Magic and Illusions "A Harry Houdini Story"

Magic and Illusions

"A Harry Houdini Story"

"Shhh. Not a sound!" He whispered, his voice echoing throughout the theater, which had been acoustically modified to bounce his voice from one area to the next, amplifying it until it vibrated the bones of the ears of everyone listening. That caused their very bodies to vibrate, as if a gentle massage were being applied, and calmed them.

He needed to calm them. His next stunt was dangerous, even for him. He thrived on danger, not reckless danger, but danger that involved him mastering a challenger, or taking on a challenge he had yet to face and grow from.

Harry Houdini was the consummate escape artist and magician. He used his various skills to manifest an act of such profound terror and awe that the audiences sat spellbound through every minute, every second of it, some of them even fainting from holding their breath too long. Others piling on the popcorn, candy and teas that the vendors who moved silently throughout the theater and sold.

That very side job was what truly paid him, not the theater tickets. Most of that paid for his helpers, the light engineers, the stage workers, the ticket takers, the manager and the rent of the theater. He owed it. It was named "Magic and Illusions" after the very acts that he produced throughout the year.

Since he was as likely to go on an adventure or assignment with his Baker Street friends, he had created a career that could be hot sparked at a moment's notice to create more income for him and his people relished the time off they had in between job assignments, as he didn't hold back on sharing the monies freely with them. There were no poor people working for him, at least not after they had been employed for a time.

He hated  poverty and its lack of medicine, the snide remarks, the dark consequences of mixing in with those of more. He had endured all those things until he had built a career that was magnificent enough he could rise from his own poverty and then begin to spread his own abundance around to alleviate the suffering of others.

While he was wealth in laymen terms, he was not onerously wealthy. He didn't have a home that was ten stories tall as some of the wealthiest did, nor have expensive imports and portraits painted by the greatest artists of his time. No, his home was a single story dwelling with enough room to sleep in, plan his acts in...a cellar basement for that with two rooms for storage and invention...and four bedrooms, a dining room, a library, an exercise room and a kitchen. It would seem like a lot to the very poor of London, but not to a middle class citizen, of which he was not. He prided himself on the simpler abode, for he often had guests, so the extra three bedrooms were as likely as not to be filled with either family or friends, or both. 

His near Baker Street friends such as Watson and Holmes came to visit, but rarely stayed, but some of those who lived under the sea such as Captain Nemo, or in the clouds like Wells and Verne, they would come and stay sometimes for weeks or even months if they had an adventure together in London.

It kept his life full and rewarding. He had no woman in his life, he didn't think it fair to involve them in the risks he constantly took on stage and in the battlefield of crime and adventure. Though he did have a sweetheart he saw infrequently, who someone kept true to him and steady in his affections, whom one day he just might settle down with and have little Houdini's.

He smiled at that as he clasped one muscular hand and arm after another on the rope and climbed into the gigantic bottle that looked like an enlarged wine bottle with a narrow neck he could only get through with great effort. This was the sale of his act this time. He would submerge himself within the well of water of the giant bottle, have three chains tied to his ankles and feet, five metal balls, and his hands padlocked behind his back so he couldn't work his personal magic.

Oh yes, he smiled. He could do REAL magic, but he preferred the stage magic for the excitement of it, keeping the more ethereal magic for his adventures with the Baker Street fellows, or the occasional research he would do in the Orients for little known magics and fantasy elements he could incorporate into his act.

He would only use real magic when his life or that of another's was in danger. Though he and Conan would sometimes use it to defraud charlatan psychics and wizards who claimed powers they didn't in order to fill their bank accounts at the expense of those with broken hearts. They didn't bother the ones that read palms and predicted marriages, and such, for they never overcharged, but the ones who claimed to be just somewhat short of gods, they had to be accountable. One way or the other.

So in the course of time and years of learning he and Conan had made many friends, saved many a poor soul the loss of their fortunes, and been scorned as heathens and worshippers of the devil by the very people who actually did so.

Harry laughed inwardly as he reached the top of the bottle and turned to face the crowd. He waved his hands as he delicately balanced on the edge of the bottle to the cheer of the crowd, then waited as  his crew hefted the balls and chains to the top of the bottle, in preparation for plunging them into the warmer waters and then he as well.

