The Illusionist’s Tent

By H. K. Payne

I was told we had the night off, but I guess no one told you kids that. Tell me, whose idea was it to come trick-or-treating through our camp? I suppose it was yours, since you’re the only one here. You do realize we’re a bunch of broke circus performers, don’t you? Well, since you’re here, we might as well get this over with. Which do you want: the trick or the treat?

Treat? All right, let’s see. What have I got… Here you go. A handbill folded into the shape of a bird.

What do you mean, it doesn’t look like a bird? It’s a swan, obviously.

You have some nerve, showing up outside a man’s tent on his night off, demanding a treat and then insulting his paper-folding abilities. Yes, I know it’s not a very good paper swan, but what do you expect? This isn’t my area of expertise. You’re the one who came to an illusionist asking for a treat.

Oh, you want the trick instead now? Here. Poof. The swan vanishes.

Well, of course you’ve seen that trick before. Any illusionist worth their salt can make a badly folded paper swan disappear. Did you think I was going to give you a big finale act? You’ve got to buy a ticket for that.

Well, I’m feeling generous, so I’ll humor you with another trick. Check your pockets.

Hey now, calm down. It’s not like you had much money in there.

And here it is. Have it back. That’s another treat.

What are you scowling for? If you wanted candy, you should have gone to a normal neighborhood like all the other kids. Why didn’t you go with all your friends?

Oh…I guess that’s a sensitive subject for you. Kids, eh? I get it. Sorry I brought it up.

Hang on, don’t go just yet. I’ve got another trick for you.

Relax, I’m not going to take your money. What’s the fun in doing the same trick twice?

There. Look at that. The whole night sky inside one tiny tent. A trick and a treat all in one.

Yeah, you can come in if you want. Just leave that open. I get claustrophobic.

It’s nice, isn’t it? The stars, not the tent. The tent is a wreck. But the stars—you could almost touch them. 

Of course I can’t tell you how I did it. Because illusionists don’t spill their secrets and all that.

Actually, it’s more that I wouldn’t even know how to begin to describe it. It’s just something I can do.

Do you want to see another trick? I’m getting warmed up now.

Here, watch my hand. Are you watching carefully? All right, there! It’s gone. Presto.

No, it’s not down my sleeve. Take a look. And no, it wasn’t just a prosthetic all along. I do have two hands. See? It’s back.

Oh, and now it’s gone again. I hate it when that happens.

Could I make more of myself disappear? Someone else asked me that once. He asked me if I could make my whole self disappear. I didn’t want to try it, but he made me a pretty tempting offer.

No, not money. A ham and cheddar sandwich.

What? You try going for two days without food and then see how silly you think it is to get all excited about a sandwich. I was hungry, all right? I don’t usually do tricks for scraps like a dog, but sometimes it’s necessary.

I didn’t go through with it anyway. I couldn’t bring myself to try. Turning even part of myself invisible gives me the jeebies. I don’t think I could handle disappearing all of me. Not even for a ham and cheddar sandwich.

If it had been ham and Swiss, maybe I would have done it.

Oh look at that. My hand is back.

Why hadn’t I eaten in two days? I was between jobs. It was after I left the last show I was a part of, before I joined this one. 

No, I’d rather not talk about the last show.

Here, I’ve got another trick for you.

Voila. The plastic alligator toy you lost when you were six.

How do I know about that? No idea.

But this is yours, isn’t it? See, it’s got that nick in the tail—

I already told you—I can’t explain how I do it. I wouldn’t even know how to begin.

…You’re right. I am different from the other illusionists in the troupe. Most people never figure that out. Even the other illusionists all still think I’m just like them, doing tricks with fancy clockwork and sleight of hand.

Maybe they think that because I made them think that. I’m not sure. Once they figure it out—if they figure it out—I guess I’ll have to leave again, like I left the last show.

You want to know if the last show kicked me out? You mean like they realized I was a fake illusionist and they kicked me out of the show for it? Ha.

No. No, they didn’t.

You want to know?

The truth is, they found out and got all excited. They booked new shows, trotting me out as the finale every night. Nobody asked me what I wanted. Pretty soon, I wasn’t a person anymore; I was a goldmine. I was their goldmine, and if I didn’t perform to their satisfaction—well, there were consequences. When I wasn’t performing, they kept me locked up in the cellars under the theatre, if you can believe it. They said it was for my protection, which I guess was true in its own way. They didn’t want anyone to steal me, including myself. 

No one ever came looking for me. I still have nightmares about those cellars. 

I…I’ve never told anyone that before.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. 

How did I escape? Eventually I figured out how to walk through the wall, which was just about the most terrifying thing I ever did. Sometimes I still get this sudden awful feeling like there’s a brick embedded in my chest.

It really scares me sometimes. I have no idea when it’s safe to try something. Someone like you can look at the people who have come before and make a judgement about what you can survive, but me? Nobody taught me this stuff. It just started happening and I’m still trying to figure it out.

