Thunderland

by Brandon Massey

The Mr. Magic that stood before Jason in the flesh looked similar to Jason’s imaginary friend and was dressed in the same flamboyant garments. But there were differences. This Mr. Magic was taller; a year ago, a forward on the Chicago Bulls, an athlete who stood six feet eight, had visited Jason’s school, and Mr. Magic was clearly as tall as the ballplayer. Mr. Magic’s hands were grotesquely long, his fingers like giant crab legs. There was something weird about his eyes, too. His eyes were brown, but something seemed to ... wriggle in the whites of the entity’s eyes, as if tiny worms slithered around his pupils. When Jason stared more intently, the wormy things vanished. He wasn’t sure what he had seen. In fact, he wasn’t sure of anything he was seeing right then.

  “How?” Jason said, at last able to talk. “How can you be here? You aren’t real.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Jason,” Mr. Magic said in his inimitable, sonorous voice. “Your imagination is extraordinary. It breathed life into me as God breathed life into Adam. True life. I am far more than the imaginary friend you’ve always considered me to be. I am as real as anyone you’ve ever met, and I always have been.”

  He certainly seemed to be real. When he moved, his shoes made slight indentations in the carpet. Shadows swarmed over his clean-shaven face, and the flickers of lightning that came in through the window flitted across his voluminous cape. Jason also thought he could smell him. No longer smelling of smoke, Mr. Magic’s scent reminded him vaguely of Old Spice.

  “But you were only in my mind,” Jason said. “It should be impossible for you to be here, living and breathing like a real person. Impossible.”

  “Almost nothing is impossible,” Mr. Magic said. “The universe is filled with nearly infinite possibilities. Remember, too, not only is your imagination unusually vivid; you were also born with a caul. A legendary sign of paranormal talent.”

  “Yeah, I remember, my mother told me all about it,” Jason said. “But it’s just an old legend. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It means that you possess great power,” Mr. Magic said. “Whether you choose to believe so or not.”

  “Enough power to create you and then give you the ability to jump out of my head and into the real world?”

  “Well, it did not work quite like that,” Mr. Magic said. He pursed his lips. “Let me see ... when you fell out of the tree in March, and, unfortunately, forgot about me, I missed you so much that I decided to cross over, I suppose you could say. Cross over from the land of dreams, where you created me and where we shared our adventures, to the land of flesh and blood.

  “I discovered, however, that crossing over in the manner I wished to was impossible,” Mr. Magic said. “It seems the universe does have rules that govern these issues. The nearest I could get to the dimension in which you live is the alternate world you and your friends have entered on several occasions. You named it quite aptly, Jason: Thunderland.”

  “Thunderland,” Jason said. “I guess we were right about it being another ... dimension.”

  Mr. Magic nodded, smiling. “You always have been an intelligent boy. I can appear in the ‘real’ world, but my powers are limited there. It’s taxing to assume a physical form, though I have done it on occasion. I prefer, however, to limit myself to phone calls, simple messages, things of that nature.

  “But in Thunderland, I am a god. Nothing is beyond my capabilities. The world is completely uninhabited, except by those whom I choose to bring there. It’s my private playground, in a sense. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  “Sure, whatever you say,” Jason said. He was amazed at how easily he had adapted to this most improbable of circumstances. His imaginary playmate coming to life? You could not get any crazier than that. But he accepted Mr. Magic’s existence. He did not understand how it was possible-he probably never would but he accepted it. Like the average person who did not understand a thing about nuclear physics yet accepted the reality of the nuclear bomb. To Jason, it was really that simple.

  He sensed, too, that it was not important to worry too much about how Mr. Magic had become real. Obviously, Mr. Magic had a plan. He needed to learn the plan and do whatever was necessary to ruin it, so that he could go back to living a normal life. That was the important concern.

  “I could ask you a million things, but I really want to know the answer to one question,” Jason said. “Why are you doing all of this stuff to me and my friends?”

