MYSTERY ILLUSION THEATRE #1

THE CHIMES OF BAODING

byTYLER WEAVER

Cover byBLAIR J. CAMPBELL

Copyright ©2013 TYLER WEAVER – All Rights Reserved.

THE CHIMES OF BAODING

THE SPHERULETTE OF MISTER TOM

––This is, in fact, the first time you have ever

encountered me in all of your existence, in every

plane and dimension throughout the known and

unknown universe?

The man nods.

–– Was that a nod in the affirmative or the

negative, mister…

–– Tom. Tom J––

–– Mister Tom, was that a nod in the affirmative

or the negative?

Delia aims her probing gaze at Mister Tom. Her

gloved hands rest on either elbow. Smartphones

and camera lights pinprick the night around her

overturned cardboard box; barflies and college

kids celebrating finals, deal-closers and door-

closers peer around the corner to witness her

display of prestidigitation. Mister Tom strokes

his patchy two-day stubble.

–– I have never encountered you before in all of

my existence.

–– In every plane and dimension?

–– Yes ma’am.

–– You have?

–– No ma’am.

–– And the unknown? Don’t forget the unknown,

Mister Tom.

–– And the unknown, yes ma’am.

–– And you can ensure me that we are not

cohorts, co-conspirators or collaborators in any

means, ways, or deviations devised under God?

The man nods. She bows.

–– Very well then.

She tugs three sheets of aluminum foil from the

box next to her.

–– Now Mister Tom, since we have never met

before in the known universe––that is correct,

yes?

–– Right. Correct.

–– Will you please make for me three spherules

of equal size with the sheets I have provided

you?

She looks to the growing crowd and tries to hide

her face from the tiny all-seeing eyes of

perpetual connectivity. Mister Tom rolls the

sheets into the desired shape.

–– You will see that this gentleman, this fine

specimen of Mister Tom here, is producing––

most tenderly might I add––three spherules of

equal size and shape. Again, I ask the gentleman,

we are not co-conspirators or cohorts or lovers

or friends?

He laughs and shakes his head. He extends his

hand. She cracks a small smile and turns her

hands inward, the middle joints of each over the

other, clasping the invisible egg.

–– Mister Tom, to ensure the sanctity of these

handcrafted specimens, I must insist that you

position them on the table in front of me.

The aluminum balls chatter on the box top. From

behind the box, she produces three frayed Dixie

cups.

–– Thank you sir.

She takes one of the balls between her fingers

and deposits it on top of the middle cup. She

pushes the other balls aside. She places the other

cups on top.

–– Mister Tom, since we are neither conspirators

nor lovers, will you please provide this cup, this

lonely top cup, with a lover’s tap?

He obliges. She lifts the cups and reveals the ball

underneath; virtual camera clicks the crickets in

the night.

–– You have a tender touch, kind sir. But, this

spherule needs a friend, a spherulette. It’s lonely,

trapped underneath and alone in the dark like

that, even if you are birthed from the death of

one form into another.

She traps the first ball under the cup. She places

another ball on top and covers it.

–– But you have to suffer sometimes to get what

you want, isn’t that correct, Mister Tom? You

have to feel the breath taken out of you, you have

to feel the…

She slams her gloved hand onto the top cup: two

balls under the bottom.

–– …pain to arrive at any destination worth

arriving.

The crowd applauds. Mister Tom steps back. The

neon light from around the corner bathes them

in green and red. Click click shutter shutter

tweet.

The third ball on top.

–– But sometimes, two isn’t enough. Sometimes

you want more, a light experimentation with

friends. To touch them in ways you haven’t

before, to feel more than two hands on you, isn’t

that correct?

Mister Tom blushes.

–– Come now, a man with your tender touch

must be very popular. Very…

She smashes her hand on the top cup.

–– … popular.

Only two balls under the bottom cup. The crowd

snickers. They put away their smartphones.

Show’s over. Mister Tom’s blush subsides.

Delia rubs her temple.

–– Now, now, this is only a temporary thing.

Sometimes things don’t go the way you want. Sir,

I ask you again. We’ve never met before, is this

correct? I must implore you for honesty in this

regard, Mister Tom, please.

–– Yes ma’am. Never met before.

–– Then why is my spherulette behind your ear?

Why did you deny these two lovers the rapture

of a third?

Mister Tom reaches behind his head. The

aluminum ball rests in his palm. The crowd

gasps. He reaches towards her with the ball

between his fingers. She cups her hands and

nods towards the table. He reaches closer. She

recoils. He sets the ball on the table.

–– Lovers reunited. Thank you Mister Tom.

SUGARPRINTS WIPEDOWN

–– Thank you Mister Tom sir indeed.

Odette munches on Cinnamon Toast Crunch and

taps Mister Tom’s Amex Black against the wallet.

–– Wipe it and leave it. Cash only.

Delia rifles through the cash: three hundred and

seven dollars.

–– Can I pick ‘em or can I pick ‘em?

–– You’re learning.

–– Does that mean you’re proud of me?

–– You’re a great tool.

–– Am I the greatest tool in the known and

unknown universe?

–– Don’t push it.

–– Pfft. You’d be lost without me.

Delia shakes off Odette’s sugary fingerprints and

pulls a sanitizer wipe from her pocket.

–– C’mon. Just admit it. You’d be lost without me.

She wipes down the wallet, from the pictures of

Mister Tom and his family to the folded Buddha

quote on a scrap of index card (be a light unto

yourself) to a hotel key card (The Charles,

discreet and efficient) to the outside and drops it

in the trash can. She wipes her gloved hands

together. Cinnamon sugar crystals trickle onto

the trashcan lid.

–– I would?

–– Pffbt.

Odette’s cinnamon-encrusted tongue is the last

thing Delia sees before she hears the screech and

everything goes black.

To read the complete story, you can either purchase Mystery Illusion Theatre #1 – The Chimes of Baoding for $1.99 on Amazon at

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C0TIR5O

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ALSO BY TYLER WEAVER

WHIZ!BAM!POW!

Whiz!Bam!Pow! Prologue – A Linen Forcefield

Whiz!Bam!Pow! Book One – Ollie

Whiz!Bam!Pow! Book Two – Frank

The Adventures of the Sentinel (Radio Show)

STORIES

A Perfect Family (A Short Story)

I Can See (A Short Story)

NON-FICTION

Comics for Film, Games, and Animation: Using Comics to Construct Your Transmedia Storyworld

(Focal Press)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TYLER WEAVER is a writer of stories in (and across) books, comics, radio, and film. He lives in the wilds of Ohio as the hand that feeds two greyhounds, a mini schnauzer and an anything-but-standard poodle. He also once saw an ocelot.

You can find him on Twitter under the creative handle of @tylerweaver.