The attic was incredibly dusty, and as I looked through the haze of dust lingering in the air, I thought I saw a small patch of black mold on the wall near the attic window.  Not good.  I put a filter mask on, and tossed one to David.  “Better put it on, dude.  Looks like there’s some mold up here – and the dust is bad.  Don’t want to aggravate your asthma.”

 

                The young man I tossed the mask to was my best friend – David Wilson, age 19, and recent graduate of Lebanon Senior  High School in  Lebanon Pennsylvania.  We did RPGs and other games online a lot, and in person at a table with dice – like the nerd or dorks we were – and we did pretty much everything else together too.  I’d known David for about 8 years – since grade 5 maybe, when he stopped a bully from beating me up – and got beat up himself.  We’d been friends ever since.  He was average height, with sandy blonde hair, but was lanky and lean – like a swimmer or a runner – and he looked like he tried to keep fit.  Unlike me, I guess.

 

                I was like David – a 19 year old high school graduate.  I was a bit taller, and a bit – okay, maybe more than a bit – heavier, looking like I hit the cheetos a bit too often, and the treadmill too infrequently.  Where he had sandy blond hair, I had brown hair.  I was a bit more upbeat than David, too – he was always down in the dumps, and I frequently had to try to lift his spirits.  I should talk to him about that sometime soon, I thought.  Maybe he’d feel better if we talked?

 

                “Thanks.”  David replied.  “How are you handling it, Jeff?” 

 

                “Not bad, but it’s going to be a hot and sweaty job.  There’s a lot of boxes up here.”

 

                “Well, if your dad is going to sell your grandma’s house, we’ve got to clean it out.”  David said.

 

                “Yeah, I guess.  I would have liked to know her better.  Dad didn’t visit much – but I always liked her.  He thought she was weird.”

 

                “She had a wiccan altar in her back room and a real sword on her wall, with red stains on it.  She was weird, at least for Lebanon.”

 

                “Maybe.”  I agreed.  “But she always had the best stories.”

 

                “You gonna climb up there, so I can join you, or am I supposed to look at your butt all day?”  David asked.

 

                “Sorry, dude.  I’m going.”  I crawled up the attic ladder-stairs into the room, and looked around.  The mess was probably going to take all day.  Shit.  There goes the rest of my weekend.  The room was lit by two electric bulbs, dangling from black wires with no housing fixing them to the ceiling – the attic wasn’t really finished, and although the floor was secure, and the walls and roof were dry and sealed, the attic had never been decorated or remodeled – it was just a storage room, apparently.

 

                David climbed up behind me, and coughed once.  “I’m okay” he called out.  “Just the dust is really heavy up here.”

 

                “If it’s a problem, I can hand you the boxes and you can carry them down the ladder.”  I offered.

 

                “No thanks, Jeff.  I can hold my own.  If the dust gets too bad, I’ll take you up on it, I promise.”

 

                I nodded.  He probably would too – David was incredibly stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid, and he wouldn’t hurt himself to help me move dusty boxes.  Hell, we weren’t even getting paid helping my dad like this… Unless pizza and soda counted, which I guess it sort of did.  “Let’s get all this stuff downstairs, and then have a look at it, before we toss it.  Maybe some of it can go to goodwill or something, instead of the dump.”

 

                “Yeah.  Maybe your grandma has a Rembrandt up here or something?”

 

                “That would be wild.  I’d settle for some old photos of dad being a kid, or maybe some cool stuff to remember her by.  I miss her.”

 

                “Sorry, Jeff.  She died, what, like two months ago?”  David asked.

 

                “Yeah.  She had a cerebral hemorrhage.  Dad said she died pretty much instantly.  I’m glad it was quick, but I miss getting to say goodbye.  She didn’t want a funeral.  Dad cremated her, and that was that.  I’m not sure what happens now.”

 

                David was silent for a moment, but put his hand on my shoulder in condolence. 

 

                “It’s okay.  She lived a good life, or so dad said.  He moved away a long time ago to get away from her weird stories.  He always said she was crazy, but the couple of times I met her, she seemed normal – a little weird but normal.  He doesn’t talk about her much.  I’m actually surprised he asked us to help clean this place up – I thought he would hire some junkers to just take everything away.”

