Houdini's Secrets
Abigail hummed while she walked. It was a familiar tune, but she couldn’t quite recall the name of it, or any of the words for that matter. She did, however, remember something about circles and candles and ghosts, though she couldn’t see how it fit in with the catchy rhythm of the song, so she disregarded the thought entirely. The humming ceased suddenly when she spotted the slight dent in the brush beside the road. She glanced around wearily before backing into the concealed path her husband had made.
“4, 5, 6, 7… oomph. There it is.” Abigail counted under her breath as her steps where cut short by a tall, gloomy fence. Her husband had said it would be 9 steps in.
Abigail hummed while she climbed. It was not a familiar fence, but she was familiar with climbing fences. Even highly secured fences such as this one. She did have a bit of trouble though, and scolded herself for wearing the necklace that kept catching on the barbed top. She’d have been down on the other side already if it weren’t for the blasted piece of jewelry.
With her feet finally on the ground, Abigail crept across the pristine lawn to the mansion beyond it. She didn’t make it far before she heard the barking of what sounded to be a very large dog. Cursing her husband for having left out the bit about there being a dog, she made a mad dash up the drive.
She should have known there’d be a dog; the Houdini’s had had somewhere close to 100 throughout their marriage. It was only practical that the Houdini Mansion, known for its historical accuracy, would have one.
Abigail thought as she ran. Her thoughts are as follows: of all the many dogs the Houdini’s had been known to care for, only 4 had been large enough to produce a bark that low. This is either a Bloodhound or a Great Dane. Crap either way. There is absolutely no way I’ll out run it or hide from it sufficiently. I’ll have to do a bit of both until I make it to the front door. I’m going to have a strong talking to with my husband if I get out of here alive, and with the prize. Doubtful.
With a resigned sigh and a too-loud-gasp, she spotted the dog. It wasn’t as far behind her as she had hoped after all that sprinting. Abigail knew that standing your ground sometimes deters bears. She hoped that this was a bear in dog’s clothing. She only had a few seconds to decide between running and maybe dying, hiding and maybe dying, or facing the Bloodhound straight on...and maybe dying.
Turning towards the dog and standing as still as her shaking frame would allow, Abigail watched the Bloodhound barrel towards her, showing no intention of slowing down. Of all the bad decisions she had made in her life, Abigail could only think that this was the worst. She closed her eyes and awaited her mauling.
After quite some time, Abigail’s hopes that the dog was a bear in disguise were stronger than ever. Abigail hesitantly opened her eyes just as the “not bear” attempted to plow through her. Nothing more than a brief wave of cold air touched her, and when she turned to face the dog, she found it sitting next to another dog. They mirrored each other, and it wasn’t until closer inspection (and a few moments of confusion and relief) that Abigail realized that one was a statue and one was not quite alive.
After she was sure she was in fact still alive, Abigail read aloud the plaque resting beside the statue. “Waiting for Houdini -Alfred.”
At the name Alfred, the not quite living dog began barking once again. This frightened Abigail.
“Are you Alfred?” Abigail questioned in a quiet voice, still fearful of the large Bloodhound before her.
The question was met with more barking. An affirmative answer if ever she had heard one.
The confidence in Abigail’s voice surprised her. “Sit, Alfred. I want you to sit and leave me alone, so I can go into the house. Can you do that for me?” It was hopeful, but not without a note of skepticism.
Alfred sat. Abigail backed away in the direction of the supposedly haunted mansion. However, he did not stay put, instead he followed Abigail, matching her pace. She decided to ignore his disregard for her instructions, but refused to turn her back on the curious ghost.
When the pair reached the front door Alfred went in through the doggy door, not moving the flap in the slightest. This was entertaining to Abigail, who, while laughing and distracted, walked face first into the door. This was entertaining to Alfred, though he didn’t say anything about it to Abigail.
Abigail tried the knob; the door was, of course, locked. “They can’t just make breaking and entering easy, can they? They have to go and put locks on everything. Good thing I’m little, and the dog is fairly large.” This last part was muttered bitterly while Abigail scooted her way through the doggy door on her stomach.
