After a pause, Farro waved his hand at the audience to be quiet. Immediately the room fell silent. He had complete control of the entire room now.
“That was only half of the illusion, ladies and gentleman I still have to bring her back.” He said, so relaxed as if making girls explode into hundreds of doves was a normal day occurrence for him. Although for a magician I guess this is true. Well him anyway. He stopped for a moment and gazed down. It looked like he was breathing in, and as he did, the eyes on the skull of his staff started to glow green. They shone brighter and brighter. He lifted his head up, held his arms apart and started whistling. It had a weird pitch, like the hum of a jet engine. I could hear cars honk their horns and people screaming outside. The doors of the theatre started to rumble and shake. I could feel the vibrations through the chair arm rests. Everyone in the theatre turned around to hear what all the commotion was, glaring at the doors waiting for something to burst through. It’s surprisingly tense and I remain sitting nervously, gripping the top of my seat, turned staring at the door with my knees on my seat. Knock knock the rumbling stops, the shaking settles. Knock knock knock I turn around and look at Farro for answers. He looks back at me, waving his hands. Shoving me, mouthing
“Go on.” I protest shaking my head. He rolls his eyes and repeats. “Go on.” Knock knock knock. It sounded louder and much faster. I reluctantly stand up and slowly walk to the aisle, passing Eli.
“What you doing?” He whispered. Concerned.
“I dunno.” I answered shrugging my shoulders. Walking down the aisle, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, burning into the back of my neck. Knock knock knock. I take a long hard look at the entrance doors in front me. The handle was rusty, worn from the thousands and thousands of people turning it. I looked over my shoulder at Eli, he had a confused looked on his face but it changed, showing eagerness, he wanted me to open it as much as the other people. Their eyes all on me, goading me on. I don’t hesitate any longer; I grab the handle and twist as fast as I can.
“Boo!” I fall backwards onto my rear end, thinking it would be a monster or demon. But no it was Roko poking her head through the door. The audience burst into laughter and cheers. She helped me up with a cheeky smile on her face,
“Sorry,” she said picking me up from the ground.
“That’s alright,” I quietly whisper back to her, embarrassed by the fact I just fell on the floor in front of all these strangers.
“There will be a short intermission everyone, whilst we set up for the next trick, feel free to stretch your legs.” Farro said as Roko jumped back on the stage.
“Fall over much.” Eli said chuckling to himself, I gave him a slap on the head instead of coming up with a witty response.
2 -NIGHTMARES-
We waited outside in the hallway whilst Eli went to the bathroom. Dad was pacing up and down, looking anxious, sweating. I don't think I’ve seen him this worried before.
“What's the matter, we won't be late for the second half.” I said trying to reassure him.
“We have to go.”
“Don’t worry we’ll get in before the next trick, we have loads of time.” I replied with confusion on my lips.
“No, I mean, we have to leave the theatre.” He said.
“What? No, it’s not even finished yet, why do we have to go?” I said, getting annoyed at the fact we had to leave for no reason. He walked over to me and grabbed me by the shoulders, squeezing me tight. He stared into my eyes; his were almost like egg yolks melting in his sockets. He was almost crying. I was starting to get scared now. I'd never seen him so emotional, why was he so distraught?
“Please, trust me. We have to go, I can't explain to you why, but just trust me.”
“Ok,” I blurt out, worried about what might happen if I argued.
“What's going on?” Eli said, whilst trying to unstick the zip in his trousers. Dad nodded and then walked ahead of us to the car.
“Come on. We have to go.” I said to Eli, tapping him on the arm.
“What?” He said. I sighed and looked blankly at him. I didn’t have an answer that justified leaving. “Just, come on.” I said shrugging my shoulders, turning and walking to the exit. Eli ran up to my side.
“What’s going on?” He said.
“I don’t know but dad is acting strange. I have a feeling he was scared of the magic trick.” I said. “He was just too embarrassed to say anything.”
