Sympathetic Magic
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The Great Persky's Mysterious Box Of Metafictional Magic free porn video
Conceived as a sequel to the 1977 short story "The Kugelmass Episode" by
Woody Allen
The Great Persky's Mysterious Box of Metafictional Magic
by Pretzelgirl
* * * * *
Aunt Gladys has died. It wasn't any big deal, really. No one on this side of
the family had been that close to her. She lived in the city, pretty much
removed from the rest of us. And she had mainly kept to herself, living in a
kooky old rundown apartment in a somewhat seedy part of town.
No one in the family really wanted to travel all the way out there just to clean
out her place, but her landlord was pretty adamant on getting all the junk she
had accumulated over the years out, ASAP! She'd been a collector of antique
garbage, mostly. Her two older brothers had been vaudeville magicians, and
after they both died (under mysterious circumstances!) she wound up with all
their old stuff cluttering up her place.
The family had hired a team of movers to clean out the apartment and ship all
of Glady's personal belongings out to the farm. It had cost a pretty penny,
but all the extended relatives pitched in to share the cost, each hoping to find
some valuable antique in her collection of junk that might make the whole
ordeal worthwhile.
Kristi and David and Bethany Carlson would have been Glady's great nieces
and nephew. They'd never met the old dame, their side of the family
eschewing the crazy old relatives in favor of a more "normal" modern
lifestyle. Ordinarily, they never even went out to the farm their grandparents
maintained. But it was summertime and the three children were out of school.
Mom and dad weren't too eager about taking them along, but hardly trusted
them at home alone.
Kristi was a junior in high school, David a freshman, and Bethany a 3rd
Grader.
"God this place is SOOO boring," Kristi whined.
David had to admit there was precious little to do on the farm.
"Why don't we take a look through Aunt Glady's old junk?" he suggested.
"That stuff is just a bunch of moldy crap!" Kristi said.
"I saw magic stuff in the brown shed," said Bethany shyly. "Like those
boxes they saw women in half with!"
David perked up. "C'mon, Kristi! It'll be fun to explore it."
Kristi shrugged ambivalently, but went along with her younger siblings out
to the large, brown shed. Peering inside, they were assaulted first with the
scent of long-moldering hay. Creeping inside, David found a lightswitch and
sure enough they discovered just what Bethany had said was here: a treasure-
trove of old vaudeville magic stuff.
"Wow, this place is great!" said David.
Kristi shrugged again.
Bethany and David quickly went through the room taking inventory of the
heaps of old show-biz stuff.
"Hey look," said David. "This box is just full of old books. Not even magic
books ... mainly just old paperbacks."
"They probably didn't belong to our crazy relative the stage magician," Kristi
said. "They probably belonged to one of our crazy hermit relatives."
"Guys!" cried Bethany. "Here's the box I was telling you about. Isn't it
cool?"
It was a cheap-looking Chinese cabinet with some fierce scorch-marks
burned into the side of its badly lacquered plywood finish. It looked like it
had been in some sort of a fire and sustained enough damage to render any
otherwise antique value worthless. The man-sized box had clearly seen better
days.
"Leave it alone, Beth!" Kristi cried. "It might be worth something at auction.
You don't want to trash it."
But already the precocious third-grader had cracked open the large box.
"It's empty!" she said dejectedly.
David peered inside. "It's not empty, Beth. There's a couple more books in
here." He reached inside and pulled out a paperback novel entitled "Portnoy's
Complaint" and a hefty textbook titled "Remedial Spanish."
"Looks like someone's been using this box to saw library books in half,"
muttered Kristi.
David stood in thought for a moment, then suddenly ran back to the stack of
books he'd found earlier. Rummaging through them for a moment again, he
pulled forth a college-ruled notebook with the words "The Great Persky's
Mysterious Box of Metafictional Magic: Instruction Manual" printed cleanly
across the front.
"You suppose this user's guide goes with this box and explains how to do
something 'metafictional' with it?" he asked.
"Yeah, like you even know what 'metafictional' means," mumbled Kristi.
Well, so what if David didn't know the exact meaning of the word. He was
bright enough to put two and two together to figure out a box with books
might be a 'fictional' box of some kind. He started paging through the
yellowed notebook.