 

                “I don’t know.”  David began, while picking up a dusty box and carrying it to the stairs.  “Maybe he knew you liked your grandma, and thought you’d want to be here, to get a few mementoes.”

 

                “Yeah, Maybe.”  I replied.  Sighing, I got to work – the boxes and litter up here weren’t going to move themselves.

 

                We worked for about two – maybe three – hours, carrying cardboard boxes and small trunks the size of a large suitcase downstairs.  David had to switch to carrying boxes downstairs, after his asthma acted up near the end, which annoyed him to no end, and we finally had pretty much everything except one last trunk and a big full length mirror on a stand brought down.  The last trunk looked fancy – like a carved cedar chest, and the mirror looked fancy too – with matching carvings on it.  Squirrels and leaves and vines and stuff.  Neither David nor I recognized the wood.  It looked stained, a bluish purple, and I got a shock when I touched it – like when you rub your wool socks on the floor and then touch someone – zap!   

 

                The mirror came down slowly but surely, and we got it placed in the living room.  In the daylight, it looked even more impressive.  It was definitely an antique – there were small nails in it – but old fashioned ones, and I don’t think I saw a single screw or rivet on it anywhere.  The mirror was on a swivel stand, and looked beautiful.  It was probably worth a fortune. 

 

                The chest obviously went with it, but we both dreaded moving it – which is why it was left to last.  It was heavy – like really heavy – and locked, so we couldn’t take anything out of it to make it lighter.  Moving it was going to be a bear, so we decided to take a break first.

 

                I broke out the cooler my dad had left us here with, and handed David a couple of tuna salad sandwiches, and a can of coke, and I took the same.  The pizza would be the payoff once we were done going through the boxes and sorting the stuff to save, the stuff to donate, and the stuff to trash.  My dad didn’t expect much for the ‘stuff to save’ pile, and told me so, but said I could keep whatever I wanted, and so could David.  I doubt he expected his mom to have such fancy antiques up there.  We ate in silence for a while, until our hunger was sated, and washed down the sandwiches with our sodas. 

 

                “You know, it’s probably going to take us the rest of the day to sort this stuff – maybe more.  We’ll probably be here all day Sunday too.”  David remarked.

 

                “I guess I get to skip church then!”  I laughed.  “Will you be here?”

 

                “Yeah.  Mom and Dad said once I was 18, I didn’t have to go to church if I didn’t want to, and I haven’t been since.”

 

                I knew David had a problem with his mom’s church – he had for a long time.  Father Nathan was a real ‘fire and brimstone’ kind of preacher, who thought gays and immigrants were doing the devils work.  He also wasn’t too fond of abortion or other things like birth control, and David just didn’t see eye to eye with that kind of religious intolerance and hate.  He always said Darth Vader had more faith in his religion, that Father Nathan did in Christianity, cause he sure wasn’t practicing it.  Having been to a couple of his sermons as a guest of David’s, I’d have to agree.  Father Nathan was a thoroughly unpleasant man, gifted with a large amount of charisma and charm.  Ugh.  At least the church my mom and dad went to across town was nicer and more inclusive.  David had come with me there more than once, and seemed to be okay with it.  Our church was smaller, and shrinking – but it was friendlier by far, and closer to what most people thought real Christianity was about – forgiveness, caring, kindness.  Not smiting and vengeance.

 

                “Cool.  Want to rest a few more minutes before we move that big bastard of a trunk?”  I asked.

 

                “Nah.  We can rest when we’re sorting through the stuff.  We’ll probably need to either pick the lock or find the key to open the big trunk anyway – and I’m pretty sure your dad would be pissed if we damaged it in the process.”

 

                “Yeah, probably.  So let’s not break it, okay?”

 

                “Works for me.”

 

                We put away the trash from our lunch, and headed back upstairs to the attic.  The trunk just sat there, squatted almost, waiting, and we took our time assessing how to move it.  There were handles of a sort on it – two recesses, one on each end, carved into the side of the chest, but they didn’t look too helpful – it might slip.  The chest also had stubby little feet about an inch and a half high, keeping it off the floor.  I didn’t know if that meant it was a chest, or a cabinet because of it, but it looked like a chest and that’s what I decided to call it. 

