Strange Magic (16 page)

“Hurry, Wilson,” Susan said. “We gotta get out of here before someone shows up.”

“I know…I know,” Wilson said, crouching down low to the ground to try to look inside the chamber. There was a faint unpleasant smell inside the shaft, but it was more of a musty, stale smell than anything rotting or decayed. “Hmmm…well there’s his coffin. Pretty tight fit. Might be hard to get it out.”

“Get it out? What? The coffin? No way. He’s obviously still there, Wilson. Haven’t you seen enough?”

“Not yet.” Wilson reached inside and gave the handle a yank, just to test it out, and was surprised when the casket moved about an inch. Obviously there were rollers either on the coffin, or inside the concrete slot. “Wait, it’s moving! Just give me a sec.”

With a mighty pull, Wilson rolled the casket halfway out if its concrete enclosure, making sure he stopped its progress before it reached the tipping point. The last
thing he wanted was for the entire box to dump out onto the grass and burst open at their feet. Just to be sure, he pushed the coffin back in a few inches, not needing it exposed that far anyway, because this particular casket had a duel-hinged lid with a section that lifted to reveal just the head and torso of the person within.

Wilson wasn’t exactly sure how to open a sealed coffin, having no idea how the morticians went about locking them in the first place, but it only took him a glance to see that it wouldn’t matter.

Doug Williams’s casket wasn’t locked.

Not anymore, anyway. Once it surely must have been, but there were deep scratches and part of a broken brass latch hanging on the side of the coffin from where someone had repeatedly hammered their way inside. Whoever had broken into the crypt chamber hadn’t been satisfied just getting inside, they’d apparently went all the way and broke into the locked coffin as well.

Was someone else here before us
? Wilson wondered.
Something very weird is going on here.

“Stand back,” Wilson told Susan. “Whatever’s left inside here…you don’t need to see it.” Susan couldn’t agree more, and stepped back out of the way.

Wilson took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he might find. Part of his mind was envisioning seeing the skeletal skull of his old friend grinning up at him, a few straggly clumps of hair clinging to Doug’s head as dozens of scavenger bugs crawled in and out of his mouth and open nasal cavity. The other part of him was convinced the casket would be empty, nothing to see but silk sheets with the dirty, greasy stains showing where a man’s body had once been laid to rest. Wilson wasn’t sure which he was hoping for more.

The top half of the lid lifted easily, silently gliding on unseen hinges as quietly as the day it had first been closed over twenty years ago. Looking inside, Wilson was relieved and terrified at the same time. Relieved, because now he finally knew he wasn’t going crazy. Terrified, because the inside of the coffin was empty.

The Heatseeker was gone.

Edith Henderson was just about to cut the first slice of one of her famous homemade cinnamon-apple pies, fresh out of the oven, when the front doorbell rang. She and Amanda had been baking all afternoon, having a grand time together, but they were both covered in flour and not exactly as presentable for guests as she would have liked.

“Oh dear,” Edith said. “Who on earth could that be? And just look at me. I’m a fright. Could you go see who it is, honey, while I wash my hands?”

“Sure, Mrs. H,” Amanda said, content to just wipe her equally messy hands on the front of her pink T-shirt as she headed for the door.

She could never understand why grown-ups always worried so much about how they looked. Amanda liked to look nice too, but heck, it was only a little bit of flour and she thought Mrs. H looked just fine for an older gal. Still, she didn’t mind helping out and she’d been having a lot of fun today helping Mrs. Henderson out in the kitchen. Her mother rarely had time to bake anything anymore; she worked too much, so it was cool getting a chance to get her hands into a gooey bowl of batter and help roll the pie crust. By the wonderfully yummy smell
of cinnamon and baked apples wafting through the house, she was also really looking forward to helping eat their hard work too.

Amanda noticed that Earl Henderson, Edith’s husband, was fast asleep on the couch as she walked past the living room, his snores so loud she was surprised they’d been able to hear the doorbell even ring.
Old people sure sleep a lot too
, she thought.
I hope I never get old. Doesn’t seem like much fun at all.

When she opened the heavy wooden door a little, just enough to get a peek, Amanda recognized the dark-haired visitor on the other side of the screen door as her dad’s old friend. The guy who’d given her the ride home from school yesterday. Her mother had been mad at her for some reason, telling her she should never talk to strangers, much less get in a car with them, but Amanda didn’t understand what the big deal was. First off, it had been a truck, not a car, and he wasn’t a stranger—not really—he was one of Dad’s old friends. Didn’t that make things all right? Amanda couldn’t remember his name, or even if he’d ever told her what it was, but she’d never forget how funny he was, or his pale, skinny face. He was the type of guy who looked hungry all the time, like he needed to eat a few bacon cheeseburgers, or better yet, a few slices of Mrs. H’s apple pie.

The tall man smiled down at her, gave a quick little military salute, and said, “Hi, toots. Long time no see.”

Amanda giggled. Now this older guy she kind of liked. He was always smiling and trying to make her laugh. “Hello yourself. What are you doing here?”

