Tell Us a Story

Originally posted April 25, 2012

“Grandma, tell us a story. Pleeeeaaasssse!” Little brother is always ready to hear a story.

“Okay. One that I told before.”

“No. a new one,” the eldest boy chimes in.

“Settle in and listen carefully to my tale.”

Grandma begins. Once upon a time, not so many years ago, three brothers…

“Like us.” Middling says with eyes bright.

“Yes, like you, but now be quiet and listen or I won’t have time to finish before it is bedtime.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they agree.

These three brothers did everything together and they looked out for each other. They would go for walks and bike rides around the neighborhood and knew who lived in every house, except… the one three blocks down on the south side of the road. The curtains were always drawn and the paint was peeling. They knew someone lived there because sometime the drapes would move as they went by. Mail was delivered and was always picked up even though no one saw anyone doing it. Until one day when the mail was stuffed in to overflowing; little bits of envelopes and flyers stuck out around the edges.

The brothers decided to knock on the door and see if they could help the occupant. The steps creaked as they stepped up them and to the porch. The door was old and rickety but they knocked anyway. The door swung open slowly squeaking with every inch.

The boys called, “Hello, hello, anyone here. We came to see if you need help.”

There was only silence. They looked around at the dust-covered fixtures and furniture. At one time this had been a beautiful place filled with silks, satins, and velvets. Portraits hung on the walls.

Sudden the youngest brother (“that’s me, I’m the youngest”) let out a gasp. When asked why he told the others that the picture was staring at him. You know sometimes pictures do seem to be watching you. But he brothers just laughed about it.

They could find no one. Or any signs anyone had been there in a long long time. It was a mystery.

Middle brother (a smile from middle brother) was looking at the huge fireplace. Santa would have no problem getting down that chimney. It was tall enough that Dad could stand up in it. He leaned in for a better look and when he caught his foot on a stone the wall moved at the back.

These brothers stood there a long long time wondering what they should do. But who could resist a secret passageway?

Holding on to each other they stepped through the hidden door to a room filled with bright lights and beautiful furniture. Lovely bright colored drapes hung everywhere. And the people… so many people in clothing like nothing they had ever seen before.

You see, the fireplace was a place for time travel and they had just gone back 120 years. They talked to as many people as they could learning so much more history than they learned in school. After that time, they would go visit to learn more about the past and the future bringing the stories back with them.

“We love it Grandma!” Tell us more.

“Next time my dears, it’s bedtime now. Go to sleep and dream about who you would like to visit on such a trip.”


Author: Pamela K. Young

I have not only lived many chapters in one life, but many lives in one body. The person I am today is far wiser than the me of young adulthood. My life is like your life with its ebb and flow. We are all connected in some way. I am a wife, mother, and grandmother, but what makes me, well, me is the way I wife, mother, and grandmother. I am a liver transplant survivor. Whatever devastation you have survived, we survived in our individual ways. I create with words and photos. I am a writer and photographer.

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