I have come to learn that one's eternity is not so absolute. It can begin beyond the land of Hades and below the stoop of Paradise, where the memories of loved ones and the faces of enemies disappear. Here, I am a messenger of judgment, both acquittal, and doom. I am a carpenter. And tonight, I bring a decree that upon a man's soul now rests.From The Auther: To my dear friends, I shall admit, this book is meant more for me than you. Unorthodox in tone, to mix and mingle words may seem to be all I have done. If you wish to set it down, I will not be offended. As for the story, no time frame has been allotted, no date given. Noun, verb, and adjective have strayed in appearance, and structure has been left for dead. Further, the reason for its origin is somewhat of a mystery. Inspired by a dream and replayed in the voice of a song is all I can remember. No adventure will you find, except if you try to analyze. No tragedy will exist unless you must reread a line. (And for this I do apologize—for it will happen —but consider yourself warned). A fading memory of an old man is all that is contained, though I must state, I have not spoken with him to check my detail, nor am I truly convinced he ever existed. If you are a child, no Dickens' ghost will appear, nor character contained with such expertise, but be warned, it is a Christmas Eve like no Seuss, Baldacci, or Hegg. If you are a professor of English, or are looking for any literary value and wish to assign a grade, I tell you now—I have failed. If you are a student of the pen, fear not, for I am certain this hazard is not contagious and will only infect a very few. With these words of warning and holiday cheer, I present you a story both beautiful and common, written as a reminder, and possibly only pleasing to me.