The Furious Story. Part Two: "I Am the Story"

The next morning, the schoolteacher poured a cup of coffee and returned to his desk. He lifted his pen and began to write.

Once, at a very special moment in time, in a magical land, lived a remarkable person, and he was a...

..wizard. Tall and wise with a musty blue gray cloak and a long white beard.

The schoolteacher paused to contemplate the next sentence, and as he did he noticed something quite remarkable. On the paper, below the words that he had so carefully written, dark shapes were forming by themselves as if guided by an unseen pen. 

The shapes formed into letters and the letters into a word and the word was "no!"

The schoolteacher was astonished and a little afraid. He questioned his own judgment. Since the word could not have written itself, perhaps he had written it unconsciously. This, he determined, was the only reasonable explanation. He now took a large gulp of coffee and with a swift stroke, crossed out the word "no."

Again he prepared to write – this time very consciously – but before the point of his pen touched the paper, shapes began to form. He glared at the paper intently, determined to see for certain, whether the writing was his own, but the shapes continued. 

This time they formed more letters and more words. "No. He is not a wizard," said the words that formed. 

The writer was now completely flabbergasted. He gulped the last of his coffee, slapped his own face to be sure he was fully awake, and put his eyes close to his paper, but the words remained. 

The schoolteacher trembled with fear and curiosity. He wondered how it could be that words formed by themselves with no hand in sight. He feared that a ghost had invaded his home. Some spirit of a past resident of the little cottage perhaps. He looked about the room, but saw no evidence of another presence. Still, he called out "Who are you" hoping that the ghost who now haunted him would reveal himself, but there was no reply. No vision or voice to claim credit for the writing.

He became impatient and thrust down the cover of his journal turning to leave, but behind him, he heard the pages of the book flutter, and as he stared down, the shapes again started to form. They formed the words, "I am the story, and I repeat: He is not a wizard."