Ye Olde Magick Shoppe – A Short Story

During the course of antiquity, I was the period of knowledge; I am now the period of
imprudence. I was the age of enlightenment; I am now the age of ignorance. I was the eve of
courage. I am now the twilight of doom. I am mortality, and I wait for no one.
So it has come to pass, that the stronghold of the print news industry has seen better
days. The big conglomerates still prosper. However, small newspapers like The New York Star
hold on for dare life. And young investigating reporters are the first on the chopping block.
The Star loses advertisers left and right. The editor shares his concerns with his staff.
One such reporter speaks up. “You would think that our hardnose journalism would be our
saving grace,” says Investigator Reporter Dean Powell.
“The handwriting is on the wall Dean,” the editor responds. “The internet is taking
over and there is nothing the Star or any newspaper can do about it. It’s disappearing like a
magic trick, never to be seen again.”
Dean thinks he is being a bit overdramatic. He is safe for now. However, Dean doesn’t
want to be without a job too long. He doesn’t want to be homeless. The only thing to do is if you
can’t beat them, join them.
Dean surfs the internet and sees all of the jobs for writers. One caught his eye. An
online news outlet called The Independent Courier. He moves the mouse to open the submission
requirements, but just stares at it with a blank look.
Wow! Has it come to this? I feel like a hypocrite he ponders to himself. I feel like a
double-crosser. I feel so… dirty.
Time waits for no one. You either move forward or get left behind. Two unpaid
degrees later and what do I have to show for it? A piece of paper framed and hung on a wall.
Staring down while it mocks me. What have you done with your training? What have you done
with your life? It would not hurt to just look.
The job description states that the qualified candidate will be paid per story. No office,
no deadline, and most importantly… no overbearing editor. This would be good for now. Dean is
happy that he can keep his job at the Star while he searches for a few good stories to submit to
the Independent Courier.
He writes out a proposal that flowed nicely. Being a writer for many years, it is just
like walking for him. The words come easy for him. It’s the research that he dreads. Fortunately
for Dean, he has some good stories that he has already done that can use a follow-up and would
be good for the Independent Courier.
As the weeks go by, the tension at the office is dense. Everyone is edge because no one
knows when they will get the boot. So, this bright shiny Friday morning had the optimism of
being a great day because it’s the weekend. But, when Dean entered the doors of the hallowed
halls of the Star, the place seemed awfully somber. His Spidey-Senses tells him that today is the
day he feared.

The scramble for Banker Boxes begins. Because Dean was the last one at the office, he
is left with just one box. An entire career jammed into one box. Dean ponders the conundrum of
how clutter is collected given enough time.
 Dean looks around the room and surveys his surroundings. “What have I overlooked? I
have that feeling that I am forgetting something, but what?” He shrugs his shoulders, “Oh, well.
I’m sure if I forgot a mug or something, I can just buy a new one.”
He reaches into his pocket to check his keys are in his pocket and finds the Intel
Compute Stick he bought to save files. Crap! If I forgot that, I would have lost a lifetime of
work. This collection of stuff, thank God, doesn’t need a Bankers Box. Just USB stick to
download all of his files on his office computer.
As the files slowly download, Dean can’t help himself but check his social media. He
is a habitual surfer on the internet and gets distracted easily. Ooh, his emails are calling him. It
won’t hurt just to clear out the spam folders.
He can’t help but notice that he has a new email alert. When he reads the heading that
he knows all too well. The typical rejection message that all writers fear. “Is this bad news day?”
Sure enough, it’s the Dear John reply from the online news source, The Independent Courier.
They love his samplings of writings he sent, but not crazy about the proposal that he
submitted. If he can come up with something with a good angle, they will publish it. His mind is
so cluttered with the losing his job, he just can’t think of something worth submitting.
After saying goodbye to those he has worked with for years, Dean carry’s his Banker
Box out on the busy Manhattan street as he heads towards his car. He cannot see above the tall
mountain of stuff crammed into the box. This is no journalist, but a circus juggler in the making.
Maybe this is his story. How does one become good enough to make it to Cirque du Soleil?
Writer Dean is so caught up with new stories to compose, that he almost ran into
something that is right beneath is feet. He looks down and notices a mysterious package that
suddenly appears in front of him. Funny, Dean thought, he never saw it before. He must not have
paid attention to it.
After setting down his stuff, Dean picks up the item at his feet. He must have misjudged
the weight because it seems a bit heavy as if a rock or something solid is inside of it. The
package is well sealed and he doesn’t want to disturb it. He thinks the best thing is to return it to
the owner who is probably sick over losing it. There is a label with an address on it. Dean notices
that it says, “Magic Bazar” on it. Kind of a strange name.
He noticed that the address is on 34th Street, which is not very far from where he
discovered the package. He drops off the Banker Box into his car and heads on to deliver the
package to the store. He notices that he still has his Minolta digital camera around his shoulder.
He treks up to the sixth floor of the high-rise.
As Dean walks up to the store's front he is captivated by the window labeled Magic
Bazar proudly exhibited above a display of conjuring supplies. Hah, so the Magic Bazar is a
store for magicians. As he enters, Dean is greeted by a sign at the threshold that reads, “The
world wants to be deceived, let it be deceived.”
As Dean approaches, he notices a small audience watching a man at a wooden podium.
“You know most tricks are easy,” the man behind the counter says with German accent, “Once
you know the secret. Now take magic cards.” He takes an old worn out deck of cards from its
case. “You don’t have to be a magician to perform all kinds of amazing card trick.”
Dean takes out his Minolta and takes rapid photos of the man’s actions as he deftly
operates the cards. The old man riffles through the deck showing everyone to be different.
“Because it works by itself.” He turns to a young man standing in the front. “Sir… may I call
you sir,” the kid laughs. “Tell me when to say stop.” The child does as he asks, interested in what
is going to happen next.
He cuts the deck where the kid said to stop. He turns over the top card and shows it him.
It was the seven of diamonds. Then the magician turned it back over facedown. He went right on
with his pitch, never missing a beat. “After the card is noted, it is placed back on the deck.” Then
he placed the top half back on top of the chosen card.
