The Magician

"5 Minutes Till Showtime!" comes the watchman
Here I stand looking from the wing of the stage, feeling the energy flowing from the audience
I always do the same thing,
I always walk from stage left, make my appearance, and begin my introduction...

Then, on to the first of many tricks
I look to each corner of the stage, stage right, then stage left
But why? Something is compelling me to do so, something calling me...
I just don't understand...

"4 Minutes Till Showtime!" comes the watchman
"Alright," I respond, "thank you..."
There! It's the feeling yet again, not the energy, but, I'm being watched...
No! I'm being studied. Who is it? And why are they so intrigued by me?

In last night's show, I remember up in the light and sound booth, that, that shadow...
It, it was like a person, but yet, it, wasn't...
You could see through it, right to the back wall, as if looking through a tinted window...
Either way, I wonder if it's him, or, or her, that's been watching me(?), watching me now?

"3 Minutes Till Showtime!" comes the watchman
Where will he or she be tonight? In the wings as I feel he or she is?
What do I do if it becomes a distraction and I lose my train of thought?
When shall I have to have confrontation, of which I hope not to be negative?

This, being only my second show of the scheduled run, is where I need to be getting more comfortable,
And yet, I am only feeling more skiddish than before.
The shadow, I should draw it out rather than have it throw me off...
That's it! I'll confront it, diplomatically of course, with only peace in mind...

"2 Minutes Till Showtime!" comes the watchman
"No! I, I need more time! Please!"
"I'm sorry, but the show must go on its scheduled time..." comes the watchman
How will I be able to confront it now? Maybe I should call to it?

Yes! That's it! I will call to it while the audience finishes getting seated and comfortable.
"Spirit! Spirit!" I cry, "Please! Join me here back stage, and let us have our much needed discussion!
Why don't you come to me? You watch me and yet you do not act on it! Come now, before I must go on!
Still... Why must you stall? What is it that is stopping you?"

"1 Minute Till Showtime!" comes the watchman
"Will you at least give me some sort of sign? Do you accept my work? Who are you?
What is it that causes you to remain here? Wait, I can hear footsteps from the catwalk!
Watchman! Is there someone up there?"

"No," says he, "there is no one there. Everyone is in their place for the show to begin.
Maybe sir," he begins, "you should take a deep breath and relax. I don't think there's anyone there..."
How wrong he is. I can sense it. I can sense their eyes watching, waiting, picking their moment.
Fine. The show must go on. I will do my best to keep my composure and if something should happen, I will have to think on my feet.

"Show Time!" cries the watchman. "Break a Leg, sir!"

*
The show reaches its close and the applause from the audience occurs almost nonstop.
They thoroughly enjoyed each and every trick and beg for more. The magician has done more than well,
and yet as he sits on the edge of the stage with a single light spotting him after all have left the building,
he looks rather despondent, contemplation quite easily finding him and infecting his mind. He speaks...
*

"I can still feel you there. Look! Not one living person but myself remains here. What is it that you want?
I will not even try to force you into the light so I may see you. All I ask from you is that you come forth and speak with me.
What causes you to hold such trepidation as to not even want to take the step to talk with me? Have I done something wrong?"
What is that sound? There is not a soul here, pardon the pun, and yet I hear footsteps from behind me, from behind the curtain.

Not even a single set. No. Dual sets of footsteps. And they are not retreating this time. "Hello?!" No reply. Who could it be?
"Hello?! Come now spirit, or is it spirits? Will you speak with me?" The steps come closer, and I can faintly make out a figure among the darkness!
"I see you! What may I call you? Surely you must have some sort of name?"
A voice calls out, "You may call me Logan. And she, she is Emerald..."

I feel frozen as I can't move. My limbs, they wish not to respond. Paralyzing fear envelops me!
I must speak to them, if nothing else. "I thank you, sir, for making contact and giving me your names. For what reason are you here?
Why is it that you continue to watch me? Why do you stay in the shadows? Have I given you reason to?"
The silence kills me! Why do they opt to stay silent? Have they gone from me? I cannot tell, for my eyes are so tired...

Then, the voice comes to me once more, "I will answer your questions in due time, and no, you have not given us reason to remain in the shadows...
That line of action is, rather, what we felt was appropriate for the given circumstances. My wife and I are the deceased owners of this theater.
This theater was ours for years upon years, and we only separated from it in death. And even that has not stopped us from returning.
I'm sure you have figured as much, no? *The spirit chuckles.* In any case, you wish to speak with us and we wish to speak with you."

