The Magic Shop

Mental





The silence woke Marcus sometime later. He lifted his phone and pushed the power button, revealing the red battery icon. The device shut itself off. He sat up, cranky, and yanked the cables from his sore ears. At that moment he remembered where they were going and wished he could disappear.

Next to him, Ellie’s head hung over her book, bobbing slightly. A drip of drool was starting to form on her lower lip. Apparently she didn’t last long. Their grandma didn’t, either. She softly snored in the front passenger seat.

“Feeling any better?” Marcus saw his grandpa’s green eyes in the rearview mirror. They were the only ones awake.

Marcus grunted and leaned his head against the cold window again. “How much longer?”

“The drive wasn’t that long,” his grandpa said. ”Don’t worry, you slept through most of the trip. Maybe five more minutes.”

Don’t worry? For a while Marcus had forgotten where they were going, and enjoyed that feeling. Thanks for the reminder, Marcus wanted to say. He knew they were visiting family, but now all Marcus could think about was how creepy Nevada State Hospital was.

“I’ve been thinking,” his grandpa said, “about what your teacher said.”

“Uh huh,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. He watched the thorny Yucca trees pass by through the window and tried to listen to the soothing hum of the drive. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk.

“Mr. Diddley said you needed more responsibility in your life, some discipline.”

“I’ll do more dishes then,” Marcus said sardonically, “or maybe even wash the windows.” Marcus blew hot breath on the glass next to his head, leaving a fog ring, then rubbed it clean with the edge of his fist and smiled.

His grandpa snickered. “I was thinking of something more significant than that.” Ellie began to stir.

“Than what, Grandpa?” Ellie asked, rubbing her eyes then turning her head to wipe her mouth quickly.

“Welcome back,” their grandpa said with a chuckle. “I was just telling Marcus that I had some thoughts on how to address Mr. Diddley’s concerns.”

“Okaaayyy,” she stretched out the pronunciation of the word.

“He said Marcus needed more discipline and that you needed to improve your interaction with people, right?”

“Right,” Ellie said skeptically. Marcus empathized. Usually when their grandpa came up with an idea, it was pretty grandiose.

“I have the perfect solution. Your grandma even agrees with me.” Marcus and Ellie hung on his every word. “We’ve decided that you should start tending The Magic Shop.”

“You’re joking, right?” Marcus grabbed his grandpa’s seat and peered around it.

“This isn’t up for discussion right now. Think about it for tonight, and we’ll talk about it over breakfast in the morning.”

Marcus didn’t want anything to do with The Magic Shop. It represented so many things that he hated or didn’t believe in. Ellie wouldn’t have a major problem with it because she was always reading that stuff.

Grandma’s arms stretched out of her seat and she cleared her throat. “We’re here already?”

The old station wagon slowed down as they pulled up to a large wrought-iron gate with the name: Nevada State Hospital forged along the top of its arch. Looming stone statues of an unnatural animal stood on both sides of the gate. They had scared Marcus since he was a young boy. The statues’ heads had a bird’s beak, their necks and tails were scaled like a serpent, but the bodies were that of a lion. The weirdest feature was that on top of their back were pairs of open wings. These creatures looked like they were ready to pounce on anything that approached, including Marcus.

Winston pulled the station wagon up to a security checkpoint where a large video screen and a green button could be used to interact with the hospital staff. He rolled down his window and pressed the green button.

“Nevada State,” a female voice droned from the box.

“We are here to visit—”

“Winston Fith, is that you?” A grey-haired woman with a tight ponytail looked sideward through the camera as her face grew larger on the screen.

“How did you know?” Winston asked, looking back at Marcus and Ellie with a big sarcastic grin.

“Did you bring Charlotte?” She paused before continuing, “I finally found that soufflé recipe she’s been asking for.”

“Yes, Pat,” Winston said as Charlotte leaned over in her seat and waved at the camera. “Charlotte and the children are right here with me.”

Marcus heard the electronic buzzing sound and click that preceded the opening of the heavy metallic gate.

“See you in a minute,” Pat’s voice said from the kiosk.

The wrought-iron fence gave way to a long stretch of gravel driveway flanked by short, unkempt grass, and tall, rigid trees which normally permitted only slightly more light than they did then. The road led up to what Marcus had always thought must have once been a large mansion, the face of which was enshrouded by thick, green vines except for the few spots that revealed the beautiful red brick of the structure. Protruding from the roof stood two towers that had always made Marcus wonder if some maiden was inside who was worth saving.

The length of driveway ended in a roundabout that finally curved in front of the hospital entrance. A man in a white uniform stood next to Pat, the older woman from the security kiosk. They dressed the same, down to the nametags. The brakes squealed as Winston stopped the vehicle in front of them.

