The Most Spectacular Traveling Box

By Mason Bell

Sometimes magic is all that can save you.

It's 1935 and in Oklahoma and Sophie Mae is struggling to keep her sanity having been left alone in the middle of the Dust Bowl during the great depression.

There is nothing to eat and still less to keep her entertained...until the magical traveling

• Language: English
• Publisher: Two Turkey Publishing
• Release date: Oct 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735907215

Mason Bell

Mason Bell spent many of her teenage years working under the scorching sun in a popular theme park. Serving in positions from ride operation to sweeping trash to managing work crews, she learned the park's secrets and gained an appreciation for the effort that went into creating the illusion.Mason Bell lives in South Texas with her husband and two cats, Frodo and Fat Hobbit.

Book preview

Chapter One

George the Great Cain paced the basement laboratory of the Gardenia Estate, clutching a notepad and scanning the scribbled mess that was his handwriting. Ingredients and directions were crammed in the corners and along the edges.

The chemist-turned-circus-magician worked night and day on a traveling potion to bring Miss Sophie Mae, the only remaining heir, to the estate. He determined solutions like train tickets and bus fare were too simple and lacked adventure.

George’s foot tapped tirelessly on the cobblestone floor as he twisted the end of his mustache. Focused on the potion, he shuffled to the work desk where he dropped the paper on the black counter.

Four beakers, each filled with a different color of liquid, were neatly aligned down the center. Dying the ingredients kept George organized, but also brought a little life to the dank space where he spent most of his day.

He ceremoniously stretched his rubber gloves halfway to his elbows and adjusted the rounded goggles over his eyes.

A long, thin dropper dipped into the first beaker, then released a single blue drop into a test tube. Passing over the bubbling orange mixture, he lifted the yellow one, filling half the test tube while counting aloud to three.

George leaned back pensively. The ingredients refused to react. He tapped his finger on the counter and stared at the test tube as deep wrinkles spread across his forehead. "Now, I know something was supposed to happen—"

The mixture fizzed and bubbled. George rubbed his palms in anticipation.

Suddenly, the test tube exploded, and shards of glass rained onto the table. His thick, brown hair blew straight upward. A thick, swampy, green smoke swirled to the rafters and rolled down the walls. He ducked under the table and grabbed an old rag from the drawer to cover his mouth.

The color of the smoke was different from his previous attempts and seemed promising. Well, I should get to it. Agreeing with himself, he hopped to his feet to open a window with his free hand.

Smoke billowed from the room, and George hurried to the crookedly hung cabinet on the far wall. An old, wooden box made from discarded cider barrels seemed sturdy enough for traveling. Grabbing it, he dumped the empty vials and bits of twine collecting inside the box.

With the bottom half of the test tube still intact, George the Great released a single drop to the lid of the box. It rolled down the side until absorbed by the wood.

I guess I should test it. It has to work, right? His hands rested on his hips, rocking gently on his heels. Oh, what am I worried about? Of course it will. George the Great secured his goggles, and the activation word slipped nervously from his lips. Va…va…vamoose.

George’s breathing stilled as he grounded his feet, bracing himself for magic. Nothing happened. "Maybe I was supposed to use bind weed instead of knot wood? I really need to start typing my notes."

His gloved finger traced the lines and curves of the ink, double-checking the ingredients in question, when a tingling blanketed his hand. Tiny pinpricks raced along his spine and shot to his temples.

A brilliant flash of light reached to the farthest corners of the lab. George the Great shielded his eyes, but the light had already turned the world to white. He panted as one arm shrunk faster than the other, followed by both legs. His head bobbled, being the last to shrink.

A repulsive odor burned the small hairs inside his nose. The room turned a dull white, and his eyes grew wide within the goggles as a curious thought crossed his mind. He sniffed the crude wooden wall and clasped his nose. Apple cider vinegar. It can’t be. Am I inside the box? I should’ve used a perfumed box instead.

By design, the traveling potion used the owner’s memories to deliver them to their destination within seconds, making George rather proud. Traveling was a hectic business, and he’d never have to fight with a paper road map again.

The white walls of the box transformed, and he found himself standing in the middle of his own lab. Confused, he banged on the walls, discovering they were wood, not brick. This must be my starting point, a way to keep me grounded in the present.