 

                “The carvings on it are amazing.”  David said, pointing at one carving of a squirrel – wearing pants and a waistcoat, climbing a vine with a bag in his hand.  “Kinda cool.”

 

                “Yeah, they are cool.  Kind of ‘Watership Down’ or ‘Redwall’ in theme.”

 

                “Yeah.”

 

                “Let’s just manhandle it over to the stairs, and see if we can hump it down one stair at a time, and let the stairs take the weight.”  I suggested.

 

                “You’d better go first, then.  You’re stronger.”  David replied.

 

                “Yup.”  I moved to one side of the trunk, and grabbed it with both hands, and tried to slide it across the attic floor.  It felt like it weighed a ton, and the wood tingled under my touch, like electricity.  Something inside it was really heavy!  I let go of it for a moment, and let the tingling fade from my hands.  “Weird.”

 

                “What’s weird?”

 

                “The chest tingles.  Like it’s electric.” 

 

                David came over, and touched the chest.  “Feels fine to me, dude.”

 

                I touched it again, and this time, it did feel fine.  I couldn’t explain it, other than maybe whatever charge it held dissipated when I touched it.  “Maybe I grounded it out?”

 

                “Maybe.”  David agreed.  “You need some help?”

 

                I nodded, and together we shoved, pushed and cajoled the chest towards the stairs, and then I headed down to take the weight of the chest as we lowered it stair by stair towards the floor below.  My Grandma’s house was mostly on one floor, except for the attic and two guest rooms she didn’t use much as far as I knew.  Dad said it was to help her with her mobility because of her age, but I wasn’t so sure.  She’d lived here a really long time – she wouldn’t have needed it when she moved in.  Finally, we got the chest to the floor with a heavy ‘thump,’ and took a few minutes as a breather. 

 

                “That was damn heavy.”  David said, laughing.  “I thought you were going to drop it for a minute.”

 

                “I nearly did.”  I laughed.  “It was really heavy.  You’d better get the dolley or we’ll scratch the floor up something awful if we drag it like we did upstairs.”

 

                David grabbed a dolly and we used that to drag the chest to the living room, where we had piled all the rest of the boxes.  The first part of the work – getting all the boxes down from the attic – was finally done.  I just thanked god we didn’t have to sweep or clean up there.  Whoever dad sold the house to could do that, I guess.  It was about 3pm by the time we finished, and dad was coming by to pick us up for dinner around 5pm or 5:30pm. 

 

                “Now what?”  David asked.

 

                “I guess this is either the fun part or the boring part, depending on how you feel.  We have to go through these boxes, and basically sort out the stuff we want to keep, the stuff we want to donate to the second hand thrift shops, and the stuff that’s basically trash.  My dad is having some workmen come on Monday to pick up the trash and take it to the dump, and is calling the thrift stores to bring their truck on Tuesday or Wednesday.  So anything we want to keep has to be out of here by then, I guess.  After that, the house goes to the realtor until its sold.”

 

                “How come your dad is selling this place?”

 

                “I asked him that.  He didn’t want the hassle of being a landlord, and he thought we could get enough to pay off the mortgage on our house, and maybe have enough left over to help with bills and college and stuff.  He and mom thought it was for the best – although I think my mom wants to save enough aside to go on a trip with dad.  They’re still talking about it.”

 

                “Cool.  I hope you have a good time, if you go.”

 

                “Nah – I’d rather stay at home and have the house to myself for a week.”  I smiled.  No interruptions, no worries.  It would be awesome!

 

                David nodded in agreement.  He’d probably be over at my house for at least half the time my folks were gone, if I did stay behind.  It would be awesome. 

 

                We started opening and going through the boxes, starting with the dusty cardboard ones we had brought down first.  For some reason, I didn’t want to get near that zappy, tingly chest or mirror again for a little while.  While we sorted, David and I talked about the MMORPG we were currently playing – a superhero game called American Gods.  It was pretty badass, and we had both just reached level 28, and were looking forward to getting a few raids done tonight on the computer before we had to head to bed.  Maybe we’d get to level 30?  It reminded me of the old City of Heroes, but with better graphics, better gameplay, better loot and team mechanics – and unfortunately, a higher price tag.  At least it wasn’t pay-to-win, like a lot of games on the market right now.  Still, it was amazingly fun, and we loved it. 

