Memoirs of a RAFian

[redtailedsaffa]

This is moving fast.

[Cloak]

I have a little time. Just wish the nugget, the seed, of doubt will go away.

• Book CCCXXXV: "Pooka Party" -- The RAFians must face a Pooka, who can mind control children.
• Book CCCXXXVI: "Ivan's Gak" -- An enemy of Underseen's returns with a special ooze that can bring adults underneath his control and gives children the Peter Pan/Lord of the Flies syndrome.
• Book CCCXXXVII: "ARM" -- A militant, PETA-like group discover that the Pootang is caged up.
• Book CCCXXXVIII: "[censored]'s Secret" -- Delving a bit into the backstory of one of RAF's more dangerous enemies.

Remember all titles are subject to change. I don't think that I'm repeating myself in any of these plots. Saffa?

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
New Disguise

Ivan was shuffling around the school. The dismissal bell was a blessed distraction, but his skin was rapidly losing it's potency as a disguise. That lizard creature's gas . . . somehow it caused the skin to begin to deteriorate quicker. He didn't have time to ponder this. He needed a new disguise. He would never be able to fool the cloaked one with this disguise, he thought heartlessly.

He looked around, but now every movement caused some skin to tear or flake off, or lock of hair to fall out. He had to hurry, the skin already was losing it's life-like magic (for want of a more accurate term), revealing Ivan's true build of an out-of-shape middle-aged man. He was beginning to get desperate -- he couldn't just take a skin in the middle of the throng. That many eyes . . . he would be bound to be seen, thus ruining the entire purpose of the disguise.

He would have to get someone alone. And he couldn't afford to be picky. The crowd was thinning out. He thought angrily, Nooo!, desperately searching for a victim, to replace this skin of the class president. Then he saw a student, alone, facing the white-painted cinder block wall and on his knees, going though his ocre bookbag with black trim.

He had thick black glasses, reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes and braces. He wore a sky blue shirt with a stylized "D" on it: Dillon Chalmers, a skilled gamer. Dillon was quite a bit smaller and more meek than Ivan. The oblivious boy was so engrossed in checking whatever he had in this bag, he hadn't noticed that he was alone.

Or, at least, that he used to be alone.

***

To anyone who did not know what was up, it would have looked very odd seeing this fifteen-, sixteen-year-old kid checking himself out with no modesty. But the skinless corpse to flopped down to his right, inches away from his red hi-top would catch the attention first.

"Ah, this is a good disguise," Ivan muttered to himself, using Dillon's voice. Then he glanced down condescendingly at the corpse, feeling no remorse or sorrow for his actions. He cricked his neck, which had an unnatural squish sound that was beyond the range of hearing for most, if not all, humans -- or beings with human-level auditory senses, "Now, where to hide this thing. Hide it where they can't find it."

THUNK!

Ivan looked around and saw . . . the book? How'd it get here? Ivan didn't take it with him from the abandoned circus. He went to it picked it up, and saw something written on an otherwise blank book in black, spiky handwriting.

"For tracks to cover,
Turn this book over.
Aim precise and truly,
And evidence will be duly
Estinguished within the ages,
Bound inside these pages."

Ivan believed he understood what it was getting at, and turned the book over so that the pages faced the corpse. Black and purple light short from the evil book and absorbed the boy's corpse, leaving no trace, except for a faint scorch mark.

Then Ivan looked at the page again, to find different text had replaced the previous one. Ivan just assumed he turned a page without realizing it.

"Be here for you, I shall.
For I am forever your pal.
Should have need of me,
Just think of me,
And there I'll be."

It was really sad that Ivan wasn't perturbed by this at all. Suddenly, the book turned into that dark, evil energy, and the same energy engulfed Ivan in an aura. The book was absorbed into this, and soon the aura vanished. Though Ivan/Dillon's sclera had a black tint for a few minutes before returning to normal.

Ivan just shrugged and said, "Cool." Before going about Dillon's business, unaware that now he could somehow access Dillon's memories and mimic his behaviors.

[redtailedsaffa]

Nope, don't think you've rehashed anything. Interesting, censoring the name in that last title.

[Cloak]

K. Good.

Need a little writing therapy right now to get this friggin' doubt out of my mind. And to help me through my bitterness . . .

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Not Over Yet

"He's here." Cloak said, as soon as the crowd thinned considerably.

"You can smell him?" Abby asked, as Saffa shuttered. Cloak could not blame her, for whatever this inhuman monster was, he was creepy indeed.