When I was a kid, I once went a whole day without being able to drink water. Every glass of water I touched just evaporated—glass and all—for no reason. And at night I used to scare myself making the shadows on the walls move. I didn’t realize I was doing it, of course. I always thought it was some kind of monster, and I would hide under my blankets, waiting for it to come get me…

Look at me. I’m shaking. I really don’t usually talk about this stuff…No, I never talk about this stuff. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. I—

What?

…That’s my name.

How do you know my name?

…Why did you come here tonight? Of all the places you could go trick-or-treating, of all the tents you could have gone to, why did you come here? Why did you choose the smallest, shabbiest tent—the tent of some second-rate sideshow performer? Anyone else would have scrounged up some taffy or a lollipop and sent you on your way.

But you came here. You came here and suddenly I’m telling you things I’ve never told anyone…

…Did you make me say all that?

I don’t mean on purpose. But…in a way you can’t explain. Because you wanted to know, didn’t you. You wanted to know if I was…

Because…

Gosh, look at me. I’m crying now. Sorry. I just…

I always thought I was the only one.

You did too, didn’t you.

Here, you can shove that stuff out of the way. Please, sit down. Make yourself at home, kid.

Let’s start with your name. 

You can start by telling me your name.

Host Commentary

Good morning, good day, good afternoon and good evening, and welcome to PodCastle, the flying castle of fantasy fiction. I’m your host, Matt Dovey, and it is my pleasure to present for your–hang on–do you hear that?

[heavy door knocker]

For the old gods’ sakes… sorry, one moment…

[footsteps away; heavy door creaking open]

Your interruption shall reap the dragon’s–oh, oh! Hello Curtains, what’s up–

[CoW audio: “trick or treat!”]

Right, well, fool me once and all that, not making last year’s mistake again, so I think it better be treat, hadn’t it?

Oh, you–you’ve got a treat for us? Well, let’s have a look… oh. Oh yes. Oh thank you. No, this is lovely. Are we still on for pumpkin carving tonight, yeah? Awesome. We’ve got a great idea this year, we are definitely winning so long as Tentacles doesn’t cheat with the non-Euclidean dimensions again. See you later!

[door closes; footsteps back]

Right. Sorry about that. So, uh, change of plan: Cast of Wonders dropped by and dropped a story in our lap and, well, it’s my pleasure to present for your enjoyment, “The Illusionist’s Tent” by H. K. Payne, narrated and produced by Eric Valdes. This story is a Cast of Wonders Original.

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…aaaaand welcome back. That was “The Illusionist’s Tent” by H. K. Payne, and if you enjoyed that like I did then I’m afraid that was, as mentioned, her first professional sale–and congratulations on that count!–but despite my best efforts I can’t scare up anywhere to follow her online. HK! If you’re listening, let the Cast of Wonders folk know where your website or social media are, then people can follow you from your bio page on their site.

[Katherine Inskipp]: Thank you, Podcastle! That story was a really nice counterpoint to the story we heard over at Pseudopod Towers yesterday: instead of false friends pushing a kid into a bad situation, we’ve got two lonely individuals finding a connection on Halloween night. The single-sided conversation is a great device to develop intimacy with the audience, but it also fits really well with the nature of the illusionist’s magic of making things happen. This is the kind of story that, to me, feels like it’s just touching on the edge of something really important: how growing up is about gaining the power to affect the world around us, and how terrifying that is when we still feel powerless and unseen.  It’s the sort of story which could have taken a really sinister turn, but instead focuses on showing the power of mutual understanding and empathy. This one was definitely a treat!

Thanks, Kath, and the Cast of Wonders team as a whole, and I’m relieved to hear it’s not just us getting gatecrashed–I guess I should warn Kitty and Lasers… then again, more fun not to, better to just listen in to them this week too and see what occurs, eh?

I’m with you on how wonderful the story was too, and how well the conceit of the one-sided conversation worked for bringing the audience close. What really made this old dragon’s heart swell, though? Was that moment of recognition, when the illusionist saw someone like himself, and instantly and instinctively his priority was to help them above all else.

Being neurodivergent in this world is a tough old thing, but one of the delights of it is getting to live this moment over and over–of instinctively recognising someone else as like you, and gently broaching the topic by discussing your own struggles, and you can see the moment of hesitation where they want to bring it up and ask about it, and then? Then is the magic part, where you can tell them that they’re not broken, that it was never their fault, that they are not alone nor uniquely flawed but have just been forced, by so many people for so many years, to fit into a shape that doesn’t suit them that they’ve ended up forcing themselves too. And you can help lift that weight off their shoulders, and though, like the illusionist, you may not know how you do it yourself, you know you can still help just by showing them they’re not alone. And really–it is amazing how much that does help. It takes courage, sometimes, to hang your own identity out in public so that people might approach you for the conversation: but my goodness does that vulnerability ever get repaid with the good you can do for others. I thoroughly recommend it, whenever you can.