The Book on the Shelf

Riley walked along the rocky beach in the quiet late afternoon. The only sound was the ocean lapping at her feet. It was still chilly on the cape, but she had been raised there by her grandmother. The cold didn’t bother her. The blissful silence was interrupted by ringing. It wouldn’t stop and was getting louder and louder. 

“What is that?” she asked aloud as she lifted her head from her desk. It was early morning light steamed in the window. Through bleary eyes she stared at her cell phone. Three missed calls. Before she could see who called, it began ringing again.

“Hello?”

“Riley, where is my article? You assured me I’d have it first thing this morning,” 

Riley’s brain was still fogged—far too early for Teresa to start screaming at her.

“I’ve already extended your deadline twice. The magazine is going to print. I need your news story now.”

“I’m finishing it up,” Riley said.

“You’ve been telling me that you’re finishing it up for two days. I need it now.”

“Give me three hours. I’ll get it to you.”

“I’ll give you two, and you better not screw this up. I stuck my neck out for you to get you this freelance gig. My boss is ready to kill me. He’s screaming at me for handing this feature over to some writer who’s never published anything. I could be fired.”

“Teresa, don’t be so dramatic. Your daddy is not going to fire you. And, I’m not some writer who’s never published anything.”

“Oh, you mean your little fairy tales? Your Alvilee Reynolds kids’ stories? That’s not real writing.”

“Teresa.”

“I don’t care how many of those books you’ve sold. No one knows that Alvilee Reynolds is Riley Colville. Ever since we were in grad school you’ve claimed you want to be a legitimate journalist, but all you can manage to do is keep churning out these stupid little kid books. Either you get that news story to me by deadline or it’s over. I’m not going to give you another chance.” 

A dial tone replaced Teresa’s shrill voice. She’s just jealous Riley thought as she laid her head back down on the antique desk. It had been such a good dream too. 

The musty smell of the room overwhelmed her as she took a deep breath. Everything in the room was old from the carpet and drapes to the Victorian sofa to the hundreds of books lining the walls. It had been her grandmother’s study, and, except for a few more lights, her grandmother had changed nothing since her own grandmother used the room. Riley had lived there since she was six, when both of her parents died in a car accident. Five years ago she lost her grandmother too, leaving Riley the old house but no family. 

It was five years ago that Riley published her first book for children, using her grandmother’s maiden name as the byline. It seemed right. The stories she could tell in her books were because of Alvilee. Since that first book about a wolf named Jack, she had published seven more. All were successful and put a lot of money in the bank, but Riley wanted to reclaim her own career as a journalist.

She raised her head off the desk and turned off the screensaver on her laptop. There were still just three paragraphs on the page.

“What is wrong with me?” she sighed as she looked at her notes spread over the desk. “I have to get this done.”

Coffee she thought, as she pushed herself away from the desk. Caffeine will help. As she reached the door, she heard the rattling noise on the top shelf of the old bookcase. Then there was giggling. She stared at the large leather book. It was lying flat and filled most of the shelf. Riley just shook her head and went downstairs for coffee.

A cup of coffee and 20 minutes later, she was still staring at her screen. “This is ridiculous. Why can’t I write? It’s in my head, but I can’t get it on the page.”

The book rattled again. She stared at its old leather cover. The giggling was louder this time. She crossed the room, grabbed the book and threw it open on the old couch.

“What did you do?” she yelled at the book.

Jack, in his plaid vest and bowler hat, was the first to emerge from the book. “Do? What do you mean do?” the wolf asked, his English accent filling the room.

The other characters followed him out of the book—the princess, the cat, the good witch with kind face, the bad witch with a crooked nose, the horse, the bad farmer, the Scottish hunter, assorted elves and faeries and more animals.

Princess Alexandra crossed the room, patting her hand on Riley’s face. “We didn’t do a thing. What makes you believe we did?”

