by Justin Swapp
Marcus noticed one woman sitting by herself, facing an empty wall. She was doodling something in the air with her finger. Another man took a few steps across the room, muttered to himself, and took two steps backward without turning around. He repeated the process over and over.
Over by a window sat the people they always visited. They stayed in the same place every time and did the same things, without variation. There was a man that their grandpa called Uncle Caleb, who gazed distantly out a tall window with his back to his wife, Anabell. She sat on the opposite side of the table, her face long, always watching the entrance to the common room.
The kids followed their grandpa as he gathered chairs from a nearby table and positioned them in the usual manner. Charlotte would sit next to Caleb, facing out the window, and Winston would sit next to Anabell, facing the entrance to the common room. Marcus and Ellie would sit, facing Caleb or Anabell respectively.
Winston took hold of Anabell’s hand. “How are you, dear?”
Anabell slowly turned her head and gave Winston an absent smile.
Marcus saw Ellie gawk at Anabell from across the table. For some reason, Ellie had taken a curious interest in Anabell. She had told Marcus that Anabell could have beautiful hair if she would only wash it and do something with it. Her honeycomb hair color was rich, and softened her intense brown eyes.
“I brought you a little something.” Winston reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a small package of homemade black licorice, which Anabell took and hid underneath her shirt.
“Thanks,” she said, her stare still blank.
“Things at the shop are pretty normal,” Winston went on to say like he always did. He would give an accounting of what was going on with the family and in the world around them. “The economy is taking its toll. We hardly get customers any more, but I suppose that is partially because ours is a dying art.”
“Have you sold any crafts? I like crafts.”
“No,” Winston answered. “I’m sorry.”
“Your family?” Anabell asked.
“The shop keeps Charlotte busy,” Winston replied, “and my hobbies keep me occupied.” After a sigh, his tone became more cheery. “The children just had their year-end evaluations, and each got outstanding reviews. Top of their class.”
Anabell smiled.
Marcus peeked over Anabell’s shoulder and across the table to see if Ellie had heard. Their grandpa had just told a little white lie, very uncharacteristic of him.
“Do you have anything for me this week, Anabell?” Winston asked, lowering his voice. Marcus scooted closer. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to miss this exchange. With a nod she reached into her shirt and pulled out a small metal strand of some kind, and covered it quickly with her hand.
“Thank you.” Grandpa took it, and promptly put it in his jacket pocket. “I’ll let you know if it sells.”
Winston coughed loudly and his wife stood up, then they traded places. This was Ellie and Marcus’s cue to do the same, so Marcus followed his grandpa to their new seats next to Caleb. Of the two, Caleb was definitely worse off. He never spoke, and had more challenges, mentally, than Anabell did.
“Caleb,” Winston said, “I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out another small package of licorice, which Caleb took readily without breaking his gaze out the window. Marcus wondered if he actually saw something out there.
“Things are going well at the shop,” Winston started, and he continued to update Caleb in virtually the same way he had Anabell. He finished with how well the kids were doing in school.
Marcus watched Caleb’s face, and thought he saw an attempted smile, but it was so faint he couldn’t be sure. Caleb lifted his hand and wiggled his pinched fingers. Winston took a pencil and notepad from his jacket and handed them to Caleb.
Caleb slowly opened the notepad and flipped the pages until he found a blank one. Marcus noticed all the pages Caleb had written on from their previous visits. Grandpa hadn’t ripped out a single one.
“Thanks,” Caleb wrote at the top of the page.
“For what? The licorice?” Winston asked. “You’re welcome, Caleb. How are you holding up?”
This question always puzzled Marcus. They were in a mental ward, how did Grandpa think they were holding up? These folks were just shy of straightjackets.
Then, as if something had changed, Caleb’s hand began to shake. He pressed the pencil lightly on the paper and began to make elaborate strokes and scribbles.
