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CHAPTER
ONE
It was late 1999, a Saturday
night at the Labyrinth casino in The controversy surrounding the
artist performing - a man who called himself Lucifer Rising - had ensured that
an atmosphere of thrills and chills would be a formality. He was a magician with
a reputation for shocking a crowd. Nobody had ever left one of his spectaculars
without experiencing a quivering sensation that would have them reaching for
superlatives to describe the show to others. Lucifer had been building his on-stage notoriety for years. But since the
opening night performance, a few nights before, interest had peaked with aspects
of his over-the-top act seeming more believable than they had been in the past -
especially the showstopper. Individual seats were joined to form left, right and centre rows that
were on a slight decline towards the stage. Every part of the act could be
clearly viewed from any position. In the middle of the second row sat a couple -
thirty-nine year old Fritz Baxter and his thirty-four year old wife, Fran - who
were celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. Taking in the show for them
was to be the beginning of a night’s festivities, which they had planned to
end in the same suite, at the Labyrinth hotel, that they had spent their
honeymoon. The macabre magician was about to reach the grand finale of his show for
that night, and Fritz was intrigued by the possibilities. He listened to Lucifer
as he made an announcement in a deep but energetic voice. “For my next trick
I’d like to welcome a volunteer to the stage.” Fritz then watched the
sorcerer lift his cape like a pair of bat wings on either side of his slim but
solidly built physique. His costume also consisted of black leather pants and a
matching long-sleeve shirt, the silver-studded boots of a showman and the
inverted crucifix of a warlock that was chained tightly around his throat.
Baxter was six feet tall and slightly overweight with a spare tyre
developing around his waist. His hair was red and curly, and his skin fair
without freckles, like someone who rarely ventured outdoors during the day. His
face was pleasant, though even with a beaming smile - which he would give his
wife every few seconds as they proudly held hands - he knew he would never be
mistaken for a handsome movie star. In fact, every time that Fritz glanced at
his wife he still had to wonder how he had been so lucky. That evening, Fran Baxter wore a low-cut pink velvet gown over her
slender but curvy figure. Her long dark hair, high prominent cheekbones and
brown cats-eyes complemented her shape and made her a feast for the eyes of her
husband and many envious males. Fritz was amazed by the fact that Fran appeared
to be more captivated by him than by the action on stage. Not that he was
complaining. A successful and well-known restaurateur, Fritz wore a white silk tie for
the special occasion. It had the word BAXTER’S, in red thread, woven
vertically into the fabric. The promotional piece of apparel was merchandise
from one of his restaurants. Before the show had commenced, Fritz had looked around the auditorium and
its happy patrons, assuming that most of them were affluent gamblers, seeking a
diversion from the perils of their vice. But now, as he turned his head again,
all he saw were the disbelieving stares of people who would have briefly
forgotten whether or not they had won or lost fortunes earlier in the night.
Fritz understood why the audience had reacted with silence to Lucifer’s
invitation, as he too, had witnessed his previous illusions with considerable
unease. He had seen the magician summon a platoon of demons from hell in a mock
firestorm, and pretend to decapitate a dove in a guillotine - its wide steel
razor slicing through the head of what had become a fake bird. He had been
mesmerised as the magician levitated his female assistant over a statue of the
Sphinx. All the elements of the magical craft seemed to be embraced by the
performer. But Fritz, who had an inkling that it was also the belief of others
as he heard them gasp, always questioned if it was all purely for the sake of
entertainment. Fritz noticed that the olive skin on the face of Lucifer was taut and his
expression more solemn than it was at the start of the night. The magician again
requested patron involvement into a microphone headset that could be heard, with
an echo, through speakers along the walls. “I need a volunteer or my next
illusion will not go ahead,” he added. But Fritz, in accordance with the audience’s silence, didn’t utter a
word. Even an innocuous invitation sounded chilling when it came from the mouth
of this satanic illusionist. Momentarily looking to the back of the stage, Fritz saw a giant mirror
being put into place that covered the wall. From a slide projector, images were
then beamed onto the glass and reflected into the audience. The rotating
photographic images being depicted were of the Devil, a wizard, a face-less
Egyptian pharaoh, and an effigy of Christ nailed to the cross. As if witnessing such a scene was not unsettling enough, a trio of
three-metre high flames suddenly spurted up through the stage floor, evaporating
the strength of any air-conditioning. Fritz began to feel his palms sweating as
he tightly curled his toes. The back of his throat became dry. The gas that
fuelled each fire quickly overwhelmed his sense of smell, as the rich orange
bursts served to light up the otherwise darkened room.