“Winston.” Pat opened her arms to greet them as they got out of the car. “Charlotte.” She hugged each of them, one by one. When it was Charlotte’s turn, Pat slipped a piece of paper into her hand.

“Here you go, Charlotte. It’s tricky to make, so you’ll need to follow the directions precisely.” Charlotte nodded nervously. “It took some searching, but I’m relieved to have finally found it. These kind of recipes tend to get lost from one generation to the next.”

“Thank you so much, Pat,” Charlotte said, her voice cracking a little. If Marcus hadn’t known her so well, he would have thought she was getting a little emotional. “This means a lot to our family.”

“You’re overselling it, Grandma,” Marcus said through the car window. Then he whispered to Ellie, “This had better be one good soufflé.”

Pat put her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “Are you sure you should bring the children here like you do? It’s been a particularly rough night.”

“Family sticks together. Besides, we’re all they’ve got,” their grandma said. She knew they could hear them, Marcus was sure of it. His grandma stepped back and the children got out of the car.

Pat Lockhart was the warden of the hospital, and always greeted them during their visits. Marcus wondered if they received special treatment because they were the only people to visit, and they gave Pat something else to do for a while. If Marcus had to stay in that place all day, he’d go crazy.

“Well then,” Winston said, “shall we?”

“Can’t I just stay in the car, Grandpa?” Ellie asked.

Winston frowned and handed the station wagon keys to the man in white, who promptly drove off to park the car. Pat led the rest of them up the cracked stone steps and into the large entryway.

Marcus’s skin prickled the minute they entered the old building. Ellie said it was how they kept the temperature, but Marcus knew better. They lived in Nevada, and it was almost always warm. Something was different, something wasoff about the place. The hospital lights were dimmer than normal lights. Pat had explained many times that it was because some of the patients got anxious in too much light. The air smelled odd, too, with a sterile, manufactured odor intended to counter the stuffy smell of age.

They followed Pat down a wide corridor that opened up to the common area. They stopped at a lighted booth, a familiar check-in point where a beefy black man sat reading the latest thriller. As the group approached, the man cracked his knuckles, grabbed something from under his small desk, and stepped around to greet them.

“State your names please,” the black man said while he reviewed a clipboard.

“Come on, Roger,” Charlotte complained. “Do we really have to go through this whole routine tonight?”

“Let him do his thing, dear,” Winston said, nudging her softly. “My name is Winston Fith, and this is my wife, Charlotte, and our two grandchildren, Marcus and Ellie. We called ahead and made an appointment.”

Roger lifted a tethered red pencil from the clipboard and marked off several items. “State your purpose, please.”

Charlotte said, “We are here to visit family.”

“Who are you here to visit?”

“Okay, Roger,” Pat said. “Enough. They are here to visit Caleb and Anabell, and you know it. Now get out your wand and move us along. We don’t have all night.”

“Well, I do,” Roger said anxiously. Pat didn’t respond. “Come on, I never get to go through my whole routine.”

Pat glared at him a moment and finally said, “well?”

Roger removed a black metal rod from a loop on his pants. “Stand there please,” he droned, and pointed to an outline of a pair of feet on the ground nearby.

Winston took his place as instructed.

“Lift your arms please,” Roger said. Winston did so. Roger’s wand made a crackling noise as he traced it around Winston’s arms, down his waist, and everywhere else.

When he had finished without alarm, Roger pushed a button and the gate behind him clanked opened.

“Next.” Roger motioned Winston through.

Charlotte put her hand on Marcus’s shoulder and guided him into position. He raised his arms like his grandpa had and followed the same process; only when Roger moved the wand around Marcus’s arms and down his waist he laughed, as if Roger was tickling him. Humor was Marcus’s way of dealing with his nerves.

“Do you think this a joke, young man?” Roger asked. “This is serious. My job is to protect—”

Suddenly, a sharp chirp emitted from the wand. Roger instinctively took a defensive stance, his right hand hovering over the taser on his utility belt.

Pat walked over to Roger and slugged him on the shoulder. “Come on, Roger.”

He waved her off. “Not even you can interfere with protocol, ma’am,” Roger said with a crooked smile. “What do you have in there boy, a gun?”

At first Marcus wondered if this was a joke. Then again, Roger seemed like the type who just waited for something to happen.

“Uh, no sir.”

“What about needles or other harmful items in your possession?” Roger examined Marcus’s jacket like there might be a knife in there somewhere. Roger reached into his own pocket, pulled out a latex glove and slipped it on.

“Now, I’m going to reach into your pocket and extract whatever’s causing the wand to go off, okay?” Roger asked, approaching Marcus like he was about to disarm a bomb. Marcus swallowed hard.