"This 'Persky' fellow must've been one of Aunt Gladys' crazy vaudeville
brothers," David said, while he read. "Seems he was a stage magician for a
long time before settling down into a life of ... well, con-artistry!"
Kristi laughed. "So what did Persky do that made him the rotten branch of
the family tree?"
"Well," David continued. "It looks like he used to lug around all this old
magic junk of his and tell people he could perform works of REAL magic on
their lives ... for a fee, of course."
"Real magic?" Bethany said, wide-eyed. "So what does this box do?"
"Well, it says here Perksy used the box to make people become a part of a
story," David read aloud. "A book, a play, a poem ... anything. Just climb
inside with the fiction of your choice, shut the doors, and tap the outside
three times and you'll find yourself projected into the story."
Kristi snorted derisively. "That's ridiculous!"
David shrugged. "Still, might be worth a try, don't you think? You want to
take an adventure through literature?"
"What is this -- Reading Rainbow?" laughed Kristi. "You seem so interested
in all this crap. You get in the box!"
"Okay, I will!" cried David defiantly. He opened the doors and quickly
crawled inside, noticing the ugly rhinestones glued onto the raw plywood
interior of the cabinet. "Toss me a book and then do that thing with tapping
the doors three times."
Kristi shrugged and pitched a worn paperback novel at him. David picked up
the yellowed book and glanced at the title: "Fear of Flying" by Erica Jong?
Before he had a chance to ask what sort of a book this was, Kristi had
slammed the doors shut on him and banged hard on the outside of the cabinet
three times.
There was an audible pop and suddenly David found himself elsewhere.
* * *
He was in a strange-looking room in an unfamiliar house. He looked
cautiously around and felt a soft whooshing sensation behind his head. He
felt the nape of his neck and discovered long, soft hair. He looked down at
his body and discovered a tight, black turtleneck sweater holding back a pair
of very womanly (and braless) breasts. A long denim skirt and a pair of soft
leather boots completed the ensemble.
He was a woman! A quick glance in a mirror on the wall revealed the visage
of a pretty, 20-something woman from the 1970s. When David shifted his
head, the woman shifted hers ... when his eyes moved, so did hers.
While quietly assessing himself, he heard music emanating from another
room, first loud and then suddenly soft again, like a siren in the distance.
Cautiously, he ventured out into the living room, padding uncertainly on
delicate new feminine feet, and encountered a wild-faced, scruffy-looking
man with a record player.
"How loud can you play Bach in this society?" the man demanded. "This
loud? This soft? You see! There's no way to play Bach in this society?"
David had the sinking feeling his first projection had landed him in a pretty
stupid novel. "Excuse me, but could you tell me who I am?"
The man continued fiddling with the stereo and gave no sign of having
noticed David. He knew it was a stupid question to ask a person, but he
wanted to figure out who he was supposed to be in this ridiculous scenario.
Obviously a woman of some sort ... quite possibly this looney guy's wife.
"What is my name?" David asked again, this time more slowly.
"How loud, Mrs. Isadora Stollerman, do you think a person can play Bach in
this society without the police coming?" he grinned.
Mrs. Isadora Stollerman, David pondered. Knowing he was Mrs. Isadora
Stollerman didn't help his situation here much. The crazy man continued to
ignore him, blaring the record playing high and then low again. David felt his
hips and belly and then chest. It seemed so odd and strikingly real to have
this new shape. His chest seemed a bit larger than his sister Kristi's.
Wouldn't she have been jealous right now to see him!
While David was preoccupied, the wild-eyed man ceased playing with the
stereo and moved closer.
"Who do you think will go to heaven?" he asked.
David was startled. He had thought the crazy man would just ignore him, but
now he was being directly addressed. Perhaps challenged to prove his now-
in-question identity.
"Isadora Stollerman will go to heaven," he said in a soft, uncertain voice.
"Will Bach go? Will Milton go? Will Shakespeare go?" the man continued to
harass David with an endless stream of questions. "Will Dante go or has he
been already? Will Homer go? Will Yeats go?"
David slowly backed away from the man, suddenly feeling very weak and
vulnerable in this strange woman's body. A wave of queasiness swept
through him and he found he was genuinely frightened for his safety.
