Boy in the Biscuit Tin

by Heather Dyer

  “He’d wanted to be a magician since he was fourteen,” said Aunt Carole. “He was always sending away for books and things, and practising in his room. Your grandmother disapproved. She wanted him to be a doctor.”

  There was a pause while they studied the photograph thoughtfully. Then Ibby said, “Aunt Carole, was Uncle Godfrey a real magician?”

  “A professional, you mean? Oh, yes! He did children’s parties, mainly. And he performed tricks just outside Piccadilly Station and collected money in his top hat.”

  “Yes,” said Ibby. “But was he—”

  “I’ve got some pictures here!” Aunt Carole selected a fat album from the top shelf, and opened it at random. “There’s Godfrey,” she said, pointing to a boy of about Alex’s age. He was standing proudly in a kitchen wearing a top hat that was slightly too large for him, and his ears stuck out at right angles. “And that’s him there,” said Aunt Carole, pointing him out in a group of men in black top hats and satin cloaks, standing on the steps of a very grand building. “It was his first year at the Academy.” She flipped forwards again, and there were photographs of picnics on the beach and Christmas mornings round the tree, and Uncle Godfrey was in lots of them. And then, quite suddenly, he no longer appeared.

  “Aunt Carole,” said Ibby. “What happened to Uncle Godfrey?”

  Aunt Carole hesitated. “He had an accident. A silly, silly accident.” Something in her voice made Ibby glance up, and she saw that her aunt’s eyes were full of tears.

  “Take no notice of me,” said Aunt Carole, smiling. “I miss him sometimes, that’s all.”

  She busied herself putting the album back up on the shelf – but as she did so several pieces of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Ibby went to pick them up. They were tickets from magic shows, and postcards with Uncle Godfrey’s spiky handwriting on them – and there was a yellowing newspaper article too. Ibby just caught the headline: MAGICIAN DISAPPEARS, before Aunt Carole took the papers out of her hands and shoved them hastily back between the pages of the album.

  “Look at the time!” Aunt Carole exclaimed. “You’d better get to bed.”

  Ibby hesitated.

  “Go on,” said Aunt Carole. “You can use the bathroom first.”

  Reluctantly, Ibby went upstairs. What was it that Aunt Carole hadn’t wanted her to see? Her aunt was hiding something from her, she was sure of it.

  After she had gone to bed Ibby lay for a long time with her eyes wide open in the dark. She heard Aunt Carole’s footsteps on the stairs, then she heard the bathroom door shut and water splashing in the sink. Then she heard Aunt Carole go round switching out the lights. Only when the line of light had disappeared from under her bedroom door did Ibby lift back her covers and slip noiselessly out of bed. As quietly as she could, she opened her door and crept downstairs.

  The fire in the front room was dying in the grate; its orange coals gave just enough light to see by. Ibby pulled a chair across to the bookshelf and stood on it to reach the photo album. Then she went and knelt on the hearthrug and shook the album upside down. The tickets and postcards fluttered out onto the rug – and there was the newspaper article. Ibby read it in the light from the coals. Here is what it said:

  MAGICIAN DISAPPEARS

  Police are investigating the disappearance of a children’s entertainer. Magician Godfrey Grubb disappeared at a birthday party last night at a residence in Gannock Park. Eyewitnesses report that the event occurred near the end of the show, when the magician climbed into a trunk as part of a “Vanishing Act”. Birthday boy Alistair Sheldon was invited to play the part of the magician and make him disappear.

  When the boy was unable to bring the magician back again, Alistair’s parents called the police.

  “It really ruined the party,” said Mrs Sheldon. “The children were very upset.”

  Police are asking anyone who might have seen a tall man in the locality, wearing a black top hat and a satin cloak, to please come forward.

  So Uncle Godfrey hadn’t just disappeared – he’d vanished! And the boy must not have been able to bring him back again. Poor Uncle Godfrey! But how silly he had been – imagine letting someone shut you in a box!

