Wishes

   Driving out to Grandpa's place in Friday traffic that night gave me plenty of time to think- which was something I didn't really want. I was still in shock about his sudden death, about inheriting his house, about the need to go through and decide what to do with his personal things, about the sudden adult responsibilities. I was suffering with a week-long headache from lack of sleep, tough decisions, and the stress of forcing myself to work through the grief, and was very thankful that my vacation time had been approved and I would be able to get some things in order this coming week.

     Inheriting his house was the one thing keeping me together. It had been my refuge ever since I can remember: when I was three and my mom had to have surgery, after my dad's fatal heart attack when I was five, when my mom remarried and went on her honeymoon. I stayed at Grandpa's anytime I could after that to get away from my stepfather and my obnoxious older stepsister. Long weekends, summer vacations, school holidays would usually find me there. My grandparents gave me stability, safety and security. Now they were both gone and I felt very lost. At least I had their home, my refuge, to mourn them in.

     I thought of the mess that would be waiting for me when I did return to the bookstore. I was so tired of the low pay, the high responsibility, the demanding customers. I was nearing thirty and, as assistant manager, I had already reached the glass ceiling. The manager wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and my liberal-arts degree and ten years of experience with the company had gotten me to just over the poverty line. How I wished I could own my own bookstore and be self-sufficient, instead of being stuck working for a national chain! 

     I also wished for a life companion. Friends didn't begin to fill the aching need that was all the stronger in the absence of Grandpa's wisdom and understanding. I wanted someone to love me and share my life with.

     I know what Grandpa would say. "You've just got to keep goin' anyway," just like he did when Grandma died.     

     After I dragged my suitcases up the stairs, and put away some of groceries I had brought, I headed to the heart of the house, Grandpa's library. His library, full of classic novels, Science Fiction, Horror, and Fantasy, that he had spent so long collecting, was my most precious remaining link with him. I knew it was there that I could work out my grief and forget my loneliness, just as Grandpa had done when he lost Grandma.

     He had put all his energy, and a good deal of money, into converting Grandma's sewing room into a traditional English library, complete with floor to ceiling bookshelves, rolling ladders, a couple of red leather wing chairs, and a huge library table. 

     As soon as I sat down, I felt a strange, yet familiar feeling in the atmosphere of the room- an unseen presence that was attracting me. I had felt this in the past, but never this strongly. I stood up and followed my instinct, cautiously, nervously, to one of Grandpa's bookshelves, and directly to one of our favorite SF anthologies.

     A distinctive feeling of regret, isolation, and dread were now mixed with a more familiar awareness of something not quite human. Fighting against my sudden queasiness, I pushed through the slight but clearly repulsive force - much like forcing two tiny repulsing magnets together - and grabbed the book from the shelf and pulled it open.

     In one breath's span of time, a blackish hole opened up in the center of the open book, and a smoky, hazy, yet luminous form rose and began to solidify as it drifted out of the book. The hole smoothly closed on itself, leaving the book exactly as it had been originally. I quickly closed it & dropped it on the table.

     The form, which now appeared to be humanoid, was unappreciatively making its way toward the door.     

     "Hey! Can't you at least say thank you?"