Time had passed indeed while the golem stood guard over the Rabbi’s dead body. The golem had no knowledge except for that of a newborn baby. While he waited in the house for his master to awaken, he learned. He could not leave, but he walked around, his eyes every gathering information, truly like a newborn.
First, he investigated the roaring fire. What a strange wonder this was to the golem! While he knew no words, so he could not describe it, he learned about this red flickering devil quickly. Its strange billowing clouds were a deadly weapon at range, stinging his eyes and clouding his vision. It also made noise, like him, a strange crackling and roaring noise, a hidden language he could not speak. When he reached to touch it, it bit at his hand, causing pain. This pain, he learned, was tricky as well. He could use those strange flat things on the ends of his fingers to make it, or he could touch this devil, or he could hit a wooden desk, and many other ways beside. The red devil also demanded sacrifice. When the logs had burned, it turned orange and smaller, so the golem probed at it with a piece of rolled up paper. The paper caught as well, and the golem dropped it, leaving the red devil to feast. But the feast did not last, and the fire finally died completely, so that the golem could only explore during the day.

He discovered the bed and the pillow, and could not understand them. It was soft and cool to the skin, but he found no use for it. The scrolls of paper had strange dashes of black on them. He looked at these for many days, engaged by their strange curves and twists and dashes, as if they were a black labyrinth he had to navigate.

He also learned of water, the strange thing that was like a god compared to fire. While the red burns still shone brightly on his hand from the flames, he discovered the pump. By moving it around, water would flow through. He also found a hollow cylinder to catch the water. Somehow, unlike the scrolls and other materials, this strange shape had something to it. It looked different on the eye, and when he tried to punch through, his hand went IN instead of THROUGH. So when it caught water, the golem reasoned that water was a god, and this was its chariot. The relief for the burn was so great that the primitive golem sat there for a week, holding his hand in the water until the burn completely healed.

There was not much else in the house. While the golem did not suffer from thirst or hunger or boredom, its life was unsatisfactory. He was carving himself into a rut. Usually, when the day began and the sun’s light was mild and easy on the eyes, he would navigate the black lines on the scrolls. When, later in the day, the sun’s light was strong and bright, he would explore other items and play with the god of water. Some days he would do nothing but fill the bucket only to empty it out a window (which he had figured out how to open after several weeks to study), while other days he would study the woven fabric pattern on the quilt strewn on the bed.

And during night, he could not do anything except gaze out the opened window and watch the moon slowly coast across the sky. One day, he decided to track the sun in the same manner. However, this wonder burned his eyes much like the fire burned his hands, so he wisely rejected the prospect.

And so it was that the golem lived his life in this queer routine for several years. He never tired, never ached, never longed for anything, and never got bored. He moved the Rabbi’s body on the bed, so that he would have more space to explore in the center of the cottage, but other than a large puddle on the wooden floor next to the pump, a singed scroll amidst charcoal in the fireplace, and an open window, the Rabbi’s house remained the same as it had ever been.





Travis Harold Gaunt was a man of importance in the city. He was the village’s representative and messenger to the capital city, and he was also a man with many successful businesses in the village.

Every week, he would take a pleasant stroll through the village, greeting everyone and making himself known. He reasoned it was good for business to make himself known among the people again, integrating them deeper into their minds. And every week he looked toward the Rabbi’s isolated house. It was perfect and exactly the same, in an eerie way. The windows were perfectly sealed and closed shut, and not a speck of the oak rotted or chipped in the twenty years Travis glanced upon it.

But today, Travis strolled around in the early sun, yawning and admiring the day more than chatting to people. And then he noticed the house.

The shock of it was almost more than Travis’s rhythmic mind could take. For twenty years he had looked upon the house as slightly more than a sealed box. But now, the window facing the village was open. Travis squinted and strained his eyes, and saw something even more miraculous.

There was someone in the window looking back at him.

Travis couldn’t process it. This…this man was not the Rabbi. The Rabbi he thought of had sorcerer robes, a long grungy white beard, and glowing eyes. This person seemed almost normal, but the stare he gave Travis with those deep black eyes frightened him more than the Rabbi ever could.