Outwardly he exalted at the pleasure he brought the audience, but inwardly, he was a bit nervous, for he had seen an old enemy in the audience this night. One he had not seen perhaps for five years. Time had not been this man's friend. He had never been a looker before, but on this night he looked as dark as a devil. And no doubt as malicious and dangerous as before. The last time they had met, the man had tried to stake him in the heart, mistaking Harry for a demon of the night...a vampire.

He laughed inwardly. Vampires were not demons, but modified humans with a touch of magic mixed into them from Elven heritage. 

Harry had ended up in the hospital for a month from the wound, which only the skilled hands of Doctor Watson and the dear Madame Curie had been able to preserve him.

He had discovered the whereabouts of the scoundrel, then used his real magic to send him off to a side realm...a parallel world where his kind could prosper with fellows of a like mind. Some might call that cruel and unusual punishment, but he didn't think it was cruel to offer a man who had attempted to murder him because of his misguide religious beliefs a way to redeem himself. He had given the man a path back to their London, but only if he were to change his ways.

But tonight as he looked out into the audience for the man, and remembering that look, he knew the man had not truly changed at all. Which was unfortunate. For both him and Harry.

No matter. Each challenge on its own merits he thought as he slid into the water feet first, the balls and chains collapsing to the bottom of the bottom and pulling him to follow.

In moments bubbles of air began frothing to the surface of the bottle as he squeezed through by squeezing through its narrow neck. He would not be able to come out as easily, for the pressure of the water and its viscosity would cause his body to swell somewhat because of its warmth and he would have to painfully squeeze back out after unhinging his shoulder blades, which would cause him remarkable pain...at least until he moved them back into their proper orbits once more.

His crew corked the bottle with a jazzy looking cork that was sparkly and gorgeously decorated to offset the danger of what he was doing. For it was dangerous. Extremely.

He heard his announcer, Jacob Marley, tell the crowd. "From the moment we corked Harry Houdini into the bottle he will have only seventy seconds to escape the bottle. His ability to hold his breath is no more than seventy seconds.

"We pray he shall prevail so we can all applaud him and come again for another night of thrills and chills in the House of Magic and Illusions."

Harry's cue had been spoken. He began twisting and pulling, unhinging his wrists so he could slide the padlocks from them. Once dropped,  he carefully began to raise his feet one at a time and working on the balls and chains. There were three on each leg, so it took him another twenty seconds to do each leg. He had used fifteen seconds already for the announcement and removing the pad locks. He now had twenty seconds of air left and already he could feel his lungs straining to not let go what precious oxygen he had left and suck in the water for air instead.

Outside Jacob announced, "Nineteen seconds. Eighteen Seconds."

Harry kicked free the last of the balls and chains, straightened up and hinged his arms and legs properly again as he wriggled towards the cork to free it.

"Nine seconds. Eight seconds." Jacob's voice droned outside the bottle.

Harry smiled. Piece of cake. He lifted his hands and pummeled the cork. It had taken him five seconds last time, and he still had seven.

"Seven seconds."

Harry pummeled the cork again, but it didn't budge. 

Must be the extra curry I had for breakfast this morning he thought to himself, then still smiling pummeled the cork again, even harder.

He could feel his lungs on the verge of exploding.

Spots were beginning to form before his eyes.

"Two seconds."

The cork wouldn't budge.

The crowd in the theater rose as one in horror, hands holding each other, clenched to mouths, looks of horror as Harry appeared to be unable to get free.

Harry started to panic. He was out of air.

The old enemy in the audience rose from his chair, a look of satisfaction on his face as he saw Harry's look of terror and his thrashing to get out.

"Good-bye, old friend." He muttered as he turned to leave.

As he did so he came face to face with Sherlock Holmes and Watson, behind them was Inspector Bloodstone.

Harry suddenly froze in the bottle, closed his eyes, then as effortlessly as a seal sliding through a hoop, stepped through the glass of the bottle onto the stage, his whole body dripping water. He began gasping for air. His crew rushed forwards to drape him in warm cloth, then lead him towards the backstage as the audience broke into thunderous applause.