“I can’t write. I’ve tried for days, and I can’t get my article written. I heard the giggling from the book. What have you done to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean, but as long as we’re here, we have a couple more stories for you. Let’s get to work” said Moxie, the little green witch with a crooked noise. Jack and a few of the others giggled.

“I can’t write. Don’t you understand that? What did you do with my talent?” Ripley roared.

Jack laughed out loud. Riley glared at him as his hand slid to the pocket of his waistcoat. “Jack, what did you do?”

The guilt showed on the wolf’s face as paw slid into the pocket and pulled out a glowing purple orb. “What is that?” Ripley demanded.

Jack took a step toward her, but his way was blocked by the farmer and Scottish hunter. “Always giving into her, ever since she was a child,” growled the hunter.

Riley’s breath quickened as she stared at the motley crew in front her. Tears came to her eyes. “What have you done?” she sobbed.

Helena the Good Witch crossed to Riley and took her hands. “We did it for your own good. You can’t leave us. We have so many more stories to tell. We waited for so long to have someone with your gift to help us. We can’t do it without you.”

“You’re our storyteller. We’ve given you our stories since you came to live with us. Such a sweet child, but so sad,” said Moxie. 

Clyde the Horse nuzzled Riley. “So sad, but we cheered you with our stories. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” said Riley as she scratched his nose and laid her head against his. Clyde was always a favorite. He had been the first to come out of the book to say hello and tell her a story. “But this is an important opportunity for me. I have to finish this article, and now I have just an hour to do it.”

“But if we lose you to the newspapers and magazines, who’s going to tell our stories?” wailed Princess Alexandra.

“I’m not going anywhere. Writing news stories as Riley Colville doesn’t mean that I have to stop sharing your stories as Alvilee Reynolds. I can do both. I promise all of you. I’ll still be here,” said Riley.

Jack the Wolf, the purple orb glowing in his paw, crossed to Riley. He placed the orb on her heart and gave it a little push. As it entered her, Riley felt every inch of her body warming and tingling. She felt her mind waking for the first time in days. She looked at crowd of characters in the room. “Thank you.”

“Get to writing,” said Franklin Cat. “Finish that up so you can get back to us.”

Riley walked back to the desk, took a deep breath and began to write, her fingers moving in a blur on the laptop keyboard.

An hour later she called Teresa. “I just hit send.  I’m a few minutes late, but you should have the article,” Riley said.

“I’ve got it. Will let you know what the editor says,” Teresa responded.

Riley sat back in her chair and smiled as she read again the lead paragraph of her article. It was good.

 “Are you finished?” Clyde asked.

“Yes, I’m finished. I think I did a pretty good job too—thanks to all of you,” Riley said with a grin on her face.

“What do you mean?” asked Moxie.

Riley just shook her head. “You gave me my talent back.”

“We never took it from you,” said Helena.

“What are you talking about? I . . . I couldn’t write, but then you put that orb back in my body and I was able to write again.”

Jack pulled another purple orb from his waistcoat pocket. “Oh, you mean this? That’s nothing. I can conjure these whenever I want.”

Riley’s eyes darted from one character to another, her breathing getting faster with each word. “You took it. I couldn’t write, but then you gave it back and I could.” 

“We never took anything from you,” Helena said again. “You just needed a little confidence, a little boost. That’s all we gave you. You’re a gifted writer. It’s in you. We saw that even when you were a child. That’s why we chose you to tell our stories.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Riley, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Look at that,” laughed Jack. “The fancy writer is at a loss for words.”

Riley grabbed Jack around the neck, knocked off his bowler hat, and rubbed the top of his head. She looked at the characters with a smile. “Ok guys. It will be a couple weeks before that magazine hits the stands, and everyone wants Riley Colville to write articles for them. Let’s get to those new tales now. Who’s first?”

“Me!” yelled everyone in unison as Riley walked back to the desk.

“Well, let’s get started. I have a date tonight.”   Riley’s old friends from the book on the shelf crowded around her, and she began to write.