| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Greg Schwartz / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| The Book |
Jeffrey yawned and put the book down. He’d been reading it for over two hours, and he was starting to see dwarves
and elves dancing in front of his face. Most of them were doing the tango, but a few adventurous ones were
breakdancing. He shook his head and got up to fix himself a sandwich. He hadn’t realized writing a story was so much
work.
After work every Tuesday, Jeffrey took a creative writing class. His mother would have laughed, if she’d known—
Jeffrey the accountant taking a creative writing class. But he had always wanted to write stories, and lately the need
to do something with his life had taken hold of him. So every Tuesday he left his office and drove across town to the
community college where he learned, along with a dozen other people, what was involved in writing fiction.
Last week, the teacher—a novelist and retired professor—had stressed the importance of researching for a story. She
had spent nearly all of the hour-and-a-half class time telling them that no matter what they were writing, they had to
know more about their topic than their audience did. So Jeffrey had gone over to the library after the class was over
and checked out “A Complete History of Dwarves, Elves, and Other Creatures of Fantasy.” He was an avid reader of
fantasy stories, and wanted to write one.
Checking the book out hadn’t been easy. When the woman at the checkout desk ran his library card through the
computer, she frowned and peered intently at the screen. “Your account is being terminated,” she informed him
coolly. “Apparently you’re not one of our better members.”
Jeffrey stared at her. “That’s impossible,” he said. “I never got a letter or anything, and...”
“It’ll come,” the lady said. “You haven’t returned eight books in the past two years.”
“They weren’t all my fault,” Jeffrey replied quickly. She looked at him reproachfully. “My car was broken into, and one
of the books fell into a river, and two...”
“Save your breath—we’ve already heard all of your excuses. When you check a book out, it becomes your
responsibility,” the lady said. “If we had a ‘Most Wanted’ list, you’d be on it.”
Jeffrey gave in. “Okay, so I lost some of your books. I paid for them, didn’t I? Can I just check out this last one, before
you close my account? I promise to bring it back next week.” He looked at her hopefully. The lady sighed.
“Very well. But if you run, we’ll find you.” She wasn’t smiling.
It was Thursday night before he had a chance to open the book for the first time. He had begged out of his weekly
basketball game with his coworkers (he told them he had a date) and settled down to read about dwarves and elves.
It was a big book, and after two hours of solid reading, he was only a third of the way into it. He sighed impatiently
as he opened the refrigerator, wanting to be done reading so he could begin writing. Not that the book was boring—
on the contrary, Jeffrey found it thoroughly fascinating. It discussed how the idea of such creatures as dwarves and
elves could have originated, and whole chapters were devoted to authors like Tolkein, who were influential in making
creatures of fantasy more popular. But still, he would rather be crafting his own story than reading about ones
written by other people.
Jeffrey made himself a turkey sandwich and poured a cup of juice. Taking his plate and cup back into the living room,
he sat down, intending to watch a little television before starting in on the book again. He reached for the remote,
but a loud knock at the door startled him. If he hadn’t already set his food down, he would have dropped it.
Surprised, he got up to see who it was. None of his friends would knock that loudly, and it was rather late for it to be
a salesman or a petitioner.
Jeffrey opened the door and peered out. “Yes?” he started to say, but halfway through the word his vocal cords
stopped working. So did his heart—but luckily only for a second, and then it started back up again, much faster than
before.
Standing in the doorway, looking at him dourly, was a dwarf. There was no way around it. His mind tried valiantly to
deny it—a hallucination, too much reading, Halloween—but his mind (along with the rest of him) had grown up in
twentieth-century New York, and had no experience dealing with things like this.
The dwarf looked almost exactly how Jeffrey imagined a dwarf would look. He stood about four feet tall, and must
have weighed close to two hundred pounds. He had powerful, broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms and legs. He
wore an ornate metal helmet, leather boots with silver buckles on them, and what appeared to Jeffrey to be some
sort of leather armor. His long black beard was tucked into his belt, as was the biggest axe Jeffrey had ever seen. It
was almost as large as the dwarf was.