Unsure of what to do, Travis ran back the way he came, long black coat flapping in the wind, his top hat swept off into the river. As he ran, he screamed, “The house is alive! The house is alive!”



The golem stared at this strange man running away.

This day, he had attempted again to track the sun’s journey through the sky, but instead came across this man. Since he had never seen himself, this was another worthy discovery indeed. He looked at the man. He had a round shape balanced on his head, two strange things protruding from the side, two holes near the top, side by side, another kind of bulge in the middle, and a red curved thing near the bottom. He also had a body of black, with four long sticks poking out at odd angles. To add to the golem’s confusion, he had seen those sticks move, and had seen that red curve move as well, and heard words.

The golem’s first business was to try and mimic those words. He fiddled with them for the longest time, producing grunts and babbles. His mouth was foreign to him. These strange hard nubs that were no good for anything could be moved up and down, and they produced pain when they touched something. Through experimentation, the golem could control the force of the movement. Also, there was a slippery thing in his mouth that got in his way constantly, but when he tried to pull it out there was even more pain, so he left it in. However, he also learned how to force sounds from the depths of that strange long lump of flesh connecting a large chunk of flesh to this tiny circular one on top.

When that was done, he experimented with different sounds. He flicked his tongue, clattered his teeth, and moved his lips into every shape possible.

Not a week from when he took on this devious task, he managed to say one word. “The.”

Of course, it was imperfect, but it was a word. The golem was fascinated with himself, for it sounded very much like the word the man had made. “The,” he said again, savoring it. “The! The! THE!”

Through this kind of careful study, he learned “house”, “is”, and “alive”. Of course, the meaning of these words was beyond the golem, but not entirely. When the Rabbi transferred his life energy to the golem, he had managed to send to him the faintest trickle of his knowledge. So the golem understood that the thing he was in right now was a house, and that alive mean he was moving. The Rabbi was not moving, but the golem didn’t make the connection the Rabbi was no longer alive. If he had, the waiting might’ve gone by much quicker for him.

With four words mastered, the golem looked out the window for more activity, but nothing quite happened. So every day, he practiced with his own body, learning how to mimic the man’s running by running in place, and producing new sounds every day. It was in this infant state that he was finally found and given his purpose.



“But you’ve got to believe me! There’s a guy inside the Rabbi’s house! And he was looking out the window!”

“That’s crazy talk, Travis. You know that house has been silent for twenty years. We’ve just counted, and everyone in the village is still present. Who do you think you’re fooling?”

“I’m not lying! He had black hair and black eyes, a clean face, no beard or anything!”

Travis was obviously having a hard time convincing anybody. Despite his status in the village, no one was willing to believe him, for no one dared to go near the “haunted” house. In the end, everyone he talked to told him the same thing; “Take it up with the guard.”





“Hmmm,” the guard hummed, staring at Travis. His story seemed unlikely, but he didn’t seem the type to be a liar. And wasn’t this the man who walked past the guard station every week to say hello? A memory came up of Travis buying this man a bottle of mead. The guard’s skepticism melted away into milder boredom as he waved Travis through.

Captain Sulfius was, like Travis, many things. He was brave and ruthless about what he knew, and scared of the unknown. And he also had a very limited sense of patience. So when Travis came running in, his limited patience mixed with his fear of the Rabbi and curdled into suspicion.

After several heated minutes of debating, Travis was getting nowhere, and Captain Sulfius was getting annoyed.

“But you’ve got to hear me out,” Travis begged, looking at him with beseeching eyes. “I’m telling the truth!”

“I know you are, mate,” Captain Sulfius reassured him, even though he believed Travis was a liar. “But my truth is that no guard will set foot in that blasted island.”

“And why is that, scared, are you?” Travis sneered, hoping to provoke the man into sending someone to investigate.

Captain Sulfius mentally retreated then realized there was no possible way Travis actually knew he was scared. Getting mad, he retorted, “That watery wade to that house is bad for my men. It’ll rust their armor and swords, you know. No man is willing to do that.”