The man was about to answer when Mrs. Henderson came to the door behind Amanda. She’d washed her hands and face and removed her flour-covered apron,
getting as presentable as she could in a hurry. “Who’s there, sweetie?” she asked, opening the front door a little farther to see for herself.

“I don’t know,” Amanda said. “He’s a friend of Dad’s. That’s all I know. Maybe he can come in and have some pie with us. He’s awfully skinny. You hungry, mister?”

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact I am.” The Stranger made a move to open the screen door, presumably intending to walk inside, but the screen was locked.

“Just a second,” Edith said to the man outside, giving him a rather stern look, then turned to bend over beside Amanda. “Can you go wake up Earl, honey? Tell him his pie is ready. Thanks.” When Amanda ran off into the living room, Edith addressed the odd-looking man outside again. He had one of those lean, muscular bodies and gaunt faces that made it nearly impossible to guess his age. He could be anywhere from late forties into his sixties and there was just something sinister about his overly friendly smile that set off her alarm bells. “No offense, sir, but I’d prefer if you stayed where you are. I’ve never met you before and I’m not in the habit of letting strangers into my home. What is it you want, anyway, Mr…?”

“Mr. Black, ma’am, and I totally understand,” the dark magician said, his face never betraying the rage burning inside of him. He so badly wanted to kick in this flimsy screen door and beat this old bitch’s face against the newel post behind her. He wanted to watch her teeth splinter onto the rug, the bones of her face snap into dozens of sharp fragments, and smell her soggy gray brain as her skull finally caved in, spraying buckets of blood against the stairs and hallway wall. Instead of doing that, he calmly said, “Sorry for being so presumptuous,
I’m a friend of the family you see, and darling little Amanda invited me in—”

“Well, Amanda is a bit too sweet for her own good. You still haven’t told me what you want?”

“Of course. I’m trying to find Wilson. Susan’s neighbor suggested I try here. I missed him the other day when I drove Amanda home from school and I’m looking forward to catching up on old times. Been a long time. Call it a reunion of sorts.”

“Well, he’s not here. Susan and him had some important business in Jamestown this afternoon. Earl and I are just looking after Amanda.”

The mention of Jamestown certainly caught the Stranger by surprise. Stopped him cold, in fact, his practiced smile slipping for a moment.
Why would they go there?
Recovering quickly, he said, “Oh…okay. Did they say when they’d be coming back?”

“They weren’t sure, but said they wouldn’t be late. Probably by eight or nine o’clock, but that’s a guess.”

“No worries. Thanks. Ahh…any chance I can come in and wait for them. I don’t really have anywhere else to—”

“No,” Edith quickly interrupted. Her alarm bells didn’t ring often, but when they did she was smart enough to listen. Something wasn’t right about this man. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll tell him you stopped by and you can check with him later tonight at his place.”

Edith started to close the door, but the Stranger said, “Wait…wait! I think you’ve got me all wrong, ma’am. I’m a friend of Wilson’s. We were both magicians back in the day. Good ones too. Here…let me show you a card trick. It’s a beauty!” The Stranger produced his special oversize deck seemingly out of thin air and
fanned out the cards in front of Edith’s face. “Pick a card, ma’am…any old card. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

“Glad to hear that, Mr. Black, but I’m not interested in your silly card tricks. I’ve already told you Wilson isn’t here, so I’d appreciate it if you left now. Either that, or I’ll have Earl call the cops. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” the Stranger said, but the smile was sliding from his face, the pin holding his insanity in check slowly working itself loose somewhere deep within him. He was so tired of playing games with people, so fucking weary of trying to appear calm and happy when every fiber of his body wanted nothing more than to beat, crush, and destroy everything in sight.

The smug look of superiority on this old bag’s face was the final straw, the meltdown to end all meltdowns building to the point where there was no turning back, even if he’d wanted to. “Edith, you old cunt…” he shouted, giving in to the rage entirely. In one smooth motion he returned the cards to his pocket with one hand and produced a large serrated dagger with the other. He showed the hunting knife to the shocked woman, then pressed his face tight against the locked screen door. Whispering now, he said,
“It’s SHOWTIME, baby!”

Susan saw the blank look on Wilson’s face and came over to look inside the casket for herself. She prepared herself to see a ghastly skeleton decomposing toward dust, but wasn’t expecting to see only rumpled silk sheets. “It’s empty,” she said, stating the obvious because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“But where did it go? Who took him?”

“What makes you so sure someone took him? Take a look at the inside of the coffin…it’s all ripped to shreds. Maybe he clawed his way out himself?”

“What? I know this is crazy shit, Wilson, but don’t go off the deep end on me. That’s not possible and I can prove it. Look at how tight that casket fits into the concrete slot. There’s no way of opening the lid once its slid into place inside there. No way to get to the sealed door to claw out of anything. Right?”

“Wrong, actually. You’re not going to like this but I know this coffin. I’ve laid in it before—one just like it anyway. It was part of our show. Look…it has brass lettering on the end here. F. A. I. it says. That stands for—”

“Fire and Ice?” Susan guessed.

