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."