Travis was already pulling out his purse. “Fine, if their gear rusts or breaks or any damage occurs, I’ll pay for it out of me own honor.” Travis, with his fingers in everything, had quite a fortune of golden coins. They clinked almost menacingly in the sunlight.

Captain Sulfius cursed at himself, for he had driven himself into a corner there was no getting out of. Well, at least it wouldn’t be his skin.

“You’ll get your men, but you’re going with them.” Captain Sulfius bluffed, trying to scare Travis out of it.

“Fine,” Travis said, superbly disdainful.

Captain Sulfius cursed inside again, but having no choice, he followed Travis to the guard barracks.



“Alright, men, listen up!” Captain Sulfius barked. The guards instantly stopped whatever they were doing and stood at attention. “THIS guy here,” he began, gesturing to Travis, “has claimed that the old Rabbi has poked his head out of his shell. We need a few brave souls to go investigate. This guy will pay for all your expenses and such, so, any volunteers?”

Travis observed the guards chuckling and nudging each other, and several seemed to be laughing at him. His fury boiled hot, but he left it to slowly simmer down. They were afraid, weren’t they? He could see it in the way their smiles were dying quickly, and how they tried to nudge their friends forward.

“No one is willing to investigate?” Captain Sulfius asked, looking among them with silent glares toward individuals. “So be it.”

In the end, Captain Sulfius took three new recruits who were so inexperienced they didn’t even complain as they were thrust out of the barracks with Travis.

Once outside, Travis began walking quickly toward the island, with the three guards struggling to keep up behind him with their heavy gear.

When they arrived at the circular river separating the Rabbi from the village’s edge, the three guards backed away. Travis had already jumped in and was walking up to his waist when he noticed the three of them hanging back.

“Well, go on then,” Travis said. Still the guards hung back.

“Well, what are you, yellow-bellied cowards?” Travis taunted, slowly dancing out of reach through the water.

One of the guards piped up. “Well, sir, with all this heavy stuff, I’m not sure I’m too ready for swimming.”

“Oh, that’s nothing; I think you’re just scared of the Rabbi. Is that it, are you scared?

“No, no, no,” the guard retorted back, feeling angry that his courage was being challenged. Travis smiled to himself. His ploy had worked. All guards, it seemed, were as half-blind as this oaf. Insult their intelligence and they wouldn’t lift a finger, but insult their muscle and what you insulted would pound you in the face.

The guard raised his sword over his head, dashed in the water without a second thought. The other guards looked back at each other, then shrugged and went in after him. It took only a minute to cross. Travis was ahead of them, and waited for them on dry land, trying hard not to shiver in his sodden clothes.

When the guard that Travis had taunted came out of the water, he barreled on past him like a horse. The guard strode defiantly to the door and tried to open it. When he discovered it was locked, he pulled out a simple one-handed sword made of iron, and stabbed it straight through the handle. When the handle did not give, he began smashing the heavy blade through the door, straining and grunting as he forced it through. And then, when it got stuck, he tugged hard on it. The blade did not give, but there was the faint sensation of sliding, and there was a grunt behind the door, and he heard a splash.

And for all the boast and brag the guard said in defense of his courage, it was Travis who shoved him aside and, with the sword still lodged in it, pushed open the door.



This was a surprise to the golem. The day had started well enough, with him preparing to poke his head out of the window again. Nothing happened, but then night fell. This time, the strange white disc of light in the sky glowed as bright as its brother of day. The golem poked just the tip of his eyes out, sweeping the entire view. He saw Travis leading the soldiers. Oh, how the guards were a sight for him. Their shiny armor that was the shade of the glowing light in the sky, and it would gleam and reflect that light. And their helmets gave them alien faces that never changed, and they carried strange things in their hands, with handles and then long pieces of the same material.

And then they approached the door, with the golem regarded as little more than a piece of the wall where light could come through, with a strange golden-colored circle protruding from a side. This golden circle turned, but the golem could not figure out how to push the door open.

So when the first long piece of metal came through, it was a great surprise. The golem regarded it warily, and touched the tip. When it skewered his finger, he felt the same pain as the fire. He looked at his finger to see a tiny thing of depth formed, like the bucket, and it was filled by red liquid, like the water. The red dropped to the floor in tiny little blobs and dashes.

