THE WIZARD IN THE NIGHT

A strange mixture of dreams and reality

   When it was as dark as it was on one particular night you might expect anything to happen, especially when you’re only ten years old and you’ve just read a book of fairy tales that didn’t seem to have much in the way of fairies in them and a great deal in the way of ogres. Especially if you’ve been reading by torchlight in bed because mum was pretty firm about bed time meaning bed time, meaning sleeping time.

And your torch faded, needing new batteries.

That’s what happened to George Pike and he was ten, although if asked he would tell you he was ten and almost a quarter. That quarter, to his mind, meant he was close to being grown up.

When it was impossible to get more than the fainest glimmer from the torch he switched it off, put his book down (on the floor where he could reach it easily when the sun rose in the morning) and turned away from the black blot that was the window because, well, it was unnaturally dark.

And there was a distinct and firm knock on the window which would have made him scream had it not been for the awe with which he held his mum’s instructions about getting to sleep.

So, “go away,” he whispered instead of screaming. And the firm and very distinct knock came again, but this time in a pattern of knock-knock der knock-knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Saffy,” he thought, then he shook his head. Two things were wrong with that assumption: firstly Saphy was a girl and secondly Saffy would never knock like that. She would have a timid sort of knock, very girlish, and anyway she would never come to his window because such things simply weren’t allowed.

The knock came again. It must be Saffy’s brother, Dane.

He liked Dane and Dane liked him. They got up to stuff together, had adventures in the woodland that stretched for miles the other side of their houses, and Dane lived only two doors away.

So, sure of his tactics, he kneeled on his bed from where he could reach the window, and opened it.

“What do you want, Dane?” he asked in a throaty whisper that his mum would, hopefully, not hear.

There was no immediate answer and as it was an exceptionally dark night he added, “You’d better come in, then.”

And there was a rustle, but it wasn’t Dane.

His heart froze when he realised he’d invited a very small and very ugly little man into his bedroom. And that somewhat scruffy individual jumped lightly from the window-sill and landed next to him on his bed, making it bounce up and down for a few moments.

“I have never been a Dane in all my life,” said the little man in what was a great deal more than a whisper.

“Shush!” hissed George, because if mum came in to see what was going on and found a scruffy little old man on his bed there would all sorts of questions asked, the sort that he would never be able to answer because he had no idea what was going on himself.

“Sorry,” whispered the little old man. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Sinjun, and I’m what you folks call a wizard.”

Now, George had read quite a few fairy stories in his time, and most of them made references to the sort of wizards who could just wave a magic wand and make things happen without doing anything else.

“Then if you can do magic why don’t you magic yourself back to where you came from?” asked George, proud of thinking of such a simple question.

“Now I must call that a poor way for a small boy to address a powerful wizard!” replied the man who had called himself Sinjun.

“Then what do you want here?” George asked bravely.

“I’ve materialised,” replied Sinjun, smirking as if he’d done something remarkably clever. “I’ve taken a trip from page 198,” he added.

“And to think I thought you were Saffy,” sighed George, “I mean, what in the name of goodness is page 198 and how come you were living there anyway?”

Sinjun frowned. “You ought to know,” he muttered after a few moments intense thought. “you’d reached me, on page 196 after the troll set about robbing the sweet little girl and stealing all her sweets. I was about to step in and rescue her when your torch went out.”

George was staggered. How could this be? A character from a story book actually sitting with him on his bed and talking to him as if he was as real as his mum in the next room!

“That can’t happen,” he said at length, “I mean, I don’t believe you. Somebody wrote that book, and if my torch was still working I’d find out how they killed you!”

Sinjun shrugged his small shoulders. “I feel sorry for you if you don’t believe in stories,” he said, “tell me, when I tapped on your window what was the first thought that came into your head before you let me in?”

“Saffy. I thought you were Dane’s sister,” he replied, frowning as he concentrated.

“And is this Saffy your girlfriend?” asked Sinjun.

George shook his head vigorously. “Not in a million years!” he exclaimed, “though I do like her a little bit.”

“I know you do,” grinned Sinjun, “I read all about it!”

“You what?”

“It’s not just grown ups who write stories,” replied the little wizard, “it’s children who can write stories too, and I read one that Saffy wrote only today. She wrote a story about a boy who lives two doors away from her home. She called him Georgie Porgy and…”

“Of all the horrible names to call me!” snapped George, who was used to having George Porgy as a nick-name at school.

“Would you like to know what she wrote about you if you are the Georgie Porgy of her story?” asked Sinjun.

“No. I mean yes. Or maybe,” he mumbled

“Then I’ll tell you,” grinned Sinjun, “she wrote that she knocked your window when you were in bed, and you let her climb in. I thought it was so sweet because she was crying in her story, because her pet rabbit called Benjy got away and she went everywhere trying to find it, and there it was, in your bedroom.”

Just then there was a gentle knock on his window. Twice in one day, and no-one ever knocks normally, he thought, and he leaned a little nervously to open the window.

A lovely white rabbit hopped in and sat contentedly on his pillow.

“What?” exclaimed George.

“And she came looking for it. She wrote that down in her story, so it must have happened.” grinned Sinjun. “And she wrote that she rather liked you…”

“George,” wept Saffy from outside, , “you have saved him, haven’t you?”

George, by then, was more confused than he’d ever been in all of his life, so he lay back and put his head next to the fluffy white rabbit and tried to work it out.

“George,” muttered his mother, shaking him, “what’s that rabbit doing on your bed and where did it come from. And why’s your bedroom window open? You’ll catch your death if it turns any colder! Did you know you were talking in your sleep? It was as if you had someone in here with you, but it’s only a sweet little rabbit. Isn’t that the one that Dane’s sister lost yesterday? She was terribly upset about it. How did it get in here, I wonder…?”

“I… I… I” stammered George.

“Oh George,” came Saffy’s voice through the open window, “you’ve found my Benjy. How sweet of you to look after him for me…”

“There you are,” smiled his mother, “now I’ll shut your window and you get to sleep!”

© Peter Rogerson 01.05.23

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