On the way to Grandma's house, I had not noticed the color of the leaves changing. But I had also not noticed the shadows lingering behind me.

Her house was hard to miss, a brilliant shade of crimson red, and her door, a creamy yellow. Grandma's house had always fascinated me, filled me with questions about how such a small woman could live in such a large house.

I walked along the grey stone steps that lined her front yard. She had always been a bit obsessive about her lawn. So she put those steps in as protection.

As i walked to the front door of her house i smelled that ever-familiar scent of cinnamon. That could only mean one thing. She was making an apple pie.

Grandma was an excellent cook, and her culinary skills went unsurpassed in the entire state, she held 123 different culinary prizes.

When i got to the front door, i noticed that something was...off. Her door had a small scratch right above the doorknob. I dismissed it, since the house was old, it was probably just a time fracture.

I opened the door, using the key she kept hidden under the knocker. The main foyer of her house had an off-white rug, and dark blue walls. The contrast of color always said something about how her personality did not, in any way, match her age. She was 85, but she had the stamina of a 30-year-old.

When i walked into the kitchen to greet her, I was shocked to discover that no one was in the kitchen, and what I noticed next, utterly amazed me.

In the next room, Grandma was sitting in the big blue chair, that Grandpa loved to sit in, knitting something. This shocked me, seeing as how she always said that she hated to knit.

"Well, well, well...I thought you hated to knit" I said.
Grandma had jumped and turned to see who had snuck up on her, "Oh, my!" she exclaimed upon seeing me, "I was just passing the time, because there is nothing on the television, then again, since your grandfather passed away, I haven't been able to think about the television, I have been busy looking for the memoir he wrote during his last years."
"He always was a good writer, too bad he never decided to publish his work."
"How is your mother?" Grandma asked.
That conversation kept us going until i heard a small "ding"

"Ah, your pie must be done..."

"What? That can't be...that pie shouldn't be done for another twenty minutes..."

"Then what was that ding?"

"That may be the new clock I bought." Grandma said, gesturing to the small glass dome that housed an even smaller metal clock inside. On the face f the clock was a picture of my grandparents when they were dating.

"When did you buy this?" I inquired.

"About five weeks after your grandfather passed away, My old friend's daughter made it for me, she is the one who owns the clock shop made it for me by hand, I wished i could have done something for her in return, but the sweetie wouldn't let me."

"Where did the picture come from?" the picture was odd, seeing as how cameras weren't all too common in the 1930s.

"Well, it was my friend who took the picture, and it was her daughter who made the picture into a clock face on the computer."

There was a loud bang from the floor above us.

"What was that?!?" I shouted.

(to be continued....)