And then the sword came through again and again. Each smash forced little fragments of wood onto the floor, and each removal of the metal let in more light. Then the golem decided to grab this strange piece of destruction wielded by what he considered a god. It took him several tries to get the timing down, and after about a dozen stabs, the golem grabbed it. It held it tight, but the sheet metal was flat and had two sharp sides. The golem, unwittingly, had grabbed the sharp sides. When he felt the tug, he held on tighter, letting the sharp edge tear open his palms, and he felt the same incredible pain, only much stronger. He grunted a deep instinctive sound that rose from the depths of his throat. And then, he saw the splash of more red stuff onto the floor, and the sound it made like when he had first spilled water.

And then he heard two items being jammed into the golden knob. Still clutching the sword, the golem saw to see the lock turning all by it, as if a god was forcing it to move. Then there was a click, and the door swung wide open. The golem, clutching the sword, was forced into a corner, slammed away by the door.


Travis saw nothing, but that didn’t mean there was anything. His eyes scanned the bookshelf full of scrolls, the unkempt bed, and the pump, and then he saw the dead Rabbi. He knew it was the Rabbi, because of the beard as white as the first snows of winter, and of the robes and hoods of a sorcerer.

The guard pulled out his sword, disgusted. “So that’s what we came for. Probably just a water jar I spiked my sword on, that made some blasted rusty squeak and spilled water all over the floor.” Since his cowardice had been exposed with no evidence in sight, he was not in the best of moods. He made to sheath his sword when another guard caught his arm.

“That’s no water, that’s blood!” the guard remarked in a voice as surprised as the rest of them. The guard quickly glanced at it, then to the body. “Gee, how? You don’t suppose I stabbed…”

Travis quickly examined the Rabbi. Loathe as he was to the flesh of corpses, he could see the Rabbi was not decayed, and that his flesh was long cold. “No, it wasn’t you,” Travis confirmed.

However, this just heightened the mystery even more. Who had the guard stabbed? As if on cue, they heard a dripping sound from behind the door. The guard reached forward, swung it open, and there was the golem.

The golem was a terrible sight to behold. There were identical deep cuts straight across his palm, oozing a frightful amount of blood. The golem, in the brief moments they were exploring the room, had licked some of the blood. It had a strange taste that he knew no comparison, but it was explosive and cloying and he did not like it one bit. However, this had also smeared blood all over his face and hands, making him look the part of a vampire or demon.

The guard backed up and screamed. The golem advanced innocently, holding forward his bleeding hands. This was more terrifying than ever, and the guard bolted, with his companions at his heels. The golem looked at their fleeing forms quizzically, and then turned to the fourth member of their party, Travis.

Travis had not directly seen the golem, but now he did, and he was terrified as well. However, his role as an official had trained him well for the unexpected. He quickly hardened and began calculating his situation out.

The golem, who knew no words, stood there. He hung his arms by his sides, which helped in part to stop the dull aching pain, but it accelerated the flow of blood from his hands.

Travis did not know who this golem was, what his intentions were, or anything. But the figure looked humanoid, even if a bit too…attentive. And he was badly hurt.

“Let’s get you to the healers,” Travis muttered, moving toward the golem. The golem moved with him, out of the house and into the night. The golem was suddenly hit by a plethora of sensory overload and imagery. He heard crickets and the gushing of water, and felt himself moving through tickling grass. When he reached the stream, he accidently toppled in. Quickly, his instincts told him to raise his head to instinctively continue breathing. Why, this was the magical fighter of fire that he had brought from the pump. He dipped his wounded hands in, watching as the red was swept away, frothing violently and mixing into a kind of purple black, until his hands no longer ached and dripped red.

Glancing at the cleaned wound, he saw little raw chunks of flesh. Fascinated with the depth and pattern, the golem stared, oblivious to the water pushing at him. Then, seeing Travis slogging ahead of him, the golem followed mindlessly again. The golem was lead through more tickly grass, then a hard kind of rippled pattern. It was tougher on his feet, but also smoother and more consistent.

