The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" by J. D. Tew Page A

chronically weird.
    My
grandma read the paper bright and early before my grandpa at around four in the
morning. She preferred to read the paper before Marv, because he usually left
it in a state of disorder after pulling out his favorite sections.
    Typically,
I was the final person to read whatever was left of the paper, because during
the summer, I was the last to wake up.
    That
morning after that huge storm, my grandparents were out instructing the workers
where to put all of the excess wood from the tree. The sounds of the worker's
chainsaws and chatter pulled me out of bed.
    My
grandmother left some food out for me on the stove. I grabbed a few bites and
walked toward the living room. The taste of scrambled eggs still fresh in my
mouth, I grabbed the paper. Typically, I could bypass all local news if it
didn’t interest me, and I would cut straight to the comics.
    I
sat in my granny’s chair and kicked up my feet on the tiny ottoman that sat
next to it.  Usually, when I sat on that chair, I felt like I became my
grandma, as if I was looking through her perspective: a cold drop of tea in the
bottom of a cup, a pen laying atop the day’s crosswords, and a pair of soft and
stinky slippers. I slipped them on and gazed at the folded stack of papers.
    My
heart stopped.
    There
was a clean, rectangular hole on the first sheet of the newspaper section on
top of the pile. Where the crossword puzzle usually was. But my shock was not
from the fact that my grandpa must have cut out the crossword puzzle for
himself.
    Peering
through the cut-out hole, as if a ghost, the face of my sworn enemy leapt out
at me.
    In
bold print, underneath the photo, the caption read, Travis Jackson,
2001-2016.
    I
blinked. This must be a mistake.
    I
snatched the page where the photo was and threw aside the cut-out crossword
page. It was the obituary section.
    But
this was no mistake. The blurry black-and-white photo of Travis, sullen, looked
out at me again. He looked a bit older than the last time I saw him. But that
forlorn expression still dominated. He didn’t look happy.
    I
read on, my heart pounding. It was Travis’ obituary.
    Apparently,
Travis was camping at Taylors Falls with his dad, and he disappeared. His
father reported him missing, and there was an ongoing investigation. Now, he
was presumed dead.
    The
paper’s columnist questioned Travis’ affiliation with Jason’s death, and
presumed that Travis may have thrown himself from the cliff into the river.
    In
shock, I breathed deeply, unsure what to think.
    Was
this a clue left behind by The Intervention ? I had to do some detective work
to further my understanding of the unknown force, starting with the cliff that
potentially stole the life of two kids. Did Taylors Falls hold the meaning to
my amulet? After all, it had glowed there too.
    I
didn’t mention anything about what I read from the paper to my guardians, and I
had good reason. I had a plan.
    I
sat on the three-season porch taking in the smell of the moist cherry wood. I
sat in a white wicker chair that left imprints on my arms where they rested on
the surface. I noticed these creases on my skin as I pulled away from the chair
to grab some cookies.
    My
grandma sat on a chair by the wooden kitchen table, sipping some Earl Grey. She
would always ask me if I wanted tea, and I would say yes. After all, tea and
cookies was quite the combo. ‘What is eating you, Theodore?’ she said while
looking at me with an inquisitive squint, ‘I know there is something bothering
you, Ted.’
    I
started crying. I cried so hard and dreadfully long; I was hysterical. My body
shook with sobs. My grandmother held me and ran her fingers through my hair. 
My sadness was always transformed into anger and motivation to do more—to enjoy
life better. I wanted to make good of what I could do and the time that I had
with her.
    ‘Theodore,
you are special. I am not saying that because I have to, I am saying it because
you have proven how strong you