He taps the top of the deck and the seven of diamonds comes to the top. I walked a little
bit closer. This man must be a master manipulator. With deft hands, he cut the deck, buried the
chosen card back in the middle of the deck and it was back on top.
He then cut the deck on the pitch stand into two piles, “Whatever pile they point to…” He
turns over the card in one pile and it is the seven of diamonds. Then he did the same thing in the
other pile. It too was the seven of diamonds. “… the card is now there.”
“For more fun, take the top card…” he shows us a card that was not the chosen card. He
placed it back on top and tapped it once again. “…and it changes to your card.” And sure
enough, the seven of diamonds was back on top.
“You probably think that I use more than one seven of diamonds.” He placed it on the
bottom of the deck. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He looks around to see if anyone is looking.
“I do have more.” Then he riffled down the cards as did when he started. But this time they all
changed to the seven of diamonds. “They are the seven of diamonds.”
The pitchman cut the cards. He saw me standing now almost to where the child was.
“You, come closer. Press the top. Yes that’s right, just press this little button.” I hesitated, then
like a fool I pressed it. Expecting something to jump out.
“If you think they are all the same, then you are wrong.” The pitchman flipped the cards
again and sure enough, the cards were all different again. Noticing my amazement, he caught my
eye. “You too can work magic with this mechanical deck that works all by itself.”
The interior of the old place creates a captivating ether for this first-time patron. Once
inside the faint lighting and musty smell puts one in the mood for tricks and illusions. magic
tricks on the shelves and in the cabinets on display
The store was so well organized with magic paraphernalia on the shelves with such items
as a red crimson Oriental designed box with swords thrusted through. These items range from
one hundred to two thousand dollars. The cabinets on display is not cluttered with tricks neatly
organized. Patrons could move through the store freely and marvel at all there is to see.
Magic posters of famous magician caught my eye. Magicians I have never heard of
before. Herrmann the Great. Harry Kellar, Howard Thurston… all with devils peering over their
shoulders as if whispering instructions. They have a feel like the circus to them.
I was looking for that one magician I have heard of but I can’t—ah there it is. Harry
Houdini. With his arms bare displaying a spread of cards on each arm. So majestic as he flips the
cards back and front.
“Would you be interested in buying the Magic Cards that fascinated you so well?” As if
by magic, the man that gave the wonderful pitch appears behind him. Dean informs him that he
didn’t come here for that. The man responds, “Everyone wants is a free show, but no one wants
to buy!”
 “Actually,” Dean interjects, “I have something that I think belongs to you.” Dean hands
the man the package.
He seems happy to get it back. “This means a lot to this old place,” the owner says. “I
don’t know what we would do without it.” Dean asks him what inside of it, but the man ignores
him and babbles on about the importance it has to the store. “This New York, brick-and-mortar
magic shop was an essential part of America’s conjuring culture.”
The old man puts the box on top of the counter. He looks up at the walls as if it is
speaking to him. “This store may have a new façade, but it’s very old.” He seemed like he had a
tear in his eye.
There was an awkward pause. Dean decided to change the subject. “I’m sorry I didn’t get
your name?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Antonio Martinka. My brother Francis and I opened this
store in America about the early 70s.” He showed me around the store like a proud papa. Dean
took out his Minolta camera and took pictures of everything. The glass lined cases are neatly
arranged with all of the tricks of the trade perfectly lined up by someone that obviously anal
retentive.
He looks up at another poster that has man and a woman doing hand shadows. As if
Antonio read his mind, he started to tell Dean about him. “That’s Max Holden. He and his wife
use to do a very unique hand shadow act with colorful lights. He retired and opened a shop
across the way.”
Then Dean takes a picture of an old pair of rusty handcuffs. He notices that they don’t
look like any he has seen before. They don’t swing through like those of today. However, instead
they just snap on the prisoner’s wrist. “Why are they still in the locked position,” he asks
Antonio?
“There is no key and up to now, only Houdini was able to open it. Once locked, it stays
locked.”
Dean asks him how much they are. Antonio responds, “They are not for sale.”
“Then why do you have it next to the other items in the case?” Dean says.
“We have it on display as a come-on to get attention.”
Dean squats down and takes more pictures. “They look old.”
“They were once used as a challenge to Houdini. After he got out them, he was allowed
to keep them in exchange for escaping from them. But, it was nothing compared to this.”
Antonio leads Dean to the entrance. “The store use to have a bust of Houdini at the front of the
store which greeted shoppers at the entrance.” He chuckled to himself.
Dean asked him what was so funny. Antonio went on to say, “Legend has it that the
Elusive Escape Artist would keep an eye on the shoppers as they entered.” He looked at Dean.
“But, of course that was impossible you see.”
“Why is that,” Dean asked?
“Well, my boy… there is no such thing as ghosts.” He walked towards the shelf and
grabbed a book from it. “Maybe I can interest you in Royal Road to Card Magic by Jean
Hugard?”
 Dean takes the book from him. He thumbs through the book with all of the illustrations of
all o the difficult sleight of hand intimidated Dean. “No thank you, but I would like those Magic
Cards you demonstrated earlier. It looks like something I can handle.”
Antonio went behind the counter and grabbed the deck. “For you… no charge.”
“I can’t, you make a living with it.”
“My boy, you have returned something to me that goes way beyond the price of that deck
of cards.”
Dean asks him, “By the way… what’s in the box?”
He pats Dean on the back and leads him out. “That’s for me to know and you to find
out.” Before Dean knew it, he was out the door. He took out his camera to take a picture of the
old man, but when he turned around, Antonio was gone. Shocked, Dean takes more pictures
from the outside in rapid succession from his camera’s fast shutter speed.

Dean rushed home because he had an idea. He thought about doing a story on the old
magic shop, but wanted to get to his computer and write down his ideas before he forgot it. He is
a known procrastinator which was one of his problems as a writer. This time he will get it done
in one session.
