Post by fowler on Oct 23, 2019 6:55:43 GMT -5
Soho, London – June 9th 1939
The air was thick and heavy, the streets of Soho were bathed in the glow of the light of the bars and clubs which lined it’s streets. Inside a tightly packed club the gin is flowing, ladies dance in their finest dresses with men turned out immaculately in their pressed, pin striped suites. At the far end of the room a band made up of the only Black men to be found in the establishment play a rip-roaring Jazz number which has the hole room moving, except for one man.
He stands next to the bar and takes out a cigarette, lighting it and placing it in his mouth he takes a drag. His hair is brown and short on the back and sides with the top slicked neatly back. His eyes a bright blue, as blue as the Mediterranean Sea.
His light grey suit is partly concealed by a brown overcoat which despite the humidity in the packed bar he hasn’t removed.
As the smoke slowly crept from between his lips, he raised a glass and took a sip from his Gin cocktail. He gazed across the dance floor taking in the various women who filled it, imagining what fun could be had back in his rented room in the East End.
As he fixed his eyes on a certain red head he felt a draft of breath of his neck, the odour of which was heavy with Whiskey. He turned to see an older man, staring into his eyes. He must have been 30 years his senior, making him around fifty.
“Can I help you?”
The young man said. He expected a reply, but the older gentlemen just stared a little longer, taking a sip of his single malt.
“You know it’s rude to breath down someone’s neck and then not speak to them…”
Finally he replied, with a slow and deliberate pace to his speech and tone that showed a wisdom that seemed to far surpass his age.
“You seem like an interesting young man.”
The younger man didn’t take any time to consider his response.
“And what makes you say that old timer? If you’re after someone to polish you off, then you’re knocking on the wrong door.”
The older man laughed.
“The name is Monroe, John Stephen Monroe. Actor, Poet and Magician extraordinaire”
The young man eyed Monroe up and down. He didn’t strike him as any of those things.
He wore an old black suit that as dated and far from the height of fashion that you associate with such a patron of the arts. Hi hair was mid length and messy, his face covered in thick scraggy hair.
“I’m Denis, Denis Archer.”
Monroe cut him off quickly.
“Oh Archer… I like that. But you’ll have to lose the Denis bit…no one wants to see a Denis.”
Denis looked at Monroe with a puzzled expression. What was this old cretin talking about? The whiskey had obviously hit him hard.
“Listen John, I don’t know what you are talking about but I’m having a quiet drink and…”
“…eyeing up that red head over there. Thinking how easy it would be to drag her down a side street after the doors close here…”
There was no time for Denis to finish his sentence before John jumped in with his revelation. A shocking one which caused Denis to recoil slightly and then very quick gesture for him to keep it down, because the truth was that was exactly what had been going through his mind.
“What the fuck are going on about old man. You can’t go making those kinds of accusations.”
“Even if they are true? The thing is Mr Archer I know you. I know that you are here in a suit and coat that you stole earlier today. That you live in a room that you can barely afford to pay the rent on. I know that deep down inside you long for a life with meaning but criminality is all that seems to make ends meet right now.
The issue with criminality is it drags you down the spiral, further and further until you reach this point. Standing in clothes that you don’t rightly own staring at a beautiful young lady thinking about the kind of things that only animals do. We are civilised gentlemen Mr Archer.”
Denis found himself smiling. How did this man know so much about him? He must be a medium or clairvoyant. Every little detail fit right into it’s place.
“Listen, I don’t know where you get your powers from…”
“Powers! Exactly!
Power comes from many sources my young friend. A man can hold power over a whole room full of people with some simple tricks, or a finely written monologue. But power can also come from things far beyond our understanding. I would like to share the source of my power with you.”
Denis couldn’t help but be intrigued. He nodded and quickly finished his drink as a form of visual approval. Monroe took the last sip of whiskey and gathered the coat from his chair, putting it on as he pushed his way out into the night air.
Denis followed and joined his new friend on the street where Monroe lead his down a few joining ones, each with packed bars and women on the night on their corners. The offers of a good time seeming tempting but not in comparison to the power to know people’s thoughts.
Eventually they reached the stage door of a small fringe theatre. Monroe reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of heavy keys and unlocked the door allowing both men to slip inside.
Denis was awe struck, the theatre was dimly lit and the door had opened right onto the side of the stage which was littered with props. The lush reds and golds that filled the room filled him with a feeling of warmth. For the first time since he had stolen it, he removed the brown overcoat and placed it carefully on the stage floor.
Monroe quickly moved across the stage and wheeled a large rectangular box over towards Denis. It was painted black and have rusty hinges which allowed a door to open on the front of it.
“This my friend is the source.”
Denis looked unimpressed at the large box.