 

                The first few boxes I went through had nothing interesting – some knick-knacks that would go well at the thrift shop, and some old photos – not of the family, but of some people I didn’t recognize.  We set those aside, in case dad knew who they were.  David found what we assumed was grandma’s wedding dress, in a crisp cardboard box with a clear plastic window set in it.  It looked hermetically sealed – probably to preserve it.  I decided to put that in the keep pile, until mom had decided if she wanted to keep it or not.  Unlike dad, mom never seemed to have problems getting along with grandma.  I guess dad had baggage from when grandma raised him.  He didn’t talk about it much, for some reason.

 

                We went through some more boxes, and I found an old jewelry box that had a lot of tacky bracelets and necklaces from what looked like the 1960’s and the 1970’s.  Just in case some of it was valuable I set it aside, and kept looking.  David found a box of fancy fine china and a set of silverware that mom would probably want, so we set that aside too.  A lot of stuff was piling up in the junk and thrift piles though – old drapes, boxes of clothes, old Tupperware, some old statues of Royal Doulton figures I’d run past mom and dad before giving to the thrift shop, and three boxes of old vinyl records from the 1960’s through to the 1980’s.  There was even a pristine copy of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album with the dust cover still wrapped in plastic.  I knew old vinyl was worth a lot for the right titles, so that went in the keep pile for now.

 

                “What are you going to do with these figurines and all the old records, Jeffrey?”  David asked.

 

                “Well, dad said I could keep them.  I figure I’ll check to see how much their worth, maybe sell them on ebay, and put the money I get from them into my college fund.  They might be worth a lot, and my Aunt Cindy is always bragging about how much her dog figurines are worth… Maybe these ones will be worth something too?”

 

                “Cool.  I still get one third?”

 

                “Duh.  A promise is a promise.  Besides, I figured you could use it too.”

 

                “Thanks, man.” 

 

                We kept doing a few more boxes – we only had time for a few, since 5:30pm was approaching.  I sighed.  It looked like we were spending all day Sunday here as well.  The last two boxes David searched came up with nothing cool – just more thrift store stuff and trash.  The boxes I was looking didn’t look too promising either, until I reached into the second last box, and found what looked like an ancient tome – leather bound, with orange pages of archaic paper inside it.  There was a leather buckle keeping the book closed, and there was a silver image on the cover of the book of an hourglass, half-empty.  It was dusty, and it felt old, but in good shape.

 

                “Hey!  Check it out David!  Maybe it’s one of grandma’s spellbooks?”  I laughed.  She was a wiccan after all.

 

                “Maybe!  Why don’t you open it and see – just for god’s sake, don’t read anything out aloud.  I don’t want to have an Evil Dead repeat, thank you very much.”

 

                “I’m not an idiot.”  I replied.  Everyone knows you don’t read anything out loud until you know what it is.  Especially if it’s written in Latin, or Greek.  Not that I could read Latin or Greek, but still.

 

                 I thought I’d better finish the box before I got wrapped up in the book, so I took one last look inside – and was shocked to find a small envelope, wrapped in string, addressed to myself.  “To my Grandson, Jeffery Fowler.” Is what it said on the envelope.  I held it up for David to see.  It felt like there was something or somethings lumpy and hard inside – something long and slender, and two more lumpy round things – like maybe coins.

 

                “Whatever it is, I bet it’s a keeper, especially if your grandma left it especially for you.”

 

                “I think it’s a bunch of things.  I wonder if I should open it?”

 

                Before David could answer me, I heard a car drive up and a quick ‘honk honk’ from the front yard.  Dammit!  Dad was here already!  “I’d better take them both with me.  I guess we’ll put the other stuff away until tomorrow?”

 

                “Looks like.  I’ll help you carry the figurines and records and stuff out to your dad’s car.”

 

                We grabbed the stuff, already stacked on the dolley, and wheeled it out of the house.  My dad – Fred Fowler waited for us on the driveway, finishing a cigarette.  He was in his forties, and was a bit out of shape, but looked pretty healthy otherwise.  He worked as a bank manager across town.  We were doing okay – he made good money, but mom still worked too. 

