Read Online Grandpa's Journal by N. W. Fidler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: N. W. Fidler
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the staircase. Let me pick this up.”
Good. It was still hot as the Sierra (Sierra or Sahara?) desert up there but sitting felt nice. The book was old. Really old. The pages were falling out and the spine was barely there. The cover was torn and covered in blotched sketches. A lot of the symbols I didn’t get but there was a peace sign.
The first page had ‘Continuing where I left off.’ A lot of the pages afterwards where impossible to read and smudged or completely torn out. But there was this weird thing with the dates. None of them were in order or made sense. The first one I could read was on July 28 th , 1914. Was Grandpa alive then? That would make him 102, right? It must be one of his stories.
Dad always said Grandpa and Grandma were full of them. Dad told me a few of them like the one with the witch and the purple bell. Every time she rang it a cat would appear and help her with whatever was puzzling her. One day she fell in love with a young man travelling through the woods and wished to be with him forever and ever. She rang the bell for advice but the cat had no idea what love was. So she rang it again but that cat had no answer as well. She then rang it again and again and again but none of them could help her. The man left the forest never knowing she existed.
It’s kind of sad.
Anyway the journal entry was ruined. All I could make out was something about nearly hitting a car, sending down the wrong road. Then being chased by something? I don’t know. His handwriting didn’t help either. It’s worse than mine!
There was another entry for some day in 2077. It was mostly taking about scraping deals and weird pricing numbers that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
1870 said he met a monk in Africa saying he had three more lifetimes, then tapped his necklace. What does that even mean? Are their Monks in Africa? These must be his story notes or something.
“Jason!” Mom yelled my name, nearly make me crap my pants. Said she’d been trying to get my attention for ten minutes. Sure she was.
It had to be near ten o’clock at night before Mom would let me out. At least she had the good sense to get some water while we worked. You know what? We didn’t even put a dent in the place. Jeez.
Grandpa had moved to another room by that point. I think it was a dining room or was supposed to be one. It was covered in so much rotted fruit and crusty bowls that him eating a sandwich at it was downright disgusting.
I had the journal with me. I wanted to look through it some more, maybe even ask him about it. Now see, he was happy or very neutral about everything. Quiet.
My Mom was talking to him about all we got out. Well I got it out she just happened to get it down the stairs. I did all the work.
He took one look at me and I swear he had to have teleported. One second he was in his chair happy and the next he was up in my face across the room screaming about taking HIS property. I didn’t know he could move that fast!
He stole the journal from me and started throwing stuff at Mom and I. Whatever he could grab, breaking or shattering all over the place just to get us out of the house.
On the way home Mom was on the phone with Dad discussing a retirement home and rights of attorney to the shack he called a house. I think Dad was going to talk to Grandpa tomorrow.
It’s strange to have your whole life in-between pieces of paper. Even story ideas Grandpa was good at. Why not just post it online ad make a butt load of money? Make it last forever on the
Good. It was still hot as the Sierra (Sierra or Sahara?) desert up there but sitting felt nice. The book was old. Really old. The pages were falling out and the spine was barely there. The cover was torn and covered in blotched sketches. A lot of the symbols I didn’t get but there was a peace sign.
The first page had ‘Continuing where I left off.’ A lot of the pages afterwards where impossible to read and smudged or completely torn out. But there was this weird thing with the dates. None of them were in order or made sense. The first one I could read was on July 28 th , 1914. Was Grandpa alive then? That would make him 102, right? It must be one of his stories.
Dad always said Grandpa and Grandma were full of them. Dad told me a few of them like the one with the witch and the purple bell. Every time she rang it a cat would appear and help her with whatever was puzzling her. One day she fell in love with a young man travelling through the woods and wished to be with him forever and ever. She rang the bell for advice but the cat had no idea what love was. So she rang it again but that cat had no answer as well. She then rang it again and again and again but none of them could help her. The man left the forest never knowing she existed.
It’s kind of sad.
Anyway the journal entry was ruined. All I could make out was something about nearly hitting a car, sending down the wrong road. Then being chased by something? I don’t know. His handwriting didn’t help either. It’s worse than mine!
There was another entry for some day in 2077. It was mostly taking about scraping deals and weird pricing numbers that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
1870 said he met a monk in Africa saying he had three more lifetimes, then tapped his necklace. What does that even mean? Are their Monks in Africa? These must be his story notes or something.
“Jason!” Mom yelled my name, nearly make me crap my pants. Said she’d been trying to get my attention for ten minutes. Sure she was.
It had to be near ten o’clock at night before Mom would let me out. At least she had the good sense to get some water while we worked. You know what? We didn’t even put a dent in the place. Jeez.
Grandpa had moved to another room by that point. I think it was a dining room or was supposed to be one. It was covered in so much rotted fruit and crusty bowls that him eating a sandwich at it was downright disgusting.
I had the journal with me. I wanted to look through it some more, maybe even ask him about it. Now see, he was happy or very neutral about everything. Quiet.
My Mom was talking to him about all we got out. Well I got it out she just happened to get it down the stairs. I did all the work.
He took one look at me and I swear he had to have teleported. One second he was in his chair happy and the next he was up in my face across the room screaming about taking HIS property. I didn’t know he could move that fast!
He stole the journal from me and started throwing stuff at Mom and I. Whatever he could grab, breaking or shattering all over the place just to get us out of the house.
On the way home Mom was on the phone with Dad discussing a retirement home and rights of attorney to the shack he called a house. I think Dad was going to talk to Grandpa tomorrow.
It’s strange to have your whole life in-between pieces of paper. Even story ideas Grandpa was good at. Why not just post it online ad make a butt load of money? Make it last forever on the
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