Mistakes Were Made - Chapter One -
Story by Cederwyn Whitefurr on SoFurry
Christopher Robin, grown up, matured and with a grandson now of his own, regaled his grandson with fantastic tales of the 100 Acre Wood when he was a child, but now, having buried Christopher, his grandson, James. inheritted his grand fathers home. He finds an old letter, written to him, and upon reading it, discovers a side of his grandfather he never knew existed...
Mistakes Were Made,
(C) Cederwyn Whitefurr
10th June, 2019
All Rights Reserved.
Christopher had grown up, married, had a family of his own, and now, he was the proud grandfather of his grandson, James. James had grown up with his grandparents, after the tragic death of his mother shortly after his birth.
Christopher entertained his young grandson when he was a child, with tales of the 100 Acre Woods, his friends and their adventures and escapades together, stories the young child absorbed, his eyes wide in wonder and amazement. Yet there was one one thing Christopher kept hidden from his adoring grandson – was the truth about Kanga – what she and Christopher had shared when he was an adolescent and later in life – some things were best left in the past - or so he thought...
*
“We are gathered here, family, friends and colleagues, to mourn the passing of my respected and beloved Grandfather, Christoper Robin.” Spoke James, his voice filled with emotion and grief, but he promised himself he would be strong, respect his grandfather's memory and his legacy...
*
After the funeral and the wake, James unlocked the door and walked inside, tugging the tie from around his neck and unbuttoning the constricting shirt that felt like a noose around his neck. He missed Christopher, there was no doubt, and he remembered fondly, sitting on his grandfather's knee as a child, hearing his wild and ridiculous stories. For they were just stories, fantasies and imagination, stories told to a child – but James was no longer a child, and he chuckled to himself at his memories.
Pouring himself a drink, he slumped into his grandfather's favourite leather recliner, gazing into the fire that crackled and popped, sparks vanishing up the chimney. As he sipped the scotch, lost in reminiscence, a smile playing across his lips as he swirled the scotch in the crystal glass.
*
Two hours later, he rose, then he frowned as he seen an old, yellowed envelope sitting on the coffee table.
“I don't recall that being there - “ Muttered James as he walked over, relaxed and comfortable by the well heated room.
Picking it up, he frowned, seeing the letter addressed to him, in his grandfather's spidery scrawl. Returning to the couch, he opened it, then felt the aged envelope crackle, its discoloration giving him a hint of its age. Making himself comfortable again, he carefully slid the letter free, unfolded it and began reading.
James, my dear grandson, if you find this letter, age has caught up to me. Please, do not be sad, for I had a rich, vibrant life and I have no regrets –
James took a sip from the alcohol, then frowned.
“Granddad never mentioned regrets - “ James muttered, before he set the glass down and kept reading.
You were just a child, a curious, naive and intelligent child – when I first spoke to you of the 100 acre woods, Kanga and the others, do you remember? I'm sure you do, however, now you're of an age to understand the truth. Much of what I told you was exaggerations, lies and out and out fantasy -
With a weak chuckle, James nodded. “That they were Granddad, that they were...”
“There is one story, I never told you – children don't need to know such things, protect the innocence of childhood, as once we're adults, it's gone forever. Kanga, oh, dear, sweet Kanga -
Frowning, James paused, then stared at the letter in his hands. “Granddad, Kanga wasn't real, none of it was, they were just stories made up to entertain and amuse me as a child, I know that now, so, what's your point old man? What are you trying to tell me?”
I can almost see the scepticism in your eyes, James, believe me – I know you as well as I know myself, “they're just stories...” well, that's not entirely true. When I was a young lad, I had a Kanga plush, beautiful, she was one of my most valuable and loved of my childhood possessions. One night, Kanga – well – Kanga come alive! I'm not lying, or deep in drink, this is the God's own truth, please, believe me! Kanga was my first – the sensual feel of her warm, beautiful fur, her brown eyes you could lose yourself in...