"Look ... I really don't know," David began in his soft contralto voice.
The man continued to slowly advance. "Will Rabelais go with the Rabble?
Will Villon go vilely? Will Raleigh go royally? Will Mozart go lightly? Will
Mahler go heavily? Will El Greco go in a clap of lightning? Will the light
bulbs go?"
David shook his head furiously back and forth. "I don't know!" he shrieked.
"The light bulbs WILL go to heaven!" the man shouted and grabbed David by
his weak, supple wrist and started dragging him towards the window. "Let's
go to heaven! Let's go! Let's go!"
David struggled to pull away, but his female body was just too weak to
challenge this psychopath. "KRISTI!" he cried in a shrill voice at the top of
his lungs. "Get me out of here!"
* * *
There was another audible pop and abruptly the door of the cabinet opened,
David desperately clutching the paperback novel in his sweaty palms.
"Claustrophobic, little brother?" asked Kristi in a snide voice. "I told you this
was a stupid idea."
David shuddered one last involuntary spasm, mainly out of relief now, and
stepped out of the box.
"No sis," he said. "It works. It really works. I was ... somewhere else, I
don't know where. But I suspect it was somewhere in this book!"
Kristi looked incredulously at him. "Sure you were," she said. "C'mon, let's
get back to the house."
David paused for a moment. "No, I want to try again. With a different book
this time. That last one was ... a little too much for me."
Bethany stared at David with wide, believing eyes. "It was really real?" she
asked.
Kristi shrugged and sighed and impatient sigh, while David started
rummaging through the stack of paperback novels again.
"Yeah, Beth it was real," he said. "This is serious stuff."
"Then maybe it isn't safe to be messing around with," Beth said nervously.
"The girlscout handbook says it's always better to be safe than sorry."
David laughed. "Safe. Is anything safe in this crazy world?" he said.
"Sometimes you've just got to explore, Beth."
"Just be careful," Bethany replied. "It's magic and you don't know anything
about magic. Strange stuff can happen."
David shrugged and laughed again. "So what should I do? This is the world
of magic -- it's all nuance," he said. "I'll be careful as I can be, but I don't
see how I can protect myself and still be able to explore."
"This is stupid," Kristi announced. "I'm leaving."
"No wait!" cried David. "Just one more. Quickly, please?" He held up a new
book -- "The Brothers Karamazov."
"That's a Russian book David," said Kristi. "You won't understand it."
"It's an English translation, stupid!" replied David harshly. "And I will too
understand it!"
The truth of the matter was that David was supposed to have read the
weighty, Russian novel for English class last semester ... but never got
around to finishing it, because he couldn't understand it. Kristi's comment
had hit close to home. But he wanted to live out a piece of the novel in the
hopes that it might help him understand it and appreciate better, because he
knew it was supposed to be one of the greatest novels ever written. And if he
ever went on to college, he wanted SOME background in masterpieces like
this.
"Oh all right, one more time. Get in the box!" Kristi barked.
David quickly obliged, climbing in eagerly with the worn paperback novel
clutched in his hands. The doors shut again, there were three impatient
knocks on the outside of the cabinet, and suddenly an audible pop in the air.
* * *
Again, David found himself in a very different place. But this time he was
prepared for it. He found himself standing in the entryway of a very large,
elegant room furnished with several lavish sofas, settees, armchairs, and
tables covered with vases and lamps. An aquarium sat near one of the
windows and several large oil paintings hung on the wall. Outside the
window, David could see the sun was setting. Standing in the center of the
room was a young man dressed in coarse priestly robes.
"Hello," David managed the best he could. His voice came out soft and
sweetly feminine ... and in Russian, too no less, though it was suddenly
understandable to him. He glanced down at himself and saw he was dressed
in an elegant pink housedress of the 19th century variety. His feet were
delicately encased in petite slippers, and when he nervously felt the nape of
his neck he discovered plenty of long, luxuriously feminine hair, raven-dark
in color ... though this time bound neatly up in what he supposed was the
fashionable hairstyle of the time.
"I've come," the man mumbled. From behind David a young-looking maid
came forth and set two lit candles down upon the table. "I came ... he sent me
... " the man continued, staring at David in a strange way. David supposed he
was in the body of a particularly beautiful woman now, and wondered why
the box had projected him into female characters both times.
