Excerpt: The Houdini Stuntman, The Immortal Stuntman, The Living Crash Dummy (Short Shory)

It was the world premiere of Maxwell Robinson’s new film “Zack Frost III, The Oozing Spear” he’d gathered all the actors, crew, stuntmen; along with critics/reviewers. They had everyone in production wear nice classy suits and dresses, like we’re in some-sort of Victorian Galla, for the ‘public’s appearance’. But no-one really cares about stuntmen, so I came in jeans, a tee, and the movie’s stunt-team’s jacket. 

I was in some world-famous cinema that had massage chairs. I couldn’t care less for the movie, it was some coming of age superhero movie, that was all the rage. Robinson had the narcissism to think his little character would beat out Superman or Spiderman. We were up to the final act, I couldn’t bear to watch. I couldn’t bear to see my dying corpse impaled on a spire on the big screen. I have not gotten over it, it still played in my head every waking moment since The Accident. I left the screening, climbed my way to the top of the theater, overlooking Hollywood. I sat there grasping at my heart, as the memory came back:

It was a simple stunt, jumping off the roof of a cathedral onto a crash-mat. It was at night for no distraction (on top of that was the only time we got), and we lit the crash-mat so I could see where I needed to land. It was a breeze, I simply jumped, I could do a thousand times, I’ve got the distance. I’ve done a few preps, testing the run up as the cameramen were setting up. They took a while so I started dancing a little, watching the lights of Budapest flickering under the moon. The cameras were set up, filming be dancing a bit; then Robinson yelled “Action!”. I ran full speed, onto the roof and slid down the other side, and once I got to the end of the roof, I jumped. The tile my foot pushed off from, slipped off, causing me to undershoot. Plummeting towards another roof, I bashed against it, my momentum threw me off. This time I didn’t have time to react, and fell chest first into a spiral spire. I could hear the gasps and screams, coexisting with the spire piercing my heart. With my speed and momentum, I was skewed, and the hole stretched. My vision blurred, as I saw my blood seep down the spire, and stared at the film crew, watching the horror in all their faces as my vision faded to black. 

A few minutes later, I hear the panic of Robinson, and the paramedic on set arguing about what to do. Then I felt the cold concrete floor. Then my eyes open, staring at the clouds that travel to the cathedral, where my blood disappeared. I sat up grasping at my heart, feeling for the wound, nada, no wound, no scars, nothing. Just ripped clothes. 

At this time, Robinson noticed me, “Thank God! You’re not dead! Ab you’re not dead, right?” Before I could even answer. “You look fine! Strange, I see no blood, no wound.”

“I feel fine, I just need to rest.”

“Okay, Okay. But before you do that, go with the paramedics and have them look at you.”

I said “okay” and was swiftly swept away by the paramedics. 

The paramedics took me aside, checking everything they could, in disbelief. In a few minutes they were done, I was fine, then they called in Robinson. 

They were talking outside, The head of the paramedics spoke first, “I don’t know what’s going on, but the, the medical-checks points to he’s healthy. In tip-top shape, in fact.”

“This can’t be! We watched him die, he had no pulse, he had no heart! We’ve got it on video!”

“Calm down. Like I said we don’t know what happened from his death to now. In that time he got his heart back, and pulse, and blood. But maybe it’s worth looking back at the recordings to find out. In the meantime, give him time to rest.”

They weren’t all that quiet, but again anything can be heard through a tent. They were wrapping up, and before the paramedics came back, I left. 

Wandering around everyone stared at me like a deadman walking. I felt the confusing stares, and heard the whispering-gossip. I stumbled my way into the film crew cabin, where the scene was playing over and over again. I saw my body pierce the spire, piercing my heart. I saw the blood dripping from my corpse, leaking from my mouth, leaking from my wound. I couldn’t bear to watch it. I know I live, but I died. I know it. I can still feel that spire in my chest, my clothes are a testament to that fact.

I was about to leave, I turned around and saw Robinson coming my way, waving.

