***Author's Note: This is my first story of this type, and the first I'm sharing with anyone. Hopefully it's decent, we'll see. I have some ideas for continuing the story, but it may well just all come right off the cuff. If anyone is reading this, I hope it doesn't suck! :)***
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It was just a typical Friday morning. I woke up, showered, threw down some breakfast and off to work I went. Ugh, at least it's Friday. I won't bore you with the boring ass details of my job as a semi-corporate schlub, performing contract customer service and PR for a big telecom company. 'Just gotta make it to 5' I thought to myself. I usually repeat that mantra every 5-15 minutes during a Friday. It appears this one is no different.
Until, that is, I received some sad news via text message around 3:30. 'Paul, I hate to tell you this but your grandpa passed away yesterday. We're meeting at his house at 6 tonight, I'll see you then. Dad.' Well. Quick and to the point, and clearly wasn't asking if I wanted to go. But go I would.
If you've ever lost a grandparent, then you can imagine the scene. My parents and their siblings and their kids, sitting around reminiscing; some crying, some laughing, plenty of stories to be told. Finally, my dad brought up what to do about the house. My grandpa left it to him, but left the contents to me.
My dad said, "I plan to sell the house. I don't want to live here and I don't want to rent it out and have to be a landlord. Paul, pretty much everything inside the house is yours. I would suggest going through it all to see if there's anything you actually want to keep. Once you've done that, we can trash or donate the rest. I'll give you 2 weeks."
Alright then. Time to comb through several decades worth of junk to see if there's anything I would even consider keeping. While not particularly taxing, it is an exhausting process. It's truly amazing how much stuff builds up when you live in one place for so long.
About a week later, I was at my limit. I'd been going to the house every night after work and combing through crap. I'd even crashed there a couple times, as the thought of making the 20 minute drive to my crappy apartment seemed excessive. I always liked staying at my grandpas house, it was huge and you could easily get lost in it. The property spanned an entire block front to back, with a big garage opening up onto the street behind. It had front stairs, back stairs, a hidden door to the attic, a creepy basement with the door hidden behind the fridge. You know the stuff dreams and/or nightmares are made of.
I'd brought my computer with me this night, as I expected I would just crash there again. After calling the shit-sorting for the night, I popped a beer and took a load off. Then I realized it had been almost a week since I'd actually gotten a load off. Pretty easy to fix with a big empty house and the Internet. I fired up my PC and into pornland I went. I went straight to one of my favorites: Heather Brooke. The way this beautiful woman could suck dick was beyond imagination. Straight to the root over and over, the whole time looking like she finally got what she always wanted. Not a one trick pony however, as she also enjoyed anal sex. Watching her go from bent over and getting pumped in the ass, then straight to sucking that entire dick down her throat prompted my usual reaction, and left me to clean up my own mess.
I know what you're thinking, 'how sad for you'. And you'd be right. I had experience with women; I had plenty of fun in college, but not much recently. Call it a slump, or a drought if you want, but I hadn't even been trying that hard. I was in need of a change.
The next morning, Saturday, I decided to tackle the attic. The space was a mess, 70 years of old furniture and toys haphazardly discarded and left to collect dust. I did find some old baseball cards, although time and the air in the attic did them no favors. Not worth very much unless in mint condition, but might as well save them just to be safe. I was on the verge of giving up and writing off the rest of the attic when I saw the lamp. To be specific, it was an actual lamp, although not one I ever remembered seeing before. If I had to describe it, I would liken it to the 'leg' lamp in the movie 'A Christmas Story'. Haha, "Fra-gee-lae". Cm'on, thats funny.
My immediate thought is that I love that movie, and this would make perfect sense in my apartment, as an avowed movie nerd. So down the stairs with me came the lamp. I put it on the kitchen table while I made my lunch, and looked more carefully. It certainly didn't seem that old, even though there was nothing else in the attic from less than 35 years prior. Then the proverbial light came on: where the hell is the plug? There was no power cord, and no switch or knob to turn the lamp on.
'Well shit,' I thought, 'I might as well throw the damn thing out then'. I picked it up to throw it out back in the trash when I noticed something odd. As I was holding it, the lamp felt funny. Almost like it was full. It felt kind of like holding a lava lamp, like there was something sloshing around inside of it.