When he get’s home, Dean sets his package he got from the Magic Bazar. He heads
towards the Great Room. There staring at him is his liquor cabinet. The carafe of bourbon is
speaking to him. He must resist because alcohol just makes him lazy and he starts imagining
things. He needs to get the ideas for the story on his computer before he loses the details in his
brain. Then he goes on the computer to write out his story. First he starts to do research and
here’s where the procrastination from the past came in. He would get so diverted with the
research, he would not feel like writing.
He looks up the Magic Cards he bought. It’s called a Svengali deck. The description tells
about all of the wonderful things one can do with it. He is anxious to learn it so he quickly opens
the deck almost ripping the cover to it.
He is certain that the deck will do all of the work for him like Antonio said in his pitch.
However, when he reads the instructions, he soon learns that he still has to do some sort of
maneuvering to it. The instructions tell him to put his fingers of his right hand to the front of the
short end of the deck and his thumb in the back. Then by just lifting up the top card, two of them
comes with it. He is surprised to find out that it actually works. Oh, not very well at first because
the bottom cards jets out, but he can see that it won’t take much practice to do this well.
There he goes again procrastinating with something trivial instead of doing what he needs
to do. He picks up his Minolta and downloads the pictures to his computer so he can figure
which ones to use for the article. He noticed a strange thing. The picture that had the organized
glass cabinet was now messy, with no rhyme or reason. Stuff just here and there.
“This can’t be,” he says out loud. “That was one of the quirks to the place, it was
organized like a military drill sergeant.”
That’s okay, that’s just trivial. The Houdini handcuffs is the story. He looks at it in the
file of his camera and notices that the cuffs are opened. Maybe because it is a thumbnail image,
he is just seeing things. He opens the file on his 43’ computer screen and in living color is the
Houdini handcuffs. But, sure enough, they are opened.
 He mutters again, “This can’t be.” He knows for a fact that they were not opened because
no one but Houdini can open them without a key. Unless this was some sort of trick that Antonio
pulled, a Now You See It… Now You Don’t. I guess the hand is quicker than the eye.
He flips through some more of the pictures and has the one with Antonio on the pitch
stand. He seems to be in his glory. Dean used a sepia tint to the picture to give it a more tintype
look to it. He flips through them quickly making the pictures seem animated. The old man can
sure handle those cards better than I do, Dean thinks to himself. Maybe he can pick up some
pointers on how to hold the cards.
He flips back and forth to watch his hands when he notices a shadowy image slowly
creeping behind Antonio. Maybe it’s one of the customers getting in closer Dean surmises. When
he counts all of the people watching, there is one too many shadows casted.
He starts from the beginning and runs it quickly like a movie. The shadow travels
stealthily along. And it’s in color! “This can’t be”, say it enough times Dean, maybe you’ll
believe it. He minimizes the images and rubs his eyes. He refuses to suspend his belief. That
means he would have to sacrifice realism and logic for the sake of trying to prove and explain
what he just witnessed. There has to be a rational reason for what he saw. Maybe he had a couple
of superimposed pictures on top of each other. Yeah, that’s it. He must have taken pictures
previously during the day and then just snapped the one of Antonio later.
Only this is a fresh file.
Dean saves the file and goes out to get something to eat. There is more to the story than
Dean is willing to explore.

During the night, Dean couldn’t sleep. All he thought about was magic tricks and creepy
images. Maybe it is just the atmosphere in the place. I’m sure it’s design to trick the brain as well
as the eye. He is certain that if he can get a fresh look at the place and not be in awe of the
surroundings, he will be able to get a better assessment of everything.
Skipping breakfast, Dean heads towards the door. As he does, he turns around to make
certain he has his camera with him. Checks to see if everything is set on it, then he opens the
door. He almost trips over something left at his door. What the— It’s the same package he found
yesterday. No, it can’t be. He picks it up and reads the label and sure enough, it has the Magic
Bazar logo on it. How did it get here Dean wonders?
He lugs the box right to the same building and all of the way up to the 6th floor. The store
is opened, but there is no one out front. In fact, the pitch stand is not there anymore. They must
have just opened and haven’t brought it out yet.
When he looks up, below the stores name now reads, “Magic begins with deep thoughts.
It is trust in the phenomenon that makes it a miracle!” Dean could have sworn that there was a
different saying on it.
He sees a young man behind the counter inside demonstrating a trick to a magician. Dean
assumes it’s a magician because he is watching extra close. “I have that one,” the man says.
“But, I like the idea of using a pencil instead of the standard Color Changing Knives.”
As Dean looks around, he notices that the glass cabinets were just as they were when he
came in yesterday. And the Houdini handcuffs are still locked. The man behind the counter sees
me with the package and stops what he is doing. “Oh, thank you so much for returning that. I
thought we lost it.”
Dean looks puzzled as the young man takes it from him. “Where is the owner of the
store?”
“I am the owner,” the young man says.
“That’s impossible,” Dean adds. “I was in here yesterday.”
“You couldn’t have been, we were closed.”
“That’s crazy. I talked to Antonio yesterday.”
The young man looks at Dean perplexed. “Excuse me? Antonio?” He turns to the
magician he was selling to. “Marvin, you can go in the back if you like, I’ll be there with you in
a sec.” He then turns his attention to Dean.
The young man pulls Dean off to the side. “What are you talking about?”
“I spoke to an older gentleman with a German accent by the name of Antonio Martinka.”
“That is not possible. Antonio Martinka is dead.”
“When did he die, I just—”
“—he’s been dead for over a century.”
“No, no… he was here yesterday. Look, I have proof.” Dean takes out his Minolta and
shows the digital images on it. He scrolls down to the pictures of the old man at the pitch stand.
But, instead of Antonia standing at a wooden lectern, is just the opening of the store with a
“Closed” sign on the window.
“See,” the young man said, “We were closed yesterday.”
Dean was just speechless.
Antonio and Francis Martinka opened this shop in the late 19th century.”
“But, Antonio said he opened the shop in 1970.” Dean was insistent.
“More like 1870. 1872 to be precise.”
“I am certain he said 1970—oh, crap. He said the 70s. I just assumed…”
“What I don’t get,” the young man said, “How could have met him in the first place.”
