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“Welcome back Jujubees!” A young auburn twenty something girl speaks into the camera. “I wanted to start this video by apologizing for going radio silent for the last week…” she glances around the room. “But I’m back making videos again now! So, everything is ok.”
“Anyway, guys look around, this isn't my apartment! I know you all must have so many questions; Where did I go? What happened? Why am I recording somewhere new? Do I have some kind of super-secret new content I was getting ready all last week?” She steps back from the camera, letting the viewers see more of the room.
She is standing in what looks like a hunting lodge, wood everywhere. With stuffed game and other random objects mounted on the walls. The vast majority of those other things look like well-made, historically accurate, medieval weapons. The armory covering the wall around the fireplace is less imposing than you might expect.
The various stuffed trophies, however, are significantly more bizarre. They all could be rare mutations of classic wildlife, but many of them would look more at home in some out of the way tourist trap in Oregon. The kind of place that might try to convince you that mythical legendary beasts and cryptids still roamed the American woodlands.
The rest of the room has big, cushioned leather chairs facing towards the fireplace. On the whole the room somehow manages to be cluttered but cozy. The oddity of the space is so overwhelming it wraps right around to being normal. The only thing breaking up the cozy hunting lodge aesthetic are the boxes.
The boxes are everywhere. In the chairs, stacked up by the fireplace, on top of and under every table in the room. Containers of all shapes, sizes, and types dominate the room, papers and trinkets overflowing out of many of them barely contained.
The girl spreads her arms showing off the clutter. “Well, I have answers, and some new bizarre content. First, though, I’ve got to tell you why I disappeared for a week.” She takes a deep breath, then looks right into the camera lens.
“My Grandma is dead.” She lets that sit for a moment, staring sadly into the camera. “For the last week since I got the news, I’ve been an absolute wreck, crying, screaming, being dramatic… I did not take it well. I know, it just sucks. I just…” It looks hard for her to get these words out.
“Those of you who have been following for a long time probably have a good idea what happens next. The family got involved. For the new viewers, my family sucks. We're like the poster children for dysfunction.”
The girl sits down on a chair made of boxes, centered in frame. She has to hold herself down to the seat, her hands white on the handles of the plastic crates at the front of the improvised chair.
“The funeral was terrible, Jujubees. Wish I had thought to secretly record it so you guys could have seen it. It was a freaking clown show for the poor woman. Seriously. I know my Gran wasn’t perfect, but nobody will tell me why they hated her so much.” The girl slumps against the cardboard boxes backing her seat.
“She was cool, always had these stories,” her voice shakes. “And apparently, she was rich, like stupid rich. That's why the whole family even bothered to show up.”
She stays leaning back for a few seconds, sniffs, then hauls herself up to stand right in front of the camera again. “It’s ok guys. I’m ok.” another sniff, “What’s important is Juju here,” she points at herself, “has got a new case to dig into, on request from my late Grandmother herself. She's specifically asked me to share it with all of you, my wonderful viewers.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“My Grandma left me a letter, her house, and everything in it. We, viewers, will start with the letter and over the next few weeks will get to the rest. If half of what is in this letter can be confirmed, we are all in for one of the greatest unboxing series of all time.” She leans in and shows the camera an envelope. Holding it there for a second so the camera can focus on the name written in a beautiful flowing cursive, Judy Jubrie.
She pulls the envelope back and grabs out the letter and speaks with a smile that now reaches her obviously red and puffy eyes. “As you all already know, all documents I refer to in my videos will be tagged in the description. Those of you who would like to follow along with this mystery, check that out, like, and subscribe to the channel. Now, let's find out. Who was my Grandmother really?”
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Dear Jujube,
If you are reading this I am dead. This is the third time I’ve written those words. It is, however, the first time writing such here on Earth. Those words never seem to lose their edge, clichéd as they are. Movies get the intentions and weight behind those words completely wrong, of course. They are not written down for the person who reads them. No, I have always written them down for myself. They are a reminder. You are about to risk it all. This could be the end. You are about to die. It gets me in the right headspace, you See?
Now Judy, I’m rambling, but I fear I must. The words I write down here and the path they will send you down scare me. They are words and a story that has hurt me greatly. I fear they will hurt you too. So you must share them, spread the load, so that the greatest accomplishments and the greatest tragedy of my life does not crush you as well. I hope That Youtube reaches as many as you say, you will need them all.
Now ever curious and observant as you are I am certain you have already noticed how oddly I began this letter. It is true, I have written those words before, but not on Earth. Do not jump to conclusions Jujube now, I am no astronaut. You will have to Learn that Life is much more bizarre than you ever could have thought.
It was called Elentier, the new world I was whisked away too, one of many as I now understand it. Your grandfather remembered the day I left him, and he never believed or forgave me till the day he died. Your father is still angry with me, as is his right, I don't know if he believes my story or not. To him whatever reasons I had to abandon my son will never be good enough. I respect less your aunt's opinion, she pities me, still believing that I left on some depraved drug fueled trip. She has forgiven me for it, but will never believe my story of what had happened. I have not Accepted that forgiveness.
I hope you, granddaughter, will see through it all as you so often do. See right to the truth of the tale. Why I disappeared long before you were born. Why the family hates and pities me for it, and why despite that I still love them. Why I must still Love them.
I’m rambling again, let me return to the point.
That world was called Elentier. I arrived there with no warning. Pulled right from the living room. Right off of the couch no more than a few rooms away from your father and your aunt, both too young to be left alone. What happened there is too much to put in this letter. My story, and the proof of its reality, is left to you in the house I bequeathed to you in the will. It begins with the golden box, inside are my diaries. Pay close attention to the goblins, they are much more important then I believed them to be at first. I dearly wish that one of the tribe's sayings will hold true here. It takes one generation to make a great mistake, another to ignore it, and the third to fix it. Though I suppose the spirit of that saying doesn’t feel nearly as positive to us humans. I love you Jujube, Very much.
With Love,
Grandma Trinday