“I thought you’d be resting, Ab!”

“What kind of stuntman would I be if a little pain stopped me from working!”

“A normal one!” Robinson caught up to me, “Have you seen the accident? If you want I can show you? I was just about to look at the footage.”

Before I could get a word in, Robinson turned me around, and nudged me into the film cabin.

“Sit, Ab, sit.”

I sat, Robinson pulled up the film, as I rewatched my accident, again, with that uncanny feeling of nausea tricking in my stomach. After the accident was over, they zoomed in on me hanging from the spire. We saw my blood, trickling back to my body. And once I was removed, via ladder. The camera from above caught more footage. The blood and bodily-matter wormed towards me. And this time one of the film crew mumbled to himself “It’s like the fucking scene from Iron Giant.” But then when everything got back into me, my wound began to heal. Then I woke. 

The footage paused, Robinson looked at me, with a puzzled yet mischievous face, “You came back to life, Ab.” A smile creeped on his face, “You’re immortal, Ab.”

I just stood there speechless, in a sea of silence. I don’t even want to know what they’re thinking, but their eyes said it all. Their eyes were dull and sharp, with an absence of compassion and humanity.

#

Two months later I sat on the that famous theater, looking at Hollywood’s lights flickering under the moon. Trying to repress the memory from Budapest again, I looked down at my dangling feet as men, women, and limousines passed. 

“Am I. Really, human?” slipped from my lips. Without thinking I responded to myself, “Of course I am. I get hurt, I live, I have compassion, I age. . . But, I can’t die.” 

I stood up on the ledge one foot ready to step off. “What if it was a fluke, what if I can die? Once is never right? So I never died. . . What if I don’t, die? If I don’t everyone would see, everyone would find out. And if word spreads, I’ll be experimented on. But word would spread already and it’s a matter of time before I’m taken.”

I backed away from the edge, pacing around the rooftop. Thinking of a plan, I placed my phone by a ventilation shaft, recording me. I lined myself up in the middle, and sent a double-backflip. Purposefully under-rotated so all my momentum snaps my neck. 

I woke up with a nagging pain in my neck. I got up and checked my phone. My double-back was perfect, I hit my neck in the right spot. An audible crack rang out, and my body flops. I died. A few moments later, I woke, got up and stopped the recording. 

I chucked my phone across the roof, “Fuck! . . Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why, why me? Why can’t I die?”

I started doing my box breathing exercise, calming myself down. Once my heart settled and emotion calmed, I started thinking aloud:

“What if this isn’t a curse? What can I do with this? I know I won’t get hurt doing what I love, I can take more and more dangerous stunts, and be paid more for it. And even if I do die on-set, people won’t think it’s real if we claim it’s practical effects. But the film crew would know—”

My phone started going off, rang and rang, then stopped. It was Robinson, he left a voicemail, “Hey Ab, where are ya? Everyone here is commenting on your stunts, I want to give you the credit. Come down to the theater’s lobby.”

I got up, retraced my route back to the lounge. Robinson stood in the middle surrounded by suits. Robinson spotted me, and waved me in. I placed a smile, walking into the crowd.

Robinson pulled me in, and hung his arm around me. “This is the stuntman who has done all those amazing stunts, Abraham Grant.” 

The men around Robinson were complimenting me on all my stunts, and took real appeal to me dying on stage; saying how they loved the “practical effects”, “how it was done in one shot”, and “how real it looked.” I just stood there, nodding to the complements. 

Then Robinson jumped in, “And this fantastic stuntman has great work ahead of him, and I got him all to myself for the rest of my series.”

After the conversation died down, I turned to Robinson, “I need to talk to you.”

Robinson excused himself, and me and him moved to a quieter part of the lounge. “Yeah Ab, what’s the matter?”

“I love working for you, but I think we need to make a new contract.”

“Yeah I figured, with your new ability and all. I was planning on paying you more anyway.”

“Yes, I’d like a significant increase in my salary due to the more dangerous and ‘death-defying’ stunts I’ll be doing. But in the new contract I want confidentiality about my new ‘ability’ from you and everyone in the crew.”

