Once I saw what the magic stone could do it put something in me that made it easier to accept that my Grandpa could suddenly reappear back from the dead and wind up seven months later sitting in my living room, sipping tea and talking about the good old times. Yet there he was. In the flesh and no worse for wear than if the whole murder business had never even happened at all.
"Murdered?" he asked, chuckling. "No, no, Jon, not murdered. That knife could never kill me. Put an awful cramp in my back for the first few months but as you can see, I've recovered fully."
"But.... I was at your funeral. They buried you!" I protested.
"And I tell you it was the most touching thing I'd ever seen in my life. Though I have to admit, I wasn't too particular about the flower arrangement. You'd think they could have done something about that god-awful wreath. I don't really care for roses, you know. I specifically asked for yellow petunias. Oh, but enough about me. What's been happening with you all this time?"
I explained the entire story to him and he seemed amused that I'd managed to get into so much trouble. Finally he told his story and it was far too fantastic to believe. It was filled with all sorts of nonsense like fairytale dragons, goblins, gnomes, and even wizards and elves. Crazy stuff like from a children's book or something, but that was Grandpa for you. Good old Grandpa the story teller. He was always telling long winded tales like that, only now, after having seen him come back from the dead I kind of began to wonder if I should believe any of it or if it was still just made up like I thought before.
He finished the tale by slamming down the dagger horizontally on the kitchen table, palm pressed to the flat of the blade.
"There you go," he said and plucked off the little tag that read "police evidence" on it.
"Where'd you...?" I started to ask but thought better of it.
"Magic," he explained with a chuckle. "Just pulling your leg, Jon. I have a friend who works for the force. He managed to get it for me. After all, it's MY blade."
"Yours?"
"From my collection. Didn't you know?"
"No," I admitted. "I had no idea."
"Well there you have it. The fiend, whoever he was, broke into my house and stabbed me in the back with my own dagger right from the wall box over the mantle. Can you believe it? Well, after I was buried a few days I began to wonder just who could have done it, and then I found an answer."
"Your evil doppleganger?" I guessed.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"You told me the story already," I reminded him.
"Well, when are you going to pack your things and get ready?" he asked.
"For what?"
"To track down my killer of course!"
And there I was, smack dab in the beginning of the strangest adventure I'd ever set foot on.