"No," Cloak said. "It's more like there's a spike in evil energy."

"How do you mean?" Aquilai asked.

"It's difficult to explain and elaborate on," Cloak answered. Then added as an afterthought, "Satisfactorily, that is."

"What now?" Saffa asked.

Cloak answered, "He's moving away now. Or the spike is fading. Either way we need to get a move if we're not to lose him."

Cloak thought, taking charge without realizing it. "Aquilai, go back to RAF. Get Wild, FuBar, Bladeh, Hunter -- anyone with a sharp sense of smell, or can morph something with a sharp sense of smell, like Noelle. Parker or Yarin probably has equipment to track this creature as well, so get them, too. We cannot do this by ourselves."

"Right," Aquilai nodded, acknowledging the plan, "but how will I find you?"

"Use the GPS on the communicators." Cloak said. "But be careful about it. We don't want anyone hacking or piggybacking the signals."

"And us, Cloak?" Abby said, indicating Saffa and herself.

"Panuncian morphs."

"You mean business, don't you?" Saffa commented.

"Yes," Cloak said. "Yes, I do."

***

The deterioration of the skin began a whole later than it normally should have. And it occured at a far slower pace. Ivan had no idea why, but he doesn't question it. He manages to fool Dillion's family about being Dillion, and the performance is, unfortunately, dead-on.

It takes seventeen hours for the first sign of deterioration to show up. Instead basically falling apart, the skin just merely loses some of its realism, the skin becoming more latex-like and fake-looking. But it is so gradual that it's generally unnoticed.

At first.

[redtailedsaffa]

And you used the reference here instead, lol.

[Cloak]

Feeling some anxiety, so . . .

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
The Lady or the Tiger

Seventeen hours had passed. The skin now was looking more and more like a spandex suit with a latex mask atop. With each progressing minute, the skin was approaching the realism of the Puttermans. He had to discard the skin, but he had to find a new one first.

Then he felt a slight wave of nausea and found himself holding the book of pure evil again, opened to a random page in the middle of the book. He read:

"when the disguise you must discard,
It's existence you must guard.
Trust these pages as you have,
Then relax and have a laugh.
Preserved will it be,
The disguise's effectiveness will duly
Be restored quite, quite magically."

Ivan set the book down, and reached behind his head and pulled off the skin, holding before the book, which translated the matter to energy and absorbed it within its pages. The skin was clearly restored by an illustrated image upon the page. Ivan shut the book and reflexively reabsorbed it into his being.

Ivan's suit was looking matted, unkempt, and dirty. He hadn't taken his suit off sense he had gotten this power. His hair was much the same way. He had washed the Dillion skin, as part of the real, the late, Dillion's daily routine. But hasn't washed his true skin for quite some time, causing most people to give him a wide birth and mistake him for an addict. Which, in a far more perbverse way, he was.

He had grown unaccustomed to not wearing a stolen skin in the seventeen uninterrupted, continuous hours of wearing Dillion's skin. Yet, his scheme to get the cloaked one seemed like more a side project than a primary goal lately. He was too keen on feeding this new addiction, and as such, sought out another skin, another identity, to wear.

He spotted some nameless girl who looked like Princess Peach, Princess Zelda, and Rosalina had been cloned into one young girl. A rather disturbingly lecherous smile appeared on the middle-aged man's face, unaware that he was being watched.

He stalked up to her, with an arrogant saunter and self-possessive swagger to his walk. He was going to take her skin. All it would require would be a touch, a swift movement. He had never wore a female skin before, and thought this might be interesting.

Just as he slowly reached out to touch her, to take her skin from her. To make his own disguise, to.make her identity his. . . . No much longer now . . . he approached her . . . closer . . .  closer . . .

He cried out, a sudden wall of earth and stone quickly separated the two. He could not get the skin now! He hadn't even made contanct!

"By the look on your face -- as well as uour general appearance -- I believe I am truly talking to the skinwalker, right?" said a figure in silhoutte from the roughly 9 AM sun. It was Cloak, and he appeared to be alone, but that didn't mean he was.

Ivan actually thought it was a name the cloaked on conferred upon him. He liked it.

"Yes, I'm Skinwalker," he said, snidely, not bothering to disguise his voice. When he got another skin, he wouldn't be using his voice, unless he wanted people to know that it was him. He was certain that he would get another skin. Cloak's eyes narrowed. He knew that "Skinwalker" had just given himself that name. "And now, if you don't mind, I have to find a skin to walk."

