Mr. Grobble

It was the only time of the year where people came out and bathed in the sun. Children played everywhere and rode their brightly colored bikes down every street corner. The beaches were packed by couples who may or may not go the distance, but it never stopped any of them from continuing their pursuit of summer fun—more so, summer love. Little did they all know, not everyone enjoyed the summer.

Just a few miles from Dewitt Beach, there stood an old house large enough to oversee the entire shoreline. Inside lived an old man named Remy, though everyone in the area knew him as Mr. Grobble. He wasn’t exactly known for being friendly. His nose was round like a balloon, and a scar ran down from the center of his hairline to the space between his thick, bushy eyebrows—one of which was oddly grey while the other remained dark. Mr. Grobble never smiled, and his voice, barely above a whisper, carried no secrets—until now.

It was July, a typical Saturday morning. Mr. Grobble prepared his usual breakfast: a slice of slightly burnt toast with strawberry jam and a plain cup of coffee. He sat in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper instead of watching TV—technology was not his thing. His living room was neat but cold, with many picture frames turned facedown. Dust clung to them as if protecting old memories. No one had visited him in ages.

Then, unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door.

He stood on a stool, peered through the peephole, and saw nothing. Just parked cars and passing strangers.

"Damn kids… I swear. I don’t know who needs the spanking, them or their parents," he muttered.

As he climbed down, there came another knock, followed by two doorbell rings. The melody stirred something deep within him, bringing a tear to his eye. Frustrated by emotion, he flung the door open.

"Why can’t you all just leave me alone!"

But he wasn’t shouting at the wind this time.

"M... Mia..." he stammered.

The woman smiled and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him.

"Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Dad!"

She resembled him—the eyebrows, the nose, though her large glasses hid warm, brown eyes. Behind her stood a little girl.

"Is that..."

"Yes, this is your granddaughter. Come here, Emma. Don’t be shy. This is your grandpa."

"She looks just like... I mean, you named her after..."

"I know. I miss her too, Dad. And this little ball of joy reminds me of her every day. Naming her wasn’t hard."

They went inside. Mia glanced around, disheartened by the lifeless feel of the place, her gaze settling on the facedown photos.

"Dad, when’s the last time you’ve been out?" Mia asked, while Emma stared curiously.

"What’s that on your face?" Emma asked, swinging her feet.

"Emma, be nice," Mia said gently.

But Mr. Grobble smiled.

"No, it’s okay. I’ll tell her."

Emma climbed onto his lap, though he was hesitant—unused to affection.

"I got this scar protecting our world from bad guys," he said.

Emma frowned.

"No one likes bad guys—but remember, there are bad girls too. Be careful who you call a friend."

"Ain’t that the truth," Mia muttered.

Mr. Grobble chuckled.

"Are the bad guys still here?" Emma asked.

"Yes, but don’t worry. Here—take this. If they ever show up, give 'em a poke with this."

He pulled out a pocketknife, but Mia’s look of horror changed his mind.

"Maybe when you’re older."

"So… you still haven’t answered my question," Mia said.

"About what? That nonsense about going out with all those couples and kids? No offense, kid."

"It’s okay," Emma said sweetly.

Mia hugged him tightly.

"It’s been five years, Dad. It’s time to let go."

"Yeah, Mama likes Frozen!" Emma cheered.

"Yes, honey, just like Frozen," Mia smiled.

Emma twirled and sang "Let It Go" in the living room.

Mr. Grobble rose from his chair and looked out the window. The sun kissed his wrinkled skin. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go out—just for a little while.

"Let’s go to the beach," he said.

Emma jumped with joy.

"Are you sure?" Mia asked.

"Of course. You came all this way. It’s the least I can do."

They arrived at the crowded beach. Laughter echoed across the shore, but Mr. Grobble couldn't share in it. Not without her. Then he saw him.

A man in a trench coat and baseball cap. Sunglasses hid his eyes. His shoes—dirty white, laces loose, speckled with red—chilled Mr. Grobble.

He remembered.

That night.

The intruder’s jagged knife.

His wife’s screams.

The scar.

The blood.

“Emma! Emma!” he had cried, but she was gone.

Now, on the beach, the rage returned.

“Dad, are you okay?” Mia asked.

“No… But I will be.”

“Okay, Dad, you're scaring me.”

“Ice cream!” shouted Emma.

“I’ll get it,” Mr. Grobble said, kissing their foreheads.

But the man was gone—no, he had moved. Mr. Grobble followed the stench of whiskey to the pier.

“Grandpa!” Emma’s voice.

His heart dropped.

The man held Emma at the pier’s edge, knife in hand.

“It was supposed to be you!” he shouted. “Not her!”

“Brian… son, is that you?”

“I’m not your son! You ruined everything!”

Mia arrived, horrified.

“Emma!”

Brian stepped closer to the edge.

“Mia, we can start over! Like before!”

“Yeah, like before you killed my mother!”

“You knew?” Mr. Grobble asked.

“Not until recently… That’s why I came. You needed closure.”

Mr. Grobble dropped to his knees.

Brian laughed.

“Let Emma go!” Mia screamed.

“I’ve always thought about her. Every day!” Brian shouted.

“Real smooth, Brian. Father of the year,” Mr. Grobble muttered.

With one final push of courage, Mr. Grobble charged.

Brian let go of Emma. The crowd gasped. A gunshot echoed.

Brian stumbled, blood soaking his shirt.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered before falling into the sea.

Mr. Grobble collapsed. Medics rushed in.

“Dad! Stay with us!” Mia cried.

He looked at Emma, thinking of his wife.

“Emma… I’m coming home, honey,” he whispered.

His eyes closed.

Later, Mia brought Emma to a peaceful graveyard where her grandparents rested. She remarried and had a son named Ramy, brave like his grandfather.

As for Brian, his family claimed his body. Mia didn’t attend the funeral but sent flowers—out of kindness and for Emma’s other grandmother.

They would all come together again someday, though Mia had no idea what Brian’s grandmother truly had planned.

THE END