Before reaching in, Roger carefully patted the outside of Marcus’s jacket, attempting to feel the hidden object. Finally, Roger put his hand in Marcus’s pocket and fished around for a moment.

“It’s square shaped…” Roger mumbled, “could be a remote detonator. I read in the paper the other day that some terrorists used a kid to—ah ha!”

Roger removed his hand from the pocket, extracting Marcus’s cell phone.

“Roger!” Pat said furiously.

“Wait, there has to be something else. These aren’t supposed to set the wand off.” Roger scrutinized the phone in bewilderment before he turned on Marcus. “You know you are supposed to leave all your electronics in the car, right?”

“We’re done here,” Pat said before Marcus could answer.

“Go on, then.” Roger lifted up Marcus’s cell phone daintily as if it was the key to a murder investigation. “I’ll hold this until you are through.” Marcus joined his grandpa.

Ellie stepped forward and placed her two feet squarely on the spot indicated on the floor, but Roger put his hand on her back and led her through the gate.

“Just go.” Roger jerked his head at Charlotte, and Ellie joined the others.

They followed Pat through a series of corridors until they finally came upon a large, dimly lit common room lined with heavily framed windows. The people in the room could be categorized into two types. There were the alert folks that dressed like Pat, with white uniforms and nametags, and then there were the others. They had uniforms too, which looked more like pressed pajamas hanging loosely from their frail bodies.

Marcus noticed one woman sitting by herself, facing an empty wall. She was doodling something in the air with her finger. Another man took a few steps across the room, muttered to himself, and took two steps backward without turning around. He repeated the process over and over.

Over by a window sat the people they always visited. They stayed in the same place every time and did the same things, without variation. There was a man that their grandpa called Uncle Caleb, who gazed distantly out a tall window with his back to his wife, Anabell. She sat on the opposite side of the table, her face long, always watching the entrance to the common room.

The kids followed their grandpa as he gathered chairs from a nearby table and positioned them in the usual manner. Charlotte would sit next to Caleb, facing out the window, and Winston would sit next to Anabell, facing the entrance to the common room. Marcus and Ellie would sit, facing Caleb or Anabell respectively.

Winston took hold of Anabell’s hand. “How are you, dear?”

Anabell slowly turned her head and gave Winston an absent smile.

Marcus saw Ellie gawk at Anabell from across the table. For some reason, Ellie had taken a curious interest in Anabell. She had told Marcus that Anabell could have beautiful hair if she would only wash it and do something with it. Her honeycomb hair color was rich, and softened her intense brown eyes.

“I brought you a little something.” Winston reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a small package of homemade black licorice, which Anabell took and hid underneath her shirt.

“Thanks,” she said, her stare still blank.

“Things at the shop are pretty normal,” Winston went on to say like he always did. He would give an accounting of what was going on with the family and in the world around them. “The economy is taking its toll. We hardly get customers any more, but I suppose that is partially because ours is a dying art.”

“Have you sold any crafts? I like crafts.”

“No,” Winston answered. “I’m sorry.”

“Your family?” Anabell asked.

“The shop keeps Charlotte busy,” Winston replied, “and my hobbies keep me occupied.” After a sigh, his tone became more cheery. “The children just had their year-end evaluations, and each got outstanding reviews. Top of their class.”

Anabell smiled.

Marcus peeked over Anabell’s shoulder and across the table to see if Ellie had heard. Their grandpa had just told a little white lie, very uncharacteristic of him.

“Do you have anything for me this week, Anabell?” Winston asked, lowering his voice. Marcus scooted closer. No matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to miss this exchange. With a nod she reached into her shirt and pulled out a small metal strand of some kind, and covered it quickly with her hand.

“Thank you.” Grandpa took it, and promptly put it in his jacket pocket. “I’ll let you know if it sells.”

Winston coughed loudly and his wife stood up, then they traded places. This was Ellie and Marcus’s cue to do the same, so Marcus followed his grandpa to their new seats next to Caleb. Of the two, Caleb was definitely worse off. He never spoke, and had more challenges, mentally, than Anabell did.

“Caleb,” Winston said, “I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out another small package of licorice, which Caleb took readily without breaking his gaze out the window. Marcus wondered if he actually saw something out there.

“Things are going well at the shop,” Winston started, and he continued to update Caleb in virtually the same way he had Anabell. He finished with how well the kids were doing in school.

Marcus watched Caleb’s face, and thought he saw an attempted smile, but it was so faint he couldn’t be sure. Caleb lifted his hand and wiggled his pinched fingers. Winston took a pencil and notepad from his jacket and handed them to Caleb.

