The Book of Masks (Abridged)

A Visit to Professor Blackwell

"MR. PRESCOTT?" says the man who answers the door. You nod. He beams, steps to one side, and gestures you in.

You hope the inside of the house is friendlier than the outside. Not that it looks especially sinister on its face. It's a large, two-story stone villa, in that spread of town somewhere between the edges of the suburbs and the start of serious farm country. It gleamed whitely in the late afternoon sun as you parked in front of the large wall that runs around it. But the yard was dead and bare, with empty flowerbeds and peculiar stone work. The doorbell sat inside the gaping mouth of a snarling wolf's head, so you had banged on the door. You've read that the more times people knock, the more nervous they are. You'd set up a rat-a-tat-tat that only a man being pursued by mummies would employ.

You now regret coming alone. Carson had wanted to come along when you'd asked him for the professor's name, but you'd brushed off his suggestion that he go too: "It only takes one of us to talk to this guy, and I know more about the book." Besides, you'd reminded him, he was busy being Cameron, and Anne needed keeping company.

You step into the foyer and survey your host: a portly man in grey slacks and a black turtleneck pullover. His moustache and goatee are touched with grey, as are the streaks of hair that he combs over an otherwise bare pate. He looks like a professor, and of the "distinguished" sort who can get away with looking like an unmade bed while still being taken seriously.

"I'm so delighted to have heard from you," he says. "But it was another young man who made inquiries of me."

"That was my friend Carson," you explain. "Yeah, he couldn't make it."

"A pity," says the professor. "It's the Libra Personae you were curious about?" You nod. "Then please, if you will accompany me to the library." He steps aside with a smile and gestures at the hallway leading deeper into the house.

It makes you think of a throat, opening to swallow you. But you're here, and this is why you came. You've only taken a few steps when you are suddenly overcome with drowsiness ...

* * * * *

Your head feels like it's full of bees. You clench your eyes and try to roll over. You hate school mornings.

You bump into something solid but yielding; you're resting on something very hard and cold and scratchy. Grimacing, you open your eyes and lift your head. There's a face right by yours. You pull back and blink. It's Sean Mitchell, laying on his back, mouth hanging open and his eyes closed.

"Don't bother," says a voice behind you. You yip in surprise and spin around, scraping yourself badly as you do so.

The girl would probably look very pretty if she weren't so dirty. She is sitting on a cot, with her arms and hands folded and her legs drawn up tightly. You have to gape: she is completely naked.

Her eyes narrow. "Don't stare," she snaps. "You're naked too." You look down: so you are. At least you're so cold that the sight of a naked girl hasn't caused your cock to act in the usual manner. Any desire left in you curdles and dies when you look over to see that Sean is also in the altogether.

"What the fuck," you mutter as you scramble away.

"I guess the professor finally decided to have some fun," the girl says. "He's been a gentleman, so far." She rolls her eyes.

"Professor? Where are we?" You look around.

It looks like a basement, albeit one with a very high ceiling. The floor is bare concrete; the walls are brick. There is a spiral staircase leading up to a wooden panel. High up on a far wall is a window through which slants late afternoon sunlight. Aside from the cot on which the girl is sitting the space is completely unfurnished.

She sighs. "You're at Professor Blackwell's. This is a little secret room he has off his library. It's going to be a lot of fun with three of us down here. Assuming he doesn't decide to have a different kind of 'fun' with us."

"Blackwell?" Ah yes, that professor. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lucy Vredenburg." You start at the name. "And you are?"

You stammer. "Uh, Will Prescott. Hey, I know you. I go to school with your sister." You don't mention that you also remember Lucy, back from the days when you were a sophomore and she was a senior and the captain of the cheerleading team. She gets a pained look, and says nothing. "What are you doing down here?"

"What does it look like? He's got us prisoners. Maybe you'll get used to it after a few weeks. I have."

You gape. "You've been down here for--? Cindy hasn't said anything about--"

Her face tightens even more. "She doesn't know, I'm sure. Your family won't miss you either. Or his." She nods at Sean.

You turn back to him. He seems to be out cold. You slap him lightly. "Sean," you call. You slap him again. "Hey Sean, buddy!"

"Like I said, don't bother. You were out for hours. He will be too."

"What's going on here?"

She sighs. "I guess I might as well tell you. It'll be less of a shock when you see him. Blackwell was one of my professors, and he invited me out to his house, and he trapped me down here. No one misses me because--" She looks like she's about to burst into tears. "Because he made a-- a duplicate of me! Some kind of a double! It's out there pretending to be me. He's made duplicates of you guys, too." She nods at Sean. "His duplicate brought him down here."

Duplicate?! Like Caleb was making?

You groan. You were such an idiot. Blackwell was the professor who knew about the book. Obviously, he would have known what it supposedly could do. But how did--?

You bite your lip. Doubles. Caleb has been pretending to be Sean. Then this is probably Caleb. Caleb had the book. Then that means ...

You have to get him awake. You slap him and slap him and slap him. Lucy just sighs.

After the twelfth blow you decide to change tacks. You grasp Sean's face; maybe Caleb will be easier to wake if he's out of the mask. You mutter the words and pull. Nothing happens. You try again. No result.

You're still staring at him when there's a noise from above. You look up to see that the wooden panel has disappeared. A figure appears at the top of the staircase.

Sean Mitchell. You swallow, hard. He ignores you. "Time for your weekly bath, Ms. Vredenburg," he says. It's Sean's voice, but the intonations are subtly different.

Lucy sighs--is that all she's capable of doing?--and slowly gets to her feet. You force yourself not to stare as she walks past to the staircase. Sean comes halfway down and holds out a hand; in the other, you notice, he holds a large, white object, like a stuffed animal. Lucy struggles slowly up the staircase, until she is within reach of Sean's hand. Slowly she takes it, and he helps her the rest of the way up. They disappear.

Whatever is going on, you need to get your friend awake; you're too frightened and confused to think clearly by yourself. You slap and punch and prod and kick at Sean. He begins to turn purple in spots under your blows. You have to take multiple breaks, and almost give up several times. But at last Sean stirs. He takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes. "Sean! Caleb! Whoever you are," you cry. "You have to get up!"

* * * * *

It's now dark outside. The sounds from above have ceased. Sean takes a deep breath. "Okay, let's get out of here," he says.

It's the real Sean; well, that's what he says, and there's no mask on him, so you have to believe him. His story is highly disturbing: He got a call from you, asking him to come out to Blackwell's after work, bringing the book. He'd complied, and after suddenly blacking out had found himself down in the basement with you. You're much too confused to press him for more details about what has been going on with him.

Lucy is back as well, looking much cleaner--almost normal, in fact--and dressed in very clean clothes. She seems much more confident (if no happier) for the change: she is acting very imperious, and has refused to help.

There is no way out via the stairs. It's not that the panel above is locked; you haven't even been able to make it to the top of the stairs. Each of you, no matter how you try, cannot will yourself past the center step of the staircase. Whatever is sitting on that step is silent and invisible, but it radiates malice and horror. In fact, you don't even like approaching the staircase.

That leaves the window as the only exit. "It doesn't matter," Lucy keeps saying. "He says he's going to let us go in the morning. He got what he wants, he says. Some book or other."

"And you trust him?" Sean snarls. "We're getting out of here. Now."

He's got the cot wedged length-ways and balanced under the window, like a ladder, and he's already busted out the glass and done his best to clean it out. Lucy refuses to move, which leaves it up to you. "It's too narrow for me," the burly Sean says. "You're going to have to go out. Get away from the house and get some cops."

You look at the window. It looks hardly less dangerous than the basement itself.