 

“Hey kids.”  He called.

 

                “Hey dad.  There’s some good stuff here.”

 

                “Cool!  We’ll talk about it at dinner.  Just load the stuff up and I’ll lock up until tomorrow.”

 

                “Hi, Mr. Fowler!”  David called.

 

                “Hey David.  You guys still feel like pizza?”

 

                “Yes, sir!”  David replied.

 

                “Yeah, that would be great, dad.”

 

                “Fantastic.  Your mom is visiting your Aunt Michelle today so it’s just us guys.”

 

                “Okay.  I found some stuff mom might like.” 

 

                “We’ll show it to her later tonight when she gets back, son.”  He replied.

 

                “Okay.” 

 

                With that, David and I loaded up the car and put the dolley in the back to help unload it back at my house.  We hopped in the back seat of the car, and waited for my dad to lock up and get back.  As we sat there, our stomachs growled.  It was hot outside for late June, so I was glad my grandma’s Janet’s house had central air, or else today would have been a bear with the heat. 

 

                Dad returned to the car, and sat down and buckled up.  “How did it go today, son?”

 

                “We got everything out of the attic, including some really heavy stuff, and started sorting it out.  I think we’ll finish by tomorrow night, but it might be close.  There was a lot of stuff up there.”

 

                My dad frowned, and sighed.  “Okay, kiddo.  Let’s go to dinner.  How does Manny’s sound?”

               

                “Sound great, Mr. Fowler!”  David replied.

 

                I grinned. “Good, dad!”  Manny’s was a family run pizza and Italian food place and they did amazing food.  The atmosphere was friendly, and it was affordable for even a couple of high school students to go to dinner.  I had taken Christie McDonald there last year when we were dating, and it was great, and David and I had gone for lunch a couple of times.  I scowled a bit thinking about Christie.  She had decided that long distance relationships didn’t work, and since she was leaving for college in two months, she thought it would be best if we broke up.  It still hurt.  I mean, I know high school romances usually don’t go anywhere, but I thought she really cared about me.  It still felt bad, nearly a month later.

 

                “Earth to Jeffrey?”  David asked.  “What’s up?”

 

                “Oh, sorry.  Just thinking about Christie.” 

 

                “Gotcha.”  He replied.  “Should I let you brood, or try to distract you?”

 

                “Distract me, please!”  I said, smiling.  “I don’t feel like thinking about her right now.”

 

                David obliged by talking about our D&D campaign set in his homebrew world of Drenaria.  He had some cool new quests for my elven archer, Mormegil, to undertake and was foreshadowing some future events with a big bad guy.  I smiled, cause it was taking my mind off of Christie, and I loved the work David put into his game.  It made it more fun for both of us.  The chatter between us kept me distracted until we got to Manny’s, and by then I was well over my foul mood.

 

 

*              *              *

 

                Dinner at Manny’s was amazing as always, and dad and David and I had chattered about what we found.  Dad was pretty impressed with the Royal Doulton figures and the classic vinyl records we had found – he said there was good money in them.  He told me he thought the jewelry box was probably just trash, but to check on ebay just in case, and frowned when I mentioned the book and the wedding dress.  I asked him about it – and he told me we’d talk when we got home.  He had that look – the look that meant “this isn’t for public consumption” and I knew he wouldn’t say more until we had dropped David off.  I had told him of the mirror and the locked chest, and he thought they were cool – and suggested we look around for the key tomorrow, so that he wouldn’t have to hire a locksmith to get it open.  He also thought mom would love the full length mirror. 

 

                We dropped David off, and I promised to meet him sometime around 8pm so we could play some American Gods, and said goodbye.  Dad and I drove home in a kind of pleasant silence.  I was curious about his reaction earlier – but I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long for an answer.  It probably had something to do with his problems with Grandma Janet.

