The Strange Fate of Albert Dwarf

The Strange Fate of Albert Dwarf.

Albert had been lying in the cold, damp, darkness for a long time. Coherent thoughts rarely crossed his mind. With his face buried in sour smelling compost and years of detritus weighing on his back, thinking served no purpose.

But there was a new taste trickling into his mouth. It was so revolting that it pierced the outer layer of his comatose state.

A meagre touch of awareness flickered through his head. The taste was poison and it was seeping past his lips. Even in his dull state, it made sense for him to escape the foulness.

Except, he could not move, not even a twitch. His body was imprisoned by the tightly packed earth. He fought to grasp thoughts that were beyond his comprehension. He recognised despair but had no idea why he would feel that.

“Patience,” it seemed like the tree root he was jammed against was talking to him. “Patience. The change has begun but it will take time.”

“Sleep again, little Albert Dwarf,” a voice he knew but could not name, lulled him into obedience. It was a special voice; one full of love and authority that he would never argue with.

Albert allowed the magic of the voice to, once again, wrap his awareness up. As he drifted off, he caught a sweet scent; that of early spring growth. Perhaps this sleep would not be as deep as the previous one.

A lessening of the weight on his back, and a lessening of the absolute darkness that surrounded him, pricked at Albert’s consciousness.

A full cycle of the seasons had passed since the day of the toxic taste. He could not guess how long he had been buried before that. Once again, there was a burgeoning scent of spring in the earth, filling his nose with the excitement of new life.

The voices in his head were there again. This time they were full of anticipation.

“Soon,” they whispered. “Soon.”

Albert was afraid. He had been buried for so long he did not remember what living was like. He still had no command over his body. It could have been made of stone. It was no longer flesh; of that he was sure.

The thought of stone triggered an old and faded recollection. The earth had shaken, rocks tumbled down, covering him.

Pain, impossible pain.

It was better to be asleep, unaware, than be caught up in that memory. Albert wanted to cry out, to scream in denial as his consciousness returned to him.

He had no choice now but to awaken. Around him, the earth was moving. He could feel it was stirrings from above, not another earthquake. Hope flickered within him.

Clarity on how he landed in this strange predicament returned to Albert as his thinking became clearer.

He had ignored the advice of his elders and gone deep into the oldest mine. He could smell the gold that lay at its end. Nothing was going to deter him this time. Certainly not the memory of his mother nagging him to be careful. Certainly not some old signs warning of rock falls. Every dwarf knew how to deal with those. And certainly not the absurd idea that he had the power to trigger an earthquake.

The fifth blow with his hammer had been the crucial one. A slow shudder passed through the rock.

Aware that he had started a cave in, Albert ran. But his short legs were too slow to outrun the damage.

Rocks cascaded down over him. Even as he covered his head with his arms, he knew he was going to die. And he was going to die with guilt in his heart.

He could feel the shuddering flow outwards along old, previously dormant, fault lines. Above him, an earthquake, rare in intensity, was breaking open and devastating the surface of the earth.

Albert accepted that he deserved to die.

Pain, impossible levels of pain, caused Albert’s body to spasm but the rocks held him pinned.

“I can’t move,” he groaned.

Then everything stopped. The noise, the pain, the shaking earth. For an infinite moment Albert ceased to exist.

Into this hiatus, seeped specks of light; orange, green, blue, yellow and white. These tiny lanterns beckoned Albert. It was easy to float towards them.

“No. You are not going anywhere.”

The lights fled at the power contained within these words.

“No?” Albert queried.

“No, you are not going to die, not quite. You may wish you had.” There seemed no source for the voice but Albert was sure he recognised it.

At this time, Albert realized that he was no longer wearing a body. This was strange but good. If he was still alive, he would still be in unbearable agony. But the voice said he was not dead yet.

It did beg the question; how could he hear the voice? How could he see the little lights, too? They were lingering, dim and fading, at the corners of his vision.

Or speak? “My body is crushed.”

“This is how you will live.”

 He let out whimper of despair when he saw his new body. “No, you can’t do this.”

“You have unfinished business. This is the best way to conclude it.” Who was that voice?

“As a garden ornament? It doesn’t even look like me. That beard is far too short.”

“You have a debt to pay.”

“Because of the earthquake?”

“Yes. Your actions took hope away and replaced it with fear.”

“How does me being an ornament repay the debt?”

“They will see you and be cheered up. There will be amusement.”

“They will laugh at me?”

“Perhaps.”

Albert did not want to hear the answer to his next question. “How big was the earthquake?”

“Huge. The only reason there aren’t thousands dead is that you were beneath a small town. If it had been a city, the death toll would be much, much higher. As it is, many people are now too scared to sleep. Homes are broken and livelihoods destroyed. This will cause further accidents and more fear.”

Guilt swamped Albert. “Okay. I’ll become a garden gnome.”

There had been no further talk. Just darkness and awareness seeping away.

He was now awakening in his new, plaster body. The little statue was hollow and barely a quarter the size of his previous fleshy self. Faded paint covered parts of it, hinting of bright yellows and greens, but in other places, dark stains attested to his time in the earth. The body was not new. It had existed long before his spirit was stuffed into it.

“Yes,” the voice he could not place agreed. “It got buried in a slip caused by the earthquake.”

A human hand gripped him around his waist and lifted his face free of the earth. He allowed his joy of being in the sun permeate his new form. Did the plaster actually stretch to accommodate his smile?

“Bloody hell.” A woman chuckled. “Where did you come from?”

Albert was brushed off then washed. Such care had been missing from his life since his mother died. While she constantly warned him of the many dangers in the world, she had also looked after him.

He realised he did recognise the voice that denied him death. Mother. She always said, “Albert, your lack of common sense will get you in serious trouble one day.”

She was right.

He pondered, as a scrubbing brush was applied to his backside, what his future would be like.

Being still had become his way of existing. Maybe being a garden ornament would be okay. At least he could not get into any more trouble.