  “You wish to know my motives?” Mr. Magic said. Tapping his cane on the carpet, he sat on the windowsill. “Very well, I’ll explain. I gave you the bike, gave you sex with the girl, and killed Blake and his despicable friends because I want you to see that this new life of yours is a mistake. You can be happier with me than you ever can be with any of your friends and family. By doing you these favors—granting you three secret wishes, if you will—I had hoped to show you the truth. The truth being that you need only me. No one else.”

  “You think you’ve been making me happy?” Jason said. “Are you crazy? You’ve only scared me and confused me for the past week.”

  “Be honest, Jason,” Mr. Magic said. “You were delighted when I left the bike in your garage, you moaned with pleasure when I thrilled you with the girl, and you would have eagerly bathed in Blake’s blood if I had provided a tubful. You know it’s true.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Jason said. “Yeah, I liked the bike, but only until I found out that you had given it to me. And the sex was exciting, but afterward, it made me sick. And I never wanted Blake and those guys dead. I only wanted them to leave me alone.”

  “I granted your wish,” Mr. Magic said.

  “I didn’t wish for you to kill them,” Jason said. He swallowed. “And I definitely didn’t wish for you to kill Shorty.”

  Mr. Magic chuckled. “Ah, your buddy Michael. Michael I murdered for a different purpose. I murdered him to liberate you.”

  “Liberate me?”

  “Precisely. To liberate you from the feelings you nurture for other people. To free you from the chains of love. Relationships are stifling, Jason. Your loved ones demand time, energy, money, commitment, kindness, love, understanding-an endless list of fussy, selfish requests comparable to the ransom demands of a mad bomber. For what? What results from your perpetual attempts to please these taskmasters? Nothing. Death. Ashes. Yes, loved ones die, my friend. They suffer heart attacks, get crushed in car accidents, and are slain by the numerous psychotics who prowl your streets in this sad age. Somehow, some way, they all die, and everything you have given them perishes with them. It all rots in the grave. Perfectly useless, wasted effort on your part.

  “But I do not die, Jason. I will exist forever. You gave me everlasting life. I will never leave you.”

  Jason shook his head. “I didn’t understand a word you said.”

  “It is quite simple. I plan to liberate you, to set you free from your prison of ordinary, human concerns. The most effective way for me to achieve that goal is to terminate the relationships you are presently ensnared in. Hence, my disposal of Michael. Your liberation is essential, Jason. You must be a free soul before you can come back to me.”

  “What do you mean, come back to you?”

  Mr. Magic, still sitting on the windowsill, leaned forward on his cane.

  “I mean, join with me. Not roam with me in the fantasy world, as we did in the past, but merge with me as if we were separate flames uniting into one enormous fire. A roaring fire that will ravage your world as no war in history has ever done. Nothing is quite as exciting as murder, Jason. No childhood game can compare to the thrill of gripping a living, beating heart ... and bursting it in your bare hands.”

  Slowly Jason blinked. Mr. Magic was nuttier than they had expected. Jason understood, right then, that reasoning with Mr. Magic was impossible. He was as mad as any dictator who’d dreamed of world domination.

  When Jason spoke, he tried to prevent his voice from quavering. “Why do you want to destroy the world?”

  “In Thunderland, I h
ave tasted godlike power,” Mr. Magic said, “and I have enjoyed it immensely. But as I said, that place is devoid of life. Your world, however, overflows with the living. The prospect of exercising divine power there is indescribably thrilling. Furthermore, considering your world’s present sorry state, it is ripe for a bit of, shall we say, cleansing. Why wait for God to do what we can do ourselves?”

  “But you said that your powers were limited in my world.”

  “That is correct,” Mr. Magic said. “Alone there, my capacities are restricted. But with you, I would be invincible.”

  “So you need me to conquer the world?” Jason said.

  “You are a vital component,” Mr. Magic said, nodding.

  Not only was he insane; he was a selfish, manipulative son of a bitch. He didn’t suspect it, either. He thought he was charming. He was a case study in pure insanity.

