Chapter #7The Two-Faced Kid by: Seuzz   As far as you can follow it, the mask you made works like this: If you put it on someone's face, then it will "absorb" a copy of their body into it. (It will also knock them unconscious while it does that, which is convenient if you don't want them slapping at you, but inconvenient if you're out in public with them.) If, after that, you put the mask onto another person, it will "absorb" a copy of them too.
But it won't store the copies separately, the way you can save different word processing documents on a computer. Instead, it merges them and mixes them all up to make a "body" that is halfway between the two. This is also convenient, you reflect, if you want to make a disguise that doesn't look like anyone in particular.
Keith Tilly is certainly homely enough that his looks could only be improved by mixing them up with someone else's more handsome features. Yours, perhaps?
But that would be a distraction from your research. You have already performed the next spell in the book—the one that makes up a kind of paste—and you apply it, as directed, to the inner surface of the mask.
It goes on clear, like rubber cement, so that the mask itself looks unchanged. But if the book is correct, then the mask is now "sealed." That means it will no longer absorb new body types. Instead, if you put it on, you will turn into a duplicate of Keith Tilley.
Ewww.
But, at the same time, Hrmm.
Disguises are fun things. Disguises as other people, people that you know, are a prank waiting to happen.
"Will!" your dad calls. "Your mother needs you!"
It's too late in the day to do any pranking in a disguise. Besides, you need time to think up a good one. So you shove the mask into the tottering pile of books and papers on your desk and run downstairs to take out the trash.
* * * * *
Tuesday morning. Second period. Mr. Hawks's Film as Literature class. Keith blinks at you as you enter the classroom, then looks ostentatiously away.
"The fuck's biting you?" you demand as you slump into the desk next to his.
"I'm still pissed at you."
"About what?"
"'About what'," he sneers. "You're so dumb you don't even remember what you did to me yesterday."
"I didn't do anything to you yesterday! Are you talking about that thing with the mask? That wasn't my fault!"
"Whose fault was it, then?"
"No one's! It was just this mask that I had! I don't even know why you tried putting it on."
Keith wheels on you. "Because you asked me to!"
"Alright," you grumble. "Jesus. I'll make it up to you sometime."
"Lemme borrow a pencil?"
"If that's what it'll take to make you happy again."
"It won't, but it's a start."
So you hand over an extra mechanical pencil from your bag. You can't help but notice he's got a couple in his pencil case, but you bite your tongue. It's pretty obvious he's just trying to make you grovel.
And you're willing to do a little groveling if it'll keep him talking so he'll tell you what you want to know. "What are you doing this afternoon?" you ask him.
"Dunno. Not hanging out with you, you ... rapist!"
"Christ, keep your voice down!" You look around quickly. The room is mostly empty, but two girls back in the corner cover their mouths and lean in close to whisper to each other. "But if you're not hanging out with me, where are you going to be? You know, so I don't accidentally run into you," you add sarcastically—though in fact that's exactly what you want.
"Dunno," he mumbles again. "Hey, did you watch that video?"
"What video?"
"The one I asked you to watch, dumbass."
"You didn't ask me to—"
But Mr. Hawks has stepped up to the front of the room, and a moment later the bell rings. When class ends, Keith is still being a dick, and he pointedly tells you that you can eat lunch with Caleb. "You two deserve each other."
* * * * *
"It's a YouTube channel," Caleb informs you when you're eating with him. It's just the two of you, in a shady outside corner where you're unlikely to be hassled. "You're not missing anything."
"Yeah, I figured it was YouTube, since, you know, it's a video."
"Don't snap at me, Will," Caleb says. "You've already got Tilley pissed at you."
You mumble a quasi-apology, which gets a snort from him. "But I don't know why he's pissed at me," you say. "And he's acting like I know whatever the fuck he's talking about with this video. He didn't tell me anything about it, even though he thinks he did."
"Maybe he did and you just don't remember. I forget most of what he says right after he says it," Caleb says. "Easier to take him that way."
"Do you talk about me this way behind my back?"
