Dangerous stories shouldn’t be whispered

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I’ve found very few people who agree with me on this. Almost everyone I talk to about it looks at me with a strange face, as if I were making it all up. I know I’m not, I remember it distinctly ‘cause it was repeatedly told by my grandparents when I was a kid, and I know some friends who can corroborate to the story I am about to tell. I can tell you the names of them, but only after you’ve first listened to me. My parents doubted their authenticity, and almost everyone I know thinks it’s just a bedtime story —like the boogeyman. If there ever was any evidence for it, I don’t have much hope of finding it. Most books pre-dating our grandparents can only be found in places called “libraries”, and those are rare to find. I

think the closest one is like, six hours from here, in Duluth.

The best memory I have of this story was when my grandfather was celebrating his 85th birthday. I was 7 and he drew me close after the brief festivities were over. Don’t get me wrong, my family loved grandpa Jones. It’s just that, he could be quite annoying with his constant story-telling and nonsense talking. He started having dementia by that time, and he would ramble on about dragons and giants battling each other. His eyes would flare up when his rambling started, and he would mimic battles by attempting to jump and flail his arms wildly. Now why on earth would you trust the veracity of my story now that I’m telling you this? Actually, that’s exactly the question I wanted you to ask. I wanted to be completely transparent with you about the circumstances which he told me this. Call me crazy or whatever you want, you have every right to do that —I mean, most people do that anyways—. But I trust you, just don’t tell anyone that I’m telling you this. I’ve been hurt enough times. Anyways.

Here it goes.

To be continued…

Comments and suggestions are welcome.

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