  “Forget it,” Jason said. “I’m not coming back to you. I don’t need you, and I don’t want you. If you’re so great, destroy the world by yourself. “

  Mr. Magic threw back his head and laughed.

  Outdoors, thunder cracked.

  Rain marched across the roof, streamed like tears down the windows.

  “Don’t need me, don’t want me?” Mr. Magic said. “You are an intelligent boy, but you don’t understand what we mean to each other. We are part of each other, inseparable; the link we share is unbreakable. You will realize that fact after I’ve liberated you. That exciting time is drawing near, Jason. Several others will die tonight.”

  Jason shot off the bed, hands clenched into fists. “What others are you talking about?”

  “The ones you love most, of course,” Mr. Magic said. “Surely, you know who they are.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s not your concern,” Mr. Magic said. “From this moment onward, your only concern is me. You will enjoy being with me again, Jason. You may experience grief and anger over the deaths of your loved ones, but that will pass, I assure you. Once we unite, we’ll have so much fun together that soon you won’t even remember them.”

  Jason shook. “You’re crazy.”

  Mr. Magic only smiled, as though Jason were a dim-witted child who did not comprehend anything he had said.

  Mr. Magic pushed off the windowsill. God, he was so tall. The peak of his top hat was only inches beneath the ceiling.

  “How about some magic, Jason?” Mr. Magic grinned. He raised his cane.

  Then he cast the cane on the carpet.

  “Oh, shit,” Jason said, backing up and staring at the stick.

  But it was no longer a stick. When it struck the carpet, the wood transformed into a long, shiny creature that seemed to be a hybrid of a snake, a centipede, and a figment of pure fantasy. It had the length and gleaming black scales of a serpent, and dozens of tiny, jittering legs along both sides of its sinuous body. A pair of bulbous black eyes adorned its head, and when it opened its mouth, small fangs glistened.

  The beast crouched on the floor between Jason and Mr. Magic. It hissed. Its large, glistening eyes focused on Jason.

  Hot terror had pinned Jason against the door.

  “Keep that thing away from me,” he said. Fear thickened his throat, like mucus. “Don’t let it touch me.”

  Mr. Magic chuckled. “My goodness, you are trembling. Why are you afraid? We are friends, Jason.”

  “Just keep it away.” Looking from the snake-centipede-thing to Mr. Magic, Jason stealthily reached behind him and grasped the doorknob. Escape was his only option. He didn’t know where he could escape to in this strange world, but he obviously could not trust Mr. Magic. Previously his friend, he had become a demon.

  “Do not fear me, my friend,” Mr. Magic said. “I will not harm you. Unless, of course, you give me reason to do so. But that will not happen, will it? You will be a good boy, yes?”

  “Yes,” Jason said, and twisted the knob and tore open the door.

  Whip-quick, the creature leaped off the floor and bit him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The cookout ended around eight-thirty. The leftovers were divided among friends and relatives, lawn chairs and picnic tables were packed away, garbage was bagged and tossed into the Dumpster, and the stereo was turned off and returned inside the house.

  Linda was glad to be going home. She enjoyed cookouts, but putting them together was so much work. She was exhausted. After she and Thomas helped clean up, they said their final good-byes to everyone, and Thomas drove them home.

  Night had fallen over the city. Kids playing with firecrackers crowded on sidewalks and congregated in the streets, creating enough bangs, shrieks, and pops to match the sounds of a nation at war. Like devotees making a pilgrimage, families laden with coolers and blankets trudged toward the park to watch the citywide fireworks display, which would commence at nine o’clock.

  Driving, Thomas glanced away from the road and looked at her. “Okay, we haven’t really talked about this yet. Give me your honest opinion on Jason’s story.”

  She was glad that Thomas had brought up the subject of Jason. Jason was one of the few subjects she could discuss with him without feeling angry and bitter.

  “I don’t know, Thomas,” she said. “It sounds unbelievable, and Jason has always had an extremely vivid imagination. On the other hand, he and his friends have been up to something the past few days, like I’ve suspected. They’ve been spending the night at one another’s houses every night. Don’t forget, someone really did give Jason the bike, too. We don’t know who’s responsible. “

  “But a spirit?” Thomas said. “A spirit that’s running around killing folks? Come on.”

