Jake stared at the dusty, old box in his hands.
He had been sixteen when he first found it deep in the attic, paired with a note reading "To my grandson, Jacob, on his eighteenth birthday. Use it wisely." He brought it out and asked his mother what it meant. His grandfather always had a strange sense of humor, and since Jake was his only grandson he was always being put in the center of grandad's jokes. But when Mom saw the box in his hands her brows furrowed like she was trying to remember something, her eyes becoming distant until she shook her head in confusion. She had been insistent then, grabbing the box and returning it to the attic with a falsely cheery voice. "It says once you're eighteen, and don't you open it a minute earlier!"
Now, on night of his eighteenth birthday, it was finally time to open the box. He sat on the edge of his bed, not sure how to prepare himself for what he might find. Whatever it was it had to be small enough to fit in the small, slim box. Maybe an old war medal of his?
His grandfather passed away when he was 14. At the time, it felt like Jake was losing his best friend. Ever since Jake's dad died when he was 8, his grandad had been his rock. His fishing partner, camping expert, a shoulder to cry on and someone to give advice about girls and growing up. He had always seemed to appear when he needed him most; with some gift for Jake, and always paired with a smile. All at once, Jake began to miss him again terribly as he stared down at the small thing in his hands.
Jake couldn't wait any longer as he pressed on the brass clasps of the small box, hearing the satisfying click of it unlocking for him. He opened the lid to a folded up letter sitting atop a silver pen. Jake moved the letter aside and picked up the pen, holding it close to his face to inspect it. Definitely not a medal from the war.
It was beautiful, carefully engraved in swirling patterns that almost seemed to move. It felt heavy and dense in his hand, but it also felt right. He ran his thumb over the patterns and the pen seemed to almost hum in his hand. It looked and felt very expensive. Maybe this was memorabilia from grandad's college days?
"Whoa, what is this thing?" He set the pen down on the bed beside him and grabbed the letter, opening it to reveal his grandfather's familiar script. It was hard to read at first, Jake just wanted to stare at the words and imagine his favorite person writing them just for him.
"Jacob, I had hoped to see you mature into the wonderful man I know you'll be before I gifted this to you. With this diagnosis I'm afraid I won't be able to see that day, but this pen has been passed down in our family for generations, and it is rightfully yours now. The men in our family have been using this for generations. I knew when I only had daughters that I would have to hold this, I could feel it in my bones that you would arrive and claim your heritage!
Click the top of the pen and time will stop for everyone but you and what you're holding when you click it. Click it again and time resumes. Sometimes people will feel what you do if you do it hard enough to be aware that you're doing this out of sight! The stories I wish I could share with you... Twist the lower half of the pen to write, anything written on a person while time is stopped will embody what you write, though the ink will be invisible to them. The ink washes off in a day or two and they'll be back to normal, thinking nothing of their little temporary change. Keep the pen near you at all times, it can't get into the wrong hands. It's your responsibility now. I only wish the pen had enough power that I could stay around longer. I know you'll treat this heirloom with the respect it deserves.
Love always, Grandad."
"What the hell?" Jake read the letter again laughing, he could scarcely believe it. Picking up the pen once more he twisted the metal and the pen clicked to the left. An ink cartridge emerged from the pen, looking extremely ordinary. What was his grandpa on? Jake would be lying if he said he wasn't a little disappointed in being pranked from beyond the grave.
"Invisible ink? Changing people?" He clicked the top of the pen and looked around. Nothing visibly seemed to change. Not that he expected things would. He looked around his room, a small dark room filled with dark blues and greys, his guitar in the corner, his computer in the other. He clicked the pen again, feeling duped. "Yeah right, one last prank from the old man. Man, I miss him though..."
click. click. click.
He set the pen down and walked out of his room to grab a piece of cake from his birthday party earlier. Maybe a little sugar will help revive his mood. He took the stairs two at a time turning past his golden retriever, Rowdy, and past the living room. He was a step away from the kitchen when something made him pause and double take. Rowdy hadn't moved a muscle to see him, he stood with his nose to the front door, how he normally looks mid whine of "I want to go outside!"