Caleb slowly opened the notepad and flipped the pages until he found a blank one. Marcus noticed all the pages Caleb had written on from their previous visits. Grandpa hadn’t ripped out a single one.

“Thanks,” Caleb wrote at the top of the page.

“For what? The licorice?” Winston asked. “You’re welcome, Caleb. How are you holding up?”

This question always puzzled Marcus. They were in a mental ward, how did Grandpa think they were holding up? These folks were just shy of straightjackets.

Then, as if something had changed, Caleb’s hand began to shake. He pressed the pencil lightly on the paper and began to make elaborate strokes and scribbles.

A few moments later Caleb handed the notepad to Winston, who held it up and away so he could see it better, then he brought it in again.

“Where did you see this?” His eyes locked on the drawing. He hesitated before handing the notepad back to Caleb. Marcus didn’t get a good look, but he could tell that what Caleb had lost in his ability to speak, he apparently made up for in his ability to draw.

As Caleb set the notepad on his lap to write something else, Marcus caught a better look at the elaborate sketch. Caleb had drawn a detailed crystal sphere adorned with etchings of odd symbols lining its surface. Under the picture, Caleb wrote the word “dream”.

“Did you see this in a dream?” Winston asked. Caleb nodded slightly.

This is crazy, Marcus thought.

Caleb flipped the page and began to draw again. Marcus had no idea what to expect next. His sketch wasn’t a place or a thing; rather, it was a face—a dark and shadowy face with deeply buried eyes and a narrow neck. Caleb had drawn an unnerving looking man.

“No,” Winston said, “its not possible.” Standing abruptly, he ripped the paper off the notepad and crumpled it into a ball.

“Good night,” he said. “Charlotte, children, we’re leaving.”

Pat must have recognized something was amiss because she rushed over as Charlotte and Ellie stood to join the boys.

“Winston, what’s wrong?” Pat’s eyes darted back to Caleb and Anabell for some sign of alarm.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Something has come up and we need to be on our way.” Winston patted the children on their backs and they started toward the exit.

“Sure thing, Winston.” Pat looked confused as she reached for the walkie-talkie on her belt. “I’ll call ahead for your vehicle.” Marcus looked back at their family to see Anabell’s outstretched hand lowering.

The station wagon waited for them outside. Charlotte insisted on driving in order for her husband to have time to gather his thoughts. He took his place in the passenger’s side and flattened out Caleb’s crumpled drawing across his lap. As they pulled away from the hospital, he stared at the picture unbelievingly.

“Grandpa,” Ellie said. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond.

Charlotte reached over and placed her hand on the back of his neck and tousled his hair. Winston was engrossed in the sketch and didn’t seem to notice much.

“Your granddaughter is speaking to you,” Charlotte said gently.

“Yes, dear,” Winston said. “It’s just that… I think I left the shop unlocked.”

Marcus raised his hand as if everyone could see him. “Okay, is it just me, or was that really weird?” He turned to Ellie for support. “And I mean, weirder than normal.”

Silence filled the car.

“Why do we have to go to the hospital anyway?” Marcus asked. “You know the place creeps us out. We respect that they’re family, but we,” Marcus pointed his thumb at Ellie and then back to himself like he was wagging a tail, “don’t even really know those folks. Can’t we just—”

“Enough,” his grandma said. “We’ve had this conversation many times, and tonight is not the night to rehash it.”

Marcus fell quiet. It was worth a try, he thought. What with the way his grandpa reacted at the end of their visit, he figured he could convince them to not make them visit the hospital anymore.

“What did Anabell give you, Grandpa?” Marcus asked. Winston turned in his seat and looked Marcus up and down.

“They do crafts during the week at the Hospital,” his grandpa replied. “One time Anabell asked us to try to sell their crafts at the shop, and with the money we could help pay their bills, and sometimes buy their favorite treats, like licorice. The Hospital won’t let them have treats. So we visit them, collect their arts and crafts, and take them back to the shop.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. This seemed like an odd explanation. “May I see what they made?”

His grandpa ignored the question and moved on to another topic. “You know, kids, I have been thinking about what Mr. Diddley said, and I agree that it’s time for you to take on greater responsibility.” Ellie and Marcus looked at each other in dismay. “Starting tomorrow, you will both manage the shop every day.”

“Every day?” Marcus asked. “For how long?”

“For eight hours a day,” Winston replied. “To be fair, we will pay you, but it will last the whole summer.”

“The whole summer?” Ellie repeated. “But—”

“Don’t worry,” their grandpa said. “We will give you a day off.” He counted on his fingers and thought for a minute. “Probably Sundays,” he added with a nod.

“But Grandpa,” Marcus said, “I don’t know anything about magic.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll teach you.”