Now You See It... Part 48

The Sheriff swallowed, throat dry.

Bracing himself, he reached down with both hands and cut open the sack with his knife.

He pulled apart the edges.

And cried out hoa.r.s.ely-simultaneously with Ca.s.san- dra-as a giant paper moth flew upward from inside me sack, flapped around in erratic circles, then performed an abrupt nosedive to me floor.

"I told you you'd regret it/" Max reminded the Sheriff.

What was that hollow sound inside my chest? Could it have been a chuckle? I felt like chuckling. From relief. From (d.a.m.n my magidanly hide!) appreciation and delight at a trick well done.

"The weight is dirt," Max told them. "The blood is fake."

Both looked at him with virtually the same expression- one of incredulous revulsion.

"I also told you it was my casket," Max continued

Now You See tt. 163

blithely. "It is. 1 had a few small gimmicks put in, that's all.

To entertain the audience at my hmeral. Why let them sit there morosely when I can do a postmortem performance?"

"Morosely?" Ca.s.sandra responded, glaring at him.

"Don't you mean joyously?"

"Only you," said Max-

To their surprise (and mine, need I add?) he started climbing into the casket.

"Let me demonstrate," he said. He dosed the lower lid, locking it into place.

"You'll get a boot out of this, Grover," he told the Sheriff.

He lay back against the padding, his head on me sewn-in pillow.

"I'm in my casket, see?" he said. "Laid out in my finest bib and tucker, hair combed, beard trimmed, teeth all brushed; why not?

"The service is near conduded. Get the picture? Lights are dimmed. All heads are lowered reverently."

"Murderer!" Ca.s.sandra snarled.

Lunging at the casket, she slammed shut the upper lid, locking it. Max cried out. Max's father felt a surge of dread.

Ca.s.sandra seemed to be uncertain as to whether she felt shock or elation. She trembled visibly as she watched Plum attempt to open the casket.

"You b.i.t.c.h!" screamed Max. His voice was m.u.f.fled.

"Where's the key?" the Sheriff asked him loudly.

"m my pocket, you idiot!" shrieked Max, furious and ter- rified at the same time.

Oh, my G.o.d, she's done him m, I thought.

Plum was staring blankly at me casket.

He looked at Ca.s.sandra, stunned, as she emitted a sound of half-mad pleasure.

"I'm going to smother in here!" Max shouted,

'^our breath is steaming up the faceplate, darling," Cas- sandra said, smiling.

164 Richard Matheson

"Mrs. Delacorte," said Plum, aghast.

"I hope his death is slow," she said-

Which concluded my appraisal of Ca.s.sandra Delacorte.

Not a positive one-

The Sheriff was staring at her as though he couldn't be- lieve what he'd heard.

I stared at her with no difficulty at all in believing what I'd heard.

Max started pounding on the inside of the lid (unbreak- able gla.s.s), screaming with enraged terror-

The Sheriff looked around/ gaze settling on the trophy board above the mantelpiece- Running there, he grabbed the African spear- Seeing mis/ Ca.s.sandra quickly levered down the casket to a horizontal position.

"What are you doing?" Max shouted; he sounded de- ranged now.

When me Sheriff started to return with the spear/ Ca.s.san- dra pushed me rolling-casket base away from him.

"You mustn't touch his casket. Sheriff," she said breath- lessly. "You heard him."

It was a manic chase/ my friends. A farce enacted in a madhouse.

Visualize: Ca.s.sandra Delacorte shoving the casket around the room (no Magic Room now; rather, an insane asylum)/ a look of unhinged amus.e.m.e.nt on her face.

Max inside, howling, pounding.

Plum-me Kikuyu spear clutched tightly in his right hand-gasping/ "Mrs. Delacorte!"

And Potato Familias ensconced, unmoving, in his wheel- chair, watching like me helpless tuber he was.

"Mrs- Delacorte!" Plum cried again.

"No/ no, it's his final resting place!" she protested. She was insane; I note this in retrospect.