The Magicians of Elephant County
Dedication
To Andrea, my co-magician
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Duncan and Emma, Magicians
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
The Witch
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Tommy Wilkins
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Misery Manor
Emma
Duncan
Elephant
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Officer Ralph
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
A Visit With the Witch
Duncan
Emma
Inside the House
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
The Wand
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The Fall Talent Jamboree
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Escape
Emma
Duncan
Caught
Emma
Duncan
Celebrity
Emma
Duncan
The Witch Appears
Emma
Duncan
Emma
The Tree
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Another Escape
Emma
Magic Lessons
Duncan
Emma
Dark Magicians
Duncan
Emma
Quinton Penfold
Duncan
Emma
The Wicked Twig
Duncan
Emma
The Elephant Theater
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The Elite Magicians Convention
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The Dark Spirit
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The Highway Incident
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Arrested
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Real Magic
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Preparations
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Showtime
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
The Elephant Rock
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The End
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
The Reveal
Emma
Duncan
Emma
Duncan
An Excerpt from Ralph Neale’s Annual Review
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
In an effort to understand the events that occurred this fall in Elephant County, we have pieced together the written accounts of the people of interest, Duncan Reyes, age 11, and Emma Gilbert, age 12.
We compared their versions with other eyewitness testimony and crime scene evidence.
Though there are some minor inconsistencies between their statements, we believe this to be the most accurate representation of what really happened.
Attempts have been made to organize these documents into a cohesive narrative, and it is our hope that you will leave with a better understanding of the matter.
It goes without saying that everything contained in these files is strictly confidential and must be handled with extreme sensitivity. Due to the level of damage to private property and the high costs associated with the repairs, the public is understandably interested in the details of the case. However, we believe the truth would pose a danger if released.
For now, our top priority is creating an alternate credible narrative and figuring out what happened to the children after we interviewed them.
The current location of Duncan Reyes and Emma Gilbert remains unknown.
Duncan and Emma, Magicians
Emma
Let me be clear about something—I am not Duncan’s assistant.
Assistants lie in a box while a handsaw is going through them and magicians bask in the applause and glory.
That’s not me. No way.
My mom told me that I don’t have to be the quiet one in the dress who is chopped apart, put in cages, or blown to bits in an explosion. Forget about it.
Duncan and I are co-magicians, and if anything, he is my assistant.
I met Duncan the first day of kindergarten at Elephant County Elementary, and he was the most annoying, obnoxious, and stinky kid in the class.
It was hate at first sight.
He was short, with dark curly hair and skin the color of wet sand. His breath smelled like pretzels. He asked everyone in the class if they’d be his friend. He followed us around all day like a puppy, his big brown eyes blinking constantly behind his dorky square glasses.
It was super pathetic.
I asked the teacher to make him leave me alone, but she said I had to learn to get along with others. So I took pity on him, which is good because Duncan has a way of growing on you, kind of like chicken pox. You know, you hate him at first, but then he wears you down and you finally just accept that he’s going to be around for a while. Plus, scratching him feels pretty good.
Then, in second grade, Duncan started doing magic.
That’s where it all went wrong.
Duncan
The first time I disappeared, I had the whole town looking for me. My picture was on the evening news and three police officers came over to our house. Mom was crying pretty hard. I didn’t feel good about that, but there’s no point doing a trick if you don’t commit to it.
Earlier that day I had constructed a box with a tilted mirror that made it look completely empty when viewed from a certain angle, and I stayed curled in a ball inside it until that evening. You want to see mad? Pop out of a box in a room full of cops and your sobbing mother and say, Ta-da! Here I am!
Not good.
I learned that day never to use magic for evil. Sure, it’s fun to cut off and reattach your thumb in front of a bunch of kindergartners, but the lasting emotional trauma they’ll have isn’t worth it.
Or so they tell me.
My name is Duncan Reyes, and I am a magician.
Magic is my life, and with the help of my assistant, Emma, it was something I planned to do forever.
But I’ll give it all up if you’ll forgive me. I’m so sorry about what happened, and I’ll work the rest of my life to pay everything back.
And I never meant to hurt anyone, especially her.
