The Lower Strangling Chronicles
It was a dark but still bank holiday night in the sleepy Glevumshire village of Lower Strangling, and the lights were out.
Except for the Village Hall, where they flooded out into the darkness.
Inside, it was at full capacity as people from far and wide gathered round for what the village had billed as an unforgettable night.
Simon Abernathy, the village’s priest and chairman of the Parish Council, had the idea to bring the summer holidays to a close by inviting a special guest to perform in the village.
And somehow, the person he got was none other than world-renowned conjurer and paranormal investigator extraordinaire Prospero Montague, the stage name of Maurice Warren, in what was most certainly a huge coup.
“You could’ve got my brother to perform, but oh well,” Dave Peterson, a resident of Lower Strangling, said to Simon, as his brother was the lead bassist in legendary 60s rock band the Ants.
“Perhaps, but Maurice’s show is going to be more exciting than a geriatric rock concert, don’t you think?” Simon said.
Dave leant back in his plastic chair and frowned. “I thought you were a big fan of the Ants.”
“I am, very much so,” Simon said, wringing his hands. “But I wanted to arrange something that would appeal to all ages.”
Dave shrugged. “I guess.”
Simon checked his watch and glanced at the animated crowds around him.
“Right,” he said, easing himself out of his seat. “It’s show time.”
The vicar stood at the front of the audience and clapped his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please,” Simon said, as the room fell to a hushed silence.
“Before we bring on our esteemed guest, may I take a moment to thank you all once again for attending what is a first for our village.”
The Reverend waited for the crowd to stop whooping before he continued.
“All proceeds raised through ticket sales will go towards generating the village economy, for which myself and the other residents of the village will be eternally grateful.”
The other residents of Lower Strangling sheepishly smiled and waved at the other people around them, who merely gawped.
“And now, without further ado, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Simon said, gliding back to his seat. “Please welcome Prospero Montague!”
The crowd cheered as mysterious synth music blared out from speakers and dry ice filled the room.
Various people coughed as a middle-aged man clad in a blue satin cloak coated in gold astrological symbols sauntered onto the stage.
Dave grimaced at the man. “He looks like Simon’s just dragged him out of bed. Did he know he was doing this?”
His wife Sarah glared at him. “That’s what he wears as a magician; it’s his magic robe.”
Dave nodded and sat back in his seat.
Prospero whipped out a stick and flicked it about.
Pyrotechnics went off in sync with his flicks, provoking oohs and aahs from the captive audience.
Prospero stood centre stage and raised his arms.
The crowd cheered as he bowed.
“That’s it?” Dave said, scrunching up his face. “Some show that was.”
Sarah rolled her eyes, choosing not to entertain her husband’s remark.
“Please, please. You’re too kind,” Prospero said, simpering at his fans.
The applause died down, and Prospero stretched his arms.
“What you will witness tonight is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before,” Prospero said, grinning wildly. “It will forever change your perception of the world. You will, quite frankly, never see your reality the same way again.”
The audience oohed at the thought.
“I will begin tonight by predicting the future of some members of the audience,” Prospero said, closing his eyes and running a finger along the people in front of him.
Various people shot their arms in the end and said things like “ooh! Ooh! Pick me!” Completely ignoring the fact that Prospero couldn’t see them as he eyes were closed.
“I will go with… you,” Prospero said, freezing his finger in place and slowly opening his eyes.
He was pointing at Sarah Peterson, who gawped at the magician as she didn’t know how to feel.
A wry grin appeared on the wizard’s face. “Yes. Many thoughts are coming to my head.”
Sarah grinned and sat up in her seat.
“A secret you have been keeping will come to the fore tonight, against your own desires,” Prospero said, lowering his arm.
Sarah’s eyes widened, and her mouth became a small sash, and she gulped.
Dave glanced at his wife, and a slow smile built on her face.
“I do not know when someone will expose your secret, but it will be during tonight’s performance,” Prospero said.
Sarah felt a shiver down her spine as she glanced around at all the eyes that locked in on her.
