I told the editor that I seriously wanted to be a reporter for the Muskegon Chronicle. As a first task toward that goal, he gave me the oddest assignment that I could have expected. He wanted me to interview a strange old man that he claimed was known as “the Story Weaver”. I had never heard of such a person, and at first thought the man was pulling my leg. But sure enough, there he was, at Hackley Public Library, upstairs, in the children’s section, entertaining the children with his stories. I would soon be witness to how the old man created his fiction, skillfully weaving the stories from simple little things that happened before our eyes. Four unique stories in all he would tell me, each one completely new, and crafted from something we had both seen. But what he would tell me later, after the last of his stories had been told, was something that I could not possibly accept.
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