Truth, Dead

The attic was full of piled-up boxes, bins of rolled up paper, old furniture and knickknacks collecting dust. Under a sheet in the corner, they found what they had come for.

“Big ugly lump of a thing, isn’t it?” Adam said.

“We don’t need it to model clothing,” Michael said.

“There’s no clothing big enough,” Adam replied. “Go on, make it work.”

Michael pulled his pen knife out of his pocket and studied the word on the statue’s forehead. מת. Dead. “Theoretically,” he said, “I only have to add the aleph and it should wake up.”

“Then theoretically do it already.”

Standing on tiptoes to reach, Michael carefully scratched the א after the other letters. Now, the word was אמת. Truth.

They stared at the statue. Adam scratched his nose. “Nothing’s happening,” he remarked.

“Maybe it’s waiting for instructions,” Michael mused. He tapped it on the chest. “Hey, wake up.”

Twin fires sprang to life in the statue’s empty eye sockets. Adam gasped.

“You did it, Michael,” he whispered. “You brought the golem to life.”

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