To say here is far, and to call yonder nearby. Stories on the edge of the every day, strange tales you may or may not be moved by. Strange, curious, fantastic stories told by me, you, him and her. There are many stories but they’re all concluded within a single page, each story around 200 to 1200 characters in length, a short story collection you can easily read. Please enjoy them. Updated every Saturday at 6pm.
My grandfather’s obituary arrived.
He was a poor man, a carpenter by trade, and when I was younger, he often made me toys out of his leftover scraps.
Everyone said he was a stubborn worker, but to me he was kind. He had a reputation for being sweet on his grandkids, but I think he was also well known as a master craftsman.
I put in to get some time off work and returned to my family home, where my mother told me a strange story.
Apparently, on the day of my grandfather’s death, a tree suddenly appeared in the garden. When I say tree, I don’t mean like a tree that’s taken root in the ground. It was more like dried lumber, pre-cut and ready for use. A pile of it, all in the garden. Of course, it wasn’t there the day before.
My grandfather worked right up to the point of his death, so it was possible that it was for his next project. Perhaps they delivered it in his absence and then left it there.
There were other things to deal with at the funeral service, so my mother soon forgot about it. A few hours later she remembered again, so she went to look at the garden and all of it was gone.
“Perhaps they wanted your grandfather to carve something,” my mother said, wrapping things up.