She dipped her chin down and rubbed the back of her neck.
Prospero moved on from her and predicted the future of some other members of the audience.
Most of the predictions involved winning the lottery, going on a nice holiday next year, and even some single audience members meeting the love of their lives very soon.
Sarah was disappointed to see that everyone else seemed to have got off lightly whilst she had received quite a nerve-wracking prediction.
She fiddled with the ornate beaded bracelet on her wrist, for no particular reason.
“Now, it is time to hypnotise a willing volunteer in the audience,” Prospero said. “One of you will have your wish granted via the medium of hypnosis.”
The audience oohed as Prospero ran his finger along the crowd.
“This time I will go with… you,” Prospero said, landing on an unassuming middle-aged man.
The man slowly rose out of his seat and waddled over to Prospero.
Dave squinted at the man, as he seemed oddly familiar.
The man cleared his throat. “Good evening,” he said in a nasally voice.
Dave furrowed his brow; the man’s voice made him even more certain he had seen him before somewhere.
“So who are you, sir?” Prospero said to the man as he rubbed the back of his neck. “And what do you do for a living?”
The man took a deep breath. “I am Sir David Blair, and I am a Member of Parliament for Tyburn and Lisson.”
Dave hummed and leaned back in his seat; the man was definitely well known for something, but he couldn’t quite discern what.
“What wonders do you want hypnosis to work on you?” Prospero said, bringing a plastic chair to the front of the stage.
“Having thought about it over the past month,” David said, glancing at the people in front of him. “I would like to be someone else, please, Maestro.”
The audience gasped.
“Oh, that’s who it is!” Dave said aloud, a beaming grin on his face.
“What? Who is he?” Sarah said, glancing at Dave.
“He was Prime Minister until about a month ago,” Dave said.
Sarah leant back in her seat. “Oh, I see! I’d forgotten about him.”
“Yeah. I think most of the country did,” Dave said.
“Having led my party to its greatest election victory two years ago, the Britainic people and my own party lost faith in me, which I understand now,” David said, oblivious to the drooping eyelids and sagging heads in the audience.
“So now you loathe yourself to the point you’d rather be anyone else,” Prospero said, rubbing his hands.
“Not exactly,” David said, freezing for a moment before realising that Prospero wanted him to sit on the chair, and sitting on it accordingly. “I would like to be a more confident person, as I believe my lack of courage contributed to my downfall.”
“Very well,” Prospero said, bringing out a wristwatch from his pocket. “When I click my fingers, you will fall into a deep sleep.”
“Ooh, that sounds quite scary,” David said. “Will it hurt?”
Prospero inhaled and closed his eyes. “When I click my fingers again, you will wake as another person.”
The audience oohed as David followed the watch with his eyes.
“You are feeling sleepy, very sleepy,” Prospero said, spinning around the former Prime Minister. “You will fall into a deep sleep… now.”
Prospero clicked his fingers, and David’s head flopped to his chest.
“Now then, David,” Prospero said, gliding away from the chair. “I want you to imagine you’re in a beautiful field, frolicking about amongst wildflowers and ancient trees.”
“How’s this going to make him more confident?” Dave whispered to his wife.
“I think it’s just so he has something nice to visualise whilst Prospero is working his magic,” Sarah said.
Dave pouted and nodded.
“Now you will slowly return to consciousness,” Prospero said, waving his hands in front of the sleeping politician. “Slowly… slowly… slowly… and now, awake!”
David sprang back into life and leapt out of his seat, pushing it aside.
He deeply inhaled, and scowled.
“John Snow has usurped me, and I must take back what is rightfully mine,” David said, clenching his fists.
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” Dave said, reclining in his plastic chair.
The audience oohed as David vigorously shook Prospero’s hands.
“We are better in Europa! Stronger in Europa! We should never have left the EC, and we should rejoin it,” David said, steam practically escaping from his nostrils.
The audience applauded as the former Prime Minister stomped to his chair.
“When I go back to Westmynstre, I will hold the government to ransom until we have rejoined the Europa Convention, and the Leave camp can put a sock in it!”
