The Changing Chair

A Short Urban Fantasy

The wind roared outside, making the rain hit the earth in a diagonal stream; no one would be flying this time of night.

Yet one man gracefully flew through the storm, as if by some other magic. He soared through a suburban neighborhood and landed on the back porch of a peach colored house. He quickly entered the dark kitchen as as the clock struck one.

The lights turned on and he bolted up in panic to see his wife standing in the middle of their quaint kitchen. Her left foot tapped on the tiled floor as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was still wearing her light blue scrubs from work and had obviously waited up all night. Chelsea glared at her husband as he tried scrambled to collect himself.

He cleared his throat and forced a smile while pushing hair out of his face, “Honey, it’s been hell in the office. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Paul.”

“Look, I’m sorry I missed dinner again. You would not believe the day I had,” he chuckled and walked over to the kitchen sink. He tried to frantically wash his hands, afraid the rain hadn’t cleansed him enough.

“Well I’m no psychic, but I can definitely guess,” she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the dinner she had made earlier. “You had some office work to take care of, a couple calls to take but not one from your own wife.”

She dumped the cooked chicken and vegetables into a frying pan on the stove. She continued, “You probably napped under your desk because you knew you had a long night ahead of you. Sacrificing an intern or two at midnight and forgetting to take a bath in holy water to cover up that god-awful darkness I see around you.” She threw some oil into the pan and waved her right hand to heat it up.

Paul took a deep breath and slowly walked over to his wife. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, “Love, I think you’ve been working with too many potions and caring for all those crazy people at the hospital. I mean, do you hear yourself?” He started to wrap his arms around her.

She turned and pushed him away, her hand was still burning hot. Paul clenched his left chest where she had left a slight burn mark on his shirt.

Chelsea turned back to the stove and returned her hand, although more stiff and clawed than before.

“You were smart not to marry a psychic. I haven’t been reading your mind. But I know.” As Chelsea spoke Paul felt his face flush. He tried to speak but had nothing to say so she kept going, “I can feel the dark magic Paul! The feeling I get when you walk through that door is very familiar. Like when I am taking care of a stupid kid who thought they could summon a demon for fun or the victims of a dark lord who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She clenched her right hand as smoke puffed in front of her. She pulled her hand away and walked to the wooden cupboard which slowly began to open on its own. A ceramic plate flew out like a mad man flying through the night into Paul’s hands.

“I got it,” he said with a smirk.

She snatched the plate away from him, “Don’t try and play games with me. We’re not going to avoid this.”

“Chels,” he brought his hand to his temple but he knew he was starting to lose his cool. “You have no idea what’s happening back at the offices. You don’t know what we have to do, what we have to go through to keep you all safe. I just want to come back to my house and forget about it at the end of the day. It really is for the greater good.”

“You want to bring up the greater good with me? I’ve personally had to give a 25-year-old the Sight of Death after making that inhumane potion myself to end his life off of the orders of you and your government because he was apparently too unstable for the world to handle. All he was guilty of was working for you.” She threw the plate of food down on the kitchen table.

“What? Would you rather we gave you and your potions playmates free range on his conscience and his body to try those quick fixes you’re always talking about. Quick fixes made with what Chelsea? A human organ, a dragon’s fetus, illegal substances that we are forbidden to practice with?”

“No, I’m sure you could have used him in your latest sacrifice of the innocent!”

“Goddammit! You think I was the first one to use this magic in this position? Did you think I knew what job Head of Orderly Safety required me to do when I took it? I have to deal with the mistakes made previously and keep order!” He stomped towards the table and turned back to his wife in anger but tripped over a chair in the middle of the room.

“Where did this damn chair come from?” Paul exclaimed in fury pushing himself up.

“Paul!” Chelsea put her hands over her mouth and stared with glistening eyes at the chair.

Paul slowly stood up. The chair made a hiccup sound and it suddenly turned itself into a small side table. He took a step back as the table hiccuped to turn into a stuffed bear with a top hat. He looked at his wife in confusion but she only stared at the changing objects. He reached out for the bear.

“Paul,” Chelsea pleaded as she walked towards the stuffed animal.