  Just then there came the creak of floorboards overhead. Quickly, Ibby stuffed the article into the pocket of her nightdress, returned the album to the shelf and hurried back upstairs. She closed her bedroom door softly, slipped back into bed and lay very still. The house was quiet. Only the thumping of her heart and the slight crinkle of paper in the pocket of her nightie betrayed the fact that she’d been out of bed at all.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Vanishing Act

  “ALL MAGIC TRICKS ARE UNDERTAKEN AT THE MAGICIAN’S OWN RISK.”

  When Ibby next opened her eyes it was early morning, and the house was still. She jumped out of bed, put on her rabbit slippers and hurried down the corridor to Francis’s room.

  “Francis!” she hissed, shaking him by the shoulder. “Wake up!”

  Francis opened his eyes. “Huh?”

  “I found out what happened to Uncle Godfrey. He didn’t just disappear – he vanished.”

  “What?”

  “He vanished!”

  “Vanished?” said Francis. “How?”

  But instead of explaining, Ibby turned and rushed out of the room. Francis threw back his covers and followed. Ibby went straight down the corridor to Alex’s room and walked in without knocking. Then she yanked the curtains open, letting in the light.

  “Hey!” protested Alex, clutching at his duvet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Look,” said Ibby, handing him the newspaper article. “It’s about Uncle Godfrey. He vanished.”

  Alex read the article thoughtfully.

  “It’s the Vanishing Act,” said Ibby. “Theone from the magic set. It has to be.”

  “Yes,” reflected Alex. “Something must have gone wrong and the boy couldn’t get him back again.”

  While the others were talking, Francis had been reading the article. He was a slower reader than Alex, and there were words that he hadn’t seen before. “What’s a trunk?” he asked.

  “It’s like a pirate’s treasure chest,” said Ibby. “Look – that’s it, in the picture.”

  “Is that the one that Uncle Godfrey vanished in?”

  “Yes.”

  Francis studied the picture thoughtfully. “It’s just like the one in the attic.”

  The others stared at him. “There’s a trunk like this in the attic?” cried Ibby.

  Francis nodded.

  Alex and Ibby looked at one another. Was it possible? Could it be the very same trunk that Uncle Godfrey had climbed into all those years ago? And could it be that he was somehow still inside it?

  “Perhaps he’s waiting to be brought back,” said Ibby.

  “What – five years later?” said Alex, doubtfully.

  “Maybe.”

  “And even if he is still in there,” said Alex. “We won’t be able to get him back again.”

  “Why not? We’ve still got the key, haven’t we?”

  “Yes – but we haven’t got the padlock.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Francis.

  “We do?”

  Francis nodded. “It’s on the trunk.”

  Ibby and Alex stared at Francis.

  Then Alex jumped out of bed and threw on his dressing gown. Ibby got the Magic for Beginners set out from the bottom of the wardrobe and, very quietly, they all tiptoed out of the room and down the corridor. They came to a halt on the landing, directly underneath the hatch to the attic.

  “You really think he’s up there?” whispered Ibby.

  But before the others could answer, a door opened at the other end of the corridor and out came Aunt Carole, yawning and securing the belt of her dressing gown. “You’re up early,” she remarked. “What are you all doing?”

  For a moment nobody spoke. Then Francis startled everyone by hurrying forwards, waving his arms and shoutin
g: “No! Go back! Go back!”

  “What for?” cried Aunt Carole.

  “We’re making you breakfast in bed!”

  “Oh!” said Aunt Carole, delighted. “Isn’t that nice.” And she allowed Francis to shepherd her back into her room. The others breathed a sigh of relief as he closed her door again.

  “Good thinking, Francis,” said Alex.

  Francis stiffened proudly.

  Breakfast was a team effort. Alex filled the kettle and Francis put bread in the toaster. Then Ibby arranged everything on a tray and within minutes they were all heading solemnly upstairs again. They found Aunt Carole sitting up with lots of pillows at her back. “I feel like the Queen!” she said. Alex set the tray on her lap, then they all hurried back to the landing.

