"Don't forget the old trunk in the attic, Natalie. Everything in it is yours."
This was the last instruction I received from my dying grandfather. Like I cared one damn bit about some old junk in the attic when the man who was more a father to me than my real one ever could have been was on his deathbed. I ignored it in the moment, and forgot about it in the flurry of everything that comes with death, final affairs, and funerals. It's a lot, and almost everything fell on my shoulders, because I was the one that lived with him and everyone had so many questions and... it was a lot to deal with. Especially when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere and sleep for a week.
Eventually, things calmed down. The funeral was over, the long line of rarely seen relatives traipsing through the house was gone, and finally it was just me. Alone. In this big ol' empty house, full of so much stuff. Even after everyone was given what they were left in the will, and had their choices of things that remained, there was just so. Much.
Grandpa had been here for something like forty-three years. A person collects a lot in that kind of time. But I couldn't keep it all, I didn't have the need for a lot of it. But in the wake of his death, everything in the house seemed to hold some kind of sentimental value, and I've been having trouble sorting through it all to make donation and sale piles.
Today has me in the attic, and I'm already regretting the decision to come up here when I can feel the tickle of a sneeze rising up from all the dust everywhere. I sniff and try to shake the feeling off, rummaging through old boxes full of paperwork, clothes, and heaps of other things I can't begin to figure a place for.
The sneeze comes back with a vengeance after I managed to prevent it earlier, breath hitched in that annoying pause as it builds and builds and builds until–
ACHOO!
Finally. But the strength of it rocked me on my feet and I almost tripped over something behind me. "Shit," I muttered and after righting myself, I turned to see what it was. That old trunk. Pretty plain, as old things go, just an antique steamer trunk with brass latches and corner pieces. But Grandpa had said something about it, hadn't he? Everything inside it was mine. Well, did that make it different than everything else in the house? The house itself? But he'd been so specific about it... like he didn't want someone else to get to it first.
Well, luckily, no one even bothered to look at it, the amount of dust across the lid proves that. My nose itches again just looking at it and I groan, but I ease myself down onto the floor and flip the latches down and lift the lid.
I don't know what I was expecting to find, but at first, it's almost disappointing to just see a box of more old things– baby shoes and old pictures from when I was little. That just seemed so bland of a find when Grandpa had seemed so adamant about this old trunk. Still, I sift through it all, smiling at the memories, despite the sharp pangs of sadness in my chest– nothing like the things in these photos could ever happen again, because Grandpa is gone, now.
The thing seems pretty empty except something looks a little strange now that I'm to the bottom of it. I don't know why, but something told me to try to lift the panel at the bottom of the trunk– and that's when I learned it had a hidden compartment. It was a whole other layer of the trunk hidden, cut across the length of it, and it was full of... letters?
I frowned and set the piece of shelving aside and scooped up a handful of the letters. They all had my name on them. I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest. I'm still not sure what any of this means yet, but I know one thing for sure: This is what Grandpa had intended for me to find.
Day 5: Letters
This was the last instruction I received from my dying grandfather. Like I cared one damn bit about some old junk in the attic when the man who was more a father to me than my real one ever could have been was on his deathbed. I ignored it in the moment, and forgot about it in the flurry of everything that comes with death, final affairs, and funerals. It's a lot, and almost everything fell on my shoulders, because I was the one that lived with him and everyone had so many questions and... it was a lot to deal with. Especially when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere and sleep for a week.
Eventually, things calmed down. The funeral was over, the long line of rarely seen relatives traipsing through the house was gone, and finally it was just me. Alone. In this big ol' empty house, full of so much stuff. Even after everyone was given what they were left in the will, and had their choices of things that remained, there was just so. Much.
Grandpa had been here for something like forty-three years. A person collects a lot in that kind of time. But I couldn't keep it all, I didn't have the need for a lot of it. But in the wake of his death, everything in the house seemed to hold some kind of sentimental value, and I've been having trouble sorting through it all to make donation and sale piles.
Today has me in the attic, and I'm already regretting the decision to come up here when I can feel the tickle of a sneeze rising up from all the dust everywhere. I sniff and try to shake the feeling off, rummaging through old boxes full of paperwork, clothes, and heaps of other things I can't begin to figure a place for.
The sneeze comes back with a vengeance after I managed to prevent it earlier, breath hitched in that annoying pause as it builds and builds and builds until–
ACHOO!
Finally. But the strength of it rocked me on my feet and I almost tripped over something behind me. "Shit," I muttered and after righting myself, I turned to see what it was. That old trunk. Pretty plain, as old things go, just an antique steamer trunk with brass latches and corner pieces. But Grandpa had said something about it, hadn't he? Everything inside it was mine. Well, did that make it different than everything else in the house? The house itself? But he'd been so specific about it... like he didn't want someone else to get to it first.
Well, luckily, no one even bothered to look at it, the amount of dust across the lid proves that. My nose itches again just looking at it and I groan, but I ease myself down onto the floor and flip the latches down and lift the lid.
I don't know what I was expecting to find, but at first, it's almost disappointing to just see a box of more old things– baby shoes and old pictures from when I was little. That just seemed so bland of a find when Grandpa had seemed so adamant about this old trunk. Still, I sift through it all, smiling at the memories, despite the sharp pangs of sadness in my chest– nothing like the things in these photos could ever happen again, because Grandpa is gone, now.
The thing seems pretty empty except something looks a little strange now that I'm to the bottom of it. I don't know why, but something told me to try to lift the panel at the bottom of the trunk– and that's when I learned it had a hidden compartment. It was a whole other layer of the trunk hidden, cut across the length of it, and it was full of... letters?
I frowned and set the piece of shelving aside and scooped up a handful of the letters. They all had my name on them. I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest. I'm still not sure what any of this means yet, but I know one thing for sure: This is what Grandpa had intended for me to find.