 

                Once we got home, I loaded the stuff from the car onto the dolley, and brought from inside the garage to the kitchen – there’s a door inside the garage that goes to a mud room, just off our kitchen.  It’s really cool.  I got the stuff inside, and carried it into our storage room in the basement.  Luckily there were only three boxes of figurines, and three milk crates of vinyl records, along with a cardboard box of old vinyl 45’s from the 1950’s.  There must have been a few hundred of them in the box, most of them still in their paper sleeve.  Grandma took good care of her stuff, it seemed.  I put her wedding dress down there too, for now – out of reach so mice couldn’t get at it, if we had any.  The book – or tome, depending on how nerdy you were – and the letter, I took to my room. 

 

                “Hey, champ.”  My dad began.  “You got a minute?”

 

                “Yeah, dad.  What’s up?”

 

                “You wanted to know why I was frowning when you mentioned that book and the wedding dress, right?”

 

                “Yeah.”  I really did too – dad had always been secretive about his mom, my grandma – and for the first 12 years of my life, I never met her.  It was only in the last six or seven years dad relented and let me visit her.  I would go for a weekend, and she would tell me cool stories about magical worlds, at least, when I was younger.  Dad put a stop to that when he found out about it.

 

                Dad came over and sat down on my bed, and motioned for me to sit down too.  I grabbed my computer chair and sat, waiting to hear what he said.  He looked tired, and wrung out.  To be honest, I was worried he was going to say something horrible.

 

                “Jeff, your grandmother was crazy.  Really crazy.  She was divorced from reality.  When I was young, she filled my head with crazy stories of things that were ridiculous and impossible, like magic, faeries, and monsters – and I of course, thought they were real.  When I told the stories to others, like my teachers at school, the Children’s Aid people came and took me away, around the age of 12, and she was ordered to get a Psychological evaluation to get me back.  She tried, but failed – and I spent the rest of my childhood in a foster family – your Grandpa Moses and Grandma Claire.”

 

                “Holy shit!”

 

                “Holy shit, indeed.”  Dad replied.  “When your mother and I had you, we talked about whether we should let you meet her or not.  I was against it, but your mom suggested it might be good for you – and that it was your right to have her in your life if you wanted.  I reluctantly agreed, but I didn’t tell you about her until you were 12, so that she wouldn’t start telling you her crazy stories.  And she did anyway, at least until I put a stop to it.”  Dad paused.  “In the end, I think she was happy to know you, but I wanted you to know that if she left you anything, please take it with a serious grain of salt.  By every metric we know – from doctors to psychologists, she was deranged – but not enough to be considered dangerous, and not enough to lock up.  She was still batshit crazy though, and the people at Children’s Aid thought her Wicca was some sort of devil worship back in the late 1970’s.  There was no way I was going to be given back to her.”

 

                “So what changed your mind about her, dad?”  I asked.

 

                “Nothing, son.  I know she was still crazy, but your mom Sandy convinced me to try and mend fences.  It worked great for a while – until she started telling you those damn stories again.  I told her if she continued, I wouldn’t ever set foot in her house again, and neither would you.”

 

                “Why?  What’s so bad about her stories?  They were fun to hear.”

 

                Dad sighed.  “The problem, son is that to her they weren’t stories.  They were reality.  She really, really believed them.   Did I ever mention why you never had a grandpa on my side of the family – other than Grandpa Moses?”

 

                “No.  I did wonder.  I just thought he might have left her for another woman, and no one wanted to talk about it.”

 

                “Well, that’s pretty much what she thought.  Except she thought her husband to be was a medieval highlander from a magical world who was going to make her a princess of a small fiefdom in some magical bullshit kingdom with talking animals and monsters.  When he never showed up for the wedding, her heart broke and she ‘returned to Earth’ and never looked back.  It’s all nutcase talk.  Magical worlds don’t exist.  Magic isn’t real.  She just lost her mind, and never found it again.  I didn’t want that to mess you up, like it did to me.  I grew up not knowing what was real, or what was her flight of fancy and fairytale.  Until I went to live with Grandpa Moses and Grandma Claire, I thought all sorts of fairy lore and mythological bullshit was real, and I had no idea how to live in the real world.  I was held back a year in grade school because of it, and Grandpa and Grandma had to hire a tutor to get me adjusted to living in reality.  Your grandma Janet really screwed me up, and I didn’t want that for you.”

 

                “So you waited until I was 12, so I could tell what was real and what was a fairytale?”

