Tag: Writing Contest

The Final Illusion

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Another NYC Midnight Short Story

The Grand Opera House in Galveston – photo by the author

Tonight I’m sharing another NYC Midnight contest entry. This one made it through the first round of the Flash Fiction challenge this year. I had to write a 1,000 word or less story in 48 hours in the thriller genre with the setting in an auditorium. And I had to include a ladder in the piece.

Here’s my summary of the story: Magician Mark Ruska and his wife Gigi are involuntary accomplices to a pair of armed assassins during a live show. Working together, the Ruskas perform a dangerous illusion that will be their only escape.

And here is the story, complete in 999 words. (Not counting the title)

The Final Illusion

Every illusion depends on misdirection. The magician, Mark Ruska, paced the stage of the Grand Palace, noting where the set pieces would be during the performance. Everything had to be perfect. On the other side of the velvet curtain, murmurs and shuffling footsteps sounded as the audience filed into the auditorium.

“You done?” The man at the side of the stage motioned with his chin. His hands were busy holding a matte black gun. A red, ridged scar traced across his brow, above eyes the watery gray of a shark’s.

Mark’s wife Gigi stood beside the scarred man. She wore a black tuxedo coat and pants—the outfit matching Mark’s. She nodded to Mark, then wiped her face.

“We’re ready.” Mark scanned the fly space overhead. Heavy sandbags and counterweights hung suspended over a metal catwalk. At the top, accessed by a thin metal ladder, was the wide concrete hallway leading to the rooftop doorway and to an entrance to the theater’s third level.  

“We’ll do our job and you guys can go,” the man said.

Mark doubted that. Neither the scarred guy nor the assassin perched on the catwalk had bothered to cover their faces. They would not leave anyone to identify them. Hopefully, their sound and lighting guy, Jim, would stay in his booth, isolated and unknowing of the drama.

At last, the house lights dimmed, the curtains opened, and the show began. The scarred man slid hidden at the side of the stage. Mark wheeled out the large steamer trunk, big as a coffin, that held their equipment.

As they worked their way through the first set—levitation, a transformation illusion, and Gigi’s disappearing rabbit trick, Mark wondered who was the intended victim? The Grand held two hundred seats among three tiers, including six balcony boxes with another twenty-four places. The boxes were positioned directly next to each stage side. Whoever sat in those seats would be at the perfect angle for the catwalk sniper.

 A silver-haired man wearing a dark suit sat in the middle box at stage left. Two younger men, both with thick necks and arms that strained the sleeves of their polo shirts, sat behind him. Mark, holding up a chain of clinking triangles, risked a glance at the scarred man. The gunman leaned forward, weapon lowered, his gaze fixed on the man in the box seat.

With a flourish, Mark held the metal triangles up. The chain magically separated into two parts. When the applause faded, he spoke. “For our next trick, we will need a special assistant.” Their usual routine would be to call on a pre-screened audience member. Mark turned to Gigi, hoping their decade of performing this illusion in this theater would allow her to understand his desperate plan. Mentally counting off his steps, Mark rolled the trunk to the position he had noted earlier. Gigi met his gaze, smiled and turned to bring out the folding screen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our backstage assistant, John.” Mark waved to the scarred man, motioning him forward. Several beats of awkward silence followed as the man scowled and shook his head.

The next few moments would determine whether they would walk out or perish in the gunfire. Mark assumed they planned to kill their target at the show’s end, hoping the distraction of everyone exiting would cover their escape. Now, some in the audience began to mutter and confused laughter sounded. The silver-haired man half-rose from his seat and looked around. Would the sniper take this as his chance? Mark held his breath, waiting.

Finally, the scarred man strode onstage. “There you are!’ Mark led the man to the steamer trunk. Gigi spun the wooden box, showing the audience the lid and locks. As she helped him into the trunk, Gigi whispered escape instructions to the gunman—instructions he wouldn’t be able to follow. Mark rattled the lock and spoke to cover her voice. “One person goes in, but who will come out?”