"What makes you think that I will permit that?" Cloak said, voice colder than the vacuum of space.

[redtailedsaffa]

Heh, I noticed he went from Skinner to Skinwalker.

[Cloak]

Uh, right. . . . Uh, planned that all along, I really did.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
A Painful Book

"What you permit?" Skinwalker echoed, with a hysterical tone that made him look and sound rather insane. "What makes you think that I have to care what you permit?"

Cloak said nothing, but stood before him, arms crossed parentally, with a cold, hard expression on his face. His cloak billowed slightly in the wind, as he Earthsighted (not taking his eyes off Ivan) that the lady had long since taken off, startled by the sudden wall of earth.

"You have any right!" Ivan screamed suddenly. Cloak did not flinch, he did not change his expression or react at all, it seemed. "You have no right to tell me to come here and tell me what to do, alien!"

Normally, it would have been a good tactic to use. Normally, it would get Cloak to question his own actions, his own interferences, in the lives of these Dwellers, as well as his friends. But Cloak's expression remained stony.

"You have no right to be here! You and that she-devil --"

Then Cloak recognized something in the words, between the lines.

"So," Cloak said, voice heavy and dark, "you survived, did you?"

This threw Skinwalker for a loop. Whatever he had been expected, it wasn't that. It was like Cloak wasn't even addressing him. His body almost ached -- he needed a new disguise soon, he decided. He needed to distract Cloak. Then his body ached again, but this time it felt different, as if someone was pulling at a blanket he was sharing.

"I had thought that we had destroyed you," Cloak said, "but you had managed to cling to a shred of life, haven't you?"

"What are you talking ab--" Skinwalker said, before doubling over in pain.

"I'm not talking to you, 'Skinwalker'," Cloak said. But he was looking at Skinwalker, though. "I am talking to her. I know you can hear me."

"Her?" Skinwalker grunted, through spasms of varying pain. "There is no her here! There is just you and me!"

"I see now." Cloak said. "You found a hapless mortal being, gave him one of most vile powers you could, and you've been using him to gather up enough energy as so to fully resurrect yourself. Skinwalker there is nothing but your pawn."

"I am no one's pawn!" Skinwalker said, indignant.

"Bibliophaetos, come out, and stop hiding in your pawn!"

[redtailedsaffa]

I can almost visualize this happening.

[Cloak]

Only almost? J/k.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Book Burning

"What?" Skinwalker said, utterly perplexed. "Who is Bibliopha -- ack!"

Still racked with pain, the dark aura appeared around Skinwalker, as if he had suddenly became a Shadow Pokemon. Then he vomited out the book of pure evil, whose pages opened up, and a face tried to manifest in the middle, where the pages joined together.

Skinwalker was shocked at this and grabbed at what appeared to be a wisp of darkness as he scuttled towards the earthen wall. Clearly, he was truly a pawn, as he had no knowledge of this creature. But Bibliophaetos failed to manifest herself -- she hadn't gained enough energy to be able to. As such, she couldn't communicate audibly. She also couldn't have simply possessed Skinwalker when she was inside, as that would have taken more energy than simply manifesting herself.

Cloak repeated this all back to her, and he saw words appear upon the pages, but could not and would not read them. But from the sheer amount, he could tell that she was ranting and monologuing. Cloak couldn't care less. But one thing remained, one thing was certain.

The book had to go.

Cloak opened up his palm, forced to use his least favorite element, and fired a concussive blast of flame at the book. Nothing happened. So . . . conventional means won't work. Cloak was so absorbed with dealing with Bibliophaetos's book, that he hadn't noticed that Skinwalker was no longer present, that he still retained his vile power.

Cloak glared down at the book, lying inert upon the ground, words being hastily scribbled on its . . . pages . . .

Cloak hit upon a notion. What if this evil book wasn't like just an ordinary book, even a spellbook? What if it behaved more like . . . like a Horcrux? By all the evidence offered, that would seem to be the logical case. In which case, then burning it would never work. But he didn't have basilisk venom with him, nor did he know anyone who did. Not even Broken, who usually keeps a store of magical items and potion ingredients for his various forms of magic. Cloak would not even dare to try and summon Fiendfyre, he was not that stupid.

Then what? What could destroy this book permanently?

Cloak looked down, pondering hard over this quandary. Doing this, he caught sight of his Mark. Of course. That answer was painfully obvious.

"We caught your signal flare," Saffa said, running up. She was clearly referring to the fire Cloak had tried to use on the book. He didn't correct her. "What's up?"