“I didn’t—I couldn’t…” Not wanting to sound like a nut, Dean changes the subject. “So,
how long have you been owner of the Magic Bazar. You seem awfully young?”
“My name is Eric and I took over from the previous owner whose father was the famous
magician Al Flosso.”
“Never heard of him.”
“If you go on Youtube you can catch a glimpse of how funny he was,” Eric added. “He
was a brilliant magician, but kept the store a mess. It took me months to organize everything in
some semblance of order. You would be surprised at what we found. Tricks so old, it actually
used names of magicians long since dead.”
“I saw the Houdini handcuffs.”
“Yeah, the Plug Eights. Very difficult to open. First you have to put a plug in the key
hole there, then with the key, screw it in.”
“Really,” said an fascinated Dean.
“So, I am told,” Eric said. “The key is lost and I have not been able to find it. And most
important, I don’t know enough about handcuffs to figure out how to pick it. If it can be.”
“Do you mind if I take notes?”
 “Notes… I didn’t get your name.”
“Dean Powell, I a journalist wanting to do a story on this old place. Tell me more.”
“Well, you picked yourself a great place to write about. For more than a century, this
quaint, dusky halls was a congregation of the itinerant luminaries of the magic world.” With a
smile, Eric scans around the room and refers to the posters in front of him. “Now forgotten, they
were world famous in their day. Magicians such as Harry Kellar…” He sees Dean writing as fast
as he can. “…um that’s Kellar with an A, not an E.”
Dean looks up at the poster and realizes that he is correct.
Eric continues, “Howard Thurston who had the mantle past down to him. And of course
the illustrious Houdini. Even the not so famous like the Professor himself.”
“The Professor?”
“Dai Vernon. The Man That Fooled Houdini.” He looks over at Dean, “That’s D-A-I…
Do a Google search on him, it’s a fascinating story.”
“What was the allure of this place do you think Eric?”
The beauty of the brick and mortar shop was that until about ten years, this was the only
spot where fellow magicians taught eager teenagers the rudiments of the fundamentals. I should
know… I was one of them.”
“Then, I guess you continued that tradition as I can see.”
“That is only an illusion very similar to the tricks we sell,” Eric says. “Because of the
signs of the times, I just can’t keep up with the online retail stores.
“That’s true,” Dean says. “For my research on your store and magic in general, all I did
was do a Google search and noticed a plethora of info on YouTube.”
“Yeah, and any ten-year-old punk can just go on there and learn all sorts of secrets of the
trade in no time. One can watch a video or buy an exclusive magic prop and never leave your
home.”
“What’s so bad about that? The information highway is the future.”
“I am as about as modern as anyone. I have a Facebook page and Instagram all of our big
sellers. But, because of the electronic medium monopoly, we don’t have the hands on
instructions that we did then.”
From the shelf, Eric picks up a simple trick, the old stand-by, the Sponge Bunnies. “You
might ‘see and hear’ the info…” Eric places the two bunnies in Dean’s hand and has him close it.
“… but you miss out when you don’t have intimate interaction.” When Dean opens his hand,
little baby bunnies appear. Dean gasp in amazement. “See,” Eric said. “That feeling you got is
missed on the internet.”
Dean inspects the sponge bunnies, trying to find a secret hiding place. “Why do you stay
open?” Dean inquires.
“I tried close the store several times, but it won’t let me.”
Dean is puzzled, “Who won’t let you?”
“The store.”
“Wait, how can a store not let you close.”
Eric exhales a sigh. Then looks around as if he is being watched. “Off the record?”
“Now you know I am looking for a great story.”
“If I tell you, then I will be branded a nut.”
 “It would just make the story juicier. As it stands, we just have a nostalgia piece. But, put
some conflict it in… well, it can really go viral.”
Eric opens up one of the books on the shelves and shows him a black and white picture of
a lion in the store with magician Carter the Great. “Carter would keep his moth-eaten king of the
beast in the back room of the shop. When he got ornery, he would let out a powerful growl
which would often startle customers.” He closed the book and look Dean straight in the eye.
“Every once in a while…” his voice got serious, “… you can hear the creature roar.”
Eric got goosebumps.
“Can I take pictures of him? That would be great for the article?”
“That’s not possible.” Eric pauses for dramatics. “Monty’s been dead for a century now.”
“Whoa!” Dean doesn’t know what to say. He notices that Eric walks towards the door.
Dean follows. He looks outside and in the direction of the Manhattan’s asphalt jungle. “Max
Holden had a shop across the street. The shadow from that store permeates inside.”
Dean doesn’t believe in ghosts and wonders if this would come off as too much of
hyperbole. But, he does feel sorry for Eric. He is a young man like him struggling to get along in
this new high tech world. Maybe the article will give him some exposure. He’ll have to tone
down the supernatural stuff. Give it just enough to peak interest, but not too much to paint Eric
like a cuckoo.
For now, I think I will buy something before I leave, Dean thinks to himself. He notices a book
on the shelf called Royal Road to Card Magic. He picks it up and notices that it has tons and tons
of info on sleight of hand methods. Well, this is a good place to start.
Like a kid, he could not wait to get home and try some of the stuff described in the book.
But, he doesn’t have any other deck of cards being that he usually plays card games on his
Smartphone. When walks back into the kitchen table to try some of it, he once again trips over
the box.
This time, the box is broken open and when he picks it up, packing peanuts comes
pouring out. He opens it up to see if it is damaged. Inside is a bust of someone. The image does
look familiar. He has seen that face before, but where? Of course, the Magic Bazaar. It looks like
the picture of Houdini that is on the wall of the shop. But he cannot be certain as he has never
seen any photo of the master escape artist until a few days ago. He goes on the internet and sure
enough, it does resemble Houdini as he suspected. This must be the bust that use to be at the
entrance of Martinka’s.
He plans on returning it, but in the meantime, he places it on the mantle in his great room.
Going back to the kitchen, he tries to learn some of the card sleights from the book. It is not as
easy as it seems. One move, the Double Lift seems a bit tricky. Dean finds out that with the trick
deck, he can do it much easier.