Mark leaned to whisper to the man inside. “Listen to the music and wait for the drumroll.” He slipped the lock from its fake, unsecured position and threaded it through the clasp holding the lid closed, then spun the box to show the audience. After he helped Gigi move the screen into place, they walked behind it. The lights dimmed and music played.

In normal times, the audience member would open the fake unlocked panel on the steamer and Gigi would climb inside. Mark would escape the stage by climbing the ladder up to the top and take the door to the third level, reappearing in the audience at the end of the drum roll. It all came down to timing. If they got this right, they might have a chance.

“Go out the back, get security, and call the police.” Mark kissed her. “Don’t look back.”

Gigi squeezed his arm. “I love you.”

The music rose in a crescendo, covering the squeak of the metal rungs as Mark climbed. The lighting changed to dark blue with silvery flashes that looked like stars. All distraction to keep the audience on edge.

When he reached the catwalk, Mark slipped off his shoes and crept toward the sniper. The man remained focused on his target, not noticing as Mark neared.

Four feet away, Mark swung the nearest sandbag in an arc at the gunman. The bag, with its thick rope, knocked the man to the edge of the metal ledge. He grabbed the rope, wrapping his hand around it to steady himself. Mark rushed forward. He pushed the man off the catwalk, then released the counterweight to the bag. The sniper, still grasping the bag, plummeted onto the stage. At the end of its line, the bag jerked to a stop. The sniper fell the last twenty feet—onto the steamer trunk.

The police arrived. An ambulance carted off the handcuffed and injured criminals. Mark looked for the silver-haired man, but he had vanished into the crowd.

THE END

You Always Need Another Book

~ mstturpin ~ 7 Comments

Oh look! A bookstore! (and a short story)

Photo by the author

Last week, my friend Cathy and I drove up to Denison, Texas intent on finding a new bookstore I’d seen on TikTok. Despite the downtown construction that blocked a large portion of Main Street, we had no trouble locating our destination – Sundrop Books.

Sundrop Books – photo by the author

Inside we each found an armful of novels we couldn’t live without. The store sells both used and new books, plus there is a table filled with one of my personal favorites – the brown paper wrapped “blind date with a book.”

Interior of Sundrop Books – photo by the author

As we were leaving, the owner told us about another bookstore just down the street. A bonus store!

Pen and Page Weathered Books – photo by the author

Inside we each found more books that had to come home with us. Pen and Page stocks both nearly new and used books, plus original artwork by the owner.

Interior of Pen and Page Weathered Books – photo by the author

It was great to find not one, but two bookstores to add to my list of nearby places to visit. The City of Denison is remodeling the park in the middle of downtown, and when that is finished I will certainly need to visit again!

If you’ve made it this far in the post I hope you’ll stick around a bit longer and read the short story below. This one is posted in all its unedited, ugly glory, having been cobbled together over 48 hours for the second round in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction contest this year. I was not surprised to find out I hadn’t made it to the final round. Writing this one was actually painful. My assigned genre was suspense, and the required setting was a martial arts studio. The final indignity came with the last prompt. Somehow, I had to include CAT FOOD in the story.

Gentlefolk, I present to you:

The Shadow Way

With each step, Mia Dalton tightened her grip on her umbrella, weighing the possibility of using it as a weapon. Had the strange man following her been on the bus? Impossible to tell in the dark and the rain. She hated winter, when night fell by five o’clock. It meant trudging the three blocks from the bus stop to her apartment while imagining danger behind every doorway. Despite what her therapist said, it wasn’t that unreal a fear. Mia had the scars to prove it.

The rain fell harder. As she quickened her steps, the stranger did the same. Was she leading him to her home? Then, twenty feet in front of her, a black cat appeared on the sidewalk. It pivoted to face her, yellow eyes reflecting the streetlights, then scampered across the street.

Mia groaned. A black cat crossing your path was the worst of luck, but maybe this time it was a warning. The animal sat under the awning of the convenience store on the other side, as though waiting for her. Weighing her decision, Mia changed direction, jogging toward the lighted store. If the man did the same, she could duck into the shop.