 

                “Yes, pretty much.”  Dad sighed.  “I hope you’re not mad.”

 

                “No.  I’m not mad.  I’m a bit confused, I guess, but I guess you and she were at loggerheads about the stories for well, forever, weren’t you?”

 

                “Ever since I got taken away from her, yes.  It was a sore spot in our relationship, if we had a relationship.  I think your mom was right in having us let you meet Grandma Janet, so you could make your own mind up.  I guess that’s it.”

 

                “Okay dad.  What should I do with the leather book?”

 

                “I guess whatever you want, son.  Just remember if it’s filled with crazy stuff, remember where it came from.  It’s not real.”

 

                “Okay, thanks dad.”

 

                “You going to meet David online to play more of your game?”

 

                “Yeah.”

 

                “Feel up to a match of Starcraft II tomorrow night?”  Dad looked hopeful – he rarely had someone to play versus, and loved getting a chance to play against friends and family.  He loved RTS games – real time strategy – while I loved RPGs – or role playing games.  Still, I was pretty good at Starcraft II, and enjoyed it from time to time.

 

                “Sure dad – just as long as you don’t play Protoss.  You’re too good with that team for me to challenge you.”

 

                “Deal!” he said, happy.  “I’ll let you get to your game, champ.”  Dad got up, squeezed my shoulder, and headed out of the room.

 

                Since I had about an hour before I had to meet David, I thought I’d look at Grandma’s book, and the letter she left me.

The book had a hasp lock on it, and I couldn’t work it open, so I turned to the letter.  The paper was old – probably a few years or more spent sitting in that box.  It had yellowed around the edges.  I cut the string, and opened the letter.

 

                Inside the envelope, were a few neat things – two old fashioned keys – one small, and one considerably larger, made out of iron or pewter or some common metal.  The other things were two smallish gold amulets – and they looked like gold, not brass.  They were about the size of a half-dollar, with a small clasp that could hold them on a thong or necklace.  On one side, was the face of a laughing woman – and on the other, a book with an hourglass embossed on its cover.  It looked a lot like my Grandma Janet’s book.  A lot.  There was also a letter, which I read.             

               

                “Dear Jeffrey, If you are reading this letter, then I am gone.  I am so sorry for all the times your father kept you out of my life, and I am so sorry if anything I ever did upset you or confused you.  I need you to know a few things, and I really want you to believe me.  I am not crazy.  The big key is to the trunk of purple wood in the attic.  The little key is for my journal of my adventures when I was younger, before I settled down and had your father.  Please, don’t let your father destroy this book.  Put it somewhere safe.  The amulets are special.  Keep one on you at all times – the other one is for a friend.  I call them Adventure Tokens, because they took me on an adventure once, and I hope that one day they will take you on one too.  I found out that adventures are best shared with someone, so I procured a second token at great expense.  I hope you give it to someone worthy of your trust.  Adventures may be exciting, but they can also be very dangerous!  The amulets have unusual properties – my journal will explain how to use them, if you dare.  I want you to know that I love you very much – and your father too, even though he has hurt me greatly.  He and now you are a child of two worlds.  He didn’t want to admit it – perhaps you will see in time.  I caution you, if you follow in my footsteps, prepare yourself wisely.  The road is hard, and fraught with danger unless things have changed greatly while I have been gone.  Please, do not lose the amulets.  They are important.  Everything in the trunk is for you – my lawyer will confirm it, if your father checks.”

 

                I mulled over the letter for a while, thinking.  At first blush, dad was right – grandma was crazy… but what if she wasn’t?  What if it was dad who was in denial?  I snorted.  Adventures were just things in games and stories, right?  Right?  

 

By now it was close to 7:45, so I decided to put the whole thing aside till tomorrow morning, and logged on to American Gods, to play with David.  If we were lucky, we’d hit level 30 tonight and have a great time doing it.  As the game booted up and I logged on, I couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, Grandma wasn’t crazy – but that thought itself was so crazy I didn’t want to dwell on it.  I let it drift from my mind, and David and I spent the evening doing raids on the lair of Dr. Infamous and Lady Sinstrike.  By the time I fell into bed, around 11pm, all thoughts of magical amulets and adventures had left my mind.