The Last Magic Show

‘Macabre’ the reviewers had written! The wizened old man shuffled across his antique dressing room in New York City, newspaper in hand. Why in his youth he had been the toast of the town and his magic celebrated. As a young man, he had studied with the great Harry Blackstone, Sr.. And though Houdini had passed away a year before his birth, he had also been a great influence nonetheless. This was before television, the Internet, and next generation technologies. In those days, he had been greatly celebrated and his arrival eagerly anticipated.

Now, after more than 30 years in retirement he had returned for three final performances and been laughed off the stage. Nothing was sacred anymore. Magicians with a fraction of his ability and experience had revealed the trades’ secrets decades ago. The audience didn’t understand or appreciate his classic magic show any longer. They wanted 21st century special effects. The old man looked down at his aged hands. His day had long passed. But to call his refined and well rehearsed performance macabre was irreverent.

He reached into an old travel case and rooted amongst his magic paraphernalia until he found what he was looking for. Holding the bottle to the light, he tried to peer through the black glass but saw nothing. The seal still appeared as fresh as the day he had received it. Across the front, in the Scottish Gaelic highland language, read simply ‘a temptation for your time of utmost need.’

His mind wandered back to that night. Exiting the stage with a thunderous applause so great it shook the hall, he had pushed his way past celebrities and reviewers seeking escape from their enthusiasm in the confines of his dressing room. It had been his greatest performance and as he began removing his makeup, he noticed an older gentleman sitting in the corner of his dressing room calmly staring at him.
“May I help you Sir?” he had asked somewhat shocked. The man smiled and informed him that he was Aleister Crowley. “You mean the great beast himself,” he had responded, involuntarily blushing as he said it.

Mr. Crowley had simply smiled again and responded, “the very one.” They had talked for a while until finally Aleister had carefully placed in his hands the bottle and told him it was good for one and one use only and to use choose the occasion carefully because the consequences could be simply “dreadful” as he put it. He then excused himself and left. The old man had suspected a practical joke of some kind but kept the bottle as a memento of their meeting. And now, almost forgotten after all these years, he held it again. He slipped the bottle into a pocket of his aged trench coat and headed for the stage.

When he arrived, the hall was filled to capacity. The derisive reviews of his first two performances were the talk of the town and had drawn a crowd. But the audience was not here to cheer him. They were here to mock him.

The hecklers began first. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he went through the sleight of hand portion of his performance. Though it was customary at this point to ask for a member of the audience to participate, he decided not to take the risk as the heckling turned to jeers. He performed a stage trick instead.

The taunting increased until one balding drunk in the front row finally stood and yelled “Hey you old relic! For your next trick why don’t you make yourself disappear!” The crowd rolled with laughter. It was too much for the old man.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he slipped out the bottle. He broke the seal and pulled out the glass stopper. Instantly the atmosphere around him changed as some unseen evil manifested. The air grew very cold and seemed electrified in some strange way. A malevolent presence encompassed the hall quieting the audience.
Slowly at first a plume of smoke rose from the bottle. The color was of the blackest night the old man had ever seen. For a moment he was tempted to stop it with his hand but a sixth sense restrained him from such a foolish act. The plume of smoke formed into a large black cloud and floated over the audience. A woman screamed and tried to escape through an emergency exit. The unseen force held all avenues of escape shut. She sobbed and sank to the ground. Dread gripped the audience and they remained in their seats. The old man looked at the cloud. There was really no rational explanation for it.

Without warning a bolt of energy burst from the cloud and struck him. The audience groaned. He stumbled around the stage for a moment then regained his composure. He walked to the center of the stage and surveyed the crowd. As he looked into their faces he became aware that he now knew everything about them. Everything. His feelings of failure and despair vanished.

The crowd recoiled in fear as the old man chuckled and strode to the edge of the stage. Yes the worm had certainly turned. He spoke loud enough so that everyone could hear him. “And now ladies and gentlemen, for my next act I will read your minds.”

Walking from one end of the stage to the other, he began pointing out people and revealing their most shocking secrets. The lies, infidelities, and twisted acts were exposed for all to see. This took awhile. Once while revealing a peculiar secret of the balding drunken man who had jeered him earlier, he was almost assaulted. The man’s face had turned bright red. He jumped up, yelled, and attempted to climb onto the stage. Instantly a bolt of energy shot forth from the black cloud and punched a neat cylindrical hole right in the middle of the man’s chest. He collapsed backwards lifelessly his head making a sick sound as it struck the floor.

The old man paused but then continued on until every dirty secret had been revealed. When finished he said simply, “That concludes tonight’s performance ladies and gentlemen,” bowed, slipped the empty bottle back into his pocket, and left via a back exit. He never returned for his equipment and was never seen again. The black cloud floated around the room crackling with energy and scaring everyone for about an hour before finally dissipating. Only then did the crowd rush the exits. One thing was certain, no one present for the old man’s last magic show was ever the same.

Copyright 2005 © West Coast Rockets. All Rights Reserved.