Emma
I admit, I thought Duncan’s magic act was stupid at first, and the tricks he did were super obvious. Removable thumb, cut-and-restore rope, pen through a dollar bill, cups and balls—that kind of stuff. I could figure out how he did them in about five seconds. He was terrible, and I enjoyed how sad it made him when I guessed exactly how a trick was done. But I think that made him work harder, because soon he started to get good.
Like, really good.
I was impressed, and a little jealous of the attention he got. Duncan practiced all the time, and before I knew it, I was practicing with him. Anything to get out of my house and away from my sisters, who thought magic was the most embarrassing thing ever.
Duncan wanted to be just like Quinton Penfold. I’m sure you know about him from all his TV specials. He’s pretty much the most famous magician, and does the biggest and corniest tricks ever. Duncan wanted to look like him, talk like him, and be famous like him. He was obsessed. Every year, Quinton hosts the Elite Magicians Convention in a big city, and all the best acts perform and share magical secrets with up-and-comers. Our plan was to create an act so good that everyone would freak out and my parents would be impressed and pay for us to go.
By fifth grade, we had put together a whole routine, and had decided to show it off at the Fall Talent Jamboree.
It was supposed to be our big break. It took place in the high school auditorium on a pretty awesome stage, with lights, a food stand, and stadium seating.
I waited in the audience while Duncan stayed backstage in his tuxedo and red cape (that used to be his blankie—don’t tell him I told you that). We had to suffer through Jose Ruiz’s off-key rendition of “Three Blind Mice” on the trombone, this third-grade gir
l’s choreographed dance number, and Sammy McGovern’s attempt at stand-up comedy. He just told jokes he found online and made fart noises. Some talent.
Finally, Principal Howell came onstage and said, “All right, for our next act, please welcome Duncan Reyes, magician extraordinaire, to the stage.”
Duncan walked through the curtain, chest out, with a big smile on his face. Music played from the speakers.
“Magic,” he began, “is something that can show you the world in amazing new ways. It can make things appear out of nowhere”—he clapped his hands and in a puff of smoke, flowers appeared—“and it can break the laws of physics.” He ripped off his cape (blankie) and made it float between his hands.
Small applause.
“But magic wasn’t meant to be done alone. I need a volunteer.”
I raised my hand and waved it around.
“You there,” he said, pointing to me. “Please come to the stage. Have we ever met before?”
“No,” I yelled. “Never.”
People in the audience laughed. My sisters hid their faces in their hands, as if that would make anyone forget we were related.
“You can’t do magic in those kind of clothes,” Duncan said. He held his cape in front of me. When he dropped it a moment later, I had done a quick change into the exact same tuxedo he was wearing.
The crowd roared. Like I said, no dresses for this girl. No way.
We continued with the show, doing a straitjacket escape, disappearing scarves, and the teleportation box that transports anything you put into it to a separate box across the stage. I can’t say how it’s done, but I will say that buy-one-get-one-free coupons come in handy.
It went pretty great, and by the end, the whole auditorium was cheering for us.
Evan Sanderson ended up winning the Fall Talent Jamboree, but that was only because he’s the most popular kid in class. I don’t believe for a second that his guitar playing was that good, but all the other girls go crazy when he smiles at them.
After the show, my parents said, “That was really cute, Emma,” and my sisters were like, “Can’t you just act like a normal girl?”
Whatever. No Elite Magicians Convention for us.
We decided we would practice even harder and put on a show that would blow everyone away next time.
Well, mission accomplished. No one is ever going to forget our second appearance at the Fall Talent Jamboree.
We really brought down the house.
I wonder how long it will take to rebuild the auditorium.
Duncan
I work hard for my magic. Every trick I do has taken days, weeks, sometimes months to master. I’ve studied all the greats, and I know most of the secrets.
If I see a magician on TV cut a person in half, I know how that’s done.
Straitjacket escape. Simple.
And if a lion disappears from a cage and reappears in another cage halfway across the room, I have a pretty good idea how that’s done, too. I’ll give you a hint: two lions.
I learned everything from an old stage magician named the Amazing Zuggarino. I call him Zug.
He retired years ago and owns Zug’s Magic Shop in town. It’s small, dusty, usually empty, and located in the bottom section of an old house. He has a window display with a giant top hat and wand, and the first time I saw it I begged my mom to let me go in. That’s when my life changed forever.
