Collection of Short stories

Chapter 4: The Hermit’s Son


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Once upon a time, there lived an old hermit, whose bloodline was rumored to be cursed. In the middle of book mountain, he lived alone. He spent his whole life collecting these books from every corner of the world. From the far West, desolate North, and Eastern seas he collected everything. And once he could no longer find anything else in the world, he went back to his home in the Southern plains. 

There, he would have a single son, named Savant. Whose luck curse could be said to be worse than his father. 

Where his father had lost the ability to talk at a young age, his son almost lost his life, scarring him forever. 

Savant’s life was full of irony. As far as the public could see, he rarely went outside. He almost never interacted with people. He could barely hold a conversation about anything. And he was always muttering to himself. 

Projected to be a young genius, Savant’s fall from grace was as harsh as the expectations placed on him.

He didn’t have a single passable or desirable quality as far as anyone could tell. Whatever his father saw in him now, no one else knew.

Savant always said he could hear ghosts talking. Everyone else said he was crazy. 

He said that he could feel ghosts. Nobody believed him. 

Except for his father. But the comfort he could provide was limited, as all he could do was provide comforting silence. Savant didn’t mind though. He already had enough people to talk to. 

Everywhere he went, he would sense one ghost. Every now and then he would feel some ghosts come and go, but this one ghost would always stick with him. 

This ghost had a particularly soothing voice, one that could lull a baby to sleep while stealing the hearts of men and women in the same breath. This ghost’s name was Hal. 

And every single day, Savant would look forward to talking to Hal. Partially for his calming voice, partially because he was all he had. 

Today was no different. 

In the middle of his father’s library, Savant decided to lay on the incredibly oversized coach. 

He glanced around, looking for his favorite ghost. And in the antique section, he found Hal. 

“Have you ever wondered why he collects all those books?” Savant asked Hal. 

Hal turned around with a look that told Savant that he hoped the question was rhetorical. 

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After a few moments of silence, Hal replied.

“I don’t know Mr. Genius, maybe because he’s bored? What else is a mute gonna do? Stare at walls?”

“Alright then, let’s say he’s bored. Why choose books over plays? We both know how boring those books can get.”

“That’s true, but just look at how cool this mountain is. Think about all the bitches he could pull if we were in ancient Greece. Well, actually, if was so civilized I don’t think they could ever feel hi-”

 “Okay, funny joke!” Savant replied in a deadpan tone. 

“No, don't you get it? Ok ok, let me explain. The Greek loved civilized people, and reading is civiliz-”

“Stop, stop. I get it.” Savant sighed. 

He could never get over how contrasting his voice and personality was. 

“No, you don’t get it. If you do, you’d get the joke inside the joke.”

Savant sighed again. He was about to endure another rant. 

“You see, the inside joke is that Greeks saw small penises as civilized so is he’s so civilized they couldn’t fee-”

“Did you really reference the ancient Greeks and book mountain just to make a dick joke?”

Hal slightly tilted his head and gave a goofy smile. 

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t” He said as he shrugged, “there’s infinite possibilities and therefore infinite dick jokes to make in this universe. With such great knowledge how can I resist?”

Savant groaned, “Okay, how about we get back on topic?” 

“Sure, if you remember to get someone to record,” Hal reminded.

“Oh shit.” 

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