A Costume Change with Consequences

I have walked by this theatre every day, on the way to and from work. Today, on a whim, for the first time ever, I came inside, to see what was going on. One thing led to another and I bought a ticket for this evening's show; they told me that I was lucky, because I qualified for a half price ticket; some BS about being the 100th new customer since their last 100th new customer; I suspect that the guy in the box office fancied me or they had not sold enough tickets.

I went to find something to eat, because there was not going to be enough time to get home and back; sometimes the traffic is so bad that I miss my favourite show on TV, but I plan for that and have it set to record. As I returned to the theatre, I wondered if I am dressed right for the theatre, then I realised that I would be sitting in the dark concentrating on what is happening on stage, and so would everyone else; my plain uniform of grey skirt and white blouse will not be noticed by anyone.

I arrived as they are announcing that the show is about to start, so I hurried to the auditorium entrance and get directed to an aisle seat; which was good, because I didn't fancy squeezing by strangers' knees to get into or out of my seat. As I am standing up for the third time to allow late-comers in, I heard but mostly ignore the announcement of about mobile phones and videoing and photography, except to switch my phone to vibrate.

It turned out that I had bought tickets to a magic show. I might have fancied the magician if he had not mentioned that his lead assistant was his fiancée. I watched a lot of tricks I had seen before on TV talk shows and similar; they seemed more real, because there was no possibility of camera tricks, but less real because of the distance between the stage and my seat.

I took the announcement by the magician that the second half would feature a volunteer from the audience as notice that the second half would be more of the same, except with the kinds of tricks that magician's on TV shows do on volunteer's and 'unsuspecting' presenters; the thought crossed the audience volunteer might be a plant.

Despite my pessimism, I passed a pleasant interval; spotting somebody I recognised from the street where I live and exchanging a few words, before the call to return to our seats. I did not rush to get back to mine, to allow most of the people on the same row to get in before I arrived and minimise the amount of up and down.

I felt sorry for the magician, when he came out and called for a volunteer and got nobody putting a hand up or yelling to picked. I stood; I might have been volunteering, or might I might have been leaving to beat the rush of disappointed theatre-goers. I got spotted and invited to come up on stage. I am not a great one for the lime light or being the centre of attention, but I walked down the aisle towards the stage, instead of up towards the exit.

I climbed the steps leading up at the corner of the stage. At the top I am greeted by a young woman who quickly shoved a thing on my head, like headphones and microphone set, but without the earphones. I was asked to say my name and then allowed to walk to the centre of the stage where the magician was waiting.

I was greeted by the magician as the curtains open. My hand was grabbed and I was taken on a tour of the apparatus. We walked round a platform raised on many legs with some steps at one end. I could see under this platform through to the darkness of the auditorium. I suspected that this also allowed the audience to see my skirt pass behind the raise surface, convincing them that there was no funny business with the platform.

I followed him up the steps onto the platform, to inspect what stood on the platform. I saw a wide gilt frame, maybe seven feet tall and not quite four wide, in which there is a picture of a sunny bedroom that you might see in a stately home. I watched while he demonstrated that the picture itself was mounted within the four inch wide gilt frame and pivoted on its vertical axis. I was asked to verify that the picture is nothing more than that. I checked the rear of the canvas where tacks pinned it to a rectangular frame and it was a uniform pale beige. I heard the click as he turned it back to the picture facing the audience and latched in place.

I was positioned in front of the painting and was wondering what was meant to happen when he lifted a rod from the top of the platform between me and the audience. I lost sight of the audience, because attached to the rod was a white cloth.

I felt a tingle all over, then noticed the lighting had changed, no longer mostly from in front, but more from the side. I tried to turn to find out what is going on, but found that I was frozen in place.

What little I could see from my fixed point of view, gave me the impression that I was in the bedroom depicted in the picture. I was illuminated and warmed by the sunshine from the tall windows. In front of me was a wall with a mirror, allowing me to see some of the scene behind me. I was standing with perfect stillness in front of a four-poster bed.

