Thinking of my late grandfather’s house as a burden, I sold it for a pittance. I had no idea that a secret that would rock my world and impart a lesson from the afterlife was stashed away in the basement.
I had mixed feelings when I inherited my grandfather’s old house. The father, who was full of knowledge and anecdotes, had always been a rock in my life. But I was overcome by his death.
I stood in front of the home, the roof drooping, the paint peeling, the grandeur fading. It was impossible to maintain, yet it was full with memories. My city life moved too quickly for this kind of load.
Thus, I sold it. The new owner, Ben, was keen to negotiate a better price. He appeared kind enough, eager to get things fixed. We shook hands, and the home was his instantly.
A letter written in my grandfather’s handwriting arrived in the mail a week later. He must have kept it for a long time, as seen by its yellowing with age, and left delivery instructions for his will executor.
I trembled my hands opening it. It was a brief message telling me to look in the old house’s basement. I gave Ben a call right away.
“Hi, this is Alex. I must stop by the residence. I have to check something in the basement.
Ben answered, appearing perplexed, “Sure thing.” “Is everything okay?”
Yes, that was just something my granddad had written about.
The home was already looking different when I got there. Ben had been occupied. The walls had been freshly painted, and the front yard was in better condition. At the door, he greeted me.
“Please enter. The cellar is just how you left it.
The steps squeaked beneath our weight as we made our way down into the musty basement. I felt about, trying to find a secret door or hidden chamber. Half-curious, half-amused, Ben studied me.
He questioned, “You sure your grandfather wasn’t pulling your leg?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I said. I was beginning to have my doubts when I discovered a loose brick. A little, dusty box with some ancient letters and a key was hidden below it.
Peering over my shoulder was Ben. “What do you suppose the key is used for?”
“I’m not sure, but I plan to find out.”
Ben nodded, his interest dwindling. “All right, I’ll let you handle this. Tell me if you require anything at all.
Now that Ben was gone, I looked around the basement for hours. I discovered an ancient closet in a distant nook. You guessed it—a concealed door was behind it, and the key fit. I kept what I had found to myself. I needed the home to myself again, but I had to see what was behind that door.
I came back to the house the next day with a plan. I felt a knot of fear tighten in my gut as I knocked on the door. Ben was taken aback to see me when he opened the door.
“Hey, Ben,” I said at first. “I’ve been thinking… I’d like to buy the house back.”
Ben seemed surprised, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You described it as a hardship.”
I inhaled deeply. “Due to sentimental factors. I didn’t know how much my grandfather’s heritage meant to me until recently. I learned from him to respect our forefathers and never forget where we came from. I used to think I was too busy to take care of the house, but I now see how important it is. It’s more than simply a structure—it’s a piece of my family’s past. I have to hold onto that.”
Ben folded his arms, mulling over my suggestion. Emotional motives, huh? Well, I’ve already worked really hard on it. How much longer do we have to talk?”
I forcefully gulped. “Five grand more.”
Ben gently shook his head. Insufficient. I can sell for a profit since the market is strong. You’ll need to perform better.”
My heart fell. I didn’t anticipate this. “So, ten grand extra. That is a justifiable rise.”
Ben grinned, but it wasn’t a warm smile. “Alex, I understand now how much this location means to you. $20k more, or I’m going to walk.”
Panic came over me. It was a lot of money, twenty thousand. Twenty thousand dollars? Ben, really, that’s.
Ben said, “Take it or leave it,” in a forceful voice. “You’re not the only one who sees value here.”
I balled up my hands. This house was mine to keep, not after everything I had learned. “Alright,” I at last murmured, sounding tense. Twenty thousand extra. Make a deal.”
Ben grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you, Alex.”
***
I met Clara at a neighborhood café the next week as I completed the papers to recover the house. She was an enthusiastic historian who worked to preserve historic houses and their histories.
We were talking about the history of the community, and I started telling my grandfather’s story.
Clara remarked, “Your grandfather sounds like an incredible man,” her eyes glimmering with curiosity. “It’s fantastic that you’re working to uphold his legacy. I will be happy to help if you need any assistance with the restoration or learning more about the history of the property.”
I said, “That would be amazing,” with a wave of thankfulness. “I could definitely use the help.”
Clara and I spent hours combing through ancient records and pictures over the course of the following few days, trying to piece together the history of the house. Her knowledge and passion gave the project new life and made it feel less intimidating and more like a trip of exploration.
I went back to the basement with a renewed sense of resolve after regaining ownership of the house. I moved the wardrobe out of the way and unlocked the secret door.
There was a modest chest in the center of the little room. I opened it with shaking hands, anticipating treasure. Rather, I discovered an old poker chip and a note.
In the well-known handwriting of my grandpa, the letter said: “You idiot, I knew you would sell the home! I taught you to remember your roots and show respect to your forefathers. You even sold it, though. I hope you learn a lesson from this.”
“This is an old poker chip that I had to put in this chest. P.S.” It has no value! We’ll call it a fortunate charm.
With the letter in my hand, I sat there feeling let down, but comprehension started to spread. My grandfather had always believed in imparting valuable life lessons in his own unique style.
That’s when I made the decision to retain the house “forever”. It served as a reminder of my grandfather and a link to my history, no longer being a burden. I began organizing the renovations with the idea of creating a room where family could get together, exchange tales, and create memories.
The home changed throughout the course of the following several months. Once a run-down ancient structure, it is now a beloved family getaway. I realized that I was closer to my heritage than my grandfather had imagined.
The mansion would eventually become a haven of love and laughter, a tribute to the legacy of the family. I carried on my grandfather’s teachings by telling everyone who passed through the door about his morals and tales, thereby preserving his memory.
Clara and I found ourselves spending more time together as the finishing touches were made to the house, and our relationship became stronger. Imagining the life we may create inside these walls, we would frequently discuss the future.
Once a burden, the mansion now represented fresh starts and the possibility of a life based on shared history and love.