In a neighborhood of new houses stands one ancient dwelling. Young Reo forms an unexpected bond with the elderly gentleman living inside. This poignant retelling of a classic Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale explores how connections between generations can create the most beautiful memories, even as time inevitably marches forward.

On a street of shiny new houses, there stood one that didn’t belong. It was almost three hundred years old, with crooked windows and stones worn smooth by time. While neighbors wrinkled their noses at this “eyesore,” Reo thought it was the most magical house he’d ever seen. He imagined the house to be a portal to ancient tales of knights and dragons, kings and queens who might have walked through its doors long, long ago.

And then there was the old man who lived inside.

The elderly gentleman sat by a second-floor window, wearing clothes that belonged to another era—velvet trousers and a waistcoat with gleaming buttons. He often sat by his window reading enormous books. 

When their eyes met across the street, the old man’s face crinkled into a smile that felt like a secret shared. Reo raised his hand in a tentative wave. The old man responded with a dignified nod that somehow contained all the warmth in the world. That is how their silent friendship began, and day after day, it continued. 

”Who is he looking at?” Reo’s father asked one evening.

“That poor old man,” his mother sighed. “All alone in that crumbling place. Must be terribly lonely.”

That night, Reo made a decision. From his treasured collection of carved wooden animals—he selected his favorite: a monkey with an expression of mischievous wisdom. It was small enough to fit in his palm but detailed down to the individual strands of fur.

The next morning, he carefully wrapped it in a piece of his best drawing paper, on which he had sketched the old house bathed in sunlight. He waited until he spotted the old man’s helper, a middle-aged man who delivered groceries twice a week.

“Excuse me, sir!” Reo called out, his voice cracking with nervousness. “Could you please give this to the gentleman who lives in the old house? It’s—it’s one of my favorite things, and I thought he might like some company.”

The helper studied Reo’s earnest face, then smiled warmly. “I certainly will, young man. That’s a kind thought.”

Three days later, an invitation arrived, written in elegant script on creamy paper:

Master Reo,

Your gift has brought more light into these ancient rooms than the sun itself. Might I have the pleasure of your company for tea this Saturday at four o’clock?

With gratitude, 

Edmund Blackwood

When Saturday arrived, Reo crossed the street. The massive oak door swung open as if the house itself had been waiting for him.

Inside was even more magical than Reo had imagined. 

The walls were lined with paintings of fantastic wizards, elves and fairies in colorful clothes, seeming to dance and play in a world of their own. Reo followed a staircase of twists and turns like the back of a giant dragon.

“Welcome!” said Mr. Edmund, his voice warm and rich. He leaned slightly on a cane topped with a silver dragon’s head. “I’m honored to meet you properly at last.”

They entered the room where the old man’s giant cozy chair sat. “Have a seat, have a seat!” the chairs seemed to say.

“I thank you for the wooden monkey, my little friend!” said the old man. “And I thank you because you have come over to visit me.”

The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro. As the hands on the clock face moved, everything in the room grew a little older with each passing minute.

“You know,” Reo said, “my family always talks about how lonely you must be living here all by yourself.”

The old man smiled warmly and replied, “Oh, but I’m not lonely at all! You see, my happy memories and thoughts keep me company, like old friends visiting me every day. And now, with you here, I feel like the luckiest man in the world!”

Mr. Edmund showed Reo an enormous book on a desk. “This is my atlas of wonders.”

When he opened it, Reo gasped. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a sketch of a telescope tall enough to see angels. “That, my young friend, is a telescope,” the old man explained. It helps us see the stars and planets shining in the night sky that are incredibly far away.” The boy imagined himself traveling through space, visiting distant worlds and making friends with aliens.

Together, they turned the page, and there was the magnificent vessel that looked like it could talk to the fish. 

“This,” the old man said with a mysterious smile, “is an early submarine. It takes brave explorers on a journey to discover the secrets of the deep, dark ocean, where strange and wonderful creatures live.” The boy could almost feel the splash of cold seawater on his face as he pictured himself swimming alongside dolphins.

Page after page, the old man and the little boy explored inventions and discoveries.

Mr. Edmund smiled, “There are so many things to discover, Reo. The world never runs out of wonders for those who look with the right eyes.”

When the old man went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts, something extraordinary happened. The wooden monkey on the shelf turned its head and spoke.

“Hello again,” it said. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

“Are you happy here?” Reo asked, somehow not surprised.

“I cannot bear it any longer! It is so lonely and melancholy here!”

“But you must stay,” Reo said gently. “Mr. Edmund needs company.”

“As do all who carry old magic,” the monkey replied cryptically before falling silent as the old man returned carrying the delicious treats.

Throughout winter, Reo visited the old man often. They read poetry in the library, where books shuffled themselves to offer the perfect verse. Mr.Edmund helped with homework using counting systems from ancient civilizations. Sometimes, they simply watched the world through the window, Mr. Edmund pointing out connections between old and new that others missed.

As the first snow fell, Reo awoke to find his window frozen over. Melting a small circle with his breath, he peered across at the old house. No smoke rose from the chimney; no lights glimmered behind windows.

After three days of silence, Reo approached his parents. “I’m worried about Mr. Edmund.”

His father set down his coffee cup gently. “Your friend’s helper called us yesterday. Mr. Edmund has gone on a long journey.”

“When will he be back?” Reo asked, though his heart already knew.

His mother’s eyes glistened. “Sweetheart, this is the kind of journey people don’t return from.”

For weeks, the house stood empty. Reo continued his vigil by the window, sometimes imagining he glimpsed Edmund’s silhouette against the glass.

When spring arrived, trucks and workers appeared. “Since Mr. Edmond had no family,” his father explained, “the house is being prepared for demolition.”

“They can’t tear it down!” Reo cried. “The house is special! It remembers things!”

Gathering his courage, Reo crossed the street and approached a woman supervising the workers. “I was Mr. Edmund’s friend. May I go inside to say goodbye to the house?”

“You were mentioned in Mr. Edmunds’s papers,” she said, studying him. “You can go in.”

The house felt quieter, but Reo could still sense its presence. In the study, he found the wooden monkey and the atlas. The book fell open to a page he’d never seen before—a drawing of the house itself, surrounded by Edmund’s handwriting:

A house is more than wood and stone; it is memory given form.

And below, in fresher ink:

To Reo, who sees with the right eyes: 

The house has chosen you as its next Keeper. 

Take the atlas and