"You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Master Magician and Illusionist, Harry Houdini." Inspector Bloodstone said sternly.

The old enemy snarled and broke free, running for the stage, drawing a pistol as he fled the law. "Die Harry! You foul heathen and offense to God!" He cried out and fired, the same time as Watson and Holmes fired their own weapons.

The old enemy snapped backwards, then collapsed.

On the stage, Harry dropped the cloths about him, turned around smiling and revealed a smoking bullet in between his fingers.

The audience, thinking the death was staged, broke into thunderous applause, yelling and screaming their love for him.

Harry, however was not happy. He had tried to save a soul and it hadn't worked. Some just would not change no matter how many chances they were given.

He dropped from the stage and felt his old enemy's throat for a pulse, then motioned to his helpers, who came down and covered him with cloths.

"Magic and Illusions." He uttered to the dead man. "That's all I am. Magic and Illusions. But you had life and breath. Now...not even that. May God have mercy on your soul."

He turned around and climbed back onto the stage to prepare for his next act. His friends had used his act to help him catch the man, but instead all had gone wrong. He had much to think about where he had gone wrong in his own actions, to allow this soul slip through into a self made hell.

Sadly, he left the stage. With great remorse he went to his stage room to ponder the meaning of his life. Such was the life of Harry Houdini that night.

The Tantalizing Fly by Max Fleischer

A combination of live action and animation. Made a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

:)

Zombies of the Stratosphere, Chapter Eight

Zombies of the Stratosphere Chapter Seven

fractals galore

New fractal

The Awakening "A Lovelight Story" by John Pirillo

She couldn't remember the first word she said to her father, but to her mother she remembered everything. "Beautiful."

Her mother had made a sound like a kitten mewling as she held her in her arms. "She remembers."

Her father had said. "That's ridiculous. Babies don't remember what you say in the womb."

She remembered the smile on her mother's face. It was like the sun coming from behind the clouds to brighten the day. "Lovelight does."

Her name was Cynthia Lovelight, but everyone called him Cindy for short. Her teacher called her Lovelight and that kind of got nailed to her as she grew up. Her friends, whenever they were in a mood to tease would say, "Hey! Has the light gone out yet?"

She had looked at Jimmy Patton, the first one who had teased her. He had this big green and yellow aura and there was a huge black area that was growing near his lungs. She had been totally frightened at the time and said nothing, her heart pounding so heavily in her chest; she had wanted to scream out in pain and fear. But she hadn't. Something she learned quickly over her early years was not to give into fear. It was the enemy.

Jimmy had died several months earlier from advanced TB, Tuberculosis. Had she known at the time what she was seeing, maybe she could have saved him, but later as she grew older and read about how the cancer spread, she knew she couldn't have. She was just being given an insight. She didn't know how to weigh it in her heart and mind at the time. She was too busy getting prepped for the Senior Prom, which Elmer Wilson had invited her to.

All the girls teased her mercilessly about him. He was awkward and shy, even if over six feet tall and stooped over as if afraid for anyone to see how tall he really was. She never did find out, because they never made it to the Prom. He had crashed his car on a mountain pass, and narrowly avoided death. She hadn't known about it until the next day, after many anxious hours of negating herself and blaming herself for him abandoning her at the last moment. She had gone to sleep that night and seen him in a dream where he was smiling, very tall and very handsome, wearing a gun holster and a cool suit and tie. 

He had told her he loved her and always would. "Everyone calls me Ed."

He winked broadly, revealing a perfect set of teeth and a smile worth a million dollars. 

"Rumors of my death were...to quote William Shatner...premature."

She had laughed in her dream, because the way he said it was so jokey. So cool. If anyone could have won a prize for being the coolest guy, he would have, if he were real.

Then the next morning her mother had awakened her gently and said that Elmer was all right. But that he had been in a car accident. She had cried then with relief, first for herself, to her shame, and then for him. 

"Mom! We've got to go and see him at the hospital. He'll be all alone!"

Her Mom had smiled and dangled the car keys in front of her. "All ready parked out front, ready to go."

She had hugged her Mom, run into the bathroom, showered and did all the things a young teen does when she's a girl, and maybe a few more, then ran outside to join her Mom, eating an apple as she ran.

