Putting Grandad to Rest

The ceremony goes as expected. You don’t remember your parents’ funeral but assume it must have been similar. Slowly the other mourners leave, but you can’t seem to find the will to go. He was the last person who was yours. The only person who really cared about you. Who you think cared about you anyway. He left you the house and enough money for you to live off for a while. Probably your entire life if you were frugal with it and the trust left by your parents.

You look at the grave markers that represent the people that were responsible for you being here, alone. It finally hits. A sob wells up and breaks the dam you put up against your emotions. You try to fight it, but it wins, and you give into it. The ground breaks between your knees as they strike soil and your face buries itself into your hands, like they just buried your grandad in the ground.

Then, just like that it is over. You breathe through your mouth and look down, wiping away the tears and snot onto your tee shirt. There is something there. A slim tube made of transparent crystal. A breeze blows around you rocking the crystal back and forth. It must have been forgotten by one of the other mourners you think.

You reach down and pick it up. The breeze stops when you touch the object. Suddenly you start to hear whispers. They speak to you, “Come to us, come to us, come to us.”

You want to drop the crystal, but you can’t. You find yourself standing up. Then walking. Panic grips you. What is happening!