The Letters - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It had been a long time since Gregory had been to the home of his grandfather.

I know. Lots of stories start this way, but this is somewhat different.

Let’s resume.

Greg took the key out of his pocket and looked around. He turned a complete circle as he surveyed the property. There was nothing there except weeds. The mailbox was destroyed entirely. It appeared as though someone had driven by with a baseball bat and smashed it at high speed. The post still stood, although the top was jagged, but the mailbox was nowhere to be seen. He unlocked the door and entered the house.

On his twenty-first birthday, he had gained ownership, which was strange. He hardly knew his grandfather. He would have thought that someone else might have been willed the home, or the old man could have sold it. It should have paid off all debts, but strangely, he was the only beneficiary. There didn't seem to be any bank holding a mortgage, or unpaid taxes. He wasn’t going to argue.

On entering, however, he thought better. There was nothing in the house at all. Wallpaper was falling off the walls, and he saw more than one rat turd on the floor. He almost turned around and walked out, but he saw a bundle of sealed envelopes on the floor beside the door. His name was written on each envelope, in a flowing script: Gregory Anderson.

He took them into the kitchen, and if he’d thought the front room was terrible, the kitchen was utterly disease-laden. He looked through the back door, and there were more weeds. At one time, there may have been a patio and pool, but it was hard to tell.

Back into the front room and up the stairs, and he found more decaying house with not a thing in it. The restroom facilities were a disgusting avocado green, matching the kitchen, which was not a plus.

He went downstairs and glanced around again. There was no reason to stay. He would talk to a realtor in the morning and sell the house. He had hoped that there might be something of value, but there was nothing. Nothing.

He was about to leave when he spied something. Now you're probably thinking, ah, this is where he finds out that his grandfather had a secret room under the staircase, or something else silly like that.

Well, yes and no. You see, there was a closet under the staircase, but that's all. He almost didn't find it, but something compelled him to reach into a recess under one of the steps. He pulled out a plastic grocery bag with something inside it. He reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a belt of some kind. He shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the house, disgusted at the lack of anything substantial. Shit, he thought. The belt is probably worth more than the house! That was probably correct. There was very little value left in the house.

Gregory jumped into his car and headed home. On the way, he stopped to get a beer, then thought better of it and got a case. He drove on to his apartment and went inside. Throwing the letters on the kitchen table, he grabbed a beer, then put the rest in the fridge to hopefully cool down.

He grabbed the remote for his TV and went to turn it on; then, he realized he hadn't eaten most of the day, so he called Domino's Pizza and had them deliver a Ham and Pineapple pizza. It arrived just shy of a half-hour later (he timed it), and he paid the bill, excluding a tip. He didn't have much to his name.

That reminded him. He picked up a letter and saw Gregory Anderson on the envelope again. It was handwritten. He'd never seen another guy's handwriting so neat. He wondered if his grandfather had written it, or someone else.

He had been raised for as long as he could remember, by a woman who fit into the picture with his grandpa… Well, as far as Greg knew, she didn't. It did look like her writing, though. She was very particular in how he was raised and made sure his writing was as neat as hers. The writing on the envelopes couldn't be hers, however. She had died five years ago, and this looked pretty new.

He finally popped open a beer and took a sip. He looked again at his name on the envelope, then carefully ripped the edge open. He blew into it to open it wide and pulled out the letter.

It was on thin paper and was in the same, careful handwriting as the envelope. It was formal in its address of him: Gregory Glendale Anderson. It seemed strange that the writer had used his middle name on the letter, but not on the envelope, but then again, it hardly mattered.

He took another sip of beer, then started to read.

Gregory Glendale Anderson;

You are wondering who is writing this letter, and I will tell you that Grace is, and I, your grandfather, am dictating it.

I know that you have entered the house now. Obviously, because you're reading this letter. You will need to read the letters in order, as I have much to explain to you, and you will need to take the precaution of reading carefully.