“You do know there’s always a risk of someone blabbing off. But I think I can find a way around it.” Robinson reached out his hand.“I accept your new terms, we’ll finalize it later.” 

I shook his hand.

#

The years following I've been Robinson exclusive ground stuntman, for all his movies. And in that time: I’ve been hit by a speeding car. My head’s been flattened by a crowbar. I’ve been hacked to bits. And I’ve been mauled by a Spitz. I’ve been shot by a pistol. I’ve been hung in Bristol. I’ve drowned in a tub. I’ve been shanked in a pub. I’ve burnt alive in a shed. And I’ve been used as a human sled. I’ve fallen off the Empire State. And my intestines had been pulled straight. All on top of my normal stunts.

* * * 

It was the final stunt of “Zack Frost, VII”, I was jumping across a building, only to be shot off. Before the stunt, I acted how I used to, dancing and laughing at any semi-funny jokes. I knew what would happen, everyone cleared the stage, besides Robinson and a few of his trusted cameramen (the same who were there when I rewatched my first death). 

“Action” was yelled, I ran across the rooftop, leapt about fifteen feet, and dropped ten feet. As soon as my foot landed, the shotgun went off. Blasting me in the gut, killing me, then I fell about four stories. By the time I woke up, the set was cleared, and Robinson was there to greet me.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ab. Great stunt, nasty stunt, are you okay?”

I gave him the stuntman’s thumbs up.

“Great. That’ll be all for today, why don’t you go home and rest.” Before I can say a word, “Don’t worry you’ll be paid in full.”

“That’s good. Guess I’ll be going now.”

#

Arriving home, my facade dropped. My first step in my house, I collapsed. The pain overwhelmed me, not just the gun shot but also the fall. My body healed, but the pain lingers, it always does. I’m able to suppress it normally, but as soon as I enter my house, the pain hits like a train. I crawled across the floor, kicked the door closed as I passed. I made it all the way to my bed, used the bed-leg as support to climb up on it. The moment I was comfortable on my bed, the tears came. I thought about the countless days of pain, of being killed every month, and the smile I have to put on. At this time, Liam called.

“Yo, Ab! How’s it going?”

“. . . Going good, just. Just contemplating life.”

 “Sweet. I’m back in town, and trying to get the parkour gang back together, you free?”

“No, no, I’m busy. I’ve got stunts to do.”

“New movie, right? But you gotta have time, I know it.”

“Like I said Liam I’m busy.”

“What about today? I hear no filming sounds through the call.”

“Yeah, because it’s break time and I climb up above the studio building to eat.”

“Ok, well then, let me know when you’re available, okay. I’ll only be in town for a month.”

“If there’s time I will.” I hung up.

I stayed in my bed, rotting away, waiting for the pain to leave. An hour later, the pain started going away but it was still a bitch, but I could walk and move. I headed to the fridge, down a bottle of ale, then lit a couple of cigarettes. With all that in my system it helps against the pain, and makes me feel something besides pain. It took a few more hours for it to fully go away, by that time it was dark. But that whole time I was thinking about Liam, I should’ve acted like that with him. So I picked up the phone and called, he picked up.

“I knew you’d call back.”

“Yeah, yeah. So It looks like I’ll be free tonight, you wanna hit up the old spots?”

“Sweet, I’ll meet you there.”

I got to the spot, it was near our old parkour gym, it was a fancy law firm tower, that had the perfect staircase with walls, railings, and gaps; perfect for precisions, ploys, and vault challenges. By the time I got there, Liam was warming up with rail precisions. Liam spotted me; webstered off the railing, greeting me: “You’re awfully late, you’re slowing down.”

“Just aching from my stunts.”

Liam, look closely at me, I’m sure he smelled cigarettes and alcohol, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I'm just here to jump around.”

