The last letter

It was a quiet Tuesday morning when Emma found the letter. She had been clearing out the attic of her grandmother’s house, dust swirling in the air like ghosts of memories long forgotten. Her grandmother, Eleanor Whitmore, had passed away just a week ago at the age of 87, leaving Emma as the sole heir to the century-old family home tucked away in the village of Alderfield.

Emma had always loved the house — its creaky floorboards, ivy-covered stone walls, and stories that seemed to whisper through every room. But she hadn’t expected to inherit more than property. That changed the moment she opened the worn leather box at the back of the attic.

Inside the box were several yellowed letters tied with a faded blue ribbon, and at the very bottom was a single envelope, different from the rest. It was crisp, sealed, and had her name on it — Emma — written in elegant cursive she recognized immediately.

Hands trembling, she opened the envelope.

---

My dearest Emma,

If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. I write this with a heart full of love and a truth I’ve carried far too long. It is time you knew the story of your grandfather — and the secret I buried with him.

---

Emma read on, breath caught in her throat.

Her grandfather, Arthur Whitmore, had vanished without a trace in 1971. Emma had grown up hearing two stories: that he had died in a boating accident, and that he had run away. No one seemed to know the truth — or no one would say it.

But now, Eleanor’s letter peeled away the decades of silence.

---

Your grandfather didn’t die at sea. He didn’t run. He was taken.

It was the summer of 1971, and Arthur had been acting strangely. He would go out at night, return with mud on his boots and an expression that made me shiver. One night, I followed him into the woods beyond Alderfield. That’s when I saw it — a circle of stones, glowing faintly in the dark, and a light that didn’t come from the stars.

I know how this sounds, but I swear it on my soul — there was something not of this world there. And Arthur went willingly. He stepped into the light and vanished.

I told no one. Who would believe me?

---

Emma paused. Her logical mind screamed fiction, delusion, grief — but something deeper, something primal, told her to read on.

The letter ended with a set of coordinates and a final sentence:

If you want answers, go. But be prepared. What you find may change everything.

---

The coordinates pointed to a forest on the edge of Alderfield — a place Emma had always been told to avoid as a child. Locals said the woods were cursed. People who entered sometimes didn’t come back. She had thought it was village folklore. Now she wasn’t so sure.

That night, unable to sleep, Emma packed a torch, a compass, and the letter. She left just before dawn, the sun barely brushing the sky with gold as she stepped into the ancient trees.

The forest was still. Too still. No birds, no rustling — just silence and the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath her boots. After nearly an hour, she found it.

A ring of stones, half-covered in moss, forming a perfect circle. It was exactly as Eleanor had described.

Emma stepped forward. As soon as her foot touched the edge of the circle, the air shifted. A low hum vibrated through her chest. The sky above the clearing shimmered, and a soft light began to pulse from the center of the ring.

She could turn back. She should. But something in her — some combination of fear, grief, and desperate curiosity — pushed her forward.

The moment she stepped inside, the world blinked.

---

She wasn’t in the forest anymore.

The air was warmer. The sky was dusky pink with two moons hovering above. Around her stood towering crystalline trees and grass that shimmered blue. In the distance, strange shapes moved — tall, slender beings with eyes that glowed like lanterns.

Emma backed away, breath rapid. What had she done?

Then she heard his voice.

“Emma?”

She turned.

A man stood before her — older, with silver hair and eyes so familiar it made her knees weak.

“Grandfather?” she whispered.

Arthur smiled gently, tears in his eyes. “You look just like her. Like Eleanor.”

Emma ran to him, and he embraced her with the kind of warmth only a long-lost family could give.

“How are you here?” she asked.

“I never left,” he replied. “They showed me things, Emma. This place, this people — they opened my mind. I tried to return, but time doesn’t move the same here. By the time I found a way, it had been decades for you.”

She couldn’t comprehend it. Part of her wanted to cry. Another part wanted to scream.

“Why didn’t you send a message? Let us know you were alive?”

“I did,” he said, reaching into his coat. “But time bends here. What I sent only just reached your grandmother last month. She wrote you that letter right after.”

Emma blinked. “Then... she believed you. She believed in this.”

Arthur nodded. “And now you’re here. Which means you’re meant to be.”

---

They spent hours talking. He showed her the city — a place of impossible beauty and strange peace. The beings, called the Elyari, welcomed her with a warmth that belied their alien forms. They had no weapons, no lies, and no concept of greed.

When Emma finally said she needed to return, Arthur walked with her to the edge of the circle that served as a gate between their worlds.

“You can come back,” he said. “If you choose. The portal will open for you now.”

She hugged him tightly. “I will. But first, I need to tell the world your story.”

He smiled. “Be careful. They might not be ready.”

---

Back in the attic, Emma sat alone, Eleanor’s letter beside her. The world outside was unchanged — birds sang, cars passed, life marched on. But Emma was not the same.

She began to write.

She would tell the truth — about Eleanor, about Arthur, about the Elyari. Whether the world believed her or not no longer mattered.

Because she believed.

And one day, she would return.

---

Word count: ~1,180 words

Would you like a PDF version or any edits (genre shift, character focus, twist ending)?