“Grandma Rose’s Early Morning Chores”

Grandma Rose’s Early Morning Chores

Last Wednesday, Grandma Rose woke up before the sun had even thought about rising. The old farmhouse was still cloaked in darkness, but she moved with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. She slipped on her worn-out boots, grabbed her thick woolen shawl, and made her way to the kitchen. The house was silent except for the creaking of the wooden floorboards under her feet.

She filled a small bucket with chicken feed and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The sky was a deep shade of blue, hinting at the dawn that was just around the corner. Grandma Rose walked down the familiar path to the barn, her breath visible in the cold air. The barn stood like a silent sentinel, its red paint peeling and its roof sagging slightly.

As she approached, she could hear the soft clucking of the hens inside. She opened the barn door and was greeted by a chorus of clucks and squawks. The hens knew it was feeding time. Grandma Rose scattered the feed on the ground, watching as the hens eagerly pecked at it. She moved from one coop to another, collecting eggs and placing them gently in her basket.

Just as she was about to leave, she heard a voice calling out to her from the other side of the fence. It was Mrs. Thompson, her neighbor. Mrs. Thompson was an elderly woman with a kind face and a garden that was the envy of the entire neighborhood. She was busy tending to her roses, but she had stopped when she saw Grandma Rose.

“Rose! Actually, there’s something you need to know…” Mrs. Thompson’s voice trailed off, and she looked hesitant.

Grandma Rose walked over to the fence, her curiosity piqued. “What is it, Margaret?” she asked.

Mrs. Thompson took a deep breath before speaking. “I saw someone near your barn last night. It was dark, but I could make out a figure. They were lurking around, and it didn’t look like they were up to any good.”

A chill ran down Grandma Rose’s spine. The barn was old, but it held many memories and treasures from her family’s past. She thanked Mrs. Thompson for the warning and hurried back to the house, her mind racing with thoughts of who it could have been and what they might have wanted.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Grandma Rose couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease. She kept glancing out of the window, half-expecting to see someone lurking around again. As night fell, she made sure all the doors and windows were securely locked.

The next morning, she woke up even earlier than usual. She grabbed her flashlight and headed to the barn, determined to check if anything was missing or out of place. As she approached, she noticed something strange. The barn door was slightly ajar.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed the door open. Inside, everything seemed normal at first glance. The hens were clucking softly, and the feed bucket was where she had left it. But then she noticed it – one of the old wooden chests in the corner had been opened.

Grandma Rose walked over to it, her hands trembling. The chest contained old family photographs, letters, and other keepsakes. She rifled through it quickly, trying to see if anything was missing. To her relief, everything seemed to be there.

But then she found it – a single photograph lying on top of the chest that hadn’t been there before. It was a picture of her late husband, taken many years ago. On the back of the photograph, someone had scrawled a message in red ink: “This isn’t over.”

Grandma Rose’s heart sank as she realized that whoever had been lurking around her barn wasn’t just after material possessions. They were after something much more personal.

She knew she had to find out who it was and why they were targeting her family. But for now, all she could do was wait and hope that they wouldn’t come back.