Abby, Underseen, Wild, Hunter, FuBar, and Bladeh arrived soon after.

"Unity Pulse the book," Cloak said, before deciding that further clarification was in order, "Bibliophaetos's book."

They did and it appeared to work, but it appeared to have been destroyed the first time, as well. . . .

"Uh, where's the skinwalker?" Hunter asked.

Cloak looked around. "Oh, Gateburst."

[Cloak]

'Nother chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Avoid and Evade

Skinwalker had escaped quickly. No one saw what was in that tendril of shadow that he picked up. It was a fully-restored skin of Dillion, which he quickly put on when he was far enough away. His body stopped aching, as he relished the new youth, the new vitality, that he felt. He let out a maliciously mirthful chuckle, which, of course, was in Dillion's voice.

"The foolish dullards will never find me now." he said, with Dillion's voice, but Skinwalker's tone, inflection, and words were radically different from what and how the real Dillion would say them. "Huh. I can't access his memories anymore."

It was true, Bibliophaetos's book provided him with that information. But Skinwalker wasn't stupid by any means, just a vile man who placed no value on human life, other than his own -- if you could still call him a human. He correctly surmised that it would only give him eight and a half hours, tops, with this skin before it wore out. A suspicion had crawled into his mind as well, maybe one or two of the cloaked one's cohorts may have seen the skin's face, distorted though it was, and could possibly recognize it.

That could be a problem. He needed to avoid and evade them at the moment, he thought, as he no longer desired revenge for now that he thought about it, the cloaked one had never done anything to him . . . but deny him a new skin.

But no matter, he would find one. One far more enjoyable to wear . . .

***

A pop star was having a raucous party at his manor. His name was Dustin Ross, and he was a singer that people either hated with a passion or loved and adored with equal emotion, there was no in-between on the subject. You either loved him or hated him. He didn't have very much commonsense, and usually went for as opulent a lifestyle as he could have.

But what his fans didn't know was that he was mostly a lip-syncher (passing off any irregularities or contradictions as the fact that he "recorded the lyrics in the studio beforehand, in the event he lost his voice",  which was a lie, of course, but he got away with it), though he did apparently write all his songs, though it was nothing to really brag about as the songs were rather simplistic and basic in terms of music.

Had he had more commonsense, he wouldn't have had such a large party with such lax security. A boy had snuck in, he was roughly Dustin's age, if maybe a year or two younger. He looked rather ratty, which apparently was "retro chic" to this particular demographic. No one noticed that this boy's skin was pale, yet jaundiced, and his hair whispy and frail.

Had Dustin had more commonsense, he would have realized that he just might be cornered in his overly opulent bathroom. That there were worse things than fans that looked to him as a demigod for some reason. But alas . . .

He didn't.

"Good evening, Mr. Ross," said "Dillion", hands behind his back as Dustin had come into his bathroom to use it.

"How'd you get in here?" Dustin demanded.

"You really shouldn't spread your security team so thin," Skinwalker said, "it was laughably easy. But that will change soon."

"You bet your --"

"Oh, such language." Skinwalker said, enjoying this cat-and-mouse banter a little too much. "What if I were truly this age?"

"What the h--"

"But never mind that," Skinwalker said, seizing the pop star's hand, "and give me some skin!"

[redtailedsaffa]

Did the book get destroyed?

[Cloak]

*in a frustratingly enigmatic way* Perhaps, Saffa. Perhaps . . .

It certainly looks that way for now, and the in-narrative RAFians believe it to be destroyed. But! You never know . . .

[spoiler]But I'll go ahead and say that it has yet to appear in any books I've planned on from this one, but that doesn't mean it won't come back, you know. Hence why the deliberate ambiguity.[/spoiler]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Aware and Unaware

Skinwalker was enjoying Dustin's life immensely. He wasn't so careless about security as this idiot pop star was, in fact it was such a sudden change in his personality, people wondered where this paranoia came from, but none seemed to guess. "Dustin" didn't seem to be having as much parties as he used to, something rather unusual for this formerly out-of-control, wild teenager. It seemed like someone had flipped a switch, with "Dustin" becoming more miserly, more of withdrawn.

No one knew the truth, of course. That the beloved and hated pop star was nothing more than a skin worn by a middle-aged man who liked the success that he didn't earn nor deserve (though one could make the same argument for Dustin), who liked the abject opulence of this lifestyle. The problems with the law and whatnot were mere nuisances, and stopped completely when Dustin had his . . . his "changeover".