He hears strange noises that sounds like it’s coming from a great distance. Then it gets
louder. It almost sounds like a human voice. Kind of like a German accident mix with a slight
American for good measure.
“Lay-deeahs and gintle-menh,” the voice said in a measured cadence with a careful
enunciation. Dean jumped out of his chair. He follows the sound. It seems to be coming from the
Great Room. The voice was in English, but with a hint of German and Midwestern… posibbly
Wisconsin.
 It goes on to say, in-troducing my original een-ven-shan…”
When he enters the Great Room, the voice is silent. There is not a soul to be seen. He is
startled to see the bust of Houdini staring at him. His dark, intense eyes seems to catch his glare.
“Nah, can’t be,” Dean says out loud.
He goes back to the kitchen. Then he hears the voice again. “Although there is not-ing
supernatural about dees.” Dean runs back to the great room and the voice stops again.
He picks up the bust of Houdini and holds it in his hand as if it was skull of Yorick. Alas,
poor Harry! I knew him well. Dean can’t wrap his mind around this enigma that concerns this
mysterious object. He is skeptical about this supernatural phenomenon presented before him. He
must be hallucinating.
Dean comes to the realization that what he believes is a real danger is nothing more than
a figment of his imagination. Shaky, he heads towards his liquor cabinet and pours himself a
glass of bourbon. Ah, the answer to the questions that matter.
Ah, that hit the spot. He takes a deep breath. As he sets the glass down, he notices that his
hand is still shaking. He pours another glass. He tilts his head back to finish off the last sip. Ah,
good to the last drop. When he settles his head upright, Dean gets the feeling that he is upside
down.
He looks around and he is in the middle of midtown Manhattan. He is being hoisting up
in the air by a crane. There is a confinement feeling as if he being swaddled. Then that he
realizes that he is tied up in a strait jacket. Holy crap!
The crane stops hoisting him up. Before he knows it, he is dangling seven stories high
just feet away from nearby buildings. Dean hears cheering. He looks down and sees a throng of
eager people packed in every square inch of the streets. Some even are inside of the building
gawking out of a window. There must be about 20 to 30 thousand people watching what would
be his certain death. “I don’t know how to get out of this thing,” Dean thought to himself.
For a moment, Dean was motionless. Then panic set in as he struggled to get out. Soon he
can feel the blood rush to his head. As he surveys his surroundings, Dean realizes that this is the
same setting as in the picture he saw of Houdini.
When all seemed lost, instincts took over. Not his as he has no idea on how to get out of
one of these things. But, he was soon taken over by some sort of knowledge that appeared inside
of his cerebral cortex imparting to him the exact method to escape.
Dean soon felt a swell going along his spine. A methodical pulsing spasm occurred inside
of the straitjacket. An enormous straining and turning of his back gave way as he contorted his
arms that was strapped around his chest. The more he struggled, the tighter the devise seem to
get.
He swung himself until he was able to get the straps onto his inverted feet. He
maneuvered the jacket very slowly over his head. What seemed like an eternity, he was finally
free! Sweat poured down his face as he was being lower down.
As he stood up, he realized he was back in his home. His suit jacket ripped to shreds
lying on the floor next to him.
 Dean is skeptical by nature. It served him well as an investigative reporter. However, this
mystifying experience has now caused him to re-examine his beliefs. Was that an illusion or was
it real? It sure seemed like it at the time.
The reporter in him makes him curious. He goes on the internet to research more of
Houdini. He soon finds out that Houdini himself was not a believer of psychic phenomena. He
spent the last half of his career explaining and exposing the workings of the greatest mediums of
his day. No psychic escape his watchful eye. Houdini claimed he can do this even while
watching any performance of a magic trick.
So there must be a logical explanation for this. The bourbon didn’t help. Quite possibly it
was the affects from drinking too much and the stress of the past few days. He lies down and
tries to sleep, but just counts the bumbles on his popcorn ceiling.
The arrangement of them creates strange images. One looks like an elephant. A rather
large elephant. It’s on its hind legs. Dean can swear that it’s right under him and about to fall on
him. He is about to jump out of his skin.
His pajamas have been transformed into a fine suit like afternoon tails. Then it dawns on
him that he is Houdini again performing one of his illusions. Now how does one make an a
pachyderm disappear?
As it turns out, there is nothing for Dean to do but lead the elephant into the box and let
the assistants do the rest. The sea of faces staring at him is intense. The size of the theatre is the
largest he has seen. Houdini was really in his element here, he can tell. He must have been on top
of the world.
So what is disturbing the Great Mystifier’s soul that he is haunting me, Dean asks
himself?
Now the hallucinations are coming in fast and furious. He is no longer Houdini, but the
last owner of the Magic Bazar, Al Flosso, known as the Coney Island Fakir. Dean is just an
observer as his watches events seen through Flosso.
While performing his act in Coney Island, he noticed that Houdini was in the audience.
He loved to visit the old place because it was there that he met his wife Bess. Flosso goes
through his usual routine with producing coins hoping that his version of the Miser’s Dream
would fool the Master Prestidigitator. If he could fool him, then he would be able to use that in
his billing.
Houdini watches very closely. At first Flosso is not certain if his moves fool him.
Houdini is well versed in most sleight of hand work especially the classic Miser’s Dream act.
Houdini’s best friend T. Nelson Downs made a sensation of it in Vaudeville. Plus, both Houdini
and Downs both learned to do the same move that made the secret possible. Houdini did it with
cards and Downs adjusted the technique for coins.
Dean is getting a bit dizzy because now his view point switches to both men who had
embodied at the same time. When Houdini goes back stage to talk to Flosso, Dean can sense
what both of them are thinking.
Flosso asks Houdini what he thought of his act. “It is nice.” Any professional knows that
this a way of saying that there was nothing special about it. Flosso took pride in getting as much
entertainment out of it as he knew the audience would allow.
 From a purist standpoint, Houdini was waiting to see a stunning set of moves with the
coins. To Al, his main job was to get his audience to laugh and enjoy themselves. He relied on it.
This resulted in repeat customers.
“Show me something that will wow me. Something I have never seen before Al.” He
knew Houdini liked him or he would have been more crass as he was to others. Still Al walked
on eggshells knowing any little thing could set Houdini off.