“Exactly. When we did outdoor shows I used to do an escape where I was buried alive in concrete, or sometimes just plain old dirt or mud. They chained and locked me inside the coffin, lowered me into the ground, then filled up the hole. With all that weight on the coffin lid, there’s no way for anyone to open the lid and get out, which is why we had these ones designed with a secret door on the end. Watch this…”

Wilson reached inside the coffin beneath the torn silk pillow and found what he was looking for. “If I hit this release button, it should…” The end of the coffin nearest Susan fell over, allowing her to see all the way to the feet end of the box. “There. See?”

“So they buried your partner inside one of your props? Big deal. A coffin is a coffin. Probably saved a lot of money. What you keep forgetting is Doug’s dead. You can’t push secret buttons and smash open concrete vaults when you’re dead, Wilson. You can’t just get up and walk
away after laying in a bloody box for decades either. For Christ’s sake, get a grip, will you? Some maniac has dug your partner’s bones up, sure, that’s obvious, and it might be the same lunatic that’s threatening you back home but it’s not Doug Williams. It’s just
NOT
!”

“I know how silly it sounds. Trust me, I do. But you’ve got to believe me. I wasn’t sure myself until I saw our show initials on here. Now I’m positive I’m right. Hell, I spoke to him on the phone, Susan. It was
him
! I’d know Doug’s voice anywhere. Here…look at the silk sheets. They’re all ripped up…clawed to shreds from the
inside
, damn it! How do you explain that?”

Susan couldn’t, or didn’t want to. She’d had enough and wanted no more of this conversation. “Can we put this coffin back in its hole and go home now? Please? Before the police show up to drag us to jail?”

Wilson recognized that harsh tone of voice and knew when he was beaten. It was the same voice she used to chastise him about drinking. “Sure, Susan. Whatever you want.” Sulking slightly, he stuffed the vacant coffin back inside the concrete chamber and closed the hinged door as best he could. It didn’t look pretty and someone would notice it easy enough if they bothered to look, but they’d be long gone by then. Wilson hoped so, anyway.

Carrying his tools, Wilson followed his wife to her car, put the hammer and crowbar in the trunk, and climbed into the passenger seat. Susan was already on the phone when he sat down. “Just checking in with Edith and Earl,” she whispered, the phone pressed to her ear, ringing in the background.

“Good idea. Let them know we’ll be home in a couple hours. What time is it, anyway? Maybe we can stop for a
coffee?” Wilson felt Susan go rigid beside him, her knuckles cracking from holding the cell so tightly. When he glanced up, he was taken aback at how pale and frightened Susan looked. “What’s the matter?”

“There’s no answer. Ten rings now. Eleven. Why wouldn’t they answer? Edith told me they were just going to stay home and do some baking.”

“I…I don’t know,” Wilson said, a cold sweat taking over his body as a very bad thought started to form in his head. “Maybe Earl took them out for supper?”

Both Wilson and Susan looked outside and down the hill toward the group of concrete mausoleums, where one of the vaults held one less famous tenant than the cemetery officials believed.

“Oh shit!” Wilson said. “Start the car, Susan, and get us home as fast as you can.”

The Stranger was back to smiling as he slammed his mighty black boot into the locked screen door frame, ripping the flimsy barrier off its hinges and sending wood shrapnel everywhere. The scream that came out of Edith Henderson’s throat, raw and piercing enough to shatter glass, greatly improved his foul mood.

Mrs. Henderson tried to make a run for the second floor, dashing as fast as her old legs could carry her up the staircase. She wasn’t nearly fast enough though—the Stranger catching her a third of the way upstairs, cleanly severing the old dame’s Achilles tendon just above her left heel with a wicked swipe of his dagger. With his weight holding her down, he sliced the right tendon too.

Ha! That’ll slow the bitch down.

“How do you like me now, Edith?” the Stranger
asked as Mrs. Henderson cried out in excruciating pain. He slapped her on the ass as hard as he could, enjoying every second of this. “Not so fucking smug now, are you?”

“Drop the knife and hold it right there, freako!” Earl Henderson shouted from behind the Stranger, standing at the bottom of the stairs. His voice was a bit shaky with fear, but the hand in which he held the .38 caliber trained between the Stranger’s shoulder blades was steady as a rock. In fact, he’d have fired by now, with no hesitation, if he wasn’t so worried about hitting Edith. He’d been in the army for sixteen years, a hunter all his life, and had been target and skeet shooting for the last thirty years down at the local gun club in town. Earl was a good shot and knew he wouldn’t miss from this range, but he was concerned the bullets would pass through the tall man and hit his wife behind him. As soon as Amanda had woken him up off the couch and he’d heard his wife arguing with someone outside, he’d headed immediately to his office on the main floor to his gun cabinet where he kept his Smith & Wesson military-issue handgun, just in case. Turned out his instincts had been right. “One wrong move, fella, and I’ll put a half dozen bullets in your skull.”

Doubtful, pops, but I admire the effort.

“Okay…okay. Relax. I give up,” the Stranger lied, turning quickly to face Earl, and with a lightning-quick flick of his wrist hurled the blood-smeared blade all in one motion.