“Yeah sure, you’ve been acting off all day. And what’s with the alcohol and cigarettes? What happened to o’ ’I won’t drink or smoke because it’ll affect my performance’. You can't fool me Ab, I’ve known for too long.”

“You won’t get it, now let's just jump around.”

“How about a bet.”

“What?”

“A bet, a game of HORSE, if I win you tell me what’s up and the full truth. And if you win, you get to mop around, and I won’t ever check in on you again.”

“Oh you think you can beat one of the biggest stuntmen?”

“Bring it, I know your moves, I’ve trained with you since we were ten. Ab, the ball’s in your court.”

I started with a running side-flip rail precision, Liam matched it, I got an H. Liam did a ghost-step A-twist, on flat ground, I slipped up, getting an O. Next I did a double-kong gainer, with a six-foot gap between the kong. Liam messed up, getting an H. This went on till we tied at match point and I was up. I settled a round-off triple-backflip, then right after a front-flip. Then I messed up on the front-flip, causing me to get HORSE. Game over.

We sat on the stairs, and as part of my deal I told Liam everything. My lips could barely move, they felt like they were sewn shut. And once I was able to move my lips, my tongue stopped working. We sat there for a solid few minutes with Liam waiting. I was able to start by mentioning the movie, and then my death (it helped that he saw it). Then from there I explain my deaths, and the toll mentally and physically that comes with it. You think a Spitz is cute till they maul you to death, then: new fear unlocked. Or how every time you grill a steak, the smell, the smell reminds you of the smell of your own body cooking. The whole time he just sat there, not saying a word, looking at me, with a deadpan face. 

Liam spoke, “Weren’t you the one who said ‘do work that you enjoy’. And, look at you now, you can barely even talk about it.”

“— I know, I know. I just have a contract with Robinson and I get paid almost as much as the lead actors.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him. Of course you might have to deal with that a bit longer till the movie is done. But it’s at least something.” 

“I could, but I know he loves his ‘Immortal Stuntman’.”

“But at this point you aren’t a stuntman, you’re a crash dummy. Go talk to him, and let me know what happens.”

#

A week later, we finished up the deadly stunts for the movie, and Robinson was overseeing the clean-up crew, right before they left. He was on top of some scaffolding where the spotlights are attached too. He was leaning on a railing. I climbed up the scaffolding on the opposite side of the ladder, and approached Robinson. 

“Hey, Mr. Robinson, can I have a word?”

He jumped, “Jeez, you scared me. And how many times do I gotta tell you to drop the formality, just call me Max or at the very least Maxwell.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“But anyways, what's the matter?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the stunts.”

“You’ve done great and get paid handsomely, what is there to talk about?”

“The deaths. I was wondering if we can dial back the deaths? Since that’s taking a toll on me—”

“Sure, sure, no thing, we can take a break if you need it. We’re done with all those anyways.”

“Sorry, I phrased it wrong. I don’t want to be a crash dummy anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be a gory practical effect.”

“But you’re the only one that can do that. You’ve signed up for it.” Robinson stopped, staring at me for a minute, “What other option do you have? Be a test subject for the scientist? Be a soldier of war? This is your best bet Abraham.”

“Yes, I know that. And I’m grateful for all you’ve done. But I’m a stuntman not a crash dummy! Do you know, I feel the pain, the aches, I get ptsd every time I look at a spitz.”

“Get over it, Ab. Go to therapy with the money you earn, and screw your head straight. As a stuntman you always get hurt, and you heal completely. No big deal, stop whining about it.”

“The pain is nothing compared to dying!” I walked away before Robinson could say a word. 

Robinson yelled down the scaffolding, “Ab, by contract you’re legally obligated to do any and all stunts I have for you!”

The next day work was normal, normal stunts, no deaths. I stayed like that for a while, Robinson eased up on it. But then the next movie; It was back to the same old shit! Getting killed, over and over again. But this time, this time, it was different. It wasn’t hidden anymore, more and more people came to watch me die, being told that it was one big practical effect, or being called the “Houdini Stuntman”, who can be blown to bits and be fine. And being told that the Houdini Stuntman next trick; “Surviving a shotgun blast, point blank.”

