I hadn’t visited Uncle Jimmy since he’d gotten real sick. I felt bad about that, especially when I was told he’d left me something.
The small package contained a DVD and an envelope, the words “WATCH THE FILM BEFORE OPENING” etched boldly into the bleached, white manila.
Flickering, colourless reels of people and places of another time. A man on a rickety bicycle rolled unsteadily across the screen. He paused to raise his cloth cap triumphantly towards the camera. As the lens zoomed in my heart began to pound.
It can’t be. How could it be?
I opened the letter. Hands shaking, I started to read.
Billy’s father had been the star of the convention circuit. You wanted a trick, then Frank Wizzleton had it in stock. Their stall always drew the biggest crowd; however, even Billy’s father knew why they were really there. Sure he’d sell enough to keep him and his sister in good quality second-hand clothes, but it was the pyramid they’d come to see.
It had now been over a week since Frank Wizzleton’s last public performance, at Greendale Cemetery. In one hand Billy held a malt, in the other the secret he’d waited his life for.
“….I have no idea how it works, son. It just does” began the letter.“All I can say is you need to keep doing the trick. At least once every 20 days, and NO MORE than three times a month. For the sake of everyone you love don’t ask any questions; don’t look for answers…”
Superstitious old fool, thought Billy, as he placed the letter back into its envelope. On the coffee table the pyramid began to glow, its top slowly turning. Billy swallowed hard on his whisky.