This story is by Adelaide Travis and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Gunter sat in his dimly lit apartment, rolling the weight of his grandfather’s pen box between his hands, the gentle clatter of the pen echoing in the silence. The weight was heavy, just like the secrets. It had been passed down through the generations, a relic full of family secrets long buried. Shadows flickered and danced on the walls as he remembered his grandfather’s final words about it— hints at a darkness best left untouched. His eyes glanced at the ornate pen box, as he put it on the table in front of him, he noticed designs that differed slightly from each other, indicating that they were from different time periods. He remembered the second the estate lawyer handed him the pen box; how unsettled he became, but he brushed it off thinking it was grief.
His grandfather had always spoken of the pen, using cryptic and hushed tones. Gunter could never forget the way his eyes shifted, as if looking for someone— like a child caught taking candy from the candy bowl. “There’s power within,” he said as his eyes got wide with fear. Gunter was always skeptical and just attributed it to his grandfather’s eccentricities and old age, possibly his several tours through several wars. They lived a simple life, yet always on the outskirts of the shadows of the past.
As he examined the box, he thought he heard overlapping whispers echoing around his apartment. He walked to his game headset on his couch to see if it was on by accident, it was not. He then muted his television, thinking that it might have been background noise from the commercial that was playing.
The whispers persisted.
He got up out of his chair and walked around the apartment to make sure the windows were closed and checked all his electronics that made noise.
The whispers got louder.
The apartment was eerily quiet, except for the whispers that seemed to grow louder with every passing second coming from the pen. He stared, as if in a trance, at the pen box for what felt like an eternity. He shook his head and mumbled to the box, “Ok grandpa, you’ve had your fun now. The mind games are not going to work on me anymore. I’ve had enough therapy to get me through this.”
I’m opening the damn box. I don’t believe in all that hocus pocus.
He opened the pen box to find the pen that had been the source of anxiety for so many in his lineage. It was rather ornate, covered in gold and looked as if it was encased with petrified wood. It was impressive by today’s standards, as most people use some form of disposable plastic, mass-marketed, pen. He held the pen with his fingers, it felt right. He then put the pen down and looked at the box itself, wondering what the big deal was about this pen. As he picked it up, and looked over every nook and cranny, a little slip of paper slipped out of the box. He picked it up to read and was instantly pulled into a vortex where the past, stretching back to the days of The Great Library of Alexandria, seemed to hurl information at him, leaving him thirsting for more. The air around him began to thicken with traces of Marlboro smoke weaved in and out, as the past began to weave itself effortlessly into his present and wrapping around him like a python waiting for its final squeeze. Gunter began to feel an unsettled feeling of urgency, feeling compelled to uncover the truth behind the blurry darkness in the corner of his eye with every jump he made between connections this pen made. Every jump, twist, ebb, and flow of this vortex pulled him deeper into the dark labyrinth of secrets and lies he was watching but couldn’t do anything about. He felt like pulling his hair out, throat punching people, and even wanting to pull the trigger a time or two, but he was only a bystander. Like everyone else he saw frozen in time. Then he saw his grandfather– he couldn’t make out what he was doing, but it seemed as if he was looking right at Gunter. He looked in his eyes, it was as if he knew Gunter was there, his eyes had sudden sadness, as if he was hoping Gunter would never see any of this. Then, his grandfather gave an imperceptible shake of his head, looked up to the right, and blinked.
Gunter immediately jumped back to the present. “I need a drink.” he said to the empty apartment. As he was pouring himself a double shot of brandy, a knock sounded on his door, startling him. His pulse quickened, and he froze. The scent of cigarettes wafted from nowhere in particular, but as he looked through his door peephole, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being watched by something sinister. There was nothing on the other side of the door, but the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.
With everything that he saw in the vortex– the realization slowly crept in.
The pen, ever present, was the thread binding every event together. These glimpses at history had real consequences, and he had unwittingly become a part of them.
The pen, rather than being a relic, was a harbinger of doom and a key that not only unlocked knowledge, but chaos.
Knock. Knock.
Gunter, desperate to shake off the creepy dark feeling seeping into his mind, shoved the pen back in the box and shut it tight, hoping that the darkness would stay within the box. He threw back the first glass of brandy, felt the glorious burn that it gave him, and poured another glass.
Knock. Knock.
This time the knock was even louder, and Gunter could feel his heart racing, as he slowly walked towards the door, brandy glass in hand, hand on the door, fear closing its icy cold hand around his neck, he looked out the peep hole again, “Who’s there?” he asked with trepidation.
“Let me in,” wheezed a raspy voice, cold and familiar. Sending chills down his spine.
“It’s me.”
The voice sounded distant, but the tone was unsettling. He hesitated, contemplating whether it was worth the price to open the door to whatever is on the other side. Curiosity drove him to open the door with a tentative pull, and when he saw who was on the other side, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.
It was the shadow of his grandfather. Not the grandfather he once knew, but a gaunt and hollow-eyed person in his stead. He put one hand on the door, shuffled across the threshold and smiled. The smile wasn’t one that was friendly, more like the ones that predators give prey when they know they have them where they want them.
Gunter took two steps back, dropped his glass on his floor, and found himself racing to the table in which he left the pen. He opened it again and felt his grandfather’s hand on his shoulders, his icy cold breath near his ear, “I’m going to tell you a secret.” His grandfather said. “You are about to rewrite history and create the future you desire. Beware though, there are powerful forces who will seek you out.”
As the shadows closed in around him, he found himself submitting to them, his desire for a life full of wealth, romance, and fame growing increasingly strong. His grandfather had awakened something in him that could never be silenced. He understood he could never return to this world and would be entering a new reality of things beyond his wildest dreams, but it would not be his, it would be all those that went before him and the ones who will follow in his footsteps.
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