Some of what I'm about to tell you will seem strange, but I ask that you hear me out.

You will have found the belt in the closet under the stairs. Grace knows that you love Harry Potter, so I decided to honor that by placing the belt there.

Keep the belt with you at all times! It is essential and will allow you to do almost anything you wish. I know that sounds like hogwash, but it's true.

I'm going to tell you how, this is possible, by explaining how I used it.

I don't know how it works, or even how it's powered, but the belt can move you through time. Yes, I know that sounds preposterous, but put the beer down and listen. Well, read on, anyway. Yes, I'm fully aware that you have a case of Rainier in your fridge, and that you've taken five sips of the first one.

At this, Greg looked around him. How could his grandpa know that? He died two years ago!

Now, you've just about finished that first beer. I'm not playing some parlor trick, Greg. I just want you to know that I really can move through time.

Greg took one more drink and drained the last of the can. This was starting to unnerve him.

He had finished the first page of the letter and got up to get another beer. He popped the top and took a sip. There was a rough spot where he caught his lip, so he poured it into a glass. He sat down and turned the page.

Don't you hate it when there's a rough spot on the rim of a can? Smart move, pouring the beer into a glass.

He stared at the page. What the Hell?! He felt like he was going to hyperventilate! It was evident that someone was watching him, but how?

I know you think you're being watched, and in a way, you are, but you need to hear me out. Let me give you a demonstration, okay? I want you to get the belt… you left it in the car, by the way… and press on the right side of the buckle one time. You'll hear one beep, then tap the center of the buckle.

Oh, and put the belt on, please, before you do any of this.

Greg stared at the paper for quite some time. He finished his beer, then another. He wasn't sure how to take any of this. His grandpa was dead. He knew that. He had seen the body. They had cremated it, for God's sake!

And what about Grace? Same scenario. Only there, he found the body and tried to do CPR. He failed, but by God, he had tried. She was the closest thing he knew to a mother. Well, Grandmother. She and his grandfather were the same age.

As he contemplated, he opened a fourth beer and took an idle sip. He was starting to feel lightheaded, and he stood up to get the belt from his car. He almost made it to the door, but then realized he would never get back without soaking his pants, so he turned to head to the restroom. Unfortunately, his turn was a bit too sharp, and the floor rushed up to meet him. Soon, he was snoring.

In the morning, Greg slowly climbed to his feet. He was distinctly uncomfortable and realized he had been unable to reach the bathroom. He shuffled to the bathroom, pulled off his sodden clothes, then carefully stepped over the side of the tub. He misplaced his foot inside, and slipped. He came down hard. Thankfully, he missed crushing his crotch on the edge of the tub, and instead, almost dislocated his right hip by hitting the back of his leg on it instead.

After a few barely decipherable words left his mouth, he realized his head, while throbbing, was clear.

It hurt to stand up, but he made it, and leaned against the wall. He turned on the water and let it just run down his body. It was hot, but he was hoping it might ease the pain in his leg.

Eventually, he eased his way out of the shower and into his bedroom where he found some clothes that weren't to smelly and threw them on. His head was much clearer, but his leg hurt like hell. He supposed he should go to an urgent care, but he knew they'd tell him that he needed to ice it and stay off it. He could figure that out for himself.

He limped out to the living room, past the wet spot from his collapse, and out to his car where he found the belt. Back inside, he looked at it carefully. It was a rather normal looking belt, and the buckle was rectangular. Kind of a bronze color, so not unattractive.

Something was tickling his mind. He'd seen this before, he was sure of it, but the more he thought about it, the less he could seem to remember.

He fingered the buckle a bit, then he remembered what the letter said. Press on the right side once, then the center. He did that.

The belt hadn’t moved, but it felt like his arms were almost pulled out of their sockets.

“Didn’t put it on, did you?” Wha?

“I didn’t either,” the voice continued. "Almost pulled my arms out of their sockets. I ended up sitting there, looking just like you do now.”