  The hatch to the attic was the sort that you pull open with a long pole with a hook on one end. Alex seized the pole, which was standing against the wall, and hooked the metal ring. When he pulled the hatch open, an aluminium ladder slid out, and when it was within reach the others drew it down until it reached the floor. Then they stood there, peering at the black square in the ceiling.

  “Who wants to go first?” said Alex.

  “I will!” said Francis bravely. But first he ran to get his caving helmet with the light attached to the front. Ibby fastened the chin strap for him, then he put one bare foot on the first rung and began climbing.

  The worst part about going into any attic is the moment when your head first goes through the hatch. This is the moment in which you feel especially vulnerable. If there was anything up there waiting for you, this would be the moment it would pounce.

  Glad he was wearing a helmet, Francis put his head up through the opening and looked about. Nothing pounced. The beam of his head torch flashed over the rafters and threw crazy shadows from stacks of cardboard boxes, old lampshades, and piles of books.

  “All right?” called Alex from below.

  Francis gave the thumbs-up, and a moment later the ladder started juddering as Ibby climbed up after him, carrying the magic set. She was followed by Alex. Presently all three of them were standing in the attic in their pyjamas, looking round like explorers in an undiscovered cave.

  Attics are forgotten places. They are full of ancient cobwebs and hopeless flies buzzing at skylights that never open. Attics are also full of secrets, and Aunt Carole’s attic had never felt more full of secrets than now.

  “Follow me,” said Francis. He led them to the far side of the attic where the eaves came down so low that they had to stoop to avoid banging their heads. “It’s under here,” he said, and he lifted up one corner of a dusty sheet and drew it back.

  The sheet was covering a pile of things, all stacked untidily: a folding card table, an empty birdcage and a long dark box with a large hole in one end. “That’s one of those boxes for sawing people in half,” said Ibby with a shiver.

  Then Francis said, “Here it is!” and together they pulled out a large wooden trunk, covered in a layer of dust. On the front of the trunk swung a large gold padlock. It was open.

  It is not pleasant opening a trunk that hasn’t been opened for years and years – especially when you don’t know what will be inside. Cautiously, Alex removed the padlock. Then he lifted the lid and peered in. “Empty!” he said, relieved.

  Now that they were looking at it, it was hard to believe that Uncle Godfrey could somehow still be in there, waiting to reappear.

  “What if he comes back dead?” said Francis anxiously.

  “What – like a ghost?” said Alex.

  “Or a skeleton.”

  Alex and Ibby looked at one another doubtfully. Neither of them wanted to bring back a dead body. But for Uncle Godfrey’s sake they couldn’t leave without trying.

  “Come on,” said Ibby. “Quick. Before Aunt Carole gets up.”

  So Alex closed the lid, replaced the padlock and pressed it shut with a click. Now it wouldn’t open without the key.

  “Who’s going to do the trick?” said Alex.

  “I will,” said Ibby.

  Alex looked at Ibby in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Ibby opened the magic set, lifted out the plastic tray and removed the black top hat. She popped it up and put it on. Next, she shook out the black satin cloak and draped it round her shoulders. She caught sight of herself then, in a mirror propped against a chair, and she paused to lift her long fair hair and let it fall over her black satin shoulders. She hardly recognized herself. Her face looked small and pale under the brim of the black top hat, and she stood taller and straighter than usual.

  “First tip your hat to the ladies,” said Alex, consulting the instruction booklet.

  Ibby tipped her hat at her reflection.

  “Not like that – like this,” said Alex.

  Ibby tried again.

  The next step said: Show the key to the audience, so Ibby held up the little gold key and showed it to Alex and Francis. Then she signalled at Francis to pass her the wand.

  Francis was careful to put the wand into her hand the right way round. It made her fingertips tingle, as though there was a faint electric current running through it. Ibby glanced at the booklet again and then, with the wand, she drew three neat figure-of-eights above the trunk and tapped the lid once, twice, three times. “REAPPEAR!” she cried. And then, with trembling fingers, she put the gold key in the lock, and turned it.

