Jim stood before the crowd as “The Amazing Aster.” He took the moniker from his mother, an astrology reader who called him “My Star.” Once he put on the sequined jacket and tophat, the fashion of a stage magician, he became Aster and all his employees knew it.
He did his usual card tricks, telekinetic tricks, mind reading tricks. These were common tricks he had learned since he was young, so they came second nature, even as his patter did. Then came the coffin trick. He looked out into the audience and there he was, the man who had heckled him the night before. Aster smiled at him and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Phil Thompson!” he said, and waved to the crowd.
“Done this sort of thing before, have you?” Aster asked, as the burly men brought out the coffin.
“A lot of times, exposing you people as frauds.”
“Oh, I see,” and Aster gave the audience a knowing wink. The audience laughed, and the man glared at Aster. “I need to hypnotize you–”
“Oh, no you don’t, ” Phil said loudly. “I’m going to be awake for this whooooole thing.”
Aster said quietly, “I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Oh yeah? You’re not going to hide anything from me!” He looked proud, determined.
Aster sighed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he turned to the audience, “I want to assure you that regardless of whatever you hear on this stage, this man will be returned to us unbloodied.”
Aster watched as people stopped what they were doing and leaned forward in their seats. That got their attention. Aster pointed to the coffin and said, “Well, then, Mr. Thompson, why don’t you get yourself comfortable.”
With an uptick of his head, Phil made his way to the coffin and lay down in it. It was tight for his taller and broader frame, so the puffy satin was flat against the board.
“I hope you aren’t claustrophobic in there, Mr. Thompson,” Aster said, as he closed the lid on the casket.
“I’m fine!” he yelled, and the two burly men moved the casket over the saw horses. The man was saying, “Where’s the damn latch…” Aster did this trick slightly differently. Instead of using a sawsall, he was handed a chainsaw. He fired it up and it roared, but Aster didn’t hear it. Instead, he heard the man yelling that the latch wasn’t there. Aster had picked the chainsaw hoping that its roars would drown out what would come next. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
As Aster touched the chainsaw to the side of the coffin, dust flew up and specks of wood went flying. Audience members in the front jerked back instinctively, but Aster had positioned the casket further away than usual, so that his back brushed the curtains at the rear. He started to lower the chainsaw slowly.
That’s when the screams started.
“Stop! Stop!” they were the screams of a man beginning to panic, and the chainsaw came down slowly at the man’s right side. The screams became louder, more horrified, nonsensical syllables, turning into gurgles that Aster could barely hear over the sound of the chainsaw biting wood. Then he pulled the chainsaw up, and the screams had stopped. For extra effect, he went to the head of the coffin and cut into that part as well.
He stopped, cutting the chainsaw’s noise. It echoed through the hall as people stared, wide-eyed and terrified, on the literal edge of their seats. Aster handed the chainsaw back, and the burly man just set it on the floor. Aster said, “Gentlemen?” He made a circular motion with his finger. The two men came out of their reverie and went to their jobs, turning the coffin on the sawhorse.
Aster flipped open the lid of the coffin, and there was Phil, but he was passed out cold. Aster waved his hands around the body in the coffin, concentrating on the head, the smelling salt hidden in his hand. Phil sputtered, the audience audibly gasping. Phil opened his eyes staring at Aster, and the crowd cheered.
“Are you all right, Mr. Thompson?”
Phil stared around him, looking down at himself, and Aster had to look down also, seeing the wet spot on the man’s pants and shirt. Phil yanked himself out of the coffin and stumbled forward, one of the burly men catching him. He looked around the room, as if confused, and the audience still cheered. Aster took off his hat and bowed, saying thank you as one of the burly men brought Phil forward and sat him on a chair. Phil was still in shock when Aster left the stage.
Jim exhaled, looking relieved as he walked past the stage hands who gave him thumbs up or patted him on the back. “Good show,” they said. Jim smiled wanly and went to his dressing room, the burly men and two sisters following. No one said a word as he got to the room. He turned to them and said, “I need a few minutes alone, all right?”
He went inside, shut the door and leaned against it. It had worked, as it always had these last few years, the banishing and summoning ritual he knew. He also knew where they went, and what was taken from them before their return. People who did this had to go willingly; the unwilling were scarred for life. Jim had tried, but not very hard, to dissuade him and make him go willingly, but…
Someone knocked on the door. “Mr. Hanna?”
Jim launched himself off the door, knowing whose voice that was. He opened the door to look upon the face of the night manager, who, if he had a hat, would be crushing it in his hands, he looked so apologetic. “Mr. Hanna, I’m sorry for disturbing you, but that man, he seems to be in shock.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you were in a coffin with a man coming at you with a chainsaw?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Give him some time. Did he bring friends? They’ll have to bring him home.” Jim assumed an arrogant air, “Hmph, some magician debunker he turned out to be.”
“Of course, Mr. Hanna. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Jim looked out and saw that his usual entourage was gone. He sighed. He’d hoped that he would have had male company again tonight in his apartment.