Her Mom scooted over from the driver's wheel. "You drive."

She had gotten in. All excited. She had only passed her Learner's Permit a week ago.

She gave her Mom a quick hug and kisses, then turned the engine over and laid a strip of rubber out of the driveway, leaving a smoking trail behind them.

"Whoops!" She had blurted.

Her Mom, always the gentle one, patted her knee. "I crashed my first car. Backed it into the garage when I punched the gas pedal, instead of the brake."

They both laughed, and then remained silent the further ten miles to the hospital. They lived on the e outreaches of a small mountain town named Placerville. It had all kinds of rumors and mythology hanging about its neck, just like the dead miner hanging over the Post Office for all to see. A sign, not a real person. 

Lots of miners had come there for gold and found little, if nothing and many had met tragic deaths through greed and quarreling.

They reached the Placerville Memorial Hospital and she parked as carefully as she could, only running up over the curb twice, before finally settling the old Ford into place. She blew out a breath of air, then took in a deep breath and looked at her Mom, who nodded, then got out.

They held hands as they went through the lobby doors. At the receptionist desk her Mother told them they were friends of the family and were given a Candy Striper to guide them to his room. He was seated up in bed, sipping some water when they entered. No flowers, no cards. No family. No one.

For some strange reason Lovelight ran to him and hugged him tight, then began crying as if he were dead instead. He had given her a look of surprise, then held her close, thankful for her warmth and her spirit. He looked at the Mom, who was smiling at the both of him. She whispered, "Be right back." And exited.

Lovelight pulled back and sat down beside his bed, took one of his hands and pressed it. "I was so mad at you last night for dumping me!"

He laughed, and then made a painful expression. Then laughed again and looked pained again. "I think I better not laugh again; it really hurts."

"Why are you laughing?" She had demanded, starting to get angry instead of relieved as earlier.

"Because the whole time they were hauling me here in the Ambulance, I was thinking I just screwed up the best and only date of my life."

She barked with laughter and despite the pain of it, he laughed again as well.

"I see you two are enjoying yourselves." Her Mom had said, entering the room with a vase of flowers. She set them down on the bedside table, then pulled out a wad of comic books from her purse and handed them over.

He grabbed the comics and stared at them so hard, Lovelight thought his head would explode. Finally, he looked up and she could see tears in his eyes. "I don't know how to thank you. No one has ever been this kind to me before."

Her Mom looked at her, a concerned look in her face, then took his other hand and pressed it. "You're very welcome, Elmer."

"Call me Ed. I like that name better."

Lovelight gasped. 

Elmer and her Mom looked at her in surprise. "What's wrong?" Her Mom finally managed to say.

"That's what he told me in my dream last night. My name's Ed!"

Then she felt this pulsing in her forehead and a beautiful red aura wrapped around Elmer's body, pulsing with bright streaks of white light that danced about his head.

"And you said...you said..."

"What? Said what?" He asked, tensing as she prepared to answer.

"That you were visiting and just wanted to say hi and could you borrow five for your lunch?"

He laughed again, wincing in pain, then said. "That is so me."

Lovelight and her Mom drove home in silence a long time, negotiating the steep hills and slopes of the mountainous region, their windows open, allowing the fresh mountain air to soothe their spirits. As they drove Lovelight could only think why she had lied to Elmer. Then again, why not? He didn't need to know everything. He wasn't anything to her, then what a might have been first date.

She smiled, and then laughed lightly.

"That was sweet thing you did in the hospital."

"What thing? She answered without thinking.

Her mother smiled. "You're not the only one with psychic powers, my dear."

Lovelight almost drove off the road when her Mom said that. She screeched in alarm, and then slammed the brakes on, sliding their vehicle partially onto the side bar of gravel. She twisted around to look at her mother.

"It's time we talked." Her mother said, a twinkle in her eyes. "Of cabbages and kings and those sorts of things."

A new batch of Fractals for your viewing pleasure.