Jeffrey’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. His mind was functioning on some basic level, but that was
about it. He pointed at the dwarf and moved his mouth some more.
The dwarf grunted and marched into Jeffrey’s apartment, pushing him aside with one hairy arm. He looked around
briefly and then glared at Jeffrey. “Where is it?” he asked, frowning. He spoke English, but with a heavy accent that
Jeffrey couldn’t place at all.
By now Jeffrey had regained his powers of speech. “Um, where is what?” he asked timidly.
“You know what!” the dwarf roared. Jeffrey shrank back. “Where is it? Are you hiding it?” The dwarf fingered the
handle of his axe.
Jeffrey drew back some more. “No! No, of course I’m not hiding it!” His eyes were glued to the axe, which looked very
well-used. “If you’ll just tell me what you’re looking for...”
“The book,” the dwarf said. “We need the book.” He looked at Jeffrey expectantly and crossed his massive arms over
his chest.
Jeffrey’s brain was in desperate need of a vacation. There’s a dwarf—a real live dwarf!—in my apartment, and he’s
looking for a book, Jeffrey thought hysterically. If the dwarf hadn’t been staring at him, he would have laughed out
loud.
“Um...and what book would that be?” he asked slowly. The dwarf sighed.
“The only book worth traveling all this way for, human. The only book that will help us once and for all defeat those
damned elves. The only...” He broke off, staring at Jeffrey’s coffee table. “That book!” he said, striding across the
room. Jeffrey saw his library book sitting there—the one about “fantasy” creatures. The dwarf picked it up and slowly
thumbed through it.
“Ah, yes, just as it was described. Teach those elves,” he muttered. Then he closed the book and turned toward
Jeffrey (who was waiting patiently for his alarm clock to go off and wake him up).
“Yes, well, thanks,” the dwarf said gruffly. “May the moons light your way.” He left, leaving Jeffrey standing there in a
daze, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Jeffrey slumped into his chair. He looked at the space on his coffee table where the book had been and wondered
vaguely how he would explain this to the lady at the library.
and elves dancing in front of his face. Most of them were doing the tango, but a few adventurous ones were
breakdancing. He shook his head and got up to fix himself a sandwich. He hadn’t realized writing a story was so much
work.
After work every Tuesday, Jeffrey took a creative writing class. His mother would have laughed, if she’d known—
Jeffrey the accountant taking a creative writing class. But he had always wanted to write stories, and lately the need
to do something with his life had taken hold of him. So every Tuesday he left his office and drove across town to the
community college where he learned, along with a dozen other people, what was involved in writing fiction.
Last week, the teacher—a novelist and retired professor—had stressed the importance of researching for a story. She
had spent nearly all of the hour-and-a-half class time telling them that no matter what they were writing, they had to
know more about their topic than their audience did. So Jeffrey had gone over to the library after the class was over
and checked out “A Complete History of Dwarves, Elves, and Other Creatures of Fantasy.” He was an avid reader of
fantasy stories, and wanted to write one.
Checking the book out hadn’t been easy. When the woman at the checkout desk ran his library card through the
computer, she frowned and peered intently at the screen. “Your account is being terminated,” she informed him
coolly. “Apparently you’re not one of our better members.”
Jeffrey stared at her. “That’s impossible,” he said. “I never got a letter or anything, and...”
“It’ll come,” the lady said. “You haven’t returned eight books in the past two years.”
“They weren’t all my fault,” Jeffrey replied quickly. She looked at him reproachfully. “My car was broken into, and one
of the books fell into a river, and two...”
“Save your breath—we’ve already heard all of your excuses. When you check a book out, it becomes your
responsibility,” the lady said. “If we had a ‘Most Wanted’ list, you’d be on it.”
Jeffrey gave in. “Okay, so I lost some of your books. I paid for them, didn’t I? Can I just check out this last one, before
you close my account? I promise to bring it back next week.” He looked at her hopefully. The lady sighed.
“Very well. But if you run, we’ll find you.” She wasn’t smiling.
