The furniture in the room had been pushed back against the wall to make room for the evening’s entertainment. It was a rare treat, and there was a thrill of excitement in the air. The children sat on the figured carpet before a makeshift stage that had been set up against one wall of the room. It was a hot August evening, and the tall bay windows had been thrown open. The curtains billowed lightly in the breeze, and the dim flames danced on the gas jets that had been turned down for the show, casting weird shadows on the walls.
A gilded table sat on the low platform that would serve as a stage. On it was a candelabrum and a box, about a foot square, decorated with Egyptian symbols. A full-length mirror stood to one side of the table and, on the other side, a low long wicker basket with a hinged lid. To the rear, a wrought-iron pedestal supported a brazier of coals that glowed in the shadows like a beating heart.
Darkness pooled at the fringes of the room, and while some of the children chattered among themselves, others of a more imaginative bent plumbed that darkness with wide eyes, wondering if something more than the dim shapes of armchairs and tables were gathered there.
“Look,” cried one of the children, pointing to the shadows behind the stage. As all eyes turned that way, the darkness took shape and a tall lean figure strode forward onto the stage. As he approached the table, he snapped his fingers in the direction of the candelabrum. Instantly, the wicks atop the dozen candles danced with flame.
He stood silently in the candlelight and ran his eyes over the group of children seated on the carpet. Half a dozen parents and a serving maid stood uneasily by the door as his eyes drifted over them. He wore a black swallowtail coat over a stiff white shirt with a turndown collar, and a white cravat with a gleaming silver pin.
“Good evening,” he said, as he slowly began to remove the white gloves he wore. “I am Professor Mephisto. And you are about to witness an evening of wonders such as you have never seen.”
His voice was deep and melodious, and though he spoke quietly, the words reverberated off the walls like something echoing from the bottom of a well. His eyes glowed with a strange intensity and fixed on those who met them with such force that it was as if he could see into their very souls.
The children sat transfixed as he worked the gloves off his hands, one finger at a time. In the candlelight, his face appeared as pale as chalk, his lips as red as blood, his hair as dark as a raven’s wing. He looked every bit a gentleman, yet there was something about him that sent a shiver down the spine.
The gloves removed, he tossed them into the air. And they were miraculously transformed into a pair of white doves. They swooped and circled the room, while the children craned their necks to follow their flight. Finally, they settled in the shadows at the rear of the stage.
“Now,” said the magician, his eyes coming to rest on the parents gathered at the door, “it seems we have some very large children back there.”
The children laughed as they turned to look. “Those aren’t children!” one of them shouted. “They’re parents.”
“Parents? Really?” said the magician. “Well, that’s very strange. I thought this was to be a children’s show, was it not?”
“Yes!” shouted the children delightedly.
“Well, then, it seems we have two choices. Either we can ask the parents politely to leave, or, for my next trick, I could transform them all into children. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”
“Yes!” shouted the children again, while the parents hung sheepishly by the door.
The magician lightly clapped his hands, and out from the shadows where the doves had disappeared flew two large black birds. They swooped menacingly low over the parents’ heads. Finally, one of the adults opened the door and they filed out, glancing back nervously at the smiling figure onstage.
Then, with another light clap of his hands, the door shut with a resounding thud, the birds settled to either side of the stage, and, in the silence that followed, the show began.…