The Plight of a Demon "A Samuel Light Junior Story" John Pirillo

The Plight of a Demon

"A Samuel Light Junior Story"

John Pirillo

He didn't know if he was going to make the finish line or not. He could feel the heat of the thing chasing him as it closed in on him. Its breath was fetid and caused him to feel weak, but he wasn't going to give up without a fight. The crowds were cheering him on as his long legs swept him around the final leg of the track, but they couldn't see like him what was after him, who was really racing to beat him. And not just beat him, but pull him down mercilessly into a cesspool of destruction.

Even Jimbo couldn't help him this time. This thing was just pure evil.

It began that morning when he and Jimbo, his best friend, had been reading a stack of old Mystery Magazines published by Smith House. They loved the stories about brave detectives battling mysterious villains that had unknown agendas and struck down the innocent in the blink of an eye. 

They weren't rooting for evil, just marveling over how clever the detectives were who had to not only solve the crimes, but avoid being killed in the process.

Samuel knew and Jimbo, his best friend, a tall rascally export from Texas, had similar ambition. To live life to its fullest in pursuit of the unknown. To solve mysteries and crimes. To help those in distress and save the innocents.

Which when he thought back on it, he might have spared a little of that juice on saving himself s well. They had bought a new batch of mags at a downtown thrift store. It hadn't been there last time they had looked, but this time they found it after some really creepy looking person accidentally dislodged it from a higher up shelf, one they hadn't realized had any books at all.

He had turned after knocking it down and given them both a leer that caused Jimbo to stiffen as if ready to go into battle and Samuel to clench his fists, gathering some of his newly found powers of defense. But they weren't needed. The creepy person had touched his forehead where the third eye is, then gave them a really gruesome grin and exited the store.

"Who was that man?" Samuel had asked the clerk as they checked out with the string bound stack of detective mags. 

The Clerk shrugged. "Comes in here sometimes, leaves things. Don't know why. He doesn't ask for any kind of charitable receipt. Just scares the crap out of everyone in here, then leaves."

Jimbo scowled. "Well, whatever he's leaving, I don't want it!"

Samuel agreed.

They paid for the mags and stepped to the exit. The Clerk hollered after them. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, I don't know where those mags came from."

Jimbo and Samuel exchanged wary glances, but exited.

At Samuel's house they sat on his bed sorting through the stack. 

"Weird Tales, Detective Tales, Tales of Death and Destruction." Jimbo named.

"Look here, Jimbo. This one is really strange. Never heard of it before." Samuel pointed out, holding up a very thin magazine with a glossy black cover and a single word on it. "Danger."

"Why would someone publish a magazine with one word on its cover?"

Samuel felt this odd tingling in his wrist when he had picked it up, but had ignored it, thinking he was just picking up on some weird vibes of whoever had held it last. You see, Samuel is not your ordinary teenager wanna be detective, he was a psychic detective, a spiritual one. He could see dead people, sometimes heal people, and see past lives. And other things kept popping up as he grew older as well.

"I did get kind of a weird vibe on this one, Jimbo."

"Let's can it!" Jimbo urged, not afraid of anything, but this mag creeped him out big time.

"Sure. Don't need no Pandora's Box to keep me happy." Samuel said.

He took the mag and headed for downstairs, then to the back of the house and out back where the garbage cans were kept. He opened the nearest and tossed the mag in and closed it. When he finished he turned to leave, then heard a weird sound.

He turned around and the garbage can was shaking like something alive had got trapped in it. Had he let an animal in it somehow? He didn't see how, but he had to check. He loved squirrels and those kinds of cute creatures.

He lifted the lid of the garbage can and was knocked onto his butt as something flew out into his face and slammed into him. He sat there stunned as something as dark as the magazine rose from the garbage can and eyed him with such intensity that he felt like he were being x-rayed. It had laughed in a scary sort of way, and then vanished.

He was so shaken when he got back upstairs to speak with Jimbo, that even Jimbo could see something was wrong. He told his friend.

"It's that creepy guy. Some kind of monster bomb."

Samuel laughed. "There's no such thing as monsters."

Jimbo scowled at him, doing his best to make his point. "How quickly you forget the creatures we've been fighting over the last few years."

"Oh." Samuel said, suddenly sobering up and feeling frightened again.

That's when Al showed up, his invisible friend, who also happened to be the smartest man on the planet, or at least had been until he had crossed over into the Light.