Zug was standing at a small felt-covered table at the front of the store where he demonstrates tricks to potential buyers. He’s really good, and makes everything seem real and mystical. He saw me, smiled, and shoved a pen through a dollar bill. It went clear through, no doubt about it, and when he pulled it out the dollar was unharmed. I felt like my world had been turned upside down. My stomach fluttered, my knees went weak, the room spun around.
“It’s just a trick,” he told me.
Sure it was.
The kit to learn the trick cost twelve dollars, which Mom didn’t have. You might as well know now, we don’t have a lot of money, and I feel bad for picking up such an expensive hobby. My mom works hard at the salon, and Dad sends her some money each month, but it’s not enough to buy every little thing I want. I get presents for Christmas and my birthday, but that was too long to wait.
I had to have this trick now.
If I could fix holes in dollar bills, who’s to say I couldn’t make them appear out of nowhere? The trick would pay for itself in no time. Then I’d buy my mom whatever she wanted.
I saved for two weeks to get it. I went door-to-door to neighbors’ houses and did yard work. I helped Mrs. Mendelson carry in groceries. I admit, I even swam for pennies at the bottom of the fountain in the park.
Finally, I laid the money down on Zug’s counter and received a small plastic bag with the instructions and necessary props (a dollar bill and a pen, believe it or not). Zug took me into a creepy back room decorated with cobwebs and skull candles and demonstrated how the trick was done.
It took me two seconds to figure out I’d been conned. Hoodwinked. Ripped off. I was devastatingly, outrageously, horrifyingly angry.
The trick was just a gimmicked pen that was cut in half and held together with magnets. Before you shoved it through, you palmed the top half off and then concealed the rest of the pen with your other hand. If you did it fast enough, with one quick motion the two pieces snapped together and it looked like the pen had pierced the dollar.
You want to know how to get twelve dollars from a sucker? Sell him a magic trick.
I’m not proud of this, but I cried. Zug pulled a string of seven colorful hankies out of his sleeve and I sobbed into them.
Zug felt so bad for me that he refunded my money and offered to let me help around the shop. He said he couldn’t pay me, but he could show me how to do tricks and put together an act of my own.
That’s how Zug and I became friends. After school I would go over to his shop and sweep the floor or clean the windows, and he would show me tricks. I would watch as he created impossible illusions, soaking it all in.
Each trick was amazing, and every time I was convinced that this couldn’t be faked. This must be real magic.
But then he would reveal the secret. For every levitating pencil or switcheroo container, there was a thin piece of string or a false bottom. It was a disappointment.
One day, Zug grabbed me by the shoulders, looked into my eyes, and said, “Duncan, magic tricks are meant to bring joy and mystery to others. That’s why you do it. There is no real magic. It doesn’t exist.”
Yeah, Zug’s a liar.
Emma
So you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with the case.
I mean, that’s why you’re reading this, right? You want to know how two kids could get involved in one of the worst series of events ever recorded in our town.
Well, considering we were told to give the complete account, starting at the beginning, I thought it was important that you understood a little bit about me and Duncan.
Because this story is about us as much as it’s about her. And at the beginning, we didn’t know much about the witch.
The Witch
Duncan
When Zug told me there was no such thing as real magic, I believed him. No one was going to fool me again, especially not with a story about some silly old witch.
The legend of the witch is well known in Elephant. People say she’s immortal. They say she eats children. They say she curses cashiers that don’t let her use expired coupons.
Sure.
So what if there was a creepy house on West End Avenue?
And so what if it was old and splintery, with chipping white paint the color of graveyard bones? Who cares that the dying shrubs look like the hands of zombies bursting through the ground, curled and grabbing? Yes, it howled like a tortured cat at night, but that was all a dumb coincidence. The wind from the field must have hit the shutters at just the right angle.
Everything had a rational explanation.
Mom told me to be careful around that house. The legend of the witch is so old that even she heard the stories when she was my age, back in ancient times, almost twenty years ago.
Everyone in town thought the witch’s house was haunted, but I’d read enough books and seen enough movies to know that every town has at least one scary old person who lives in a creepy house that all the schoolchildren think is dangerous and rotten. Inevitably, it turns out they’re just a nice and misunderstood weirdo and all the kids end up drinking lemonade on their porch at the end.