By Conner Issac
Tom and I played at the carnival for hours: Ring Toss, Balloon Darts, Water Gun Race. We ate cotton candy, turkey legs, and fried Twinkies. I hated that I had to order for us both, but Tom hadn’t been talking recently. He was so quiet that people didn’t notice he was there. Doing things for him was starting to give me this strange, heavy feeling. I did my best to ignore it.
When it got dark we went to the ferris wheel. The attendant tried to give us a cart with only one seat, but I argued until she gave us a two-seater. When we reached the apex of the ride, I rocked the cart back and forth with all of my might. I wanted to see if Tom would scream.
At 10:00 we started working our way toward the exit. Dad was waiting in the car.
But as we turned a corner, I saw a booth that hadn’t been there before. There were no lights and no one in line. At first I thought it was closed, but then I saw him on the other side of the old wood: a man in a black fold-up chair. His teeth were so white; I swear we wouldn’t have seen him if he hadn’t been smiling.
“Come here,” the man called.
We did.
The man was a magician. He showed us all kinds of tricks. He guessed the number I was thinking of and made a plastic water bottle disappear right in front of our eyes. He pulled a stuffed rabbit out of his hat and touched it softly with his wand. When he set it on the ground it sprang to life and ran to me, curling into a ball against my feet.
“For my last trick,” the magician said, “I will grant you one wish.”
“Anything?” I asked.
“Anything.”
I thought carefully about that feeling I had. It felt like a hole in my stomach, an uncomfortable squeezing in my chest. A half-buried arm pulling me down.
“Will you take my pain away?” I asked. “Will you make me feel better?”
“Give me your hands,” the magician said, nodding.
He told me to close my eyes, then whispered for a long time.
When the magician was done, a feeling of refreshment came over me. It was like I’d been wearing a heavy coat on a hot summer day, but I’d finally taken it off.
When I turned around, Tom was fading. It wasn’t like last time. There was no screaming. No blood. Just a soft, “I love you.”
And Tom was gone.
* * *
Connor Isaac is a writer and a fiction MFA/MA candidate at McNeese State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Voices, Creepy Podcast, NoSleep Podcast, Eunoia Review, and BarBar Magazine, among other venues. You can read more of his work at connorisaacwriting.com