“This…an old prop. Listen Monroe, if this is all some stupid joke I won’t be afraid to give you a bloody good hiding.”
Denis held his hands up in defence before opening the door to reveal the inside of the box, which was also just painted black.
“No joke my friend. This box is indeed a prop for magic, but it is much more than that, it is magic itself. For 30 years now I have filled this theatre every night of the week with paying punters by performing the most unbelievable, unexplainable tricks they have ever seen and it’s all thanks to this box. But it’s not that simple, the box takes its toll on the human mind and flesh. It’s time I pass this thing to a younger man, someone able to bear its weight before it destroys me.”
Denis laughed at the idea.
“A magic box…come off it. How could this heap of woodworm and rust ever destroy someone.”
There was a sense of sorrow in the eyes of Monroe, but with a flitter of hope.
“Listen Denis, I want you to have this box…and this theatre. I want you to embrace its power and change your fortunes and those of the family you are yet to have. Just promise me that when the time comes you will do the same thing as I am doing right now and pass it on to someone worthy because if you hold it too tightly and for too long this box will be the end of you.”
There was one word that stood out to Denis.
“Worthy, how do you know I’m worthy? I’m just a random man in a bar who you saved from making a terrible decision.”
“I didn’t save you and I didn’t choose you. The box showed me the way.”
Monroe reached out his hand, offering up the keys to the theatre. Denis hesitated for a moment before finally taking the keys. He turned his attention once more to the box and when he turned to speak to Monroe he found that he had vanished, probably skulking out the stage door into the night.
Denis looked at the box, puzzled by what he was meant to do with it now.
He felt a compulsion and took a step forward into the box. He turned, looking out across the dim lit seats of the theatre and closed the door.
Present Day – A theatre in Atlanta, GA
Derren Archer watched intently as the fork lift truck slowly edged forward with the pallet on which was loaded his package. The driver placed it gently down onto the floor in the backstage area before reversing out through the loading bay door. Archer gave him a polite wave as he pressed the button to lower the door, waiting for it to be completely closed before he took up a crowbar and opened his package, revealing his prized magic cabinet box.
He smiled at it, as though welcoming home an old friend.
“You’ll live here.”
He opened the door with the intent to climb inside but was unable to as a body collapsed out it.
Derren looked down, shocked to see the lifeless body of a young man dressed in a uniform which made him appear to be a member of crew from a ship. Derren kicked the body gently and the eyes of the man opened as he gasped a deep breath of air.
“Well hello there…and who might you be?”
The air was thick and heavy, the streets of Soho were bathed in the glow of the light of the bars and clubs which lined it’s streets. Inside a tightly packed club the gin is flowing, ladies dance in their finest dresses with men turned out immaculately in their pressed, pin striped suites. At the far end of the room a band made up of the only Black men to be found in the establishment play a rip-roaring Jazz number which has the hole room moving, except for one man.
He stands next to the bar and takes out a cigarette, lighting it and placing it in his mouth he takes a drag. His hair is brown and short on the back and sides with the top slicked neatly back. His eyes a bright blue, as blue as the Mediterranean Sea.
His light grey suit is partly concealed by a brown overcoat which despite the humidity in the packed bar he hasn’t removed.
As the smoke slowly crept from between his lips, he raised a glass and took a sip from his Gin cocktail. He gazed across the dance floor taking in the various women who filled it, imagining what fun could be had back in his rented room in the East End.
As he fixed his eyes on a certain red head he felt a draft of breath of his neck, the odour of which was heavy with Whiskey. He turned to see an older man, staring into his eyes. He must have been 30 years his senior, making him around fifty.
“Can I help you?”
The young man said. He expected a reply, but the older gentlemen just stared a little longer, taking a sip of his single malt.
“You know it’s rude to breath down someone’s neck and then not speak to them…”
Finally he replied, with a slow and deliberate pace to his speech and tone that showed a wisdom that seemed to far surpass his age.
“You seem like an interesting young man.”
The younger man didn’t take any time to consider his response.
“And what makes you say that old timer? If you’re after someone to polish you off, then you’re knocking on the wrong door.”
The older man laughed.
“The name is Monroe, John Stephen Monroe. Actor, Poet and Magician extraordinaire”
The young man eyed Monroe up and down. He didn’t strike him as any of those things.
He wore an old black suit that as dated and far from the height of fashion that you associate with such a patron of the arts. Hi hair was mid length and messy, his face covered in thick scraggy hair.
“I’m Denis, Denis Archer.”
Monroe cut him off quickly.
“Oh Archer… I like that. But you’ll have to lose the Denis bit…no one wants to see a Denis.”
Denis looked at Monroe with a puzzled expression. What was this old cretin talking about? The whiskey had obviously hit him hard.