Once she made it to the storefront, Mia steeled herself and turned to look back. The stranger faced her. He waited outside the circle of light from the streetlamp, his features in shadow. Was this the man from the robbery? It had been almost a year. If he meant to track down the only witness to the murder, he would have done it sooner.

“Go away,” Mia whispered. As though he heard her, the man strode off, vanishing out of sight at the next corner. Beside her, the black cat rose and sauntered away. On impulse, Mia followed. She would circle back to her apartment complex after she was certain the man was gone.

They traveled toward the bus stop, and then turned down a side street lined with quaint, older houses. The rain stopped, and drawn by the warm light spilling from the homes, Mia tagged after the cat until it ran up onto the porch of a pale blue, two-story, Victorian-style house. She paused on the steps. Stained glass windows framed the doorway, and a sign over the entrance read “The Shadow Way: Aikido.”

The door opened, and a woman with hair the color of iron filings greeted Mia. “Hello.”

“I’m sorry.” Mia retreated. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Is this your cat?” She pointed to where the cat had curled up on a corner of the porch.

The woman smiled. “He’s a stray, but we welcome all kinds here.” She held the door wider and motioned to Mia. “I’m Yuna. Please come in.”

“I’m Mia.” Noticing her host’s bare feet, Mia slipped off her shoes and socks and stashed them in a cubby in the entry. Inside, candles in glass jars lit every corner. A royal-blue mat covered the floor. Yuna wore a white wrap-around jacket and loose wide-legged black cotton pants.

“We don’t practice with the katana.” Yuna pointed overhead, to a polished sword hanging on the wall. “Instead, we use the wooden practice weapons. But they are just as useful when learning.” She took Mia’s arm and led her to a rack of wooden rods.

“I didn’t come for lessons. I should leave.”

Yuna tilted her head, studying Mia. “Chance brought you to me, a teacher without a student.” She handed Mia a short wooden stick from the rack.

“I’m not a fighter.” Mia hefted the rod. The weight of it felt good in her hand.

“Aikido is not about fighting, but about overcoming your fears and confronting your shadows.”

Mia nodded, thinking of the night of the robbery. She had stopped at the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine. While waiting behind one other customer, a masked man had entered. Shouts, cries, and gunfire had blended into an awful cacophony. The robber shot the cashier, the other customer, and Mia. Pain had flared in her shoulder, where the bullet had entered. She had fallen forward, as though to embrace her attacker. Her hand, scrambling for hold, had yanked away his mask. For an awful moment, he had stared into her eyes. Certain she would die, Mia had closed her eyes, but the man had left her there, with only the dead for company.

Now, Mia handed Yuna back the practice rod. “Okay. I’ll learn.”

“Good. Come back tomorrow night.”

Over the next three months, Mia visited the dojo every night. She brought expensive gourmet food for the cat until he trusted her enough to roll over at her feet. She named him Chance, and with Yuna’s blessing took him home with her.

The lessons progressed. Mia practiced with the short staff, the jo, and then with the longer bokken. The movements soothed her. Inside the dojo, she could leave her fear behind. Winter thawed, and the days grew longer until the evening of the first day of spring, when Mia saw the masked man again.

He followed her from the bus. This time, she spotted him right away, remembering the angle of his jaw and his gray eyes. At first, she thought to lead him to The Shadow Way, and Yuna’s help. That felt wrong, to bring violence to a place that had brought her peace. Instead, she marched down the sidewalk, one hand inside the tote at her side.

The streetlights flickered on when he grabbed her arm. She spun, clubbing him with the jo she had hidden in the tote. With a practiced move, she swept his feet. He fell.

The clerk at the convenience store across the street raced over. “I called 911,” he said.

Later, after she gave her statement at the police station, Mia decided to stop by the dojo and tell Yuna what had happened. But when she walked down the street, she couldn’t find the blue house. Like her fear, it was gone.

THE END