“Really? Aww man, it was getting good as well,” Eli said. He stayed quiet for the rest of the night; he was just as gutted as me. I took the back seat on the way home, still pretty annoyed with dad. What was bothering him? Eli was still sitting there quietly looking out of the window, absorbed in his own world. He was mad about leaving the show but he didn't say anything. I sat for a while watching dad drive.
After my mum died Eli has always been there. That's probably why we’re so close. His mum and dad died in a car accident when he was seven. Both attracted by tragedy. I miss her all the time. She abandoned me and my father and yet I still love her. I'm starting to forget what she looks like; she's slipping away from me. Dad was never the same after she left us. He changed, but he became a better father. We moved into this old Victorian manor that his uncle gave to him in his will. He got a new job where he wasn't away abroad, on business calls all the time, which means I see him every day. We stop outside Eli's house and he jumps out of the car, pulling his shirt over his head, using it as pathetic barrier between his head and the rain that was thundering down. There was so much water, the roads were almost flooding. The noise of the projectiles splashing in their own self-made swimming pool all culminated together. Each individual splash becoming an instrument in the orchestra. Eli didn't say goodbye, just gave me a small wave and ran into his house.
We drove back to the house in silence. I had questions but I doubted whether he would answer them. I kicked my shoes off and went straight to bed. It was only half ten but I didn't get any sleep last night. I don't sleep most nights, leaves me with bags under my eyes. Dad insists on calling me Bilbo Baggins because of the light bags under my eyes. Nightmares cause it. Well nightmare, it's different every night but the story is always the same, I'm used to waking up in sweat and tears, soaking my white sheets every night in my fear. I just lay there in my bed staring at the semi-circle patterns on my ceiling, postponing the fact that I will wake up in the next four hours scared half to death tonight. I close my eyes and drift off to the images of the great magician Farro and his disappearing act. I wonder what might have been the next trick he was going to do. My eyes become heavy as I re-live the magic trick trying to figure out how he did it, trap door maybe, that’s the only thing that fits.
My eyes open, I wake up to a voice, a women's voice. It was light, soft to the ear and made me feel safe and warm. It sounded like it was coming from outside my door? I rolled out of bed and crept towards the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. I press my ear against the cold wooden door. The voice was getting fainter and fainter. I stepped out onto the landing, it was freezing, the floor was made of oak which meant it stayed what felt to be below zero all night. It sent a shiver up my spine.
“Atlas.” The whisper became clearer. It was coming from the bathroom and I had an unnerving urge to find out who she was. “Atlas.” She said again the words floating through the air on the bitter night breeze. I stepped into the bathroom and examined the area carefully. After realising there was no one there I gave up my search and looked into the mirror, hoping to see someone that wasn’t going nuts. Looking back at me was an unfamiliar skinny white boy. I was confused at first and then the cogs turned in my head, it was me staring back at me, I never realised how tired and ill faced I looked. Lack of sleep takes it out of you. You don’t find out how important it is until you don’t get any anymore.
The mirror misted up, like when you take a shower and leave a watery layer on the surface. I wipe it away to reveal a woman's face back in the mirror, the rest of the reflective marvel shrouded in blackness. Not me or any of my surroundings, just this woman, kneeling down. Crying. Silently. I hear the whisper again, “Atlas.” But this time it seems more urgent. The woman gets up and grabs the mirror from the other side and growls. She screams “Atlas!” Her voice was much deeper, a gravelly voice. The bathroom started to rattle and shake, as if an earthquake was trying to crumble the house around me and throw into the depths of hell. Alone and scared, I grabbed hold of the sink to keep steady, the room turned crimson red. Blood oozed from the walls through the tiles and the taps. The woman had dark red eyes bearing deep into my soul. “Help me Atlas, help me.” She bellowed into my heart. I closed my eyes in fright and grip onto the sink, hoping everything would just go away.
