• sinjanb93 25w

    The Amazing Andrew

    It was awfully crowded, if wayfarers are excluded from the scenario. Your everyday Londoners had their share of idealistic buying, that got them to view the nitty gritty.

    I was ambling my way ahead, trying desparately to gain a lead before my passer-bys. After all it was the weekend again, and that meant Andrew Callahan was performing on the night.

    Even if you were a commoner going around the streets, you couldn't have missed this talented individual being touted by the posters.

    The ever polished boots, neatly ironed pants, effervescent fur coat with a white rose embedded in the pockets, and not a single shred of spots on the skin with his hair slicked back.

    He smiled a radiant offering to his customers, and that was humble enough to partly tip the hat for any desired token....

    I eventually reached the park, where they had laid the tents for the night. I eventually found myself a seat and heard the announcer go on,"Ladies and Gents, do you believe in the after life?.... Do you think a person can be lost to the other side? ...Do you believe in the Phantom?"

    There was a random hubbub about, while some from the stands shouted,"We would like to!"

    "Then hold onto your faint hearted, and let you heart go asunder; for he was a normal person once but now he is a wonder".

    Suddenly, it went dark inside the large tent and the glow came back with Andrew Callahan on the stage.

    He bowed in a gentlemanly fashion, not before two Southern English girls brought out a mansized box.

    Andrew wasted little time and asked the girls to seal the box with him inside. While another guy bought a platter of knives.

    The girls pierced each and every knife, inside the enclosed case. Then they waited five minutes, and opened it to reveal no one inside.

    A clap resounded throughout the tent, and every one was talking about Andrew Callahan as usual.

    2 hours later

    After the show had run its course, I decided to pay a visit to the organiser back stage. My credentials were enough to let me through....

    Though I only heard about this elusive organiser from other fellow reporters, and soon was lead to her tent.

    My first impression upon arrival was quite contrary to expectations- a skull, few scented candles, old dilapidated tomes, a pet crow strangely, and a acrobat's usual stuff was laid around.

    "There is nothing here to ogle",said a hunched old figure in a hoarse manner.

    I hesitated a few seconds before approaching her with my hand,"Douglas Smith, London Times".

    She stared and sauntered towards a sofa nearby, made with a wicker stand. After uncomfortably dropping down her back, she asked,"Another reporter snooping about my business, how peculiar!"

    She snorted and said,"How can I waste both of our times?"

    I didn't find any convenient place to sit, hence I preferred standing.

    "They call me Madame Angela, and I run the show".

    "That's pretty good, but you know why I am here",I retorted.

    "The same reason, that lead those other two in here?",said Madame Angela

    We looked at each other for few uncountable minutes, and then she broke the silence by saying,"Why do you want to know the secret of my trade?"

    "That's pretty obvious Madam Angela wouldn't you say?.....I mean some of the workers here are yet to prove their nationality.....There has been a rumour going about that the reason why Andrew Callahan performs, is to draw a large mass enough to share principles of communism.....So, I ask you is there any body with a Soviet connection?"

    "Are you asking if anybody is a Bolshevik?",asked Madam Angela.

    I smiled.

    "Do you want to know how Andrew died on the stage?",asked Madam Angela

    "He was killed not five minutes ago, in that bloody stage", I answered laughingly and admitted that it was a good sales pitch.

    "Our tribe is quite a small one Mr. Smith you see, and we are based out of Essex. We have our own sets of beliefs and traditions that can sound and seen as bizarre for you town folk. We moved to London, because this city is growing and we did not have an easy go coming here. Those foreigners helped us to the city".

    "Are you admitting a communication with those communists?",I asked again smiling.

    She got up from the Sofa, and came hobbling towards me and stared at my eyes to say,"If I answer your question, will you leave?"

    My smile diminished, and I promised her I will leave as soon as I had my story.

    She reached towards a box on her table, and brought it towards me and asked me to open it. It took a few seconds, but as soon as I popped it open....My legs gave away and I dropped down holding my stomach. I started puking all over the place, and stumbled backwards.

    The box was on the ground, with its contents scattered.

    It was a rotted human eye, with grime, dirt, and lots of maggots.

    She started laughing, and then began sobbing before saying,"My Andrew was invited to the Soviet land by the chancellor because of his amazing acts, I told him to never go there...but he was ambitious, determined, and full of vigour. Unfortunately he went, and he got turned by those awful people over there...and before he could return here safely...to me...he got blown up in a car. They said he was a traitor, and they buried all the news materials. Luckily we had someone who extracted a part of his remains. Otherwise, the government was determined not to engage with our embassy and return us his last shred of flesh".

    My head was feeling heavy, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I asked shivering,"Who was that on the stage?"

    She opened her mouth, to reveal a crooked set of teeth.

    "That was Andrew from the afterlife", she uttered as thundered rolled the skies.