Abracadabra

Abracadabra

“Ladies and gentlemen… thank you for coming.”

The performer bowed low upon the dusty stage, touching the brim of the large flashy top hat resting on his head. Aside from a cheap suit and a deep red tie, the man wore a gleeful smile on his face. He was going to enjoy this.

With a dramatic sweep of his tattered black cape he turned around to behold his stage, his back to the audience. His preparations were complete, and everything looked perfect. An elegant wooden box had been set up on a table, large enough to fit a person inside. It had been polished so much he could practically see his face in it, and it gleamed in the overhead lights. It was the only thing visible on the stage at the moment. Everything else he needed was hidden behind the brilliant red curtain that hung behind him.

“I am your host this evening… You may call me Hatter.” His voice boomed throughout the spacious amphitheater, and he twirled a slender black cane in his fingers as he turned to flash an almost maddened grin at his audience, teeth yellowed and crooked. The brim of his hat overshadowed his eyes, the cheap lighting from overhead casting them in darkness. “I’ve gone to great pains to set up this performance for you all. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.” He thrust the tip of his cane down against the stage floor, creating a hollow thunk that echoed for seemingly ages. “I know I will.” He received no reply.

“For my first trick, I will need a volunteer. Thankfully a young miss has already offered herself.” Walking back to the red curtain he threw it open, revealing a young girl seated in a chair. Her wrists and ankles were bound with thick ropes, and her eyes were glazed and disoriented. Her blonde hair hung messily around her face, and evidence of tear trails remained on her face. She blinked at the light, moving groggily. She attempted to speak, but was hindered by the tape covering her mouth.

“Ah, the lovely miss…” Hatter paused momentarily, a small card appearing in his hand with a flick of his wrist, and he read it over before tossing it away. “Sarah Lavinger. How are you this evening?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she started to shake her head slowly, making muffled sounds.

“That’s good. I am quite well myself, thank you for asking.” Striding over to the wooden box he hooked fingers beneath the edge and lifted a heavy lid, hinges squeaking ominously. “I am very grateful for your help. I couldn’t do this trick without you, after all.” Peering into the empty box, he twiddled his fingers together eagerly and then turned to walk toward the woman, Sarah Lavinger. She stiffened at his approach, beginning to struggle against her bonds.

Hatter knelt slowly, almost caringly, and lifted Sarah from the chair like a bride, cradling her in his arms. “Pardon me, Miss Lavinger.” She shook her head more frantically now, attempting to wiggle free. Unperturbed, Hatter carried her gently over to the box and placed her inside, the interior plush and cushioned. “Comfy?” he asked. Her cries sounded almost hoarse behind the gag, and her feet began to thunk against the side of the box. “Good.”

He slammed the lid forcefully closed, the wooden top clapping down loudly. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, this trick is a very special trick.” He began wandering back toward the curtain again, disappearing behind it for a moment. “For this performance, I shall proceed to…” A thunderous roar sounded from behind the curtain, as if he had suddenly transformed into a hideous beast, and then died off. Then it sounded again. And again. This time it did not die, and instead rumbled continuously. Hatter once more emerged from behind the curtain, wielding in his hands a large, revving chainsaw. “Cut Miss Lavinger in half,” he finished with his diisturbing stained grin.

He approached the wooden coffin, for that was indeed what it was, with slow, foreboding steps, revving the chainsaw like a child with a new toy. He stopped beside the coffin, poor Sarah’s muffled yells only barely audible over the chainsaw’s roar. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remember that this is a professional act, and not for the faint of heart.” He raised the chainsaw over his head, two gleaming orbs shining maliciously from the shadows beneath his top hat. “Please do not try this at home.”

The chainsaw came down, slicing through the coffin with surprising speed, until its blades emerged from the bottom and cut through even the table beneath, the whole thing collapsing to the floor. It happened so fast, one might even have missed the sound of tearing flesh and grinding bone amongst the clamor. Blood seeped from the severed coffin, ever so slowly and pooled on the floor.

Hatter stood over it triumphantly, curious red stains marring his once perfect suit. Without a second thought he tossed the chainsaw carelessly away, the large machine crashing loudly to the stage as its engine died away. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is magic!” He spread his arms to the ceiling triumphantly, basking in his own glory. But still he received no reply.

But his audience had a good reason. He stared out into the many seats, the first few rows of which were occupied by others sitting in silence. Or at least relative silence. Each and every one of their mouths was covered in tape similar to the late Sarah Lavinger’s, and like Sarah they were bound hand and foot and tied to their chairs, unable to move. Their eyes were panicked, and they squirmed in blind fright, a signt that sent shivers up Hatter’s spine.

But there was no escape. Besides, no one would miss them. He’d made sure of that.

“I do hope that was entertaining!” Hatter shoved the broken coffin and table, blood and all, to the side of the stage, wood sliding easily on the blood-stained floor. “Now, for my next trick…” He turned to the audience with a familiar uneven grin, flinging aside his cape like the true performer he was, the master of his very own stage, practically a diety within the abandoned amphitheater he claimed as his home. “I’ll need a volunteer…”