A few moments later Caleb handed the notepad to Winston, who held it up and away so he could see it better, then he brought it in again.
“Where did you see this?” His eyes locked on the drawing. He hesitated before handing the notepad back to Caleb. Marcus didn’t get a good look, but he could tell that what Caleb had lost in his ability to speak, he apparently made up for in his ability to draw.
As Caleb set the notepad on his lap to write something else, Marcus caught a better look at the elaborate sketch. Caleb had drawn a detailed crystal sphere adorned with etchings of odd symbols lining its surface. Under the picture, Caleb wrote the word “dream”.
“Did you see this in a dream?” Winston asked. Caleb nodded slightly.
This is crazy, Marcus thought.
Caleb flipped the page and began to draw again. Marcus had no idea what to expect next. His sketch wasn’t a place or a thing; rather, it was a face—a dark and shadowy face with deeply buried eyes and a narrow neck. Caleb had drawn an unnerving looking man.
“No,” Winston said, “its not possible.” Standing abruptly, he ripped the paper off the notepad and crumpled it into a ball.
“Good night,” he said. “Charlotte, children, we’re leaving.”
Pat must have recognized something was amiss because she rushed over as Charlotte and Ellie stood to join the boys.
“Winston, what’s wrong?” Pat’s eyes darted back to Caleb and Anabell for some sign of alarm.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Something has come up and we need to be on our way.” Winston patted the children on their backs and they started toward the exit.
“Sure thing, Winston.” Pat looked confused as she reached for the walkie-talkie on her belt. “I’ll call ahead for your vehicle.” Marcus looked back at their family to see Anabell’s outstretched hand lowering.
The station wagon waited for them outside. Charlotte insisted on driving in order for her husband to have time to gather his thoughts. He took his place in the passenger’s side and flattened out Caleb’s crumpled drawing across his lap. As they pulled away from the hospital, he stared at the picture unbelievingly.
“Grandpa,” Ellie said. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t respond.
Charlotte reached over and placed her hand on the back of his neck and tousled his hair. Winston was engrossed in the sketch and didn’t seem to notice much.
“Your granddaughter is speaking to you,” Charlotte said gently.
“Yes, dear,” Winston said. “It’s just that… I think I left the shop unlocked.”
Marcus raised his hand as if everyone could see him. “Okay, is it just me, or was that really weird?” He turned to Ellie for support. “And I mean, weirder than normal.”
Silence filled the car.
“Why do we have to go to the hospital anyway?” Marcus asked. “You know the place creeps us out. We respect that they’re family, but we,” Marcus pointed his thumb at Ellie and then back to himself like he was wagging a tail, “don’t even really know those folks. Can’t we just—”
“Enough,” his grandma said. “We’ve had this conversation many times, and tonight is not the night to rehash it.”
Marcus fell quiet. It was worth a try, he thought. What with the way his grandpa reacted at the end of their visit, he figured he could convince them to not make them visit the hospital anymore.
“What did Anabell give you, Grandpa?” Marcus asked. Winston turned in his seat and looked Marcus
up and down.
“They do crafts during the week at the Hospital,” his grandpa replied. “One time Anabell asked us to try to sell their crafts at the shop, and with the money we could help pay their bills, and sometimes buy their favorite treats, like licorice. The Hospital won’t let them have treats. So we visit them, collect their arts and crafts, and take them back to the shop.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. This seemed like an odd explanation. “May I see what they made?”
His grandpa ignored the question and moved on to another topic. “You know, kids, I have been thinking about what Mr. Diddley said, and I agree that it’s time for you to take on greater responsibility.” Ellie and Marcus looked at each other in dismay. “Starting tomorrow, you will both manage the shop every day.”
“Every day?” Marcus asked. “For how long?”
“For eight hours a day,” Winston replied. “To be fair, we will pay you, but it will last the whole summer.”
