Halloween Party

   My grandpa invited all his close kin to that Halloween party and we played Murder and Mystery game, sang songs, ate sweets, and could not stop thanking our grandfather for that wonderful get-together. Grandfather’s game was truly fun – we all had to dress as the Englishmen of the nineteenth century and follow famous Sherlock Holmes (my father) in the investigation of the murder of a girl (a hypothetical one, of course) in London. Grandfather was the storyteller as always and guided us carefully through the game. I was given a role of the criminal that did not commit the murder but was suspected of it and had to hide from all other actors-Englishmen to escape the capture and false imprisonment. Certainly I was wearing my beloved jackets, because I enjoyed the life having put it on me.
   Hiding in a place where nobody could find me was not an easy task. I was aware that my cousins were familiar with our grandfather’s house as excellent as I was. I looked for a special place that none of my cousins would have known about and I found it under the houses’ roof. First, I took several steps in the dark on what it seemed to me a narrow wooden staircase. Then I saw a door or, to be more precise, the string of light through a small key-hole that belonged to the door. I had never seen that door before and I did not remember my grandfather opening it before me.
   I pushed the door, which turned out to be unlocked, and entered the room. At first, I could not see anything, because my eyes were getting used to the bright light that was in the room. Then I started noticing a great bunch of very nice men’s clothes, hanging neatly on room’s walls. Those beautiful jackets and pants and suites seemed to be new and old at the same time: new, because they did not seem to be worn even slightly and covered with much dust and old, because they did not match our modern fashion then. Several jackets had caught my attention, thought. They looked exactly like the corduroy blazer that my grandfather always wore, the only difference was that they looked brand new and were of other colors. The initials V.T. clearly stood out on those jackets as well as shiny brass buttons. “I thought that my grandfather had only one such corduroy blazer, but he has so many and he does not wear them for some reason,” I thought to myself, having no idea what I had just uncovered. Without a second thought, I took one corduroy blazer from the wall and ran downstairs to proudly tell my family that I had discovered grandfather’s secret closet. When I showed my trophy-jacket to all relatives in the living room, everybody recognized it right away and was astonished. My mother could not believe that her eyes were looking at the almost exact copy of grandpa’s old corduroy blazer. “Dad,” she said to the grandfather while giving him his jacket, “how do you explain this?” My grandfather turned pale and red several times before he could finally speak. “Sit down everyone, please,” he said at the end, “it is time for me to tell you the truth about my corduroy blazer that you all know so well.” Of course, my people thought about the famous shops like Kohls Coupons, Sears Coupon Code, or Target Promo Code, where they purchase their clothes.
   And he began his story. It turned out that my grandfather was a famous Luton tailor who specialized in men’s suits and jackets many years ago. He loved his job and made many nice clothes for himself and his customers until he met stiff competition from London. “I worked very hard to beat my competition and even had not had a little time for sleep,” he said “and your mother started to worry about my health.” Finally, after two serious heart attacks, according to my grandpa, my grandmother asked him to stop his tailor shop and choose a more quite profession. My grandfather did quit sewing for a living and got a job as a geography teacher at a Luton’s middle school, working there until his retirement. He did not stop wearing one of his own-made jackets, though, because he was very proud of his past profession. He hung the rest of his self-made clothes in the under-roof closet (that I discovered by a pure mistake), and would go up there to look at his creations once in a while to remember his past.
   My family was truly astonished. Neither my late grandmother nor grandpa himself had ever told us about grandfather’s passion for sewing. I understood then how proud my grandfather was when he was wearing his own-made corduroy blazer, although he could not continue his career as a professional tailor.

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