Metal tracks circled him and the scraping of train wheels had George covering his ears. Dozens of circus carts with arched facades encircled him, each of the metal gates a portal to the cities his circus had visited. Due to the depression striking the country, the landscape behind each portal looked almost identical, with slight differences in terrain.

Directly in front of him was the porch of his childhood home. The shotgun style house had a front and back door, with sparse living space between. It was the only place he’d lived until leaving for his first chemist job. Clutching his fist, he concentrated on a new location.

The portals rolled on the track around him, stopping at the estate’s barn doors. The cage rails of the car slid open and George the Great gingerly stepped inside, holding the metal frame for support. Another flash and he raised his hands for protection, panicking at his long, gangly fingers. His head stretched and caught up with the rest of his body, returning him to his normal height of six feet.

Like a traveler to another planet, he brushed his hands along the tall, pink-tipped grass that waved in the breeze next to the red doors of the barn. The potion worked.

BARAAG!

Ducking, he dodged the startled elephant who sprang to her hind legs. Mary Louise, a full-grown forest elephant, was raised in the circus and followed George to the Gardenia Estate, where she happily retired from show business. Her humiliating days of balancing on balls and spraying clowns with her trunk were blissfully behind her.

George the Great’s constant tinkering in the lab created a potion that not only gave her invisibility, but also the gift of human speech. Living with the talking elephant often backfired as he experienced the demanding nature of the giant land mammal over and over again.

Mary Louise swished George with her bristly tail. Must you do that? You scared me half to death.

Sorry. He shifted his goggles to his head and picked up the box. Can you believe it worked this time?

If you are referring to scaring me for the umpteenth time, then yes, I can.

As she wandered away from the conversation, George followed, stepping through the hay scattered on the barn floor. After so many failed trials, it finally worked! I still need to test the return trip. I don’t want Miss Sophie Mae to land in the wrong place. Her life is difficult enough without stranding her in the North Pole!

The frost might be a nice change for the heir. I have no idea how she manages to live in Oklahoma. That place is desolate and, might I add, harsh on the skin.

Vamoose! George the Great winked. And with a flash, he disappeared.

---

Brushstrokes of pink and lavender painted the sky as George the Great sprinted the gravel walkway, grinding pebbles under his black dress shoes. His best top hat with the red band was crammed tightly on his head, and the long tails of his jacket dangled at the bend of his knee. He carried the two travel boxes, one under each arm. George dashed to Mary Louise, who grazed near the barn.

Leggy, the resident giraffe, galloped toward the pair. She, like Mary Louise, had also worked in the circus. The invisibility potion gave her the ability to understand humans, but not replicate their speech. Leaning close to Mary Louise, she let out a grave hum.

Mary Louise curled her trunk. I know, I know, but he does seem to be making progress. We cannot discount the years George spent as a chemist assistant before joining the circus. You know as well as I that he is a chemist at heart.

Mary Louise and Leggy sauntered to the barn where they fluffed the hay with their hooves.

George followed them with eager eyes, covering his mouth against the dust that swirled in the space around his head. Did you see me? I traveled from the lab to the barn and back again. My orders were to bring Sophie Mae as soon as I was able and I’m finally able! We should leave for Drycrop right away, Mary Louise.

She jumped from the hay. I will have no part in this crazy idea. I make it a habit to never travel after dark. Nothing good happens after sundown.

But I thought you’d want to come. We have the souls of brave circus performers, setting out on a new frontier. Just you and me, like the old days. How could you pass on such an opportunity?

No amount of convincing could get me into that tiny box. And, in case you did not notice, our circus days are over.

Dismissing her worry, he winked at Leggy, who guffawed, tongue dangling from her mouth.

Mary Louise’s ears flapped anxiously at his sly grin. Oh no! I am warning you, George. I am most certainly not interested!

He grabbed the bottom curve of her warm ear. Vamoose!

---

A full moon cast a glow over the barren fields of the Drycrop farm where wild animals rarely trekked, and insects fought over the tiniest drops of moisture.

A flash of light pulsed behind the crumpled barn alerting the lonely night that the box travelers had arrived.

