Chapter 1 - By: Holden Kodish

If you’ve never opened the door in your underwear to a dead magician at your doorstep, it’s a hard feeling to describe. It’s like seeing a broken vase on the floor, and knowing you’re going to be blamed for it, while at the same time having your man boobs out. And, instead of having to work a few extra hours to pay for a new vase (one that really doesn’t work with the fang shui of the room), you spend 25 to life in prison, where the fang shui is much, MUCH, worse.

So, I did the only reasonable action. I dragged the street magician’s lifeless body into my front room.

“For such a lanky bastard.” I said as I heaved his body “He sure is heavy. Do people get heavier when they die? I think I heard that somewhere.” I paused, wondering who I was talking to, and then finished dragging him through my doorway. It was only after I dragged the body in that I realized that covering a dead body last seen on your front porch with your fingerprints is NOT a good idea. Then, I remembered that episode of Breaking Bad. You know, like the second or third episode, when they have to get rid of that body? They cut the guy into little pieces and put those in barrels of hydrochloric acid or something. To be honest, I never watched Breaking Bad. I just read the Wikipedia page.

It was only when I returned from the tool shed that I realized that hydrochloric acid is not a common household material. Nor are steel drums. So right now, I have a dead corpse in my front room, covered in my fingerprints, as I stand over him carrying my saw. “Yeah, I’m screwed,” I thought. As I wondered how much a good lawyer would cost in Topeka, I noticed something. The magician was wearing a top hat. 

It was black, yet stainless as if it was fresh out of the box. A golden rim went around the hat, with ridges and divides like a vinyl record. And in the corner of the hat (do hats have corners?) was a little pink and yellow flower. 

Seeing that hat awakened something in me. Like most boys, I had a phase where I wanted to be a street magician. I had the little magic wand, and the ruffled shirt. Hell, I even had a signature trick. I called it “The Reverse Digestive System”. I’d stick the wand in one hole, and it’d come out the other. I learned a very important lesson from that. Girls don’t like guys who shove sticks up their asses. So I gave it up. Became you’re average white guy. Went into accounting. Lost some weight. Grew a goatee. But deep in my core, I still dreamed about becoming a magician. So, as a joke, I put on the hat. That’s when my head began to hurt. It felt like someone was doing acupuncture on my brain, thousands of needles poking in. And just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

“Weird,” I thought to myself

“Cutie, if you think that’s weird, well… it’s about to get real fucking bizarre.” Myself responded.