1985
"Great first show, Mister Allen," Cody said.
I nod.
"And this is just the beginning. I have so much planned for what I'll do with this place."
We both clean up the building. I pay Cody, and he goes home.
I walk around the building again. This time it feels different, like it was more than just a studio for me to work in.
The lights start to flicker.
"Not again."
I head to the switch and shut all the lights off before leaving the building. I get in my car and drive home.
I make it home and go inside and into the kitchen, where I grab some water, then walk to my room. I fall onto my bed and lay there for a while. Eventually, I fall asleep.
The next morning, I get ready for the day. I walk into my living room when my phone rings.
"Hello," I say.
"Hello, is this Mister Allen?" a man said from the other side of the phone.
"Yes, this is. Who's this?"
"It's Westbrook," he said.
"Oh, Mister Westbrook, it's nice to hear from you," I say, trying to sound polite.
"Likewise. Anyway, I'm going to get straight to the point," he said.
Instantly, I was interested in what he had to say.
"I heard your show last night was a success," he said. "Seems like you weren't kidding about doing great things with the place. I'd like to come to your next show to see it all for myself."
"Oh, of course. I'll save a seat in the front just for you, sir," I say.
"Wonderful," he said. "Do you know when your next show will be?"
I look at my calendar.
September 12th.
"It will be next week, sir."
"Very well. I'll be expecting lots from the show," he said.
We say goodbye to each other and hang up the phone.
I grab my bag and rush outside. I drive and pick up Cody. He gets in, and we drive to my studio.
We spend the whole week preparing for my next show. I had to impress Mr. Westbrook.
The week felt short, seven days feeling like three.
It was time for my next show.
I got up on stage, hearing the sounds of guests talking to one another on the other side of the curtain.
Cody comes up to me.
"Alright, sir. Everyone's here, even Mister Westbrook," he said.
"Good job, Cody."
I take a deep breath.
Cody pulls the rope, and I watch the curtains separate, revealing the crowd, Mr. Westbrook sitting at the front.
The stage lights come on, and everyone cheers.
"Welcome to Allen's Home of Mysteries!"
The crowd cheers as I begin my act.
I do most of the same tricks I did on my first show, with a few new ones here and there. Everyone loved it just as they had before, and once again, for my final trick, I had Cody come up, and I once again made him disappear.
It was a successful show.
I say my thanks to the crowd, then Cody closes the curtain. It takes a moment for the clapping to die down, even though the curtain was fully closed.
I walk down the stairs backstage and over to Cody.
"How was the trap door exit down there?" I ask.
"It worked really well, actually. Maybe just tidy it up a little, then it'll be perfect," he said.
"Great. Has everyone left yet?" I ask.
He nods.
"Yeah, everyone except Westbrook," he said.
I walk past him and walk out.
"Ah, Mister Allen," Westbrook says. "Great to see you."
"You too, Mister Westbrook," I say.
"My golly, I have to say this was quite the show you had here," he says.
"Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you," I said.
He spots Cody.
"Oh? Who's this?" he asks.
"Oh, this is Cody. He's my only worker here," I say.
Cody waves.
"Well, we can't have that, can we? I'll send you over some workers for you to hire," he says.
"Really?!"
He nods.
"Keep this up and great things will come your way," he says as he starts to walk out.
"Yes, sir," I say.
And with that, my second show was a success.
The next day, the workers Mr. Westbrook said he would send arrived. I hired almost all of them, and we all got to work.
We made the place look nicer and nicer over the next few weeks.
I started with three shows a month, then went up to four, then five, then six, and by the six-month point, I was doing three shows a week.
Allen's Home of Mysteries was famous all throughout the city. Everyone wanted to come see my show.
I sold out my shows every time.
Everything was great.
My dream of becoming a big-shot magician had finally come true.
For one whole year, everything was perfect.
Then suddenly, my audience started to die.
Less and less people would show up to my shows.
Ninety percent sold out, then eighty percent, then sixty percent, then twenty percent.
Over the span of three months, my audience had almost completely disappeared.
My workers started to quit. With the lack of visitors, my dream was slowly fading away, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I stand up on stage to perform when Cody walks over to me.
"Sir…" he said.
"No one came…"
I look at him expressionless.
I sigh.
"You can go home, kid," I said. "Tell anyone else that works here that they can go home too."
Everyone was gone by the time I got out of the building, the lights flickering behind me as I walk to my car.
I get in and drive home.
I walk inside and to the kitchen, grabbing a beer.
It was my seventh one this week, and it was only Thursday.
I sit down at my dining room table, my head resting on my arm.
I sit there for a while, then I walk to my room and close the door.