  The padlock clicked open.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Magic Circle

  “THE LESS PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT MAGIC, THE BETTER.”

  Ibby removed the padlock, then stood well back, as though expecting Uncle Godfrey to burst out at any moment like a jack-in-the-box. But nothing happened.

  “I knew it wouldn’t work,” muttered Alex.

  Ibby lifted the lid a fraction, and peered inside.

  “What can you see?” asked Alex.

  “Nothing,” said Ibby, squinting.

  “Let me have a look,” said Francis. The light from his head torch shone into the dark interior of the trunk and fell upon the gleaming white of an eye. The eye swivelled.

  Ibby screamed and dropped the lid, and they all scrambled backwards to a safe distance.

  “He’s in there!” whispered Ibby. “He was looking at me!”

  “What’s he waiting for?” said Alex. “Why doesn’t he open the lid?”

  “Perhaps he’s waiting for the signal.”

  “What signal?”

  “To tell him it’s time to come out.”

  But since none of them wanted to go near the trunk again, Alex hunted about and found a broom and, standing at arm’s length, he hooked it under the edge of the lid and flipped it open. The lid flew back with a crash, raising a cloud of dust that twinkled in the torchlight – and there, hugging his knees to his chest and keeping very still, was …

  “Uncle Godfrey?” said Ibby.

  It was Uncle Godfrey all right – who else could it have been? He sat up, blinking and squinting in the light from Francis’s torch. His hair stood straight up like a brush, and his ears stuck out.

  “Did it work?” he asked.

  The children stared at him, not knowing what to say.

  “What’s going on?” said Uncle Godfrey. “Where’s Alistair?”

  “Alistair couldn’t get you back,” said Alex.

  “Couldn’t get me back?” Uncle Godfrey climbed stiffly out of the trunk and looked around. He was wearing a crumpled black suit which stopped just short of his wrists and ankles. “What is this place?” he said. “Where am I?” Only a moment ago, it had seemed, he had been in Mr and Mrs Sheldon’s sunny living room.

  “We’re in the attic,” Ibby told him. “At Aunt Carole’s house.”

  Uncle Godfrey looked at Ibby in the black top hat and satin cloak, and frowned. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Ibby.”

  “Who?”

  “Your niece. And these are your nephews, Alex and Francis.”

  Uncl
e Godfrey peered at them. “Alex?” he said. “Is that really you?”

  Alex nodded.

  “Good Lord!” said Uncle Godfrey. (The last time he had seen Alex, the boy had only been seven.) “How long have I been in there?”

  “Five years,” said Alex.

  “Five years?” Uncle Godfrey laughed incredulously. “Surely not!”

  “Show him the article, Ibby,” said Alex.

  So Ibby produced the newspaper article and Uncle Godfrey got a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and read it in the light from Francis’s torch. When he’d finished he put his glasses away and shook his head. “Five years?” he repeated.

  “We thought you were dead!” said Francis.

  Uncle Godfrey’s forehead wrinkled. “Oh dear,” he said. He scratched his head and looked around. “Where’s Carole?”

  “She’s in bed,” said Alex. “She doesn’t know you’re back.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” cried Uncle Godfrey. “Let’s go!”

  So Francis packed up the magic set and they all made their way back across the attic, down the ladder and along the corridor to Aunt Carole’s room. Alex knocked twice.

  “Come in!” called Aunt Carole.

  Alex opened the door.

  When Aunt Carole saw her brother standing there, she gave a shriek and dropped her cup of tea. It rolled across the duvet, spilling everywhere, but Aunt Carole took no notice. “Godfrey!” she cried, and she leaped out of bed and threw her arms around him. A moment later she was holding him at arm’s length to take a better look. “You’re back!” she said. “But where …? How …?”

  “It was the children,” said Uncle Godfrey, beaming. “They completed the trick! They brought me back again.”

  Aunt Carole stared at them, astonished. Then her eyes fixed on the magic set. “You mean you found the magic set? You did the Vanishing Act?”