Black Hole in a Bottle

By Joseph Brink

Simon’s Magickry was not like any traditional magician’s shop. There were no shelves cluttered with ancient books and talismans. There were no candles or crystal balls, nor was the shop musty or dark.

Instead, well-polished white floors reflected the dazzling radiance of the ceiling’s LEDs, filling the shop with brilliance. Plastic-sleeved magic kits hung neatly from rotating racks and wall shelves.

Simon’s Magickry was a store, not a museum. At least, that was what Simon was trying to convince the salesman who sat across the table from him.

“I don’t care how old it is or where you found it,” Simon said. “I don’t buy talismans or relics or any of the like. In fact, I’m not interested in buying anything.”

The salesman was a small, wiry man with eyes like a viper’s. “I can make you interested, sir. You have never seen anything like this.”

Simon snatched the clear, rounded bottle off the table and raised an eyebrow. “This? I’ve seen enough magic bottle tricks in my life. I sell tricks that rely on sleight of hand, illusion, and deception. I don’t sell things just because you found them in Babylon or Atlantis. And most importantly, I sell only original tricks and gimmicks—created by me.”

Simon thumped the glass bottle back onto the table. “Now take your wares and go home.”

The salesman watched the bottle like a cat watches a mouse. “Careful with it. You would not want the bottle to shatter.”

Simon smirked. “Oh? It has a curse?”

The salesman slid the bottle to his side of the table and withdrew a large bag from his briefcase. “It has more than just history, sir. It has unique properties. Let me demonstrate.” Opening the bag, the salesman began pouring a thin stream of sand into the bottle.

As it passed through the opaque mouth, the sand seemed to disappear within the glass. Simon yawned and propped his head against a portrait of Houdini—the only piece of décor in the shop. A bottle that gives the illusion of being empty is certainly nothing new.

“I like to call this trick ‘Black Hole in a Bottle’,” the salesman said. “It will devour anything you put inside.” He folded the now empty bag on the table.

Simon blinked and leaned closer to the tiny bottle. There was no way all that sand could have fit. He ducked to glance under the table. Nothing.

Simon picked up the glass bottle and scrutinized it. It was half as tall as his index finger and fit easily in a fist. From all angles, it appeared empty. Simon tipped it upside down and jiggled it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the salesman interjected. “Keep it upright. There’s a magic seal on the lip, but there’s no need to test it. Wouldn’t want the Void to spill out.”

Simon continued studying the bottle.

The sand must be the trick… unless…

Simon rolled up his handkerchief and pushed one end into the bottle. As it passed through the lip, it disappeared. The cloth seemed to suck inward faster than he slid it through. As the last of the handkerchief vanished into the tiny glass, Simon’s index finger brushed past its lip. Something tugged on it.

Simon jerked his finger back. The skin and nail on the tip was sliced cleanly off, yet there was no blood. He winced. I must be imagining things. A bottle couldn’t do that.

The salesman’s eyes darted up to Simon’s. “Will you take it? It’s a great find, I assure you.”

Simon held it up once again, weighing it in his hands. The sand was gone. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

Simon shivered. Magic isn’t real. It can’t be. He peeled his eyes away from the bottle—an esoteric construction that made his own creations pale in comparison.

“Sorry. But you can tell whoever created it that I think it is a marvelous gimmick.”

He passed it back to the salesman with an underhanded toss.

The salesman panicked and fumbled. The bottle crashed to the table, glass shattering on the polished wood surface. The room’s lighting flickered and dimmed.

Simon bit his lip and stepped toward the salesman. “I’m so sorry. That was my fault. I’ll pay—”

The salesman—eyes glued to the table—scurried away, backing into a shelf of magic kits against the rear wall. “My Grandad told me to get rid of it,” he whimpered. “I didn’t think it would hurt to sell it.”

Simon followed his gaze. His breath caught in his throat. One end of the table had vanished. In its place hovered a dark rift, eating away at the table and floor. Even the light in the room funneled into the rift.

As Simon watched, the table disappeared. Gone.

But the rift was not. It grew, a shadowy void that swallowed the very air. As it expanded, the floor beneath it dissolved.

Simon’s heart pounded, and he backed away.

“What on earth?”

The salesman’s eyes flashed with alarm. “The Void! It’s free! Run for your life!”

The wiry man sprang from the wall, headed toward the front door. As he lunged past the gaping Void, he smashed into a spinning rack of magic kits. Trying to catch his balance, his foot plunged into the abyss. Then he tumbled backwards and vanished. The Void consumed the rack a moment later, lengthening out to then swallow the entire width of the room.

Simon stumbled in his haste to retreat. As his hand hit the ground, pain stabbed his nerves. Wincing, he cradled his bleeding palm. A long sliver of glass protruded from it.

The glass from the bottle.

It hadn’t been consumed.

Somehow, the glass had withstood the vacuum.

Simon curled his fist around the shard. Could it counter the Void?

The danger before him was no magic trick. And neither was the shard of glass in his hand.

It was time to see what real magic could do.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joseph Brink writes Christian fantasy from his home in the far north (Canada). He also is a voracious reader and has just finished homeschooling through high school. Between writing novels and working part-time, he is a community assistant for the Young Writer’s Workshop. Joseph aims to write stories that glorify God and encourage readers to live for God and others.

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Author Website