Pausing, James took a deep swallow of his drink, then shook his head, thinking his grandfather must have hit the brandy a bit too hard – he had to be playing some wild, practical joke, didn't he? How could a plush toy, filled with polyester stuffing and glass eyes – come alive? It wasn't possible – it just – wasn't...
Kanga done things to me, in hindsight, she shouldn't have, but her love was unconditional, she wasn't – corrupted by morality and human thinking. She loved me, and God's help me – I loved her. Kanga's passions were incredible, the feel of her short claws on my flesh, her oh so warm tongue, the scent of her – you get the idea. Kanga was my first – the first to take my virginity from me, when I was only a youngster.
Our mating, as there's no finer way to put it, its exactly what it was, was, as you can assume, frenetic, haphazard and careless. Kanga was frustrated and disappointed, I don't blame her, in hindsight. I was young, it was my first time with a – a female – and a kangaroo on top of that!
“He's lost it, I'm certain of it - “ James laughed nervously, before knocking back the last of his scotch and shaking his head. “Granddad's pulling my leg, he always was a joker and a larrikin...”
I can hear your laughter, my grandson, I know what you're thinking, but please, its the truth...go to my study, in the third drawer, taped under the drawer, you'll find an old iron key. I know, we told you decades ago, that the key to the attic was lost back in the 1960's, but this is a lie – it was closed and locked, when your late, lamented Grandmother, found my one and only true love – did I love your grandmother? Of course I did, but our love was -nothing- compared to what Kanga showed me that night – then years later, when I'd grown up and matured.
In that attic, packed away in a trunk, Kanga sleeps – please – go to her, on the second night of the full moon, place her before the fireplace, you know the spot, where the light of the full moon lands on that mat, I promise, you won't be disappointed...
Love, now and always,
Christopher.
James put down the letter, shaking his head and laughing to himself, thinking his grandfather was truly playing an epic practical joke from beyond the grave.
“You always were a joker and a kidder Granddad - “ James laughed, as he rose and poured himself another drink, then stood, sipping it, the liquid warming him nicely.
For thirty minutes, he wandered his grandfather's house, fondly remembering his childhood, his grandparent's and the wonderful upbringing they had given him. Almost neglected, his glass was clutched in one hand, before he sighed, wiping away some tears of happiness at the memories, then rested a hand against the photograph of his grandfather, that hung on the wall.
“Here's to you granddad - “ James nodded, as he raised the glass in salute. “Rest in peace you old practical joker!”
Downing the scotch which burned with a comfortable warmth, James put his glass on the sideboard and made his way to his Grandfather's study.
“Least I can do, is humour the old man!” James chuckled, as he sat behind the desk, then slid open the drawer and began fumbling. His mouth fell open, when he touched something old and tacky, then something heavy fell into his probing fingers. Removing them, he found he held an ornate old iron key – just as the old man had said in his letter.
“No...this can't be real, its a setup, it has to be...” James murmured, as he stared down at the key, in his palm.
For nearly twenty minutes, he wrestled with his doubts, before he rose uncertainly, then made his way through the house and up to the top floor, the ornate attic door imposing in its frame. Inserting the key, James was surprised and alarmed, when it slid home, then when he turned it, there come the loud click of the tumblers twisting and the lock opened.
Carefully, he pulled the handle, expecting the hinges to be rusted with decades of neglect, but they swung open effortlessly, almost as if they had been freshly greased and oiled just yesterday. Stepping over the threshold, James felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine, before he turned on the flashlight and began flicking it over the contents of this long forgotten attic.
Here and there were trunks, old, antique furniture, a women's dressed with a large mirror attached, the mirror's silver backing missing in places – then his eyes fell on another letter...that sat propped up on the dresser, with his grandfather's unmistakable scrawl once more.
Approaching, puffs of dust coming from his footsteps, James nervously approached and illuminated the old, yellowed envelope, written on which was three words – touch the mirror -
Nervously, James reached out and touched it, before he gasped as there was a bright flash of light that dazzled his eyes, the torch falling from his nerveless hands and going out as it struck the floor, the lens shattering and plunging the attic into darkness.
To Be Continued...