Houdini

by Dale

SCENE: MONTY STANDS CENTER STAGE WITH A MICROPHONE, STARING UP OVER THE CROWD. HE IS DRESSED LIKE A 1920s-ERA REPORTER, AND DELIVERS HIS LINES IN THAT STILTED, “MOVIETONE NEWSREEL,” HINDENBURG-CRASH STYLE.)

MONTY:

This is Monty Jakefin reporting from outside the Sun building in Boston, Mass., July 22, 1921, where a huge crowd has crushed into Tremont Street to watch Harry Houdini, the “handcuff king," defier of locks, bars and bonds, attempt to free himself from the grip of a canvas, leather-reinforced straightjacket while swaying, head downwards, like a grotesque human pendulum, 50 feet above the pavement.

If he is successful, the waving of his free hands and arms, that a crowd estimated at 20,000 has seen bound by two attendants from the Mayview Hospital for the Insane, will inform watchers that Houdini has achieved one of the most unique feats in his strange career.

Mere minutes ago, urbane, smiling, the elusive Houdini appeared outside of The Sun offices. B. D. Polling and H. Guthrie, the two attendants from Mayview detailed to truss him up, awaited him, and with them the straight-jacket, in a satchel.

Houdini shook hands with both men, speaking humorously of his position as substitute for the deranged persons the two attendants ordinarily handle. Houdini urged speed of action, and absolute surety in fastening the innumerable straps of the straightjacket. "Treat me," he said, "as you would the most dangerous of the criminally insane."

Above him, like a gallows, a single beam projected from a window at the top story of the building, and a rope swung clear, coiling in sinister fashion at his feet.

The escape king was bound tightly by the two attendants while the crowd watched, stirred with a constant murmur and movement.

Then Houdini 's ankles were fastened to the rope. Workmen drew the rope steadily through the pulleys. Houdini's feet went up, and as his body cleared the platform, it was released. The handcuff king dangled head downward. Each moment he was drawn higher, swaying slightly, spinning dizzily. Up-up, past the windows in the fifth story of the Sun building, Houdini was drawn.

And now, suspended in the air, he hangs still.

But only for a moment! The handcuff king is beginning to struggle now, not frantically, but with a steady, systematic swelling and contracting of muscles, and the almost imperceptible wrigglings of his powerful torso.

The struggle continues. Will he do it? Hundreds in the crowd are undoubtedly asking this same question. From up above comes an inarticulate shout. The muffled arms writhe one after another over Houdini's head. His hand, still encased in the sleeves of the straitjacket, fumbles quickly and effectively with the buckles at his back. Another contortion and the straitjacket slips down over his chest, over his head, as he flings it from his arms to the street, in a crumpled heap.

Houdini is free!

The arms wave! Houdini has triumphed - as he always triumphs. I ask you, is there anything this master manipulator cannot remove?

But wait — it appears the world-famous Houdini is not yet through! His nimble fingers unbutton his dapper white shirt as removes it and tosses it down into the crowd. Now his hands reach for his pants — it appears the straightjacket does not possess the only buckles to be opened by the handcuff king today! Houdini has removed his trousers, ripping them across the ropes which bind his ankles to the crane. And it appears that the escape artist is wearing no undergarments — yes, Houdini now hangs stark naked above the crowd, having escaped the restraints of his street clothes as a confused murmur ripples through the assembled throng.

The crane begins to lower the rope as the master magician begins his descent. But no — the defier of locks shouts that he is not yet through! The crane stops with a jerk as the handcuff king moves his right hand to his left breast in a studied motion and sinks his nails into his own flesh. It now seems apparent that Houdini was not satisfied with the simple removal of the straightjacket and the subsequent removal of his clothing as he systematically peels his skin from his legs, arms, torso, back and head, revealing only raw tissue and sinewy musculature.

The crowd’s murmur has turned to a horrified panic now, strips of skin and chunks of bleeding flesh falling upon them as the king of keys tears the remaining flesh from his bones with a terrible, wet sucking sound, revealing his skeletal structure and internal organs. But this reporter knows better than to believe that the bars of Houdini’s rib cage will imprison those organs for long! First the spleen is removed, then the kidneys, lungs, liver and finally, the still-beating heart as Houdini’s corpse dangles lifelessly from the rope now tied rather loosely around the bones where his ankles used to be!

The crowd is stunned now, their wild panic replaced by a subdued shock which renders them unable to flee from the master escape artist’s skeletal remains, which have sprouted wings and are flying about the assemblage, exposed teeth sinking into flesh as his empty, hollow eye sockets stare blindingly into their souls.

And, in a matter of moments, he has killed them all as their mortal remains dissolve into the steamy summer pavement, a river of blood and bodily fluids pouring into Boston’s Tremont Street sewers.

The winged hell-beast, whose only resemblance to master magician Harry Houdini is a remaining touch of grey at his bony temples, lands now and bows quietly, still with that imperturbable smile.

My hand begins to melt as my microphone metamorphs into a deadly king cobra, which sinks its venemous fangs into my neck, assuring swift and sudden, sweet death.

This is Monty Jakefin reporting.

BLACKOUT

VOX: Join us again next week for another exciting episode of, “Why LSD Wasn’t Around In The ’20s.”