3 -ROAD TRIP-
I wake up in a hot sweat, with soaked sheets as a blanket over me. I sat up and slid to the side of the bed, letting my legs hang freely. I feel cold water on my face and look up confused, thinking that the ceiling is leaking. But it's from me, I'm crying about something so abstract but yet so real. I just sit there with my head in my hands, just hoping that when I eventually fall back to sleep that her face isn't there waiting for me.
“Atlas.” I hear coming from behind me, from my door. I grabbed the sheets of my bed. Holding on tight. Closing my eyes, will I ever be released from the poison of this dream?
“Atlas, you alright buddy?” This time I heard a man’s voice. I turned around to see my dad leaning against my door frame, smiling at me. “I heard you riling about from my room, so I came to see if you were alright.” He said walking over and sitting beside me on the bed.
“Thanks.” I whimpered back to him, snorting and wiping the meaningless tears off my face.
“I hear you most nights, talking in your sleep.” He looked at me. “You talk about saving someone.”
“Do I? It's nothing.” I lie.
“It's not nothing, Atlas. You have to talk to me; it will make you feel better. Share your burden.” I contemplate whether to lie and say I was falling or something. But it might make me feel better to tell someone. Dad is the only person I can talk to, he brought me up almost as a single parent. Memories of my mother are scarce. She died when I was five years old. I only remember her smile and the smell of lavender. Every time I wash my clothes or walk through a field, somehow the lavender scent finds me, bringing with it her face and laugh and love. Even at a young age I could tell it hit him hard. Because of the nightmares, I'm up late at night and I can hear him, saying her name in his sleep, calling out to her, wishing her to come back. But every night she doesn’t answer, she leaves my dad there hoping, holding on to her memory. I have the benefit of waking up in the middle of the night, escaping the nightmare. But he is trapped until daylight wakes him. “So, what's the dream about? Son.” He said while tapping me on the shoulder. I give in,
“Ok, it's about a woman,” I begin, turning to face him.
“Oooo, Damsel in distress type?” He said grinning. He knew it wasn’t but he wanted to break the ice. We never usually talk about personal things. We both get embarrassed as soon as a serious subject comes up in conversation. I ignored the comment and carried on.
“I see her in a mirror, it's always in a mirror, the places change but the mirror and her face never do. She's sitting there shivering alone, crying but I can't,” I stop for a moment, paused by the ill thought.
“Go on, and then what?” He says trying to reassure me.
“And then it changes, she calls out to me and gets angry.”
“And?” My father adds looking at me waiting for the rest of the story.
“And, well, that’s it. I wake up.” I say not wanting to explain in any more detail.
“That’s what’s been bothering you.” He breathed out in relief, he was used to the torments of mum, I dare not tell him the rest. I don’t want to put more stress on his shoulders. He put his hands on my face. “I know not having a mother around is hard. But we’re strong together, ok?” He smiled and pulled his hands away from my face, his cheeks glowing red for a moment. “Now seeing as were both up, how about some hot chocolate?” He said changing the subject, I looked at him and chuckled.
After finishing my hot chocolate downstairs in the kitchen, I glance at the clock. Its four in the morning. Four in the morning! By the time I traverse upstairs I will have to get ready for school. I dashed up the stairs; as I open my door to my bedroom I hear a knock. Who on Earth is knocking on the front door at this time? As I sneak to the end of the landing I hear hushed voices. One being my father’s and the other being someone else’s. His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I leant over the bannister and looked at the front door. Dad was standing there talking to someone outside. The door was a jar only slightly. I couldn’t make out the figure standing there, he was hidden by shadow. I couldn’t fully hear what they were saying. I could only pick out the word ‘danger’. I moved closer, putting one foot on the top step to get a better angle on the door. The black figure, started to come into view. The moonlight was creeping in around him. It was Farro!
I couldn’t see his face but the walking stick and the yellow coat were unmistakable. Dad shut the door and turned around to face me. He looked angry but not with me, with the cold caller.