Mr. Gringott’s Case

Trigger Warning: Discussion of death

Mr. Gringott sat on his front porch, rocking back and forth in his wooden chair. He held a small book in his hands—either a grill’s instruction manual or an album of his photos with his late wife (there was not an in-between)—but his eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he tried to get a Sunday afternoon nap. He was still wearing his fancy church clothes: a blazer and slacks.

Just as he was drifting off, a brilliant light burst behind his eyelids. Mr. Gringott’s eyes flew open, but no matter how much the poor old man squinted, he was blinded by the brightness.

One moment, he wondered if this was what death felt like.

The next, he heard a booming voice, or perhaps, a plethora of voices:

“Harold Gringott, your time has drawn near. You have under twenty-four hours, we fear. However, you’ve been selected for the chance of a lifetime; still, if you’d prefer not to accept, we suppose that is fine. In the time you have left, there is something we advise. Fill up this suitcase before your demise. Each thing that you pack will jam up the sack; this sack that you’ll have, that in heaven you’ll have.”

“Could I possibly get this sentiment without the rhyming?” Mr. Gringott asked, still blind.

But the voices didn’t respond, and the light subsided. Mr. Gringott blinked repeatedly until his eyes adjusted to the evening dim. He gasped and nearly fell out of his rocking chair when he noticed a golden suitcase sitting just in front of him. He shakily rose to his feet when he noticed a tag on it.

It read, in poem form, the same as the speech that had just been given to him. Now that Mr. Gringott could see it in words, he better understood its meaning.

To his understanding, he would be able to take anything he put in this suitcase to the afterlife. Was this a normal occurrence, he wondered? Was someone playing a cruel joke? He looked around, since this may have been something his neighbors have done to prank him.

Which was a theory he automatically dropped once he remembered he had no neighbors.

He almost wrote himself off as a crazy old man, but this suitcase here was proof that something had occurred, yes? Something really had happened. But he could not let himself be quick to believe that he had truly just heard a choir of angels speaking to him, because that would make him clinically insane; besides, Mr. Gringott wasn’t even religious. Of course, with age, he had grown to believe that there was an afterlife—but he had never given a lot of thought as to what it would be.

Whatever it was, he wanted to bring his mortal life with him. All of his books he owned. His cop uniform from when he was young and spry. His beautiful 1978 Volkswagen Beetle. His late wife’s favorite mug that he kept on display, since it was all he had left of her. His ten thousand dollar refrigerator (why was the thing so expensive?).

But he could not fit all of that into this suitcase that barely reached his hip in height and a foot in width. Which meant he could not bring the things which he most valued.

In a frenzy, he dragged the suitcase into his house and began stuffing it up with everything his eyes fell upon. Books, expensive clothes, awards, his favorite foods—everything that would fit.

“Nothing must be left behind,” he said breathlessly as he filled the suitcase to its very brim.

The only time he paused was when he made it to his wife’s favorite mug. Would Elizabeth have wanted him to go through with taking his mortality into his immortality, or would she have laughed in his face and told him that whatever was in the afterlife would be much greater than he could imagine?

Well, whatever the case, he had never listened to her while she was alive; obviously he wouldn’t listen to her now! Besides, how could he listen to someone who wasn’t with him to speak? He scoffed at himself and wrapped the mug in a soft blanket before adding it to his suitcase hoard.

Soon, his cabin seemed almost barren. He stood back and analyzed his work when a deep sadness overtook him. He realized that it no longer looked like he lived here, despite the fact that this had been his home for 46 years. Surely, some young person would want to investigate this place, find all the relics from the old man who once lived there. Why should he prevent that? Why should he keep his books from the kids who might come find them?

At this point, the year of his birth (1941) was history anyway. This building was history. And, yes, maybe what was waiting for him in the afterlife was better than the books and clothing he owned here on this spherical island of dirt and grass.

He chuckled at the thought of his life being history. But at least it would mean he left his mark on the world.

He began resetting everything in his home to the way it was before. He placed his carefully folded police uniform back in its very specific spot on an otherwise empty shelf in his closet. He put Elizabeth’s old mug back on the mantel. He put his books back in their same order on his bookshelf. Then he closed the empty suitcase and pushed it outside.

He picked up a history book that was older than he was and walked to his bedroom, sitting on his bed. It was his favorite place in the world, after all. If tonight was the night that he was going to leave the earth, he wanted it to be in his bed with a good book.

———————————————

He woke up later that night to find himself somewhere else than where he’d fallen asleep. The land around him was magnificent and indescribable. On his right lay his suitcase, and on his left stood a very angry and very young Elizabeth Gringott.

“Ya left my mug, ya good-for-nothin’!” she said, then struck his shoulder with her sandal.