Al sat on the desk next to the window, which was half way open to let in sunlight and fresh air, and then waved a finger at Samuel. "You have been tricked, Samuel."

"How?"

"Who you talking to?" Jimbo asked, and then s hut up as Samuel ignored him and rose to speak to what appeared to be an empty desktop. 

"How were we tricked?"

"Just remember not everything is as it seems, and not everything seems as it is." Al had told him, then with a wise smile had vanished, leaving Samuel more frightened and confused than before.

Samuel flopped onto his bed, causing Jimbo to bounce up and down a moment.

"What're we going to do about it?" Jimbo asked. "Your invisible friend with advice knows, right?"

"But he's not telling. Something vague like don't trust what you see and don't see what you trust."

"Figures. Those wise guys like Yoda enjoy pranking our minds."

Samuel laughed and Jimbo grinned. 

"Time to crème it up!" Jimbo announced.

They went to the local Freeze Dairy and had two scoops of Raspberry Sherbet and Banana Crème Pie and licked them down happily, letting the garbage can incident drop behind them as they planned the rest of their weekend.

But now it was weekend goodbye, and demon hello as Samuel raced against time and destruction against some kind of evil entity that was not racing in the track meet to win a prize, but to stop Samuel from doing so or worse.

Samuel dared to glance over his right shoulder. Big mistake.

The misty being was just a few feet away and looking right at him with a smile that could kill.

Samuel stumbled and then went flying across the track field, as the other teams flew past him, not one stopping to see if he was all right. The crowd let out gasps of dismay and worry. Emergency teams began running towards Samuel.

Jimbo, who had been working his way around the field parallel to Samuel, hollered. "It's not over till it's over!"

Samuel rolled over and leaped back to his feet. 

The creature was leering at him happily.

Samuel suddenly knew what Al was telling him. "You don't win this one!" Samuel hollered.

Samuel put on a burst of speed, and even though he had bleeding cuts on both his knees, his wrists, hands and elbows he didn't slow down. He pumped his aching legs harder and harder, ignoring the blinding pain that was surging up them, and the threat of cramping that was growing stronger and stronger.

The other teams lost their grins as he caught even with them, waved, and then put on a final burst of speed, not even a foot from the finish line and crossed it.

The Crowd burst into cheers and applause, fireworks shot into the air, and guns rang loudly as he slowed down, then continued at a walking pace to let his muscles relax, so they wouldn't cramp. He heard a horrible scream, and then turned to see the Demon that had been chasing him shake an angry fist at him. At the same time, he felt, rather than saw the creepy man again. He spun around and the creepy man was in the crowd, his eyes furious as Samuel looked at him, smiled, and then waved.

Jimbo was not so nice.

"Hey!  You jerk!"

Jimbo bounced up the stadium seats, racing to reach the creepy man, who seemed to make a quarter degree turn on his chair, then vanish.

Later that night Samuel's Mom, back from work, laid out a meal fit for a king.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your track meet, Sammie."

"No problem, Mom. Jimbo and I had a great time."

She looked at the bandages on his wrist, hands and palms, frowned, then shrugged and went back into the kitchen, where he and Jimbo could hear her digging in the refrigerator.

"I get it." Samuel whispered to Jimbo.

"What?"

"I wasn't seeing things how they were, but how fear wanted me to see."

"Oh." Jimbo replied, not sure exactly what Samuel was talking about, but willing to go along with his friend's revelation anyway. 

Samuel clapped a hand on Jimbo's shoulder. "Friend, we're going to be the best detective team this world has ever seen."

"Since Sherlock and Watson?"

Samuel laughed. "They're just made up. We're the real thing."

Jimbo raised his root beer mug, frothing with vanilla crème. Samuel did the same.

"To us!"

"To us!" Samuel responded, and they drank their mugs down.

Samuel's Mom, in the kitchen, was alarmed when it grew suddenly so quiet, so she rushed out to see what was going on, and then burst into laughter. Both the teens had faces covered with root beer and vanilla crème and were grinning like Cheshire cats.

What neither Jimbo or the Mom saw, but Samuel did, was Al standing in the corner of the dining room, arms crossed, his shaggy wild white hair flaring outwards, and his walrus shaped mustache wriggling as he himself laughed as well.