George the Great looked over the desolate terrain as he tugged the sleeves of his black jacket to his wrists and centered his hat on his head. His fingers brushed the sand from the tips of his glossy shoes.

Mary Louise hemmed and hawed, struggling to lift the red carnation headband that slid to the bend of her trunk. George repositioned the dainty flower to Mary Louise’s liking just above her forehead.

Now I am here, what do you propose I do? she asked.

First, we have to make sure we’re at the right house. George picked up the two boxes next to his feet and started for the front of the farm.

At the right house? Do you know how to work the box? You said you were ready.

I was… am… ready. Just follow me. I’ve got everything under control.

Mary Louise struggled along the deep sand lifting her enormous feet higher than usual. The cracking of dried wood underfoot had her peering at the corner of a tattered roof, peeking just above the ground. She stepped lightly from the drowning building and whispered to George. Do not get too close to the house. If she were to spot us, it would terrify her.

George the Great turned to her in disbelief. We’ve taken the potion and can’t be seen or heard. Did you forget? I’ve heard elephants don’t ever forget, but based on some of our conversations, I’m inclined to disagree.

My memory is working just fine, thank you. I am out of my element in this dreadful place. It is almost like I should not have come. She blasted sand along her back. How my ancestors roamed the dusty lands of Africa, I will never know. So much sand and dust, I can barely breathe.

He rolled his eyes and continued onward. I wonder if all elephants are so dramatic? Staggering to the back of the house, he rested his chin on the chipped paint of the windowsill. A yellow, checkered curtain drifted in the cool night breeze.

Mary Louise tiptoed to the window, but the ground trembled like aftershocks of an earthquake. Would you mind scooting over a tad? I cannot see a thing.

There she is—Sophie Mae. Her cheekbones are similar to the mistress. I’m certain we’ve found the right place. I’ll put the box on the porch, and you can do your trumpet thing. She’ll come searching for the source of the noise and find it.

We cannot leave it now, she protested. I have experienced your travel box, and, I must say, it can be quite jarring. She needs a good rest. Look how frail and tiny she is. Oh, that poor child.

"Okay, geez. We’ll return to the estate and bring it first thing in the morning. Does that suit you?"

You really are an agreeable man, George. Great all around.

Alright, alright. He clutched his own stinky box under his left arm, and the porcelain one meant for Sophie Mae under the right. The two travelers left the house and returned to the barn.

Mary Louise slid her trunk through George’s bent arm and leaned in close.

Do you think she will actually come? Does she even know about the estate?

For the love of Pete! How would I know? Do I look like a fortune teller?

Mary Louise couldn’t resist the rare opportunity to poke fun at his dislike of the untrustworthy fortune tellers who told people what they wanted to hear, as long as they paid well. She leaned toward George and the sarcastic gleam in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Don’t answer that.

Chapter Two

Sophie Mae Bastrop stood in the doorframe and cocked her empty shotgun. The beggar wandering on her front porch wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last, to cross the sixteen-year-old’s path.

Get lost! she commanded.

The beggar’s hands sifted through a busted planter at the end of her porch. Loosely wrapped bandages covered his wounds, but splotches of dried blood told of his hardships. The odor of trash and urine from his clothes lingered.

He leaned against the house, turning his weak gaze to Sophie Mae. I haven’t eaten in days. I’m starving, miss. Do you have anything? I’ll take whatever you can spare.

Sophie Mae blew a strand of curly hair from her eyes. Fear kept her grip tight against the stock that hid her quivering lip. I have nothing for either of us. Get moving, or I’ll shoot.

Discouraged, he pulled a yellowed scarf from the collar of his jacket. He wrapped it around his nose and mouth as he stumbled down the porch steps. The tail end of a dust storm thrashed the front gate against its post, and as he passed through, the haze of drifting dust enveloped him.

He’s gone, Sophie Mae, Grandma Hattie’s voice surfaced in her mind. Now put the gun down.

Sophie Mae slunk into the house and shut the door behind her. Her arm fell under the weight of the weapon as she leaned against the weathered door. Covering her face, she stopped the tears before they turned the sand on her cheeks to mud. I’ve no time for crying.

Sophie Mae lifted the heavy plank of wood off the floor to bar the entry. Wax-dipped linens crammed between the wood slats of the walls