“Listen John, I don’t know what you are talking about but I’m having a quiet drink and…”
“…eyeing up that red head over there. Thinking how easy it would be to drag her down a side street after the doors close here…”
There was no time for Denis to finish his sentence before John jumped in with his revelation. A shocking one which caused Denis to recoil slightly and then very quick gesture for him to keep it down, because the truth was that was exactly what had been going through his mind.
“What the fuck are going on about old man. You can’t go making those kinds of accusations.”
“Even if they are true? The thing is Mr Archer I know you. I know that you are here in a suit and coat that you stole earlier today. That you live in a room that you can barely afford to pay the rent on. I know that deep down inside you long for a life with meaning but criminality is all that seems to make ends meet right now.
The issue with criminality is it drags you down the spiral, further and further until you reach this point. Standing in clothes that you don’t rightly own staring at a beautiful young lady thinking about the kind of things that only animals do. We are civilised gentlemen Mr Archer.”
Denis found himself smiling. How did this man know so much about him? He must be a medium or clairvoyant. Every little detail fit right into it’s place.
“Listen, I don’t know where you get your powers from…”
“Powers! Exactly!
Power comes from many sources my young friend. A man can hold power over a whole room full of people with some simple tricks, or a finely written monologue. But power can also come from things far beyond our understanding. I would like to share the source of my power with you.”
Denis couldn’t help but be intrigued. He nodded and quickly finished his drink as a form of visual approval. Monroe took the last sip of whiskey and gathered the coat from his chair, putting it on as he pushed his way out into the night air.
Denis followed and joined his new friend on the street where Monroe lead his down a few joining ones, each with packed bars and women on the night on their corners. The offers of a good time seeming tempting but not in comparison to the power to know people’s thoughts.
Eventually they reached the stage door of a small fringe theatre. Monroe reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of heavy keys and unlocked the door allowing both men to slip inside.
Denis was awe struck, the theatre was dimly lit and the door had opened right onto the side of the stage which was littered with props. The lush reds and golds that filled the room filled him with a feeling of warmth. For the first time since he had stolen it, he removed the brown overcoat and placed it carefully on the stage floor.
Monroe quickly moved across the stage and wheeled a large rectangular box over towards Denis. It was painted black and have rusty hinges which allowed a door to open on the front of it.
“This my friend is the source.”
Denis looked unimpressed at the large box.
“This…an old prop. Listen Monroe, if this is all some stupid joke I won’t be afraid to give you a bloody good hiding.”
Denis held his hands up in defence before opening the door to reveal the inside of the box, which was also just painted black.
“No joke my friend. This box is indeed a prop for magic, but it is much more than that, it is magic itself. For 30 years now I have filled this theatre every night of the week with paying punters by performing the most unbelievable, unexplainable tricks they have ever seen and it’s all thanks to this box. But it’s not that simple, the box takes its toll on the human mind and flesh. It’s time I pass this thing to a younger man, someone able to bear its weight before it destroys me.”
Denis laughed at the idea.
“A magic box…come off it. How could this heap of woodworm and rust ever destroy someone.”
There was a sense of sorrow in the eyes of Monroe, but with a flitter of hope.
“Listen Denis, I want you to have this box…and this theatre. I want you to embrace its power and change your fortunes and those of the family you are yet to have. Just promise me that when the time comes you will do the same thing as I am doing right now and pass it on to someone worthy because if you hold it too tightly and for too long this box will be the end of you.”
There was one word that stood out to Denis.
“Worthy, how do you know I’m worthy? I’m just a random man in a bar who you saved from making a terrible decision.”
“I didn’t save you and I didn’t choose you. The box showed me the way.”
Monroe reached out his hand, offering up the keys to the theatre. Denis hesitated for a moment before finally taking the keys. He turned his attention once more to the box and when he turned to speak to Monroe he found that he had vanished, probably skulking out the stage door into the night.
Denis looked at the box, puzzled by what he was meant to do with it now.
He felt a compulsion and took a step forward into the box. He turned, looking out across the dim lit seats of the theatre and closed the door.
Present Day – A theatre in Atlanta, GA
Derren Archer watched intently as the fork lift truck slowly edged forward with the pallet on which was loaded his package. The driver placed it gently down onto the floor in the backstage area before reversing out through the loading bay door. Archer gave him a polite wave as he pressed the button to lower the door, waiting for it to be completely closed before he took up a crowbar and opened his package, revealing his prized magic cabinet box.
He smiled at it, as though welcoming home an old friend.
“You’ll live here.”
He opened the door with the intent to climb inside but was unable to as a body collapsed out it.
Derren looked down, shocked to see the lifeless body of a young man dressed in a uniform which made him appear to be a member of crew from a ship. Derren kicked the body gently and the eyes of the man opened as he gasped a deep breath of air.
“Well hello there…and who might you be?”