Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 64

“Hello, Son,” grandmother cooed, stroking the gold band with the
tip of her finger. “I told you I would find you first.”
The eye shuttered again. Unable to cry out or defend itself, it
began looking for a way to escape.
“Don't be nervous,” the old woman continued. “I'm not here to
harm you. But two hundred years ago I told you the guardianship and
the tower would be mine and I meant it.”
The old woman placed the ring on her finger. The eye began to
cloud over and turn black. Then grandmother raised her hands to the
sky.
“Oh great guardians of the Watch Towers! Hear my pleas! Grace
your most humble and loyal servant with the powers contained in this
relic.”
The ceiling of the basement became alive with movement. Great
swarms of storm clouds formed, blowing back the old woman's long,
gray locks of hair. Thunder rattled the old wooden support beams.
The house cried out with creaks and pops as the door hinges and
window frames strained to keep it all together.
“Yes!” the old woman moaned into the gale, “I am worthy!”
Through the howling wind, the old woman sensed another
presence. She opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder, then
sucked in a deep breath as fear and rage flooded her veins.
“I told you, your time is up!”
Grandmother's mostly reanimated granddaughter swung the
business end of the forgotten shovel, smacking the old woman square
in the face.