When Mediocre Magicians Go Bad

When I took the kids to a magic show on Wednesday, it soon became obvious that we weren’t dealing with just any old run-of-the-mill magician.  Oh yes, his tricks were predictable and he appeared harmless enough with his grandfatherly beard, gentle Scottish lilt and cliched loose overcoat but we were about to learn he had more up his sleeve than just some coloured hankies…

He introduces himself with a smile that never reaches his eyes and asks the children to sit up straight and be quiet.  The list of dos and don’ts that then follows is so extensive that we start to wonder if he actually wants spectators at all.

His first trick turns out to be terrifying small children.  Parents repeatedly scrape their offspring off the ceiling after every explosive yell as a small furry rodent tickles him by running up and down his stick.  (Take your minds from the gutter, this is a kids’ show).  I could swear he smirks each time my two-year old bursts into frightened tears and buries his head in my shoulder.

At one point he actually HECKLES a woman who goes to the toilet just as he’s showing us his droopy wand.  Oh how we laugh as he tickles her nose with his stuffed raccoon on her return.  What a joker!  What a card!  Until we slowly realise that the ‘raccoon’ now has her nose in a death grip that’s making her eyes bulge and her eyes water.  His mouth smiles but his eyes clearly say, ‘Anyone else thinking about ruining my moment?  Good.  Then let this be a lesson to all of you…’

About twenty minutes in I start to feel the compulsion to cover my kids’ eyes as this grown man shoves his hand up the backside of yet ANOTHER stuffed animal to make it do his bidding.  Surely that’s something only the eyes of a professional who’s not easily shocked should see, not a roomful of impressionable youngsters?

Ah, the ol’ ‘disappearing CD’ trick.  Uh-oh, the young girl on the front row is onto him.  I want to scream at her not to say anything but still she insists.  I can see the tic in his jaw when he realises he’s busted.  You can tell he’s itching to saw her in half but the room and resources won’t allow it.  He casts his eyes around regardless, though, to see if he can wing it with the craft table, some coloured card and half a dozen glue spatulas.

Crap.  He knows I’ve tried to warn the girl.  It’s too obvious to target me so he picks on my friend’s son, who I’ve taken with me, to help him.  I catch G’s eye and nod reassuringly but my stomach flips over as the magician reaches for G’s head.  I glare at him, hoping to convey the message, ‘If you touch a single hair on his head…’  Oh, OK, he needs to do that to pretend to pluck a hair to turn into a coin.  I breathe a sigh of relief as G sits down and the kids break into nervous laughter.

At last the show is over and my five charges are intact.  Crisps and drinks have been put out for the children, maybe to deter people from suing for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The only problem is that it’s become a crazy free-for-all.  They’ve obviously not expected so many children.  How naive.  It’s half-term, I take my kids to Tesco as a treat if it means getting them out of the house.

I spot a gap in the crowd and just as I’m reaching for the starchy snacks and liquid E numbers I hear a voice nearby,  ‘Please, madam, don’t lean over the table.  Please, mind the equipment…’  I look around to see who the magician’s speaking to because even though I am indeed leaning over a table, there’s nothing on it that’s remotely breakable.  The most valuable thing on there is the 10p piece that he’s just plucked from G’s ear.

‘STEP AWAY FROM THE TOP HAT AND FLUFFY BUNNY, BITCH.’  I look around, startled, but no-one else has flinched. The magician’s lips aren’t moving but his eyes are boring into me and I know at that moment that he’s speaking IN MY MIND.

I send a subliminal message straight back.  ‘YOU’LL HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT, OLD TIMER.  I’VE GOT THREE KIDS. YOU CAN’T TEACH ME ANYTHING ABOUT MIND GAMES.’

He hesitates for a moment.  I use the lull to grab the snacks.  We’re about to make our retreat when he brushes against my back.  I hear his voice in my head once more, ‘TRICK OR TREAT?’

Dear God, PLEASE let that just be the droopy wand in his pocket…