dad's car, you noticed, was in the garage. Upstairs, you tear you room apart looking for the book, but can't find it. You run downstairs and barge into your dad's study without knocking. He looks up at you from his laptop, a glazed expression on his face. "Dad," you gasp, "that arts and crafts book we used to make that mask. I can't find it!" He stares back at you before seeming to recover himself. "Yes, I went up into your room and got it," he says. "Well, there's a guy at school who wants to buy it from me, and I told him I—" "What?" he exclaims. "You told someone about the—?" He seems to catch himself. "That book?" You nod. "Can you give it to me so I can give it to him?" "Of course not," he snaps. "You're not selling or giving it away!" "But Dad!" "That's final. I found someone up at the university who knows all about it. In fact, we're going out to visit him first thing tomorrow." You gape. "Is there anything else, Will?" he says. Next: "Little Stone Villa of Horrors" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
