Casey Files


“Some other deaths might have found me leaving. This one brought me in.

My grandfather left an attic of dust. He was the kind of guy to keep loose staples in a plastic bag; he had a basement full of rust. On Christmas, he would sit in a chair and watch with mild discontent as we, his grandchildren, tore at the wrapping paper. He was the one to throw the paper in the fire.

Nothing surprised me more than this box I found labeled “Misc”. Inside were some dried out markers, a broken hourglass, a rusted box cutter, grit from the hourglass, a magnifying glass, a crusty flower, a wad of receipts, a half pack of matches, and a stack of what appears to be artistic journal entries. My grandfather, Casey Williams, was a private man. His work in the CIA was never talked about at family dinners. My father has some stories.

Using what knowledge I have, I’ll attempt to contextualize his entries.”


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