I felt out-of-place in more ways that one. I felt that I was not where I should be, because I should be on the platform on the stage in the theatre. I also felt that to be here I should be wearing something more elaborate than my work cloths; skirt and blouse is fine for working in a shop, but for somewhere like this, I felt something like an evening gown might be more appropriate, possibly even some historical costume.

While I took in what I could see of my new surroundings and thought it was odd that I was not feeling panicked by being frozen in place, I heard a faint noise like a heavy breeze rustling a pile of dry leaves. This was followed by the odd sensation that the world was turning, without seeing anything move; the world turned with pauses until it had done a complete turn. Don't ask me how, but I knew I was facing the same way that I had been before the turning started.

I felt a tickling sensation, similar to being stroked with a paint brush. The tickling was concentrate around my body. Not being able to look down, I looked into the mirror I was facing, where I saw the mirror image of the view that was in the painting, but with me in it. I looked towards the image of my body and watched in mixed fascination and horror as stripes of my white blouse transformed into a chequerboard pattern which was tighter on my body; it looked like my reflection was being painted, but whoever heard of chequerboard paint outside of a cartoon. I noticed that I could feel the fabric I saw in the mirror, wrapped more tightly about my waist than my blouse had been. I watched the transformation finish from under my arms down to my waist, somehow knowing that the change I was seeing carried on round behind me, then a broad chequered stripe was painted down the front of my skirt, not stopping at the calf-length hem of my skirt, but continuing down to my ankles, stopping just above my comfortable working shoes.

I felt more tickling down the fronts of my legs; also like a paint brush, but not the same paint brush. I could not tell how it was different, (maybe it was narrower or the bristles were softer?), but I watched the mirror to see what effect this new tickle would have. I saw a broad white stripe cover the middle section of the previous chequered stripe that now looked as if it draped down my skirt.

Another brush-like tickle could be felt; I don't know how I could tell the brushes apart; maybe my mind had given up on trying to move and was using my brainpower to over-analyse the sensations my body was being subjected to. I have a feeling it should have spent more effort on working out what was going on. I watched as black stripes appeared on my shoulders and puffed sleeves half way to my elbows. I could glimpse the sleeves out of the corner of my eye, so I had to conclude that what I was seeing in the mirror is happening to me and not solely my image. I then felt the same tickle high on my hips as folds of fabric in the same black were added over my hips, giving the appearance of wider hips and a narrower waist.

I was feeling quite relaxed by the tickling sensations; the reverse of the usual effect tickling has on me. I was fascinated to discover what the result of this strange manner of costume change would be, as a new brush covers the remaining unpainted outer sections of my skirt with a scarlet down to level with the original black and white panel, making the skirt fuller and longer than the one I had been wearing. As a row of hearts appeared on the white panel of my dress, I could feel the occasional paint brush tickle on the insides of my calves, shins and thighs. I then felt the tickle move to my shoulders and neck, while I watched a high collar in the same sumptuous scarlet appeared at the back of my neck; I could feel it stiff and heavy on the tops of my shoulders. The final brushing of scarlet I watched formed a heart shape with the lobes rising above the chequerboard part of the bodice and the pointed part a little below my ribs.

I began to think that this dress looked more appropriate to my surroundings than the work clothes I had been wearing before, my thoughts were cut off by more narrow tickling. I watched the new brush paint gold details onto the dress; gold braid down the edge between the chequered skirt panels and the white, a few curlicues on the heart adorning my bodice and then slashes in the puff sleeves that appear to show golden fabric below. I was surprised to feel tickling and weight on top of my head as a golden crown appeared there.

It occurred to me to wonder what had happened to my own clothes, when I noticed that the sleeves and collar of my blouse were no longer visible; my arms and neck were bare. I was interrupted by tickling around my feet heralded the transformation of my work shoes into golden ballet slippers.

The next thing I knew was that I was back in the theatre standing exactly where I had been before my odd interval of being part of the picture. I tried to look down to check how I was dressed, but the weight of the crown on my head demanded that I hold my head up or risk breaking my neck. But the brief glimpse allowed me to confirm that I was stood there in the black, white and scarlet costume, I had seen painted onto my body.

