The attic was stuffy with summer heat. It reminded Charles of days spent at his grandfather’s, searching through the detritus of his past, things the old man had relegated into his dusty garret. There was a wooden walking stick that looked like it could double as a weapon with its sharpened point. A pair of black binoculars in their worn case, an old brass theodolite separated from its tripod. When Charles found a journal filled with indecipherable math and survey coordinates, he became convinced his grandfather had been a wizard.

Now, years later, searching through his own father’s home, Charles didn’t see any pictures of his grandfather. None alone or with his father or with any of his siblings. He realized then, that if his grandfather had been a wizard, his one trick had been to disappear.

See the author’s published work here.

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