My grandma always has a fun story to tell about faraway lands in outlandish settings. I have to take over a notebook, a journal, a napkin, just something to write down these amazing stories she tells. Her language was always flowing, and she told them as if they actually happened. I swear, if she would just write a book about them, it would be an immediate bestseller. No matter how many times I tell her, though, she always refuses, saying that she likes to tell them for the fun of it. There’s no fun in writing them down and not seeing the expression in her audience’s eyes as they marvel at the battle with the goblins, adore the care for the fierce dragon, and fear the horridness of the Gremlin King.

I, on the other hand, can’t tell such stories. I always have too many questions about them, but I also have too many questions about the world. I’m always asking, “What’s next?” and I start to freak out whenever I think too deep about it. I’m pulled away from the present into all the possibilities of the future, each alternative scaring me just a little more. Grandma helps to calm me, eliminating all of my fear for the future by helping me to redirect my thoughts toward the present. She is my anchor to this world and this time.

What would I ever do without my grandma?

She’s in her eighties now, but she is still one of the most active women I have ever met. She takes a walk around the block every day, she exercises a little here and there, she gardens (of course), and she volunteers around the community. Many times I’ve done any number of these activities, and so much more.

Today, though, is the first day of my junior year in high school. I’m seventeen now. I can finally drive myself to school instead of taking the bus with all the middle school kids. This first day is the one that I’m going to make the best of.

When I get to school, I’m greeted by my best friend, Zach Lenar. He’s kind of tall for his age, about six feet and two inches, while I stand at a good five feet and ten inches. He has dirty blonde hair to complement my brown, hazel eyes for my brown, and hearing aids for my contacts. Neither disability can be seen very well by other people; his aids blend in so well with his hair.

“Hey, Jack, what’s new with you?” he asks. “How was summer break?”

I roll my eyes. “We practically spent half of it together,” I respond. “What is there to tell you?” The last time we actually saw each other was a week ago after a double date we went on. When we aren’t together, we text each other pretty often about recent events in our lives.

“Well, did Grandma Curtan tell you any new stories that you didn’t tell me about?” Despite the fact that we’re not related, he still calls her Grandma. Grandma just has that special way of making everyone feel like they’re part of the family. She loves everyone for who they are and not because of their flaws. That’s the way she is.

“No, she didn’t tell me any stories,” I laugh. Zach gives me a suspicious look. “I swear!” I put my hands up in surrender. “I probably would’ve told you if she had.”

“That’s the key word there: ‘probably.’” He uses air quotes around this word. “You ‘probably’ would have told me, but you also ‘probably’ could have not told me. I need to know! What was the story?”

Why did Zach have to be so smart? “Can’t I just have a story to myself?”

“No,” was the simple response.

“Ugh, fine. But it won’t be perfect.”

I walked up the final flight stairs on the Thousand Flights. Here it was, the lost weapon on B’lastez, the great warlock. None of the goblins down below knew what the weapon was, but they knew whoever could wield it was to be their destined protector for all of time. I didn’t think that I would ever become their great protector, the one they always wanted. I just wanted to bring it back down to the earth. The goblins needed their history, not their myths. Some had already forgotten their history and shrugged it off as myth, and I wanted to make everything right.

There was only one more challenge before me: a door. It wasn’t a simple door, though. No, it was something much more. I had heard the legends about this door from down below, and I had already searched for the key. I had expected to find a physical key while traveling through the forests of Sh’balev, the desert of Canel, and the waters of Ko’antrix. There was none to be found. Instead, I found that the true key to opening the door was in my heart, not in my hand.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Using my love for the land and the goblins, I created a spiritual key to open the door. I put it into the lock, turned the key, and heard a very audible click. I became ecstatic. For three years, I had been pushed to my physical and mental limits, and now I was finally at the end of my run. I was also incredibly sad because this meant that I would soon have to end my time in this magical land so I could return to my homeland and continue to live the rest of my life.