With Houdini gone, Al turned his attention to packing up for the day. While putting away
his props Coney Island, Flosso can’t help but notice a young man cutting paper. He looks to be
about 26 or possibly 27 years old. One thing Al is certain of is that he has never seen this before
and wonders what all of the fuss is.
For a nickel a passerby can get their silhouette cut by this artist. Flosso notices how he
does a good job in capturing their likeness. Al thought to himself that these cutouts would be
great in posters advertising his act.
He walks up to the man and notices that he is on break. The young man takes a deck of
cards and proceeds to do the sweetest card moves Flosso has ever seen. He detects a slight
Canadian accent. He asks the man his name. David Verner, but my friends call me Dai Vernon.
Dean goes through quick flashes of scenes where Flosso introduces Vernon to his circle
of magician friends. All agree that his work is no natural and hate to admit that the young man
from Canada fooled them.
Flosso turned his attention to Houdini. “He is so pompus with his boast of being able to
figure out any trick,” Al said.
“His reputation is at stake,” Dai said. “As soon as one of the fake medium gets one past
him, the game is over for him.”
“Yeah, but he thinks he is a master magician too.”
“No one is beyond being fooled,” Vernon goes on to say.
“Are you Dai?” The young Canadian picks up his cigar and takes a puff. Then he just
smiles at Flosso.

Thanks to Al Flosso’s recommendations, Dai Vernon is introduced to the big names of

Chicago magic, about sixty in attendance. He was invited to their Society of American
Magicians gathering that was being held at the Great Northern Hotel. None was greater than its
president, Harry Houdini who was in town debunking the local spiritualist at the Majestic
Theatre.
Dean found himself mingling around the room. He wondered who he was now. He went
to the mirror in the hallway and noticed his new alter-ego was not short and sloppily dressed, but
wearing a sharp suit and tie with his hair slicked back. Before he realized it, Dean was inside of
the young Canadian, Dai Vernon. He hesitated to approach the Master Escapologist because he
didn’t want a repeat at Coney Island where he bounced back and forth between Flosso and
Houdini.
It got to be late. It was 3:30 and the magic aficionados were still in the hall showing off.
So he latched on to Sam Margules instead. He showed him his version of the new trick, The
Ambitious Card. Margules was stunned. So was all of the rest of the boys. Their first thought was
to try to get Houdini. “I would love to see that pretend master magician get his.” Vernon wanted
no part of this.
Then it was Houdini’s turn. He performed for the ones still left his exhibition of card
fans. He spread them on his arm like the famous poster of him. The card flipped over and he
caught them before they fell to the ground. The sound of cards springing forth in Waterfall
Shuffles and all sorts of flourishes. The audience gave him a nice round of applause.
Then the crowd dispersed. Houdini’s wife had left him to mingle around knowing that
these bull sessions with his fellow magicians could last for hours. Those that stayed, chattered
about this magician or some new artifice they saw some guy do.
Margules introduced Vernon to Houdini. Houdini rolled his eyes. Dean was now in the
thoughts of Houdini. What does this amateur know? If I indulge him, he probably would think I
was doing him a big favor. “It doesn’t matter what you show me Verner, I can figure any trick
out if it was performed three times in a row.” Houdini thought he would scare the young man.
Then Vernon took over Dean’s thoughts. He was calm as he handed Houdini a pen.
Vernon then reached into his pocket and took out blue-backed deck of Aristocrat playing cards
with white borders. Then he proceeded to riffle through it and pulled out the ace of clubs. He told
Houdini to sign the card. He signed it, “H.H” on the face of the card.
Vernon took the card from Houdini and blew on it to make sure it dried. He turned the
card face down and placed it underneath the top card. He then squared it. Then Dean’s thoughts
took over. What am I supposed to do next? The only trick I know is Svengali Deck. Oh, would it
be that simple?
Sure enough, he turned over the top two cards and showed Houdini’s card. Dean saw
Houdini blink. He knew this was a sign that he was confused. Nah, that could not have fooled
him, did it?
“Do it again.”
Sweet music! This is a compliment among magicians. Vernon knows that Houdini is
aware of the Double Lift, so now he must be careful. As he turns the card face up, Houdini
watched very vigilantly. When Vernon spread the top card and the one underneath it was
facedown, Houdini about had a cow. He tried to hold in his anger.
Vernon once again put Houdini’s signed card under the top one, but he stopped halfway.
Dai tilted the deck to show Houdini the face of his card. Then Vernon slid the card home. He
squeezed the deck lightly. Vernon riffled his right thumb along the end of the deck. He turned
the card over with ease without any telltale signs of a move. Again Houdini’s signed card
jumped to the top. Or it seemed that way. Houdini was not convinced it was that easy.
He looked perplexed, but then a light turned on in his head, “Oh,” Houdini said, “I’ve got
it. You have two aces of Clubs.” Margules reminded the Master Escapologist that he initialed the
card.
There was a buzz among the crowd which now grew in size. They all knew the
condition… this would be the third time. “Come on Harry, admit defeat,” one person said.
“Vernon got you dead to rights,” said another.
Houdini would not give in. “Again,” he demanded. Vernon just smiled. He gave him his
third and final chance. Vernon took Houdini’s card from the pack and once again inserted it
underneath the top card. The top card was turned over and it was the signed H.H. ace of clubs.
 Houdini squirmed around knowing that he was cooked. He saw that his wife Bess was
still in the room, so he called her over. “Bess, watch this. He has a clever card trick.” Bess had
that look on her face like she didn’t want to see any card trick at this hour, but she knew her
husband was up to something.
Dai knew that this was just a subterfuge to see it a fourth time. However, he was
confident that Houdini was going to watch real close, so he will change method without
changing the function of the move.
He turned the signed card facedown. Then slid it under the top card. This time he made it
very clear that the top card was a single by handling in that certain manner than can be done with
one card. When he turned it face up, it was Houdini’s card. Bess looked at Houdini and smirked.
She was watching carefully also.
Houdini didn’t notice this because he was staring at the cards. This just could not be.