It seemed like a fucking circus, and I was the freak-show, The Houdini Stuntman, wait no no, The Immortal stuntman, no that’s not it, it’s the fucking living crash dummy. The crash dummy, legally bound to be killed over and over for the amusement for all, appearing in theaters near you, or at your local Maxwell Robinson’s movie shoot! What a fucking joke. A joke that I can only begin to laugh at after downing a bottle of Jack Daniels and smoking a pack of Marlboros. A day of being killed so why not kill my inside. I’ll be fine, sure!

Every time I brought it up to Robinson, he offered to increase my salary; and who in there right mind would turn down a five million, I could fucking retire with that money. Then he upped it more, per stunt, more per movie. Becoming the equivalent of one more smoke, one more smoke, and we all know it’s never one more. 

After being killed for fun, I went home, the bottles and cigarette butts were scattered across the floor. The bottle shattered under my feet, shoving shards up my foot. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t hurt compared to burning alive, drowning, or being stabbed twenty times. I just grabbed another bottle and just drank and drank, till my body forgets the pain. Jack Daniels clouded my judgment, and I called Liam. 

He answered, but I got a word in first, “Liam, Liam, ya gotta help me. I want out. Out of this life. I’d rather die, than die a thousand times.”

“Woah, calm down Ab, what’s wrong? Didn’t Robinson ease up on you?”

“Na-uh, he did not. He just offered more money, and it got worse. Now I ain’t human, just a living fleshly crash-dummy. I’m now a living freak-show.”

“Shit man, I’m sure drowning your sorrows away won’t help.”

“‘ey, this is the only thing that isn’t trying to kill me. . . I’m just pickin’ my poison.”

“Well guess that won’t kill you, but it can still ruin you. Come one man, snap out of it, get out of the job. Surely you can.”

“Nope. contract, forced ma hand.”

“Talk to him again! Quit, who cares if you get fined to oblivion, you’re immortal.”

“Nope, I still age. Baldin’ already shown, I’m taking after Uncle Jack.”

“You don’t have an uncle, Ab. Put down the bottle, I want to hear it clink!” 

The bottle clinked. “There ya ‘appy.”

“Talk to Maxwell Robinson, and quit! And while you’re at it, quit drinking!”

“Righty-o silver-ro!” I hung up.

The next day, after being executed in-front of a live audience. I walked into Robinson’s studio trailer. 

“Maxwell—”

“Finally, you got it right. What’s up?”

“I can’t keep doing this, I want to quit.”

“What!”

“I’m quitting.”

“No you can’t, you’re legally obligated to work for a few more years! I made you who you are, you wouldn't be successful if it wasn’t for me!”

“Yes, I’m aware. I’m willing to face the consequences.”

“Oh no, you’re going through with this contract Abraham Grant!”

“I won’t, surely what you’re doing is illegal and will violate the contract.”

“Nope, you signed it away, know the risk of any deadly harm associated with this job. And if you ever go through with this, the whole world will know! And if you stop working for me, quit all of a sudden, you’ll face the consequences and I’ll share your special ability with the Office of Science, or even worse the D.O.D.! I’m sure they’ll find your predicament fascinating.”

The room fell quiet, with the only thing in earshot was the construction and clean up outside.

“You’ve tainted everything we’ve done, and tainted every stuntman. If your whining is finished, get up and leave. I don’t want to see your face.” I started walking away, and Robinson blurted out, “Be back here tomorrow you got more stunts!”

I left without saying a word, as soon as I left the filming location, I called Liam, He didn’t pick up. I left a voice message.

“Hey, Liam, it’s me Ab, I need to talk to you about my situation. I need to get out of this job. Call me when you get a chance. I can do this, Liam! I can’t fucking do this anymore! I’m being blackmailed, and the contract is twisting my hand. I can’t get out. I’ve made a deal with the devil, Liam! . . . Liam. . . Liam? I-I need your help, real bad.”