I opened the door slowly, not sure what to find on the other side. There could be anything there. As the weapon came into view, I saw that it was a…

The bell rings. “Ah, I have to tell you later,” I say. “I need to get to class!”

“Just tell me what the weapon was!” Zach shouts after me as I start to run down the hall.

I turn around. “I’ll tell you later! I don’t have any time!” Then I sprint to my first class. Physics with Mr. Dunbar. This should be interesting.

I arrive at class just as the tardy bell rings. “Right on time, Mr. Curtan,” says the teacher. Mr. Dunbar is an older man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, but he still has the heart and spirit of a high school senior. His hair has turned gray to match his eyes, but you would have thought he was born with gray hair, rocking the look as he is.

I take a seat in the front row where only one other student is sitting. Kate Suthers. Her beautiful long brown hair stretches down her back, stopping only about midway. Her turquoise-blue eyes gaze intently at the front of the room, and her slender fingers tap a rhythm on her desk. I could just stare at her all day…

There’s a buzz in my pocket. I take out my phone and look at the message from Zach:

What was the weapon?!?!

I text back:

I’ll tell you later

“Mr. Curtan,” says Mr. Dunbar, “If you wouldn’t mind, would you please bring your phone and put it on the table with the other students’?”

I stutter. “S-sorry, Mr. Dunbar. I was not aware that you did that.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the first day of school. I won’t mark you down for it.” I get up and take the phone to the table next to the door where twenty other phones were sitting. “Now let’s get started,” Mr. Dunbar says. “Let’s start with Newton’s laws of motion…”

Eight hours later, I’m driving home from school. I never told Zach what the weapon was. I kept stalling, making him wait longer and longer for the answer. I’m pretty sure he got a bit angry sometimes, maybe even more than a little impatient, but he didn’t really say anything. Mostly because I continued talking over him and asking him questions that didn’t relate at all to the story.

I drove straight to Grandma’s house. Even though she has the strength of a youth, she still asks for help when she’s gardening, and I’m always happy to help. I get to hear some stories while I’m at it, so it’s always worth it. I might as well be taking the stories as my payment.

Grandma’s house isn’t big. It’s big enough to house two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a small living room, and that is all she needs.

Her backyard, on the other hand, is huge. She has enough space for a garden, and she has more space to put in a swing set and a slide for the younger grandchildren. After all that, there’s still space for several different yard games to happen. Her yard only ends at the tree line, and Grandma has one rule in her yard: don’t cross the tree line. Grandma has given several reasons for this: there’s a river back there, it crosses onto someone else’s property, and there are animals that will hurt you. All of them are valid, but I personally think that’s where she buried Grandpa Curtan. He died shortly after I was born, so I never truly knew him. All I got were his stories.

As I predicted, I found Grandma in her garden. “Hi, Grandma!” I say to her.

“Oh, hi, Jack!” she says back. “How was school today?” She has gloves on her hands and weeds scattered around her.

“It was actually pretty good! I love all of my classes, and my teachers are so nice.”

”That’s nice. Will you do me a favor? Will you continue pulling these weeds out of the ground while I go make a quick phone call?”

“Sure, I can do that.” I kneel down and start pulling some out.

”Thank you, sweetheart.” She stands up, pulls off her gloves, and heads inside. I continue to pull the weeds.

A moment later, I see a flash out of the corner of my eye. I look toward the tree line, but I don’t see anything. I shrug it off, assuming it’s just a trick of the light. A second later, I see it again. Now convinced, I stare at the tree line for a long minute. The air seems to pulse in between a couple of the trees, glowing pink for just a second, but it’s enough. I’m hooked, and I need to find out what’s going on.

I ignore everything Grandma said about not crossing the tree line. I walk over, and I stare at the space between the trees for a solid minute. I had never noticed it before, but the air was swirling with visible blue patterns, like something a child would draw to represent the wind.

I reach my hand out to touch it, and it goes right through. I pull my hand back. It’s warmer on the other side, and just a little more humid. I was now curious to know what was on the other side.

So, I do what any rational adult would do in this situation: I jump through.