Free B-Movie Reels by Alan Spencer

He’s a genuine person, but it was the fame that did him in. After the attention and glitz of television and all that hoorah was over, it left a void for James to fill. He stayed in that house and perfected his act, but I swear to you, Andy, I heard and saw things coming from that house. Strange noises, shadows dancing behind closed curtains, and odd lights. I didn’t know what to make of it.”
    “Do you think he’s insane?”
    “Toward the end of his life, I’d say he was driven by stress and desperation. I wouldn’t say he was clinically insane. Have you ever heard of the man who died in the house before your uncle moved in?”
    “Yeah, sort of.”
    “His name was Edgar Hutchinson. He was a well-traveled Catholic priest. He moved to Anderson Mills to retire. Supposedly the man was forced out of Illinois after claiming to be an oracle after thirty years of stickin’ to the Catholic word. Edgar boasted that he could speak to the dead. The man would waltz up to random strangers and tell them what their dead loved ones wanted to tell them. The man never gave a warning or asked if the person wanted to hear words from the beyond. His social skills were for the crapper.
    “He told my sister her dead mother still thought it was a bad decision to marry her husband. Edgar also talked to Stephanie Hicks, my next-door neighbor. He explained to her that her deceased sister wished she’d stayed in school and became a librarian instead of a waitress and having kids at eighteen. Stephanie cried because it was the truth. Asshole said that stuff to dozens of people in Anderson Mills. It’s like he couldn’t help it, a compulsion. Like your uncle, Edgar would brood about the house for hours on end. Screams spread throughout these woods sometimes, and they came from that house. I don’t know what the hell was going on, but it was just as troublesome as your uncle’s ordeal. But Edgar was true booby-hatch material. I caught the man walking through the trail in the woods chattering and swatting at flies that weren’t there. That guy was really gone.”
    Andy listened with heightened interest. Despite his hunger, he hadn’t touched his food. He sipped his coffee and gathered strength for words. “This Edgar guy, how long did he live in that house? Did anything happen to him?”
    “Maybe a year or two, I think, he stayed there. The man later hung himself in the upstairs room. I guess the seclusion got to him, or if a man preaches a faith no one believes in, his purpose in life is gone. But James wasn’t like that. He was a good guy at heart. Ned would tell me about when his brother was growing up and how he performed hack tricks for the local church groups. James bought gadgets and toys from those ads in the back of comic books: sea monkeys, spy cameras, magnifying glasses and other nonsense. Then he came upon an ad for magic gags: the floating finger trick, the fly in the plastic ice cube bit, and squeezing a drop of water from a coin. Ned says James’s interest didn’t wane in performing tricks. He checked out books in libraries and studied the greats like Houdini.  
    “Ned admitted his brother was nervous on stage and could only pull off the cheap gags, but after moving here, he got much better—professional. He could make things disappear, he levitated, and he even wormed his way out of straight-jacket hanging upside down in less than three minutes. He was amazing, and then when that little girl disappeared during a show, it was downhill for the poor guy. And I still don’t believe the nonsense everyone says about him. He didn’t hurt anyone. Something happened that no one could explain. It’s easier to blame him than to find out the truth, though.”
    Walter paused, eying the Fiesta in the parking lot. “Is that the heap you drive, boy?”
    “Hey, it’ll get me to where I’m going.”
    “You check your oil?”
    “I do, yes.” He started to eat his food. “Hey, thanks for sharing the stuff about my uncle.