Caleb doesn't reply as he takes his cell out and thumbs at it. "Here," he says as he hands it to you. "That's probably the video he was talking about."
It opens with cheesy spinning effects, then dissolves to a guy sitting in front of a beige wall. You recognize him from English class, which you had just last period, but can't quite place the name.
"Carlos Montoya," Caleb tells you when you ask. "Watch, Michael Hollister will come on in a minute."
It's more than a minute, though, as Montoya—a buffed, goofy-looking guy in a pink t-shirt and a short faux-hawk—slaps a flyswatter about the set. You can't make out what he's saying, though, because the sound is tinny and you're sitting outside. "The fuck is this supposed to be?" you ask.
"A movie review channel," Caleb explains. "Re-review. They talk about movies. New movies, and lots of old classics. They're talking about 'The Fly' in that one."
That would explain the antics with the flyswatter, you'd guess. The title sounds vaguely familiar, but you've never seen it and don't really know anything about it. "Why is Tilley so interested in the video? Why does he think we are?"
"Because he's got a cameo in it," Caleb says. "Can you hear what they're saying?" You shake your head. "That's Keith talking in the background, yelling 'Help me, help me!' because he's this little fly and they're trying to kill him with that flyswatter."
You stare at the screen, trying to figure it out. "So this movie they're reviewing is about a talking fly? What is it, a Pixar thing?"
"No, it's an old horror classic. Came out in the nineteen-eighties."
"So it's not a Pixar?"
"Beats the fuck out of me. You're the one supposedly taking a class about movies."
* * * * *
You turn it off without watching the whole thing, because it looks pointless and dumb. But you do go in search of Tilley after lunch, and you slather him with a lot of oily praise for the video and his part in it. "Caleb told me about it and we watched it and it was awesome," you tell him. "Tell me the next time you make one. How'd you get hooked up with these guys?"
"Oh, I hang out with them sometimes," Keith says. He sounds like he's trying to play it cool, but it's obvious that he's absurdly flattered by all the melted butter you're pouring over his ego. "They're talking about asking me to make a video of my own for their channel." He shrugs and tosses his head. "'Cos, you know, of my talent."
"Cool, I hope you do," you say. "So what are you doing this afternoon?"
He finally seems to have forgiven you—good, because you don't think you could stand sucking his cock any harder than you already have—and he says he's thinking about going to see a movie. Which one, though, he's not sure yet. "You know, so I'll have something to talk about if Mike and Carlos ask me. Wanna come?"
"Mm. No, I don't think I can commit," you tell him with pretended reluctance. "My folks need me home early this afternoon. But come tell me what you see later, so you can practice doing a review." You clap him on the shoulder and hurry off to class.
And now that you know where Keith is likely to be, you have a good idea of where not to be yourself.
* * * * *
So you are not at the Silver Cineplex up by the mall. You're on the other side of the city, down south close to where your dad works, parked behind a Carl's Jr. You are spread out over the bench of your truck, back against the passenger-side door and your feet up next to the steering wheel. You have Keith's mask in your hands.
You don't have any of Keith's clothes, so the disguise won't be perfect. But you did make a point of putting on the kind of shit that he wears—jeans and a dark t-shirt—and you've dropped your ball cap into the foot well.
If the mask works right, all you have to do is put it to your face, and you'll turn into a doppelganger of Keith Tilley.
If the mask works right. That's the rub. You've been careful up until now to experiment on other people. But now you have to try it out yourself—unless you want to share the secret of the grimoire with other people.
There will be time later to decide to do that.
Your hands and feet are numb with anticipation as you pull the mask toward your face. You close your eyes.
Its surface is surprisingly warm as it touches your skin, as though it's been sitting in the sun. It's heavy, too. Then it starts to melt. And it feels heavier and heavier as it melts, as though it is pushing into your face ...
* * * * *
You wake with a start. Someone is tapping on the window behind you. You rear up and turn around.
One of those guys from the video is grinning at you through the window. "Hey Keith! 'T'sup?" he calls.
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