The Abra Cadaver Show

By Teresa van der Kraan

Gemma is unable to tell whether her new employer, Abner Hillcrest, is simply a master of illusion or something far more dangerous. The tricks in the so-called Abra Cadaver Show appear, at first, to be just that: tricks. Yet when awful consequences start to befall Abner's volenteers, Gemma becomes determined to find out what is really lurking behind the stage curtains of her sinister new job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa van der Kraan
• Release date: Jun 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005985813

Teresa van der Kraan

Teresa van der Kraan was born in Australia to European parents, and has been interested in writing fiction since a very young age. She has been involved since age 14 in local writing initiatives and centres in her home town of Armidale, NSW. As of 2014, Teresa undertook university study at the University of New England (UNE), graduating in 2018 with a Bachelors Degree majoring in International History. She completed her Honours degree in 2019, on the subject of veterans in Weimar Germany, and as of 2020 has begun writing her PhD thesis on German and Austrian fascism. In her free time, Teresa is a horror movie addict, and loves to spend time with friends and her cats.

Book preview

The Abra Cadaver Show

An Abra Hillcrest Novella

Teresa van der Kraan

Smashwords Edition, 2021

Copyright 2014 Teresa van der Kraan

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Table of Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Other Titles by Teresa van der Kraan

Chapter I

1985

Propped on my elbows, I lay on the soft grass beneath the sprawling boughs of an elm tree in the university campus, thoughtfully chewing the end of my red pen as I inspected the job advertisements in the newspaper, and considered which of them, if any, I ought to pursue.

Waitress? I scrawled a question mark next to that one. Somehow I did not feel that my life’s calling lay in waiting on tables and catering to the demands of fickle customers.

Nursing home work? That ad read: applicants must be experienced, caring, patient—

I’m too impatient to finish reading that, I mumbled to myself, licking my thumb, and turning the page.

I found nothing of interest in the rest of the newspaper, and was thankful when a distraction arrived in the form of my best friend Stacy: a short, plump young woman with dyed black hair that was beginning to grow out, displaying a few centimetres of her original blonde roots. Stacy had a fondness for wearing short black dresses, and was rarely seen without accompanying knee-high, striped socks.

Pull up a patch of grass, Stace, I said, getting up onto my haunches and gathering my light brown hair into a ponytail with an elastic tie.

How's the job-hunt going, Gemma? Stacy asked, sitting down and extracting her lunch from her bag.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck to eliminate a painful crick that had arisen from the half-hour I had spent perusing the newspaper in an awkward position.

I dunno, I muttered, shaking my head. I’m not exactly in love with any of them.

"You don’t have to be in love with them, chuckled Stacy, biting into a thick tuna and mayonnaise sandwich. It’s just for a bit of extra money. ‘Sides, if you don’t like something, you can always quit."

Or never apply in the first place, I groused, quietly enough so that Stacy did not hear. Still, Stacy had a point. No matter how much I disliked the prospect of waitressing, the fact remained that I was in need of some sort of disposable income to pay for the art course that I was taking at the university. I was twenty-two years old, and my parents were no longer willing to entirely support me; they were gradually cutting off my funds in an attempt to force me, kicking and screaming, into gainful employment. Neither of them believed that I would ever make enough money from my scribblings to support myself in the future.

I folded the newspaper, and hid it in the depths of my drawstring bag, intending to toss it into a rubbish bin at the first opportunity. I had completely exhausted today’s options anyway, and would just have to wait for tomorrow’s edition to resume my search. To my surprise, however, a new prospect was presented to me just that afternoon.

After my four o’clock art class, I was making my lonesome way home, walking down Cinders Street, when I happened upon a notice plastered to the inside of a musty-looking window of an old, disused store, which —as I vaguely recalled from an earlier epoch in my life— had once sold children’s toys. The notice caught my eye immediately; I walked this path three days a week, and was so accustomed to the mundane sights, that anything out of the ordinary was an invariable magnet for my attention. The poster was brightly coloured in red, orange and white, reminding me of the sort of advertisement one sees for travelling circuses. A painted, moustached man in a glittering sequined suit stood impressively in the centre of the picture, flourishing a black wand over the brim of an upturned top hat. Beside him, a grinning blonde woman, wearing a costume that resembled a bathing suit, stood with arms cast forth towards him, directing the audience’s attention to whatever miracle he was about to perform.

Underneath the picture, a paragraph written in a theatrical, decorative font, proclaimed: Magician’s assistant wanted! Female, aged 18—30. Must be able to work flexible hours. Inquire inside for details.

At first, I actually laughed aloud, shaking my head at such a ridiculous prospect. I was about to continue on my way, when I stopped again and began to reconsider, standing with my fingers on my chin, as the gusty wind flung my ponytail over my shoulder.

Inquire inside for details. I frowned. The shop looked as unused and neglected as ever: the windows were covered with butcher’s paper behind the poster. How could anyone possibly be inside? Just to be sure, I moved forward and tried the door handle, but it refused to yield. So much for that. I resumed my walk home, amusing myself by imagining what it would have been like working as a magician’s aid; having to say ‘Presto!’ and ‘Abracadabra!", and grinning like an idiot whenever Merlin pulled a white rabbit out of his top hat. But, at very least, it would not have been boring.

*

While sitting on my bed that evening, sketching a floral still life drawing in my art book, I received a telephone call. I leant over to the side of my mattress, and lifted the handset from its cradle.

Hello? I answered, balancing the phone against my shoulder, so that I could continue to work on my picture.

Gemma, hey, Stacy’s familiar voice returned from over the line. I’m just ringing to see if you wanna come to a movie tonight. Me and Josh have been wanting to go for ages, she added, referring to her boyfriend of over two years: a tall, blonde young man with a rabid enthusiasm for sports that I found somewhat off-putting.

My sister Cassie’s also coming, Stacy went on ruefully, so I figured I might as well invite you too, since obviously Josh and I aren’t going to get any make-out time with Cass around…

I laughed. Yeah, count me in. It’s been forever since I went to the cinema. I was just thankful for any excuse to escape another mundane evening of hearing my parents bicker over who had left what where.

Groovy, said Stacy. She went on to inform me that she and Josh would stop by within half-an-hour to pick me up; then she ended the call, leaving me to decide on a nice outfit to wear. After some consideration, I selected a pair of blue jeans, which fitted snugly around my waist; and a casual lilac shirt with fake pearl buttons in the front. I had just finished applying my make-up in the bathroom, when I heard the sound of Josh impatiently honking the horn of his Volvo to call me outside. I hurried from the bathroom and down the stairs, slinging my purse over my shoulder as I went.

What’s going on out there? Who’s that? my