The audience oohed and leaned closer to David, rubbing their hands.
“Who knew all it would take was a bit of hypnotism to turn David Blair into a firebrand,” Dave said.
“Yes. Maybe if Prospero did this sooner he’d still be Prime Minister,” Sarah said.
David turned towards Sarah, and scowled at her.
Her heart raced as David’s face became red, and his bulging eyes pierced her soul.
“You! Give me back my wife’s bracelet!” David said, swiping Sarah’s wrist but not quite managing to whisk it off.
Sarah hugged her arm, shaking all over. “Why should I? You gave it to me when I interviewed you.”
“It was a mistake; I gave you a present meant for my wife, whilst she got a cheap bar of soap for our anniversary,” David said. “I was going to take it off you, but I didn’t have the heart to do it.”
A flush appeared across Sarah’s cheeks as she gazed at her feet.
David held a hand out. “Please, give it back. It’s time to make amends to my wife.”
Sarah glanced around her, figuring out a solution.
Her children, Will and Eleanor, smiled warmly at her.
“Give it to him, mum,” Eleanor said. “Everything tonight has been leading to this.”
Sarah sighed and gazed up at David.
“I suspected it was probably meant for your wife when I opened it,” Sarah said, taking the bracelet off her wrist and handing it to the former Prime Minister. “I considered returning it, but instead I took advantage of your lack of gall and kept it, and for that I’m sorry.”
The audience ‘aww’ed and simpered at Sarah and David.
“That’s ok, I’ll make it up to you and send the soap in the post,” David said, bowing to Sarah and sitting back in his seat.
Sarah stared at her knees. “It won’t be as good as a nice bracelet,” she said under her breath.
Sarah and David received a round of applause from the crowd before Prospero regained control of the situation.
“And now, for some conventional magic,” Prospero said, recapturing his audience in an instant.
The rest of the evening wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for a magic show; Prospero lifted rabbits out of hats, wowed people with simple card tricks and made balls disappear under cups.
He even risked his own safety by smashing plastic cups, one of which contained a sharp nail long enough to impale his hand.
A couple of hours later, the show was over, and Prospero was completely unharmed.
The audience broke into rapturous applause one final time, and the magician took his bow before disappearing into a puff of smoke.
“Thank you very much for coming,” Simon said, firmly shaking Prospero’s hand when the visitors had gone home.
“It was my pleasure,” Prospero said. “A much smaller venue than the 20,000-seater theatres I usually perform in, but an enjoyable experience all the same.”
“I’m sure everyone had a wonderful Bank Holiday evening,” Simon said, beaming at the magician.
“I do my best,” Prospero said, bowing. “Should you require my services again, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
The magician pulled out a business card from a pocket in his robe.
“My services include children’s birthday parties, wedding receptions, wakes, bat/bar mitzvahs, and paranormal investigations,” Prospero said.
Simon examined the card and placed it in his pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind, though I dare say we’d never organise something involving the paranormal. I can assure you that there are no ghosts in Lower Strangling. All of our deceased are in heaven with the Lord.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Prospero said, wandering into the darkness. “Good evening.”
“God Bless, Mr Warren,” Simon said. “Have a blessed sleep.”
Once Prospero had retired to his holiday cottage, Simon rubbed his hands and wandered to the pub with the rest of the village.
“What a wondrous evening,” Simon said. “We had much fun, our unfortunate former Prime Minister gained his confidence, and you, Sarah, rectified a previous unwise decision.”
Sarah glared at Simon. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”
“At least we’re getting some new soap,” Dave said. “I’d forgotten to buy some at our previous shop.”
The vicar gazed at the sky, and smiled. “I know we haven’t got our drinks yet, but here’s to fewer tourists, colder weather, and greener grass.”
“You know, I’m going to miss the heat waves,” Dave said, sulking. “But oh well, there’s always next year.”
With that, the residents of Lower Strangling crowded in the village’s cosy pub, the Hangman’s Noose, and stillness returned to the darkness outside.
The Robinsonverse 