Bess must have sensed that her husband was in a pickle, because she asked to see it again.
Dai knew it was time to stop. But, for Bess… why not. Houdini was watching for some
sort of sleight of hand that did not exist. When Vernon used it, it was on the offbeat when
Houdini thought the trick was over. He never paid attention to Dai when he turned the card
facedown.
When the card rose to the top again, Bess turned to her husband and said, “Harry, can you
do that one?” He just ignored her. He turned to Vernon and said, “Again!”
Margules was now getting tired of this. So was everyone else left in the hall. Sam said,
“Admit it, Harry… he’s got you.”
“This is it,” Vernon said, “This the last time.”
Vernon turned over the top card and once again placed in under the top card. Houdini
was watching for some secret move at this point, but can’t figure out what he is supposed to be
watching.
Before Vernon was going to turn over the risen card for the last time, Houdini surprised
him. “Can I turn over?” He smiled. He was certain now that he knew what the young Canadian
was doing.
Vernon, on the other hand, knew that Houdini had no idea, but was bluffing. It is risky to
let him turn it over. The top card is not his concerned, it’s the second one that is the gaffed one.
If Houdini double-crosses him and takes the entire deck from his hand and discovers it, Vernon
is cooked.
Vernon gave in. Maybe Houdini could finally leave him alone. It’s getting late and he
wants to get back to New York. Even if Houdini discovered the gaff, he still won’t know what to
do with it. But, to a man like Harry with an ego larger than everyone in that room, that’s all he
would need.
“Go ahead,” Vernon said.
Sure enough, Houdini just turned over the top card. He looked it over expecting it to
reveal him the secrets to Solomon’s Mines. He turned it over and back a few times and found out
that it was just a card. One, single, signed playing card. And yet the damn thing keeps rising to
the top.
Houdini looked at Margules, then at Bess… then back at Vernon. He slammed the card
down on the table and left in a huff with Bess in tow.
 Dean was soon transferred back to Houdini. He could sense that his soul could not rest.
Back at his digs, the Master Mystifier paced back and forth with a deck in his hands trying to
muster every moves, subterfuges, and other methods he ever knew. After all, he once taught the
man that would call himself Erdnase. Certainly, he should be able figure out a simple trick like
this.
As Houdini made one more turn around his room, Dean noticed that he is back in his own
place. It is now morning and he felt like he hadn’t slept a wink. What does all of this mean? Must
do some more research so I can be armed when the dreams come again. If it is dreams. Dean is
now not certain.
Dean makes a trip to the library where old television is stored. He shows his press pass
and they let him have access to all sorts of videos of past magicians. He could not find Max
Holden, but he did find Al Flosso. He watches in delight as Flosso goes through his act
tormenting the child volunteer who is way taller than the magician.
Why isn’t this on Youtube, Dean thought to himself? He asked if it was possible to have
a copy of the recording. At first they refused, but when Dean said he was not interested in
profiting by it, they said that they would think about it.
Still the restless souls from the Magic Bazar stir inside of him like the Indian food he had
last night. How was he going to help them he thought to himself? Certainly there has to be
something of Max Holden that he can release. Something that would connect his name forever.
After further research, Dean discovered a lost manuscript that Holden wrote about hand
shadows. He notices that it is now in public domain. If he can post it as a PDF on Archive or
something like that, then others who want to learn this long forgotten art, can read it and revere
him.
Painstakingly he scans the entire manuscript on his computer. This takes him all day. As
he looks up, he sees strange shadows casting on his wall as the time passes. All sorts of creatures
being formed in strange color. As Dean turns each page, he briefly looks at the page and each of
the images on it, transformed itself in his office.
He presses save on the file. Then he downloads it on the onsite that has PDF books on it.
He writes a brief introduction on Max Holden’s career and how great. He says that his was the
definitive book on the art of shadowography. “If you want to learn to creative art, do yourself a
favor and download this gem.”
Relieved, Dean goes back on the site and puts in Max’s name. Up pops the manuscript.
He feels proud as if he was the one that wrote it. At that moment, the shadows that plagued him
disappeared. However, he hears the sound of giggling coins, as if they are dropping into a
bucket. One ghost down, three to go.
The clinking gets louder and louder until he can’t stand it any longer. Then he hears
laughs of children. The laughs are muffled as if they are near, but yet so far away. Then the
clinking, then the laughter, then the clinking, then the laughter, then…
The phone rings.
Dean picks it up. It’s the manager at the television museum telling him that he has been
authorized to release a CD to him. “Do I have permission to share it on Youtube,” Dean inquires.
 They agreed as long he doesn’t make any kind of sale of the video. “We feel that video…
all of the videos of the great magicians we have on file… should be release for public enjoyment
as they were originally intended.”
It takes many months to go through the files, but Dean downloads each magician that
they have in their procession. First, he posted Al Flosso and released him back to the spirit
world. He can feel a relief from Al’s soul. All he wants to do is perform again and in a small
way, he is now doing just that.
Dean figures he is on a roll. He painstakingly downloads all of the files on the magicians.
As he does, he comes across one titled, “The Magic Circus.” This is of television magician Mark
Wilson who is very much alive. He remembers from his research that Wilson started the trend of
using magic on television. Long before Criss Angel and David Blaine. Even before David
Copperfield and Doug Henning.
Why did the spirits want him to release this? He watches the video and on it is a much
older Dai Vernon doing the Cups and Balls. Dean is very pleased. He was a very good magician.
Why didn’t he ever become famous other than among the magic community puzzles him?
Dean makes this a priority. He must finally release the Professor’s soul, as Dai Vernon is
now known among his peers. He finds so many videos marked after that date that has him on
other television shows. He did gain fame after all.
Finally, Dean can now relax and get some sleep. But, he still is haunted by one soul. That
of the Master of Escapology… Harry Houdini. What kind of fame does Houdini want? He is
already known for being the greatest magician of all time. Even though people like Dai Vernon
never thought he disserved that title.
What is the angle? Doing a Google search, Dean realizes that the two names are forever
linked together. The Professor just won’t let Houdini off of the hook. He can still feel his
presence in him. “If he thinks he is the greatest magician of all time, let him figure it out.”