"So he sent you," David mumbled, trying to bluff his way through this
encounter. He was determined this time to get a decent adventure out of this
projection. No more psychopaths or windows to fall from. "I had a feeling he
would send you. I'm glad you're here. Please sit." David gestured a delicate
hand towards one of the couches.
The man nervously sat down and seemed to be stirring the courage to speak
again.
"He asked me to ... he told me to say good-by to you for him, that he won't
come to see you anymore and that .... that he sends you his regards..."
David sat back in silence and fumbled with his shapely, feminine hands,
fingering a small doily he found on the settee. "I see," he mumbled softly. He
was now some woman who was being dumped via proxy. This seemed
pretty humiliating and somehow hurt David's feelings. He felt the beginning
of tears welling up, stirring in his breast. But he wasn't really this woman so
it was no concern of his, he reminded himself.
The other man stirred again. "He told me that, as things stand now, he's
dishonored and he doesn't care about anything anymore ... I hope that ... I
hope you can understand his situation?"
"Certainly," David mumbled, starring at the expensive Oriental rug that
carpeted the floor. He twisted a delicately shoed foot on the floor and
struggled not to weep. Why did this bother him? He wasn't this woman ...
he didn't understand what was happening ... and yet he felt deeply wounded,
almost violated by what this man was telling him. The man appeared just
about ready to speak again, when there came another audible pop and the
door of the cabinet opened again.
* * *
"I've had enough of this," announced Kristi. "If you want to play with this
box do it on your own. I'm going inside to see what TV stations they get out
here in the backwoods."
With a huff, she turned and stalked out of the shed.
"I better go too," said Bethany. "But be careful with magic things. They can
be real bad if you use 'em wrong."
David laughed. "You read that in your Girlscout handbook too?"
"The Girlscout handbook says always look before you leap," Bethany replied
solemnly. "You should read it!" With that, she reached into a deep jacket
pocket and pulled out the well-worn guidebook. "Maybe you can project
yourself into that and learn a thing or two."
With that, she skipped away leaving David to consider how best to proceed
without an assistant. After all, every great magic act needs an assistant.
David sat down on the edge of the box to think, and started flipping through
the pages of Bethany's book ... after a few moments, he found himself lost
in thought and never noticed the small dormouse creeping along the floor. It
nibbled at his toe, and he pulled back in shock ... and fell right into the box,
which closed behind him.
Again, there was an audible pop.
* * *
Only this time, David found himself standing on a strange porch waiting
outside a door. It was springtime and the air felt cool. He looked down and
realized why everything felt so cool: he was wearing a short green skirt and a
pair of awful Girlscout kneesocks. His feet were encased in tiny brown,
buckled shoes. A green sash dangled across the striped-blouse he wore. He
felt his hair tied back in tight pigtails ... and in his hands he found a box of
mint wafer Girlscout cookies.
He looked up and saw his reflection on the door outside the porch. A small
freckeled girl, no more than nine years of age stood outside the door, mouth
wide open starring back at him. The door on the porch opened, and a
grandmotherly woman smiled. "Oh thank you, dear. These must be the
cookies I ordered!"
As quickly as David had given her the cookies, he looked down to find
ANOTHER box had magically appeared in his hand.
Over and over and over again, he found himself obligated to travel from
door-to-door in this never-ending neighborhood ... constantly demonstrating
to young girls everywhere the best way to deliver cookies.
* * *
Back at the farm, Mrs. Carlson asked Kristi and Bethany about David's
whereabouts.
"I last saw him playing around with that junk out in the brown shed," Kristi
replied. "But that was like six hours ago."
"Oh, he won't be there now," Mrs. Carlson replied. "A man just came by and
purchased all of those things. He left with a truck full of that junk not more
than twenty minutes ago. He was a curious man and told me he had been an
associate of your Great Uncle Persky and that Aunt Gladys had never let him
talk her into parting with Persky's old junk. But he offered me a good $2500
for the entire batch of garbage in the shed. So I sold it to him -- lock, stock,
and barrel. He was a peculiar-looking fellow, though ... he was just a little
old man wearing what looked like a bathrobe."
(the end)
Pansy
- 14.12.2021
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