“The whole summer?” Ellie repeated. “But—”
“Don’t worry,” their grandpa said. “We will give you a day off.” He counted on his fingers and thought for a minute. “Probably Sundays,” he added with a nod.
“But Grandpa,” Marcus said, “I don’t know anything about magic.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll teach you.”
3
The Blue Room
A knock on Marcus’s bedroom door at 6:00 A.M. the next morning jolted him into consciousness. He had been sitting up in bed with his dry eyes already open, wondering if he had slept at all. It was like he had been in a daze, not quite able to ward off the memory of the hospital, or of the prospect of tending The Magic Shop, at least until the knock jarred his attention.
“Come in,” Marcus droned. Tofu, the family dog, lay at his feet and Marcus gently pushed Tofu off the bed with his foot before Tofu could lick him. He grabbed the remote out of habit and turned on the TV.
Marcus and Ellie had moved from place to place all their life, but had always lived with their grandparents. Typically, they lived somewhere on the premises of the shop. It was less expensive that way. In this case, they stayed in a loft above the store. This shop wasn’t as large as some of the others, but it was home.
His grandma wedged the door open and entered the room, stumbling slightly over a large pile of clothes that Marcus had left on the floor. Several large posters of the constellations hung on the wall next to his bed; gifts from his grandpa. What his dresser lacked in trophies, it made up for in stacks of movie and music discs, and any other gadgets he could afford online. The room’s one single window overlooked the street in front of the shop.
Marcus sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, staring at the television blankly as the channel quacked about the rising price of gold.
‘Send us your gold watches or rings and we will pay you twenty percent above the going rate! We even take the occasional tooth, see special handling instructions. You could be rich!’
“Come along, dear,” his grandma said as she kicked a jacket off her foot. She tried to get an angle on Marcus’s face. “It’s time to wake up, young man.”
Grandma powered down the TV.
“Hey,” Marcus said, “I was watching that.”
“You don’t even know what you were watching. If you ask me, you were doing more drooling than watching. Get going now.”
The door swung open a little more, and his grandpa and Ellie entered the room as well. Ellie rubbed her eyes until Tofu jumped into her arms and licked her face.
“For your information, Grandma,” Marcus said, “that commercial was about exchanging gold for money. Doesn’t that sound like something we should be listening to?”
“We don’t need a commercial to tell us that gold is worth money, Marcus,” his grandpa said, shaking his head. “We appreciate your concern, but no more TV for a while, huh?”
Marcus rolled over and stretched, exposing an ear bud he wore while he listened to music.
Ellie clicked her tongue. “You were listening to music and watching TV at the same time?” she asked. He glared back at her thanklessly. “Pathetic.”
“What’s the big deal anyway?” Marcus squinted at the clock on his chest of drawers. “It’s 6:00 A.M.” He reached under his bed and produced a handheld gaming system and fired it up.
“Did you think we were joking about you tending the shop?” his grandma reached down and snatched the gaming system out of Marcus’s hands.
“Hey!” Marcus swiped at it, but his grandma was too fast. “The shop doesn’t open for another three or four hours. Plus, hardly anyone comes.”
His grandpa coughed loudly by the door and gave Marcus the look. Despite not getting the look very often, Marcus knew it when he saw it, and it was not to be trifled with.
“You two get cleaned up and meet us downstairs in, say, twenty minutes.” Their grandma kicked a final article of clothing off her shoe as she followed the kids’ grandpa out of the room and down the stairs.
“This is all your fault,” Ellie said. “I keep my grades up and my things clean, yet somehow I get lumped in with you and your consequences.”
“For the record, my grades are fine. Your issue is that you never pull your nose out of your books. You have no friends, Ellie, so they probably figured some people skills might do you some good.”
Ellie stiffened her arms at her sides and balled her fists. “I hate you sometimes,” she said, “you know that?” She grunted before pivoting like a soldier and marching off down the hall. A moment later Ellie slammed her door.
