Puzzles have always been a favorite pastime of mine. It's been that way for a long time, ever since my grandmother had passed away. You see, I always went to my grandmother's house every day after school when I was five and six. Every time I went to my grandmother's house, I would take out a puzzle; usually a train, or a beach setting as my grandma made brownies or some sort of treat to go along with the next few hours of entertainment. She was a walking history book, with many stories to share with me, and secrets that I would soon forget as the years went on. She told me of the time she first thought she would be an artist, and about the time she knew she would make a job out of making art for people. She also told me of the political times in her day. She told me how happy people were when the second world war ended.

The trips to grandma's house soon ended about a year after my sixth birthday, as she fell victim to pancreatic cancer. Due to her old age, she didn't survive.

In her will, she left all the puzzles to me, personally, and as I lived on through elementary school, I took the puzzles with me wherever I went. My mom called it "a way to cope with her death" and that was probably it.

I had a hard time as I got to the end of elementary school, as kids began to pick on me for carrying around puzzles that had the label: "For kids 3+" on it. I don't know why, but I never told them why I carried them around, for fear of something.

My after school babysitter was now a girl in high school named Tracy. She called me "Money Maker". For why, I didn't know, but I didn't mind it; it sounded like a pretty cool name.

As I went into junior high, I realized that I had to ditch the puzzles, so I put them in my closet. Here is where my troubles began.

I came home one day to see one of the puzzles scattered across my bedroom floor. I asked if my parents had been into my room during me not being home, but they said they weren't anywhere close to my room. I thought it was a bit weird, but I just shook it off and put the puzzle back into the closet.

Later that night, I heard footsteps in my room as I slowly woke up. The icy cold grip of fear had shaken me to nothing less than a speechless and nervous wreck. I tried to stay silent, but my breathing was increased to a heavy inhaling and exhaling. Soon after the intruder interrupted my slumber, I heard some noises coming from my closet. I soon heard a dull thud on my carpet, and then nothing. I didn't know whether the intruder had left, or died, or had simply disappeared. I just assured to myself to not look at the direction where I had heard the intruder last. Soon after I comforted myself a bit, I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke to puzzle pieces around my walls, and on my floor. I thought to myself that this was a nightmare, but it wasn't a nightmare at all. It was reality. I ran to my parents' room, and woke them up, horrified and intrigued at the same time. After getting my parents up, I ran back to my room; but to my disappointment, the puzzle pieces were gone, and back in their boxes.

After a few years, I stopped worrying about the puzzles as the events stopped.

But there was one thing that was weird that intrigued me as I grew older: Wherever I was at home, there was always a puzzle stored in a cabinet, or in my closet. This even happened while I was moved out into my own apartment, even when I didn't pack any puzzles.

I found out, after a few hours of looking through some of my photos when I was a kid, I've seen a few figures hovering around me. As I developed them further and edited them, I saw the face of my grandmother smiling and holding me in her arms.

Soon after discovering this, I sat down, and opened up a puzzle. Even now, as I live in my twenties, puzzles are my favorite pastimes.

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