The thing in front of them hiccuped one last time and a small, sleepy boy stood there with wrinkled, blue pajamas and a frightened look on his face as he stared at both his parents.

“Peter,” Paul reached out to his son.

Chelsea stood in front of her husband and knelt down. She put her hands on Peter’s shoulders and calmly spoke to him, “Mommy and Daddy are just having a discussion. I’ll come up and tuck you back into bed in a little bit.”

Peter didn’t move, he stared at his father in dismay and Paul turned away in embarrassment. Chelsea hastened to the refrigerator and took out a green reusable bottle. She put it in Peter’s hand, “Here is a fresh bottle of tree root, frog tail, and morning dew. I made it this morning. It will relax your muscles and help you fall asleep, sweetie. I’ll be right up okay?”

Peter took the bottle and carefully watched his father as he quietly walked up the stairs.

Paul collapsed in the kitchen table chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked to his wife, “What the hell was that?”

“He’s five, he’s going through his self-transfiguration stage, Paul.”

Paul picked up the fork and began cutting his food, “He knows now.”

“Knows what? That his father is a terrible role model. That you do unspeakable things?”

“Yes Chels! I know what I’m doing is bad,” he cut his food into smaller and smaller pieces out of frustration, “I know the problems I am causing. I know what I’m doing to myself.”

“Then stop, Paul,” her voice became soft and she looked at him.

He looked back at her apologetically, “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you don’t want to?”

Paul took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. He looked down at his plate, “I want this power. I can’t stop now. I’m keeping us safe and happy. I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing. For us.”

Paul looked back up at Chelsea and expected to see tears in her eyes. Instead she sighed and turned around.

“Just eat your damn chicken,” Chelsea walked over to the stove top and opened up the window for fresh air. The storm was settling, the wind had ceased and tiny raindrops could be heard hitting the pavement outside.

Paul stared at his wife, slowly eating the delicious dinner she had made for him. With her back turned away and looking out the window, Paul was reminded just how gorgeous she was. Her frumpy scrubs hugged her skin in the most beautiful way, her curly hair hopelessly tamed in a messy bun, and her delicate fingers rubbing her forehead in disbelief. He couldn’t lose the women he loved.

He felt his lips tingling, wanting to press them against her. His stomach began to turn and his throat closed up. His heart rate increased with every breath he took as he looked at her.

This was the potions nerd he had met in high school. The girl of his dreams. The woman he’d met again three years later as an intern for the government while she was getting approved for a Potions Experimenting License. The woman who took him to the local vampire village on their first date. The mother of their son.

She loved him despite his past choices and how much he always messed up. They could get through this together.

He tried to catch his breath, but his throat kept tightening. He began wheezing, his heart rate increased dangerously, his vision began to slowly blur. He tried to call out to his wife but nothing short of a hiss escaped his mouth followed by coughing. He looked down at his dinner and fell to the ground.

Still not turning around to look at her dying husband, Chelsea sneered, “It doesn’t take a master of potions to know you’re allergic to peanuts.” She reached to the cupboard above her head and pulled out peanut oil, setting it on the counter.

Paul desperately began crawling to the cupboards, searching for an antidote he knew they kept around for emergencies. He didn’t reach the it before he was instantly overcome by his symptoms and fell to the floor. He looked up at his wife.

She turned to him and didn’t say anything. She pulled a small vile from the inside of her bra and glared at her dying husband. He tried to reach out for it, summon it, he used all his strength and magic, but it wasn’t enough.

Without turning away from him she threw his last hope out the window and with the sound of shattered glass he knew there was nothing he could do. He put his head down on the floor, clutched his throat, and struggled for his last few breaths.

Chelsea bent down and grabbed his collar, forcing him to stare at his beloved murderer, “No son of mine is going to grow up with a parent filled with so much darkness.”

She threw him on the floor and walked out of the kitchen.

Paul, with the sense of impending doom and knowing there was nothing he could do, stayed outstretched on his cold, clammy kitchen floor. His vision faded, he could only make out a small chair sitting in the corner of the kitchen.