Marcus smacked his lips and ran a hand through his hair before deciding to get ready. He wandered out of his room and across the hall to the bathroom. Normally, he would tread carefully to avoid bothering his grandparents or any customers that might be in the shop, but he figured Ellie had taken care of that. As Marcus began brushing his teeth he heard a thumping from the floor beneath him. This was his grandparents’ way to get their attention. He stomped his foot a few times to let his grandma know that he heard her. Breakfast was ready.
As Marcus descended the stairs, he heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. Winston and Charlotte were apparently arguing. He wandered around the bottom floor behind the shop. On one wall Winston kept the products he used to restock the shop. On the other was a large, crimson tapestry that had been in the family for years. Marcus stood in front of the inventory shelf and tried to take it all in. There were things like packs of face cards, how-to books on magic tricks, disappearing coins and where to look for them, and sleight-of-hand manuals.
Marcus took a deep breath. He didn’t like magic, and he wouldn’t enjoy tending the shop. He knew some kids from school who were awed by the unexplained, and others aspired to be able to use magic’s deception to their advantage and to take advantage of others. Marcus knew better. There was only reality, not magic. He had few memories of his real parents, but he knew that his father loved magic, and that made him hate it. His father was gone, and magic was fake.
Marcus reached into the shelves and pulled out a pair of magical rings. He tapped the hoops together to try to make them interlock. He couldn’t do it. He knew he shouldn’t fiddle with the products. His grandpa didn’t like it when they got into the inventory. He was afraid things would go missing or broken, and they would be out even more money.
A loud thud came from behind him, and Marcus instinctively ducked, the magic rings still in hand. He peeked around a table behind him to see his grandpa leaving the kitchen, looking rather upset.
Winston slowed his pace for a moment and looked around the living room, almost as if he sensed something or someone. After a moment he seemed moderately satisfied, and he turned to the wall at his side with the large, crimson-colored tapestry and pushed it aside. Behind the tapestry was a bare wall, except for an ornate metal triangle that reminded Marcus of a hanger. He tried not to snigger as he wondered why behind the tapestry might be a great place to hang a shirt.
Winston looked over hi
s shoulder again, but apparently feeling satisfied, he grabbed hold of the ring and knocked three times. Marcus had never seen his grandpa do anything so crazy before.
Then, his grandpa took hold of the ring knocker and pulled on it. A gasp came from the wall, and Marcus could see the light coming from behind the wall in the form of a crack. As his grandpa continued to pull, the crack took the shape of a doorframe.
“What the…?” Marcus said to himself. He wasn’t sure what he saw. Perhaps it was just his imagination. He hadn’t really slept, after all.
His grandpa finished pulling the door open wide enough just so he could fit through. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what Marcus thought he had seen the night before, the object that Anabell had given him.
Marcus rose up a bit to get a better look. Behind the door seemed to be a well-lit room with shelves of stuff. Marcus couldn’t exactly tell what, but he saw oddments and other things that looked like relics and antiques. Ceramics maybe?
A moment later, Winston came out of the blue-lit room. Marcus shrunk to the ground again, definitely not wanting to be seen. His grandpa sealed the wall and wiped his hands down his jacket. After a deep sigh, he yelled upstairs.
“Children, let’s get going!” He started to walk away but paused and turned back to the tapestry to pull it back to its original place. Then he joined his wife in the kitchen.
The savory smell of bacon, sausage, and pancakes filled the air as Ellie came bounding down the stairs with her latest book in hand and headed straight for the kitchen. She passed Marcus without noticing him. Once she was gone, he popped up from behind the table and climbed the first few steps. He stomped his feet so it sounded like he was coming down the stairs for the first time, then he followed Ellie into the kitchen.
An array of colored glass bottles, pots, and pans, among other useful utensils hung from the kitchen ceiling. Marcus pushed a large plant out of his way as he entered. His grandma was setting plates on the old wooden table, and their grandpa was at the skillet, flipping flapjacks.