  “We haven’t called his friend’s family yet. If they tell us that the kid really is dead—and I pray that he isn’t—that would be a strong sign that Jason’s telling the truth. I don’t have their number with me, but it’s at home.”

  “Then we can call them when we get in. I prefer to believe that Jason’s making up this whole story. Maybe he’s doing it for attention.”

  ‘Jason’s not like that, Thomas. Besides ... something weird happened to me recently.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got a call,” she said, “from a child. The kid sounded younger than Jason, but he talked as though I were his mother, and he taunted me about some things that only Jason could know about. Then he invited me into the backyard to ‘play with him.’ I didn’t go out there, but I looked out the window. I saw someone in the tree ... then a ball floated out of the tree, toward the house.” She shivered. “I moved away from the window. A couple of minutes later, when I looked outside again, he was gone, and so was the ball.”

  “That’s some strange shit, Linda.”

  “You’re telling me. That’s why I’m inclined to believe at least part of what Jason is saying.”

  Thomas rubbed his chin. “All right, I have to admit that something weird happened to me, too. I got a call the other night.”

  “You’re kidding,” she said. ‘Was it a kid?”

  “No, it was a woman. She had a memorable voice—very sexy, I have to say. And she knew things about me and you. Even crazier, she knew about my umm ... affair.”

  “She did?” Linda stared at him. “I didn’t know about it, and I live with you.” Her anger came back in a hot rush. She drew a breath. Don’t get sidetracked, she reminded herself. They were talking about Jason and these bizarre incidents, not their marriage.

  “That’s not all,” he said. “After I hung up on her, she showed up in the backyard. She was butt-naked, baby. She tried to get me to come outside, too. Of course, I didn’t. I went back to bed.”

  “I can’t believe all of that happened and you didn’t tell me about it,” she said.

  “You didn’t tell me what happened to you, either.”

  “Touché,” she said. “I didn’t want to admit to myself that it had actually happened. I tried to convince myself that I was daydreaming.”

  “Same here. I was half convinced that
I had dreamed the whole damn thing, so I didn’t bring it up. But since our experiences were similar, in a way, there must be a connection.”

  “Yes, there must be,” she said. “But I’ll be damned if I know what it is. We’d better talk to Jason as soon as we get in. We need for him to tell us everything.”

  “Agreed. I can’t see how any of this stuff would connect and make sense, but he might know something that could tie it all together.”

  Thomas turned onto their block. Sitting on a slight hill, surrounded on both sides by towering elms, oaks, and maples, their modern two-story home looked deserted. The black windows stared blankly into the night, and the porch lamp was off. Was Jason here? Or was he on his mysterious mission?

  Linda reached above her and pressed the remote control clipped to the sun visor, opening the garage door. As Thomas pulled into the garage, she saw Jason’s bike leaning against the wall. He was here. Good. She was anxious to sit him down and clear up this strange business.

  When they entered the kitchen and called for Jason, he did not answer.

  Thomas headed upstairs to Jason’s room. Downstairs, Linda searched for a note, thinking he might have departed without taking his bike. She found nothing.

  “He’s not in his room.” Thomas came down the steps. “Did you find a note from him?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder if he came home when he left your dad’s house. He said he felt that he was running out of time, remember?” Thomas ran his hand through his hair. “Shit, I wish I had listened to him.”

  “I’ll call his friend’s parents,” she said.

  She read Mike Johnson’s phone number off the list of numbers tacked on the Peg-Board beside the wall phone. She had punched in three digits before she realized the line was dead.

  “Thomas, pick up the phone in the living room. This one isn’t working.”

  Nodding, Thomas left the kitchen. From the other room, he said, “This one’s dead, too.”

  Thunder rumbled. A whooping gale thumped the walls, snuffled at the edges of the windows. Chilled and not certain why, Linda hurried toward the living room and Thomas. He met her in the hallway.