Lucifer’s shiny and wavy black hair was long enough to just spill over
his shoulders. His dark eyes appeared to Fritz to be watching for every face in
the crowd to turn crimson. He figured his own face would be reflecting a glow of
anticipation, as well as uncertainty. Fritz
observed Lucifer’s assistant, who wore a white negligee and a falcon-head
mask, strut elegantly across the stage with a live cobra lying on top of her
outstretched arms. She passed it on to the magician who seemed to handle the snake with the
confidence of a charmer, despite the threat of its bite and deadly venom. Next
thing, he caressed its smooth head and stared into its eyes. He did not flinch.
It was as if the reptile’s fangs posed as little threat as its flickering
tongue. He began to wind the snake around his neck. Its scaly skin appeared to
compress his throat, which was an amazing feat in itself considering that cobras
don’t constrict. Fritz heard the audience gasp again. He felt his hand being squeezed by
Fran. At this point, he was somewhat desensitised by episodes of horror, and
would accept the presentation of virtually any dangerous situation as the real
thing. Lucifer left the cobra coiled around him and stretched out his arms like
an evangelist trying to hypnotise his disciples. He called for audience
participation once more, with even more authority in his voice. “My request
will be obeyed!” Fritz glanced at the other patrons seated close by. They glanced at him,
and murmured amongst themselves. It was apparent that nobody was game enough to
leave their chair behind. But suddenly, without a reason, Fritz confidently
stood up. While still feeling the wedding ring on Fran’s hand he bent down and
gave her a kiss. However, his affection did not come in the form of a public
peck. He treated her to a soft lingering kiss on the lips. He then touched her
lips with the tips of his fingers before leaving the safety zone of the floor
for the unknown quantity of what would await him on stage. He managed a smile for the crowd as he briefly turned to acknowledge
their applause. At the same time, he noticed his wife’s eyes narrow as part of
a bewildered expression. He knew he’d been overly passionate with her, and
that such behaviour was inappropriate given the time and place. The problem was
he didn’t know why he had done it. “What the hell am I doing?” Fritz
quietly asked himself. The answer eluded him, though, as something in his mind
told him that he had to go. He wondered if he had been persuaded by a subliminal
message of some kind, or if simply too much wine at dinner had encouraged him to
act without the benefit of clear thinking? Either way, once he had got up onto
the platform he became more aware of what was going on. He felt hot air rush at him from one of the fire-jets, and saw the cobra
around the magician’s throat, spectacularly spitting fire in his direction. It
was a sight that reminded him of a television program he had watched recently
about tales and legends, when he had learnt how fire-possessed cobras used to
repel their enemies in ancient Egyptian mythology. To feel more comfortable,
Baxter peeled off his beige jacket and folded it in the arms of the assistant.
His steps were hesitant as he approached the magician. A spotlight was thrown on
him unexpectedly. He threw his hands up in front of his face to shade his eyes
from the glare, only to drop them moments later as he adjusted to the
brightness. Suddenly there was a loud humming noise above him. He quickly looked up.
From the ceiling he saw a hollow golden pyramid, approximately one metre high,
being lowered over his head. Baxter was startled as a magical gravity - he
couldn’t see any wires - slowly dragged the luminous object down to enclose
his upper body. The structure had its sloping triangular sides meet at an apex that
floated just inches above him. His anxiety doubled when he tried not to think
about what could happen next. “Kneel and put your hands together as if you were about to pray for
your life to be spared,” Lucifer instructed in a seemingly genuine tone of
anger. Fritz followed the order and had his kneecaps press into the hard wooden
floor. The pyramid drifted down with him. Despite the opening at the bottom there seemed little air for Baxter to
breathe, and he soon felt sweat dripping from his hair. When he looked to the
front, behind, and from side to side he saw that the pyramid’s faces each had
slits cut in them. He didn’t dare to wonder why. Peering through the gap to his left, he watched Lucifer warm a pair of
flint knives over one of the shooting flames. Each knife had an ivory handle,
flakes chipped off its edges and a sharp asymmetrical tip. “What the hell!”
Fritz said, detecting an ominous look in the magician’s eyes while permitting
the fire to singe the hairs on the back of his hands. Baxter turned his focus to the front slit. He could just see Fran’s
wide knuckle grip on the arms of her chair. She’s probably digging her nails
into the fabric, he thought, noticing that her complexion had gone from rosy to
pale in the last couple of minutes. In contrast, Fritz saw that some in the audience were no longer
transfixed by the performance. These people looked elsewhere and moved about in
their seats as if the final trick was going to be routine and cliché. Some
patrons even laughed with derision at the illusion, and applauded prematurely to
prompt a quicker end to proceedings. Again viewing the actions of Lucifer, Fritz found more reasons to worry.
The magician continued to slowly rotate the knives in the fire. It was like he
was trying to suspend time so as to revel in the atmosphere of uncertainty that
he was creating, with every intention of breaching the fine line between reality
and illusion. In an attempt to counteract his fear, Baxter began talking to himself.
“Everything’s going to be alright. The magician only wants you to think
he’s going to kill you. The thrill of it all lies in the build up of a trick.