I knew that whatever had happened, the magician had been the one who did it, when he reintroduced me to the audience as, "The Queen of Hearts." I was completely unprepared for the thunderous noise they made; cheering and clapping.

I was surprised how comfortable the dress and the slippers were, after I got used the posture required to keep my crowned head balanced. I was guided back down the steps to the floor of the stage and we stepped forward, to allow a couple of stagehands to remove the platform with its frame on top.

I could only manage an awed, "Wow!" when asked what I thought of the dress and the manner of its arrival on my body.

 We were joined by the magician's assistant pushing a piece of apparatus; she was the one that the magician had referred to as his fiancée, but had finished the first act as a charred skeleton on a table.

I did a wide circle of it to see what points there are that will be worthy of closer inspection, when I was asked to. All I saw is a thick wooden board standing upright on a smallish platform. I spotted nothing of interest at the back, so I give the rear of the board a couple of thumps, because that's what I felt was expected of me. I discovered from this that it was sturdily held vertical by the narrow triangular boards up its sides.

Back round the front, I declared that there was nothing at the back to see. I began my inspection of the front; the same board painted the same plain white, but with a couple of pegs jutting out at neck level and some leather straps attached to it in two rows a bit in from each edge. I tugged on the pegs and straps and found them solidly fixed to the board. I even checked that the buckles on the ends of the straps on the left were properly connected.

I thought, "I recognise this illusion, but I can't see how it works; not that I know what I'm looking for. The board is obviously solid, so no escaping that way and I don't see any trick with the straps and buckles either." I stepped back to try and take the whole thing in; I assumed the pegs would be to used to locate the inevitable stock that this illusion usually involves, but I did not noticed anywhere to lock the ends of a stock to.

Not entirely unexpectedly I was asked to stand on the base in front of the board. I protested that I did not know how the trick worked; only to have my concerns dismissed with, "Not a problem! I'll do the magic and you get to enjoy the ride." I also noticed that there was no curtain hanging at the top of the board, but rationalised that, maybe, there is a cloth or screen in the wings to hide the changeover.

Despite my uncertainties, I stepped up onto the wheeled base and stood with my back against the board; a manoeuvre only slightly complicated by the presence of the pegs, that once I was standing straight against the board, pressed on top shoulders either side of my neck. My concerns grew as the magician and his assistant made quick work of buckling the straps across my body and legs, until the most I could do was wriggle a little.

I comforted myself with the fact that I could move my hands, which allowed me the possibility that I could escape by undoing the buckles myself, but I did not resist when the magician took a wrist and spread it to my side. As I watched he took a short length of rope and threaded it through holes in the board either side of my wrist and tied it behind the board. I tested the strength and efficacy of this bond and failed to notice until it is too late that he was doing the same thing to my other wrist; both were not allowing me to move my wrist much and certainly not get my hands free.

I saw the assistant returning from a visit to the wings. I noticed that she was not carrying a stock or something to cover the moment when I am released and the magician becomes strapped to the board. I was horrified to see her carrying something resembling an axe; nothing pretty or artful, but a square blade on a sturdy handle.

I was asked, as the Queen of Hearts, to say my most famous line. After a gulp, I said, in a questioning tone, "Off with her head?", because while I remember there is also some nonsense about tea-time and the verdict coming before the trial, I couldn't think of it.

I watched the magician seeming to casually swing the axe about, while he turned to the audience. I couldn't believe my ears; he was talking about what he thinks is wrong with the way most magicians do beheading illusions. I didn't like the implication that chopping my head off is what he has planned for me. I could agree with him that most head chopper type illusions (at least those I've seen) don't allow the audience to see what's going on because the victim's head is usually in the way. I am less sure about what he called head-mover illusions, which he seemed to think don't allow the onlookers to see what happens to the head of the victim, because it is in a box. I wondered if he was talking about the illusion I had seen where the victim has the box over their head and it is poked with a lot of daggers, but that did not make sense.