Then they moved into a wider stretch of a dark grey substance, full of tiny hard pieces that tore and stung the golem’s feet. When he picked one up, it was hard, hard enough to cause pain when he squeezed its sharp pronged corners. The golem inwardly wondered if there was anything in this world that COULDN’T cause pain.

Travis led the golem through the rocky gravel road and down into the local infirmary, where his wife, the lead healer, tended to the sick, the wounded, and the dying.

As Travis came in, his wife hurried to meet him. “Travis,” she exclaimed in a surprised tone. “You’re wet…and who is this fellow?”

The golem still could not even find it in him to dredge up a name, so Travis gave his wife the short version. “We found him in the Rabbi’s house. But the Rabbi is dead, this fellow happens to be…his son? I wouldn’t now. But the guard accidently slit open the poor fellow’s hand, so I would think that we should treat him and give him a good night’s sleep before diving to the bottom of this.”

“You did just fine,” Travis’ wife said encouragingly. Now go on, there’s some soup in the kitchen. Eat up while I bandage his hands.” Travis left happily, wringing water out of his soaked shirt while his wife sat down and pushed the golem into a chair as well. Clucking, she took his hands in her own and examined the deep jagged wound.

Travis’ wife had seen enough cases of madness that she knew that talking to the golem was not likely to provide a fix to anything, so she made do with her own. First, she dashed the wound clean with some pure whiskey. The golem winced at this sharp continuous pain coming from the liquid. What was this? It looked the water, but it stung like its brother. This sudden kind of betrayal had left him speechless and even more troubled.

Next, his hands were dashed clean with light pats of a soft white material. The nurse produced a silvery skinny white stick with a skinnier white kind of fine line behind it. She began pulling this through him, as if by some magic trick the first stick went in and out and then followed the line. Each time it went through there was more pain, but the golem was so fascinated with the smooth movements to feel the pain.

Then, as he watched, another miracle happened. The broken flaps of skin and the depth of the wounds slowly closed, like a great mouth or gate shutting. It was as if the wound had never happened. After she sealed the wound, he still felt the soreness inside him, and his skin felt a little too tight, but he was feeling much better about it all.

Leaving a little pocket just wide enough in each wound, she began poking strange shapes into the holes. Each poke hurt and weighed down his hands, but they dulled the pain and spread through his hand like a numbing agent. The herbs did their work inside, and they would slowly dissolve as the blood worked away at them. The healer sealed the last of the wound, then slowly pulled the skin until it pulled out and stretched and went back to feeling normal. She tied the faint white lines of thread together and broke the ends, leaving the golem’s hands looking definitely bigger and more pocked than before, but at least they weren’t as ugly with large gaping holes as before.

Travis’ wife nodded, satisfied, and led the golem upstairs, not bothering to speak to it. She introduced it to the guest bedroom, and the golem managed to make a connection that this bed was the same kind of thing he saw in the Rabbi’s house. However, he did not know how to cover himself in this time of winter cold, or even how to lie down and sleep. The healer demonstrated for him: she lay down and closed her eyes and lay perfectly still, unmoving, covering herself. The golem tried, and learned to put his head on the strange fluffy part, and cover him with the heavy stifling blanket, and then closes his eyes and lay still like the women. He practiced the natural instinctive breathing, forcing each breath and focusing on the steadiness of it. And in no time at all, the golem slept its first sleep. He did not dream or think of anything, and in fact lay almost too still, parallel to the ceiling, like a corpse. However, he did sleep soundly, with nothing to bother him.

And after the Rabbi’s house had been cleared, no one noticed anything about it. They had heard the news, for Travis had announced to everyone he met in the street, and it had spread like wildfire. There was still the ajar door, with the dozen smashes in the wood, and the Rabbi’s body, and the cluttered scrolls and buckets and sheets, and the open window. But nobody noticed a small shape steal inside the cottage and emerge almost instantly with the Rabbi’s body. No one noticed that she dove into the river without a splash, and when she arose that she had no longer the body with her. Or that she jumped on a guard without a torch on the street, ripping out his throat so quickly and efficiently he could not even choke out a scream. And no one witnessed her retreat into the shadows of night, and how not even the moon’s light dared to shine on her.