It was Thursday night before he had a chance to open the book for the first time. He had begged out of his weekly
basketball game with his coworkers (he told them he had a date) and settled down to read about dwarves and elves.
It was a big book, and after two hours of solid reading, he was only a third of the way into it. He sighed impatiently
as he opened the refrigerator, wanting to be done reading so he could begin writing. Not that the book was boring—
on the contrary, Jeffrey found it thoroughly fascinating. It discussed how the idea of such creatures as dwarves and
elves could have originated, and whole chapters were devoted to authors like Tolkein, who were influential in making
creatures of fantasy more popular. But still, he would rather be crafting his own story than reading about ones
written by other people.
Jeffrey made himself a turkey sandwich and poured a cup of juice. Taking his plate and cup back into the living room,
he sat down, intending to watch a little television before starting in on the book again. He reached for the remote,
but a loud knock at the door startled him. If he hadn’t already set his food down, he would have dropped it.
Surprised, he got up to see who it was. None of his friends would knock that loudly, and it was rather late for it to be
a salesman or a petitioner.
Jeffrey opened the door and peered out. “Yes?” he started to say, but halfway through the word his vocal cords
stopped working. So did his heart—but luckily only for a second, and then it started back up again, much faster than
before.
Standing in the doorway, looking at him dourly, was a dwarf. There was no way around it. His mind tried valiantly to
deny it—a hallucination, too much reading, Halloween—but his mind (along with the rest of him) had grown up in
twentieth-century New York, and had no experience dealing with things like this.
The dwarf looked almost exactly how Jeffrey imagined a dwarf would look. He stood about four feet tall, and must
have weighed close to two hundred pounds. He had powerful, broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms and legs. He
wore an ornate metal helmet, leather boots with silver buckles on them, and what appeared to Jeffrey to be some
sort of leather armor. His long black beard was tucked into his belt, as was the biggest axe Jeffrey had ever seen. It
was almost as large as the dwarf was.
Jeffrey’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. His mind was functioning on some basic level, but that was
about it. He pointed at the dwarf and moved his mouth some more.
The dwarf grunted and marched into Jeffrey’s apartment, pushing him aside with one hairy arm. He looked around
briefly and then glared at Jeffrey. “Where is it?” he asked, frowning. He spoke English, but with a heavy accent that
Jeffrey couldn’t place at all.
By now Jeffrey had regained his powers of speech. “Um, where is what?” he asked timidly.
“You know what!” the dwarf roared. Jeffrey shrank back. “Where is it? Are you hiding it?” The dwarf fingered the
handle of his axe.
Jeffrey drew back some more. “No! No, of course I’m not hiding it!” His eyes were glued to the axe, which looked very
well-used. “If you’ll just tell me what you’re looking for...”
“The book,” the dwarf said. “We need the book.” He looked at Jeffrey expectantly and crossed his massive arms over
his chest.
Jeffrey’s brain was in desperate need of a vacation. There’s a dwarf—a real live dwarf!—in my apartment, and he’s
looking for a book, Jeffrey thought hysterically. If the dwarf hadn’t been staring at him, he would have laughed out
loud.
“Um...and what book would that be?” he asked slowly. The dwarf sighed.
“The only book worth traveling all this way for, human. The only book that will help us once and for all defeat those
damned elves. The only...” He broke off, staring at Jeffrey’s coffee table. “That book!” he said, striding across the
room. Jeffrey saw his library book sitting there—the one about “fantasy” creatures. The dwarf picked it up and slowly
thumbed through it.
“Ah, yes, just as it was described. Teach those elves,” he muttered. Then he closed the book and turned toward
Jeffrey (who was waiting patiently for his alarm clock to go off and wake him up).
“Yes, well, thanks,” the dwarf said gruffly. “May the moons light your way.” He left, leaving Jeffrey standing there in a
daze, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Jeffrey slumped into his chair. He looked at the space on his coffee table where the book had been and wondered
vaguely how he would explain this to the lady at the library.
| Make a donation to this artist |