My speculation was cut short, when I realised that he was no longer talking and my eye caught the glint of the stage-lights on the evidently sharp edge of axe. I did not have time to scream as the axe gave every appearance of passing through the base of my neck. I could not see it, but when the movement stopped with a loud thud against the board at my back, I could feel a sharp feeling all round my neck. For a moment I wondered if I have been beheaded, then I moved my hand against the board and could feel the painted surface. I assumed that the axe blade had some gimmick that made it appear to penetrate my neck. I can also feel the straps tight across my body (perhaps slightly tighter than before) and the ropes holding my wrists down. I had the idea that my wrists were tied to prevent me from reaching up and interfering with the axe through or around my neck.

I flinched a little, which was all I could manage, when the magician reached behind my head and pulls free the raised collar from the dress. I was un-reassured by what I assumed was intended to be a reassuring remark, "You're doing great." I was further less assured to notice the ragged edge of the piece of scarlet fabric in his hand.

I soon discovered that I can move my head a little, but the weight of the crown made me feel wary of moving too much, in case its weight over-balanced me. I felt a sense of relief as the magician and his assistant began to undo the straps holding my body to the board. I was also aggrieved that he had not untied my wrists first to allow me to help in my escape.

With the straps released, my wrists were untied from the board, but were held by magician and assistant. I guessed they were still trying to preserve the secret of how he seemed to drive a blade through my neck without separating my head from my body.

With my hands held by the magician and his assistant, I was encouraged to take a single step forward to the edge of the illusion's base. I stepped forward and could see that the magician and his assistant step forward too, but my head remained in the same place. In front of me a set of shoulders between a pair of black puffed sleeves with golden slashes came into view. I was suddenly convinced that these were my shoulders, headless, by the ragged remains of the upright collar and the way they bobbed when I tried to look sideways to check that the sleeves that I had caught occasionally in my peripheral vision were still in the place they should be; they weren't!

With most of my balance and the evidence of my eyes saying I was staying still, but the mechanics of moving so obvious through the senses of the rest of my body, I was very unsteady for a while. I was thankful for the support of the magician and his assistant; but not thankful for their role in making it necessary.

I took another step, this time down from the edge of the platform. I felt steadier than the previous step, but they still held my hand. I quickly found out why; someone had come up behind the apparatus and began rotating it. I assume this was to show that all that remains is my head balanced on the axe blade that had been slammed into the upright wood of the device and supported by the pegs.

While this was happening, I had the opposite of the problem that I had before; my head is moving, but body is still. Coordinating my balance, particularly during the time when I could not see my body relied on the magician providing a stable frame of reference.

My head was parked with the apparatus at the edge of the stage where I could see the action, while my body is subjected to many of the illusions in the magician's arsenal. I watched my headless body being floated, run through with swords and divided into three pieces; torso, hips and legs. I soon become accustomed to thinking of my body as something separate; I could control it, but was cooperating with the magician in taking part in the illusions. I could also feel the sensations that my body was feeling; these were mostly tingles and tickles; surprising, when they are caused by being stabbed and cut.

I was a little concerned initially about damage to the costume my body is in, but there seemed to be none. I noticed that the upright collar seemed to have been repaired too; I think that it happened during being cut in three but I can't be quite sure.

With all this done, I was expecting that they would reverse the illusion of me being beheaded at the end of the show, but it did not happen. Instead, I heard the magician suggesting to the audience that they have a word with me after the show.

As the curtain closed, the magician guided my body towards my head; by now I was almost used to the division of balance required to manage my body separately from my head. My head was lifted down from the axe-shelf where it had been from when the axe was been swung through my neck. I was instructed to follow the magician.

So, I have spent the rest of the evening in the bar with my body sat in a chair and my head on a small table beside me; or should that be 'with my head on a table and my body in a chair beside me'?

While it has been interesting, could someone let the magician know that I would like my head back on my body, so I can go home?