Normally, Skinwalker would have had only eight and a half hours to enjoy this, but he stumbled upon a complex chemical, a preservative, that not only prolonged the life of the skin with every treatment, but enabled Skinwalker to wear it longer and enabled him to somehow mimic the voice outside the skin. The skin required treatment about every three days for about two hours, with two hours to dry. The goop was kept in a large metal vat. During this time, "Dustin" demanded to be alone in his overlarge room, and he knew he had a limited supply.

He managed this for a month, becoming complacent with the routine. He actually took it for granted, unaware that people were noting the inconsistencies of Dustin's "old" personality of flaunting his wealth and "music", despite being a talentless hack, and his "new" conserving, hording personality. There even was a The Onion parody of Dustin Ross being a 51-year-old pedophile man in a rubbery, latex mask and wig (which some people went out of their way to dispute, apparently oblivious to the joke*), which was remarkably close to the truth, though radically off in some aspects. Skinwalker, if he even was aware of this parody, was indifferent to it, as only the most idiotic would lent any credence.

But he kept forgetting that he was supposed to be in hiding . . . and, as such, chose the completely wrong identity to do so, as the RAFians found out those months ago. Paparazzi were everywhere, and it was, frankily, a miracle that his secret wasn't exposed yet. It helped that the room he gave the skin its treatment in was windowless and dimly lit.

The tabloids were reporting The Onion's story as truth (rather truer than their version, actually). But as it was in an issue claiming that the Slender Man and Bigfoot had a baby . . . it was treated with the finest grain of salt.

Anyway, after "Dustin" got done lounging on his porch (or veranda, or whatever it was), he went inside. It was time to give his suit the last treatment, as his supply of the strange chemical goo was dwindling. He did not know if he could give it another treatment. He did not know if he would have enough.

He was perfectly unaware that he was being watched by a couple of pairs of amber eyes.

---
*Based on a true thing -- The Onion made a identical fictitious claim against Justin Bieber and there were people who actually believed it, or went to try to disprove it. I actually just discovered this today.

[redtailedsaffa]

The offspring of Slender Man and Bigfoot would be the creepiest thing ever.

[Cloak]

Perhaps.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Baiting the Skinwalker

Click!

Skinwalker flicked on the light to the room that the treatment tub for his skin suit. He had brought in a Kindle Fire to read a newspaper, which was exceedingly out-of-character for Dustin, who did not read if he didn't have to, which he had basically explained away as he was just going to use it as a tablet.

The fluorescent light buzzed and crackled benignly, and yet somewhat ominously. Skinwalker deftly ignored it, as he started to tug at the back of his head, revealing his true, somewhat coarser hair. He lifted lid on the tub, not noticing the small sticky note stuck to it flitter to the ground at his feet.

What he saw left him enraged. The chemical was gone! It was like the tub had been scrubbed clean. He couldn't give the skin its treatment! Without that goo, without its repeated treatment, this skin would decompose like all the others!

It was then he noticed the sticky note that had fluttered to the floor. The letters looked to be typewritten. He read it very quickly, as there were only two words:

We know.

He flipped it to the other side, and saw nothing. Who could possibly know about this? He told no one, insured no one knew! This was a secret room! Several defensive measures went into it. Who could have possibly got in? How would they know the security codes and the locations of the secret buttons? It was impossible!

Unless . . . unless it was them. But what could they do to him? He hadn't taken any new skins for weeks. He was Dustin for all this time, and he had been living peacefully and contentedly. He had not harmed anyone as Dustin, and even treated people in his employ better than the original Dustin did!

Skinwalker honestly believed that since his crimes happened so long ago that they were no longer applicable, which was wrong. He was still held responsible for it, the families of his victims (except Dustin's family, who remained unaware, although some were suspicious) had continued to look for their children, until they discovered their horribly mutated and skinless bodies. All except Dillion's family, who were futilely holding hope for his return. The RAFians hadn't any proof, and, unless a body is found to confirm their fears, they will continue to hope.

Skinwalker was perfectly aware of their plight, but did not care. He was becoming as heartless and evil as Bibliophaetos by the day, and he hadn't even noticed. Although she was not within him it seemed, her influence remained somewhat.

Then Skinwalker noticed a second note, stuck to the wall. He crossed to the note and read the single word on it, before taking off, still wearing Dustin's skin, and leaving his -- that is to say, Dustin's -- manor.

What was written on the note?

Run.