The volunteer must survive. Isn’t that how it is supposed to be? Be brave. Be
brave.” Fritz swallowed his saliva to avoid the feeling of dehydration. He heard
the buzz of the audience taper off with the spotlight being turned down. His
breaths became shorter. He sensed that the morbid trickster was ready to perform
at his expense. The eerie sound of an organ playing - one long, high-pitched musical note
- then reverberated around the auditorium. It was an irritating noise that made
Baxter’s eardrums throb. Fritz saw Lucifer’s big hands as he walked around and around the stone
enclosure. It was clear that heat from the knives was beginning to burn the
magician’s flesh with both palms molding around the handles. At that second,
Fritz knew that nothing was going to stop Lucifer from executing his dynamic
ending. A white oval beam of light then passed through the pyramid before being
transformed into a radiant spectrum of rays.
“The light you see is called the Shenu,” said the magician in a
snarling whisper. “It is the symbol of eternity that protects the cosmos and
its true royalty.” Above the music Fritz heard a low growl and slow footsteps getting
faster. Lucifer was pacing around him. The three noises together, plus the
magician’s silhouette in the dim light that he could just see through the
slits, drove his mind into an acute state of paranoia. He had to get out. But he
couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move. He went to scream but his throat was so
dry that only a faint whimper - inaudible to the audience because of the
screeching organ - came out. Abruptly, all three sounds stopped. Fritz could hear his own heartbeat
and gasps for air but nothing else. “Where is he? What the hell is he
doing?” Fritz was unable to twist his neck due to the paralysis of his fear. He
forced his eyeballs to look out of the corner of each socket, but his peripheral
vision was lost. He soon heard the sound of stone grating nearer. Lucifer’s
two hot knives were being inched into the side slits of the pyramid. In moments,
the steaming blade points were touching his temples. His skin was like alloy
being met by a soldering iron. He was sent into a fit of terror, his head
trembling as the knives softened and dissolved the first layer of tissue. “No!” Fritz breathlessly cried. His only thought was that the knives
could go nowhere else but into his skull. Looking straight ahead with a grimace,
he saw that the audience couldn’t accept that the situation was a feat of
cunning anymore. They were jumping out of their seats in fright and shouting,
“Stop the show!” A frantic Fran called out the same words, but her tone was
more a plea than a demand. However, Lucifer defied the protests of the audience and depressed both
five-inch blades into the hardness of Fritz’s skull. His last shriek was cut
short by the sound of his head being cracked open. His sight quickly dimmed to
shadows, then faded to the blackness of death. Fran froze where she stood, watching the pyramid raise itself by a metre.
The object’s movement revealed the lower half of her husband’s body, limp
and askew, hanging by the incisive blades. The blood vessels inside Fritz’s
head squirted their contents, splashing the floor as Lucifer persisted in
penetrating the knives. Too afraid to move her feet in the face of such horror, Fran shakily
turned her head both ways and over her shoulder. “Somebody please help him,”
she cried. But all she saw were shocked patrons colliding with each other -
amidst a flurry of arms and legs - in their haste to evacuate the auditorium.
Exit doors at the back of the venue were jammed with people moving in fear for
their lives. Nobody dared to go near the exits next to the stage. This time none
of the audience had seen a mock sacrifice, or a game, or an illusion. This time
they’d seen a real, all-too-real killing. Fran again concentrated on the stage and strangely sensed a connection
with the pyramid symbol, as if it had a power over her consciousness. Although
terrified, she looked into Lucifer’s dark eyes and felt that she had
recognised him from somewhere, but couldn’t determine the time or place. Lucifer’s response was to grin as if he took joy in her grief and was
absorbing her fear to sustain his energy. He waved his cape over the pyramid and
produced a burst of fire that engulfed the structure. He proceeded to dip his
upturned crucifix in the flames and, leading with his left hand, ran to the
centre border of the stage. He glared right at Fran and shouted a promise.
“Osiris will rise again to fulfill the prophecy from the book of the dead!”
The snake around his neck had loosened its grip as it spat fire that almost
reached the tears streaming down Fran’s cheeks.
The magician flapped his cape over his face, strode into one of the
fire-jets, and vanished in an explosion of smoke. The blast unbalanced Fran by
making the concrete floor under her feet vibrate like an earth tremor. What was left on stage for her was the stench of her husband’s blood
cooking in the crackling flames. Some of his blood had seeped through the slits
of the pyramid and begun to coagulate to stripe its now black exterior. The only
audience member still in the auditorium, she started to feel dizzy and nauseous,
while helplessly watching Fritz’s bones burn into ashes. The stage mirror reflected the carnage as the slide projector continued to beam images of the Devil, a wizard, a face-less Egyptian pharaoh, and a cross-impaled Christ onto the glass. After the last image was presented, Fran collapsed back into her seat. Her anniversary was over. Click on the cart below to purchase this book:
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