Alfred thought as Abigail crawled: Houdini is a great master; he wouldn’t want a useless dog around his house. I would have unlocked the door if she’d asked, but I have to admit, this is far more amusing.
Once successfully inside, Abigail allowed Alfred to lead her through the house. The lifeless dog and the thief-in-progress made their way to a large black and yellow door. This is the door Abigail was looking for. Alfred already knew that.
Though she didn’t know what was inside, or why she needed something within this particular room; Abigail felt less like a thief knowing that Alfred had led her to this door.
“Alfred, do you know what’s in this room? Am I supposed to go in?” It was weird questioning a dog, but Abigail felt confident he would answer the best that he could. And he did. It was a subtle thing, not many would have associated it with a nod, but to Abigail it was a clear sign.
Stepping inside frightened her. Not because of the dark room, but because she couldn’t see the stairs that started just the other side of the large door. Abigail tripped down them gracelessly, only barely catching herself on the wall. Alfred found this amusing too, but again, didn’t say anything.
Once down the long staircase (this was a difficult feat in the continuing darkness) Abigail found a poorly lit room. It was, at a guess, 3 or 4 times the size of the mansion above it. And it wasn’t empty. Inside, Abigail found tanks and stages and ropes and wrappings; all things she recognized as Houdini-famous tricks.
Abigail hummed while she explored. It was a familiar feeling, pilfering through others things. She had newfound confidence in her plan of robbery and riches.
All the items in the vast room were worth more money than her somewhat black soul, but what caught the young thief’s gaze was a painted circle, 3 white candles, and the pale ghost of a man.
The ghost stepped toward her causing Abigail to stumble backwards. The apparition nodded in her direction, and a large arm chair appeared behind her, catching her still stumbling frame. “Hello, Abigail. I am Harry Houdini. Welcome. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Of all the articulate and intelligent things Abigail could have said, she chose instead to reach out towards him. When her hand went through his shoulder, she uttered an “Ohhh…..” The slight smirk that answered this could have easily been mistaken for a twitch. Abigail was not mistaken; Harry was mildly amused.
“I’m sure you have a great many questions, and I assure you I will answer them all in due time, but first allow me to tell you why I’m here, and why you’re here.
Abigail sat as patiently as she could, while he poured them both tea. Abigail’s thoughts: This is crazy. Two ghosts in one day is two too many. Also, he is pouring tea out of thin air. And the chair I’m in was not here a second ago. What the heck is happening? I mean, I know that Houdini was (is?) a great illusionist, but this is ridiculous.
“As I previously stated, I am Harry Houdini. You already know that I am an illusionist and escape artist, but unknown to history, I am a father.” Harry sipped his steaming tea, giving Abigail a quizzical look before he continued. “I am the father of your grandmother. She was illegitimate, and therefore left out of history.”
Abigail didn’t want to believe him, but the reminder of her grandmother only reinforced his story. They were so alike: full of life and love for magic.
“Please continue.” came Abigail’s strained voice. Accompanying it, a dry swallow.
With a shift in his seat, Houdini began again with a harsher, almost uncomfortable, tone, “I was murdered, and I want you to avenge me. I have watched you for years, waiting for you to conjure me to you, and now that we are bound, you will avenge me.”
Now Abigail was uncomfortable. She knew what it was to conjure someone (for the reader: to swear together; like summoning, but with an unbreakable contract), but couldn’t believe that she had done it, until she remembered her previous humming and the circle with candles. She was stuck with him until she fulfilled his goal which was apparently avenging his death. Wonderful.
“This guy really holds grudges, doesn’t he?” Abigail thought to herself. Aloud she said, “And how do you expect me to avenge your murder that happened nearly 100 years ago?”
“Those are details that we will get into much later. You aren’t ready for them yet.” Houdini’s mouth curved into a smirk that looked foreign on his serious face. “First, you must learn my trade: magic.”
Abigail’s dumbfounded look was not answered by the “just kidding” she was hoping for, instead, it was met with “Let’s begin.”
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