Figure it out? Figure what out? You mean that damn card trick? Could that be the thing
that has haunted Houdini after all of these years? One trick?
As Dean retires for the night, he preoccupied by the event in Chicago. He replays it over
and over again and it always ends the same way. What does Houdini needs? Of course… he
needs to figure out the trick.
As he tosses and turns in his bed, Dean takes over the soul of both magicians at the same
time. Maybe he can talk some sense in them. The Professor just won’t give in. He says that he
will let off that easy. If, on his own he can solve the riddle… then he will let him go.
The room spins and Dean is transformed into the body of Houdini. He watches the trick
right up to the last moment where Vernon says no more. “Can I turn the card over,” Houdini
asks?
Vernon gives him a brief smile. Houdini reaches over to take the top card. He stops. Then
he looks down at the second card, then at Vernon, then back at the second card again. Then he
discovers a twitch from the Canadian. What is it about the card that Vernon is hiding?
“Can I instead turn over that card,” Houdini asks.
Vernon’ smile grows larger. Ah, he thinks to himself. He has me now. “I can, but that
would be too easy. What is it about that card that brings about the mystery? Think real hard.”
Vernon has this guilt that have plagued him into his old age. Bess Houdini was the godmother to
his children. How could have done that to her famous husband? Every time he looked at his
children, he sees Bess Houdini’s face. No, the moment to end this is now.
The two magic legends stare at each other. Vernon is tempted to just tell Houdini, but he
needs to earn it for himself or his soul won’t rest. Either of them. Maybe if he gives him a hint,
he’ll figure it out without realizing that it is so. “This is the last time I going to do this back to
back, Harry!” By putting an emphasis on back, he hopes that will click in. Plus, by goading him
this way, his ego will force him to think of the obvious.
Dean is now inside of the ambiance of Houdini. He can now guide him to the correct
solution without actually telling him. Think, Harry think. Back-to-back. Then, for the first time,
Dean is outside of the two great men and is an outside observer.
Houdini resisted in taking the second card off of the deck. Besides, Vernon had a tight
grip on it. He turned over his selected card face-up. Finally, as if a light just clicked, his eyes lit
up with a newfound knowledge.
He turned it over back and front a few times, then looked at Vernon and smiled. Vernon
smiled back knowing that Elusive American finally escape his humiliation. What is strange is
that Houdini was not the one to pretend to be defeated. He would have announced Vernon as a
four flusher on the spot.
No, it was the ghost of Houdini that took over here. He knew he was defeated, but finally
he understood the rudiments of subtlety of the Professors methods. The perfect misdirection tool.
Combine a gimmick card with sleight of hand. How brilliant!
Dean watched as both of their spirits went their separate ways, finally being able to rest
in peace.
When Dean came to, the bust of Houdini stared at him. He was able to now know the real
secret to the complexity that was the greatest mysterfier of them all. He picks it up and heads to
the Magic Bazar to give it to Eric so he can put it where it belongs, in the entrance for all to see.
He went up to the familiar steps and headed to the window. When he walked to the front
of the building, he noticed that the door was closed shut. The sign above the threshold that
usually said, Magic Bazar has been removed. The wall around it was faded, but the rectangle
space that housed the sign seems new as the first day it was painted. Almost like a ghost in itself.
An eerie souvenir of a century past.
When he peeks inside, he notices that there are people in there working. Dean gets the
attention of some workers in there. One of them opens it. All of the cabinets are gone as well as
the shelves that had the many tricks on it. Instead, they are being placed in boxes by the workers.
Dean inquires about the guy who use to own this place. “Eric, you know the person who ran this
place?”
“Eric… I never heard of him.” He turned back to what he was doing. “This is the Magic
Bazar isn’t it?”
“Use to be. Now it’s just a warehouse.” He ignores him again and continues working.
Dean follows him. The man stops him, “Excuse me pal, but we have to get these out by today.”
One of the other workers was more kind. “Eric you say? There was someone whose name
was on the deed, but that was about early last century. Weiss I think his name was. Yeah, Eric
Weiss was how it written.”
Dean knows he has heard that name from somewhere, but is not sure.
 “Anyway,” the man said, “He is probably long since dead.”
“I see.” A puzzled Dean just sees himself out. The door is clicked into the locked
position. He turns around, but the shades on the old familiar window was drawn closed.

As he gets home, Dean puts the stuff in his hands on the couch. Per his custom, the first
thing he does is head straight to his computer. He puts up the address of the magic store again
into Google. He clicks on it and reads the ad attached to the address. It is now an online magic
supply store now called, of all thinks… Martinka’s. Now Antonio’s soul can rest easy too. The
brothers have come full circle. Their store will live forever.
But, what really intrigued Dean was what happened to his friend Eric. The guy in the
store said that his name was Eric Weiss, Eric Weiss. Why does that name sound familiar? He
puts in the name in the search engine and it says, Do you mean: Ehrich Weiss?
That was the name of Houdini before he changed it. Dean clicks on the images and there
it was… a picture of Houdini when he was a kid. That looks just like the Eric that he met at the
store.
Dean lifts back his head and just laughs to himself. Oh, Houdini, you have such tricks up
your sleeve. As Dean tilts his head upright, he notices the stuff he left on the couch. One of it is
the bust of Houdini. He forgot to leave it at the magic store. That was his purpose of going to the
shop. Oh, well… I’m sure they would not have not known what to do with it any. Besides, it will
look better on my mantle he thought to himself.
As he lifts it to put it on it, he sees for the first time some words etched on the bottom of
it. Of all of the times he handled it, he never noticed it. The name on it says, John W. Sargent,
secretary of the Great Harry Houdini.
Dean reads the poem that Sargent wrote. How appropriate it seems to be.

“You've all of you been in that snug little place,

Where you wizards all love to resort,
Where the shelves all about bear the tools of your art,
And where all your best tricks have been bought,
You all of you know it and love it, I'm sure
And in passing you always will stop,
For there's no other place on the whole Earth's face,
Like Martinka's little back shop.”