"Do you?" I ask. "Yes, most certainly. We have been in the wings, as I know you are aware, viewing your performances.
We are more than elated to have you here and we wish you to stay as long as you see fit.
You remind us so wonderfully of the past when this theater was the center of all of the vaudevillian performances...
It has remained dormant for so long that we thought nothing could wake it from its seemingly perpetual slumber.

We do not in any way wish to speak ill of the current owner, but, he does not have the kind of fire and tenacity that we had when we were still
alive when it came to collecting talent. But then, you came along out of nowhere.
You, you my boy, are what we strived to try to attain and what brings this place back to the times of warmth and liveliness it once knew...
We, my wife and I, wish to thank you from the bottom of our hearts." I reeled back a bit...

"Thank me? Thank me for what?" They smiled. "We wish to thank you for giving us the chance to feel the joy that we once knew.
In fact, it is because of our gratitude that we wish to bestow something upon you. Will you accept it?"
I was astounded at this offer and inquiry. "I Cannot say no. Though I am worn thin from the performance, an excitement is welling in me.
What must I do to show my acceptance?"

*
At this, both spirits seemed to fade into the darkness and a noise began to sound somewhere in the theater.
The magician knew not where to look, for the acoustics in the theater caused the sound to ricochet off every wall.
Upon venturing backstage, he found that the sound was decidedly louder behind a pile of show props and costumes.
He moved the object aside quickly and behind them he found only a wall.
*

A wall? That's what is making this sound? It can't be! Wait, what's this draft? Where is it coming from?
Oh look! There's an outline of a door here. If I can find something to maybe pry this open... Ah! There! Those must be one of the crowbar things they use when
constructing or setting up the stage for my magic act. Thank god they forgot to put this back in one of their storage sheds. Any ways, here we go...
There! Now, to just push on this end and leverage open this door. A-ha! Got it! And that sound is much louder. I still don't know what it is.

You know, it reminds me of a cello. Maybe that's what it is. A light?! This seems to be some sort of hidden corridor. Got this far, might as well investigate.
So cold in here. The floor is of dirt and the walls look like stone. Is this another door up ahead?
Ahh.. It's locked. I wonder if I can pry this door open as I did the last... No, it won't budge. I've hit a dead end. But that cello is definitely being played
on the other side. *A clicking sound is heard.* Did the door just unlock? I'll try it. Yes! It's unlocked. Strange it unlocks itself, but here we go, into the room of music.

*
When the magician finally enters the room, he realizes that he is in a hidden study, with books lining the walls and a cello in the center of the room.
Rather startled, he stops his advance. The cello, he sees, is playing itself. But how? No time to contemplate, for the room is gaining light fast and the sight
it truly something to behold. Surrounding the instrument of beauty are strewn about treasures, more valuable to him than any other. For the books along the walls
are books of magic, books of illusion, books of timeless art. Beyond that, there is a chest that sits just behind the cello.
*

Shall I open the chest, or shall I leave it be...? What do I do? Those footsteps, they sound off once again. "Hello? Logan? Emerald?" "Yes, of course, who else?" Logan's voice
answers back with a chuckle. "Go on, please open the chest, and take your final gift." I will obey. I will not turn down their kindness, for it seems too good to be true at the
moment and I wish not to wake up from so pleasant a dream. Ha ha.... Looks like a simple latch, there is no lock on it. If I lift up this front piece and use it
as a kind of handle, I can quite easily lever this top off. There...

*
After viewing the contents of the chest, the magician stands shocked and looks around him for Emerald and Logan.
Where are they? Where did they go? he wonders... In looking around, he notices that on the door which serves as the entrance for this room, there are words...
They are scrawled in what seems like some sort of paint that slowly changes color with such strangely entrancing beauty and grace.
He reads the note out loud to himself...
*

"We, the previous owners of this theater, Emerald and Logan, hereby bequeath unto you two keys.
These two keys give you access and ownership of this theater, and subsequently each and every treasured piece of artistic illusion within this room
and any other rooms you may stumble upon, for this room is not the last you will find upon thorough examination.
We are more than glad that you are here and hope you enjoy the treasures that you now own. Please continue on in your path of magic. We will be watching..."