Starting on my eighth birthday, Grandpa Henry gave me the same unusual gift every year — a single green plastic soldier. It was always wrapped in old newspaper, with no card or explanation. The only thing he’d say, with a sparkle in his eye, was: “Every army needs a leader.” By the time I was twenty-six, I had eighteen little soldiers lined neatly on my shelf. I thought it was just one of his quirky traditions — until after he passed away.
One afternoon, my sister picked up one of the soldiers, flipped it over, and gasped. “You’ve never noticed this?” she asked. Each soldier had a tiny number and year etched into its base. When we arranged them in order, the markings formed GPS coordinates. Following the trail led me to a quiet wooded area outside our hometown. There, one of Grandpa’s old friends was waiting. He handed me a set of keys and pointed toward a hidden path. At the end stood a small ivy-covered cottage Grandpa had secretly built for me.
Inside was a treasure trove of puzzles and memories: riddles on the walls, locked boxes, ciphers, and keepsakes from his life — letters to my grandma, old photographs, and even recordings of his voice. His final letter read: “You solved my favorite mystery. This place is yours now. Use it well, and if you wish, share it with the world.”
I left my job, moved back home, and turned the cottage into The Soldier’s Trail, a real-life puzzle adventure based on Grandpa’s original designs. It became a place where people could laugh, learn, and connect. And every year on my birthday, I still place one green soldier on the shelf — for Grandpa, for the mystery, and most of all, for love.