Karl Wilhelm
1300 Words
London, 1850
Karl Wilhelm stood motionless before the mirror.
A single lantern flickered above him, its sickly light casting long, crooked shadows across the cramped backstage room. The walls looked less like a performer’s quarters and more like a criminal’s den; stained, forgotten, and waiting to swallow its next victim. Karl adjusted the purple folds of his suit, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands. He placed his hat upon his head, tucking his curly black hair beneath its rim, then reached for the prop moustache resting on the table. With a practiced motion, he fixed it to his face and stared once more at his reflection.
A stranger stared back.
“Get ready, kid,” a woman’s voice called sharply from behind the door. “Curtains open in three minutes.”
“Almost ready!” Karl shouted, forcing confidence into his voice. He pinched the corners of his mouth and pulled them upward, shaping a smile where doubt threatened to take hold.
"Be positive", he whispered to himself.
He released his grip, the smile lingering like a fragile mask. From beneath his suit, he drew out a small necklace; the last thing his mother had left him. He kissed it gently, as though it might answer him, then put it on his neck and tucked the pendant into his coat, hidden away from sight but never his mind.
Beyond the curtain, the circus roared with life. The crowd cheered for contortionists, barrel-chested strongmen, monkeys in waistcoats, and men foolish enough to wrestle beasts twice their size. But the true spectacle, the one that filled seats and emptied pockets, was magic.
And tonight, that magic rested on Karl’s shoulders.
The lights died.
Silence swept the hall like a held breath. Then the spotlights snapped to life, blazing down upon the stage as the curtains parted. Karl stood revealed in his jester’s attire, arms spread wide.
The crowd erupted.
He strutted forward with exaggerated steps, soaking in the applause as the lights warmed once more. Inside his mind, the routine unfolded like a prayer he had memorized since boyhood.
First on the roster. The classic.
Karl removed his hat and shook it vigorously, turning it upside down to show its emptiness. He wagged a finger at the audience, dipped his hand inside, and pulled out a plump white rabbit.
The hall exploded with screams and laughter.
Karl tossed the rabbit gently toward the front row and shook the hat again. Apples, oranges, ribbons, and trinkets spilled forth in a glorious cascade. He kicked the objects toward the crowd, bowing deeply as laughter rolled over him like a wave.
“For my second act!” Karl announced. He showed his empty hands to the crowd and
then clapped once. A handkerchief appeared between his fingers. With a flourish, he waved it high, then wrapped it tightly between his hands. When he pulled it apart, the cloth unfolded into a broad blanket.
The crowd gasped.
Karl leapt from the stage and knelt before a young girl in the front row, gently taking her hand and guiding her upward. He draped the blanket over her, and when it slipped to the floor, she was gone.
A stunned hush fell.
Karl spun around theatrically, feigning panic, searching the stage, then turned sharply to reveal the girl standing behind him, unharmed and smiling.
The applause thundered.
“And now,” Karl said, raising three fingers, “the final act.”
He clapped again.
Two monkeys scampered onto the stage, rolling a long wooden box with a circular opening cut into one end. The audience laughed as the animals ran back and vanished behind the curtain. Karl helped the girl into the box, securing it carefully so only her head remained visible through the cut out.
He reached beneath the box and drew out a heavy saw then began to slice the wood
The crowd screamed.
Not with wonder, but with fear.
Karl forced a grin as he worked, yet something was wrong. The box resisted him. The saw dragged, caught, and fought back. Sweat beaded on his brow as murmurs rippled through the audience.
"What kind of wood is this?!" he thought desperately.
He pressed harder, sawing with growing panic until, with a cry of frustration, the box split apart.
Silence.
The girl whimpered.
Karl froze.
There was no blood, but there was something worse. He had sliced open the concealed chamber that hid the girl's body, exposing the trick entirely. The illusion lay dead at his feet.
Boos erupted. Objects flew. Laughter turned cruel.
Karl tried to recover, fumbling into another trick, but the crowd was merciless. When the first thrown bottle struck his shoulder, he fled backstage as the curtains slammed shut behind him.
“What in God’s name was that?!” the circus manager roared.
“I... I’m sorry, sir. Something was wrong with the box-”
“You incompetent fool! You can’t cut wood? You’ve ruined me! This disgrace will be whispered about for years! You’ve killed my circus!”
“I can try again-”
“Get out of my sight. Never come back!”
Karl said nothing. He met the event planner’s gaze, but she looked away. Empty-handed and unpaid, he walked out into the night.
Moonlight followed him home.
He opened the door quietly, hoping to slip in unseen. A lamp turned on and spooked him.
“Where have you been?” his father asked.
One look at Karl’s costume told him everything.
“I can’t do this today, Dad,” Karl muttered.
“After all I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve tried to teach you? This is the life you choose?”
“Please-”
“You’re eighteen! You abandoned school, rejected honest work, turned your back on every chance you were given, all to play a clown?!”
“Leave me alone!” Karl shouted, tears almost breaking free.
“I ruined it! I ruined everything! Is that what you wanted to hear?!”
His father faltered.
Karl tore the hat from his head and hurled it across the room.
“This is your fault! Why wouldn’t you teach me real magic?! I know you can do it!”
“We are not talking about this.”
“Why not?!” Karl screamed.
His father turned away, eyes settling on Karl's mother's portrait upon the wall, a woman smiling softly from another life.
“That,” he said quietly, “is why.”
He stepped closer.
“Whatever took your mother is still out there. And if we ever use magic again, it will come for us too.”
From his coat, he produced a folded letter and pressed it into Karl’s hand.
“An employment letter, from an old friend at the newspaper. Fill it out. Be there tomorrow. Make something of yourself.”
He left Karl alone.
Later, Karl wandered the streets, letter still clenched in his fist. London bustled around him; alive, but ordinary, suffocating. A world without wonder. Without magic.
A hooded figure slipped through the crowd.
Karl’s breath caught as the figure passed straight through a man like mist through air and vanished into the night
“No b****y way,” Karl whispered.
He ran after it until he found it again.
The figure leapt effortlessly onto a rooftop. Karl chased from below, heart pounding, until the streets fell eerily silent, he looked around and saw no other person, that's when it hit him, he had been led into a trap.
A force struck him from behind.
He crashed to the ground. The figure pinned him, its knees locking his arms down, a dagger pressed cold against his skin. Beneath the hood, two golden eyes burned.
A woman’s voice hissed;
“Who are you, human… and how can you see me?”
- Writer
