He sat around the campfire, watching his grandchildren play. They darted in and out of the shadows, playing hide and seek. He had owned this land since he’d been born, passed down to him from his father and grandfather before him. One day, these grandchildren would inherit this land, and the stories that went along with it.
‘Kids!’ he hollered over the crackling of the fire, and the squeals of laughter echoing in the darkness. ‘Come here! I’ve got a story for ya’…’
He knelt down from the log he was sitting on, and turned a knob on the jukebox next to him. It was an old one, a radio, mostly, but crafted differently than the ones on the shelves at the stores nowadays. This one he’d inherited, and it was one he wouldn’t part from, until he was dead, and a ghost in one of his own stories.