Grandmothers Stories Novels & Stories

"Mama..." Calliope whispered, stunned by her reaction but her focus shifted to her grandmother who spoke up, granting her a reassuring smile as she took both her cold hands into her warm ones and squeezed. She reveled in the warmth, allowing that to center her as she listened to what her grandmother had to say- a truth she knew would shake the foundations of her life more than it already had. "This, my sweet girl, is not a fantasy story as I would narrate to you when you were a child. This is real and is a record of the history of the Rowenys family."

I put the glass back on the table and stared at her with a frown, "What are you talking about grandma?" Olivia took care of Faith and me ever since we were born, we started calling her grandma after that. "It is the blue moon, El. Creatures of the night roam freely tonight, it is their night. Some worship moon tonight, while others look for finding their missing pieces." I sat there listening to her words carefully, grandma always used to tell us stories. As kids we loved listening to her stories, we would finish our homework to hear those stories she used to tell. Then as we grew older we started realizing those were just stories, like the fairytales where the princess meets her prince char

"Out with it already aunt." I was drained emotionally, I don't have the strength for the suspense. "My mom who is your grandma used to tell your father and I stories about your great great great great great great grandma and that despite the fact that she was ninety seven she still looked thirty, she was stunning beyond measure, she loved and cared about everyone around her. She used to tell us alot about fairies and one day she finally spilled the beans, and her death was unfortunate—" "Wait!! Hold up!!! So you're saying my great great great.... grandma was a fairy?! That's not possible!! Fairies aren't real maybe I'm just schizophrenic and I need to visit the hospital."

I asked. Kendra bent her face upward to think. “hmm, erm… yes, pretty much.” She replied. “Not all though. There is one legend that didn’t work out.” She said. I jumped up and took a pillow. I was ready for the story. “Tell me about it.” I requested eagerly. “I don’t think I have the story in details, but I’ll tell it to you how my grandmother told me every time.

I loved the storytelling hour. Everyone who grew up in Valley Stone learned the same tales from childhood: how the founders settled near the river after a brutal winter, how they built the first cabins with their bare hands, how Faye Asher’s grandmother used to sing across the valley, claiming her voice kept the wolves away. Hearing the stories over and over again, from the elders who carried them like sacred treasure, never got old. Across the table, Milo’s eyes gleamed with the same fascination they held every single year. I didn’t think he realized it, but whenever the elders spoke, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, absorbing every word like it belonged to him. I always lov

“It all started with Mama’s parents. Our grandfather— whom we never got to meet— was a school principal. Our grandmother was the daughter of a poor farmer. They were in love, but grandpa had to rescue grandma from her abusive family. One night, he helped her escape— and her family twisted the story, told everyone she was raped. The whole town turned on grandpa. He was beaten, humiliated, fired from his job. His name was dragged through the mud. So they ran. Together. Far away from the hatred and whispers. They started a quiet life. Grandpa became a farmer. Together, they raised five daughters— including Mama. And they protected those girls like the world might burn them if they didn’t.” Conn

I said to her. “When I was a little girl, my grandmother would always tell me stories, like fairytales. Her stories though were about werewolves, ghouls, fairies and nymphs. She spoke about them like they were real, like they lived among us. I’ve always been a believer because of her,” Anna said. “I don’t know about ghouls, nymphs and fairies,” I said. “You didn’t mention werewolves,” she said softly. “You know those are only stories, right?” I said to her.

“And they have real power.” “What, like magic?” Lauren said with a little laugh. “They do spells and fly around on broomsticks?” Nana ignored this. “I want to tell you a story, Lauren. A real story, a story that my mother told to me. I want you to listen to me, really listen. You don’t have to believe, although things will be better for you if do. But listen.” “Okay, Nana,” Lauren said, struck by the absolute solemnity of her grandmother’s face. Lauren didn’t know what any of this was about or why Nana suddenly seemed so serious. “I’ll listen.”

'' I asked again, and she smiled and took her seat. ''When I was a little girl, my grandma used to tell me stories about the taking. And it always sounded so scary, like the underworld was this dangerous place where no one wanted to be. But I guess not.'' She paused, and I nodded to her to indicate that I was listening. Then she could go on. ''When I was about your age, I think younger, maybe 19, 20, 21, I'm not so sure. My father called me and told me a story. The story of the Mitch family's success.''

"When you're grown up and I'm gone, will you remember tonight? Will you remember sitting in this garden talking about love and family and choosing to heal instead of hurt?" "I'll remember everything. And I'll teach my children, and they'll teach their children, and the stories will never end." "What stories?" "The story about Great-great-great-grandma Lily who jumped in front of bullets to save her daughter. The story about you, who turned one act of love into a whole world of healing. The story about how a family of broken people chose to mend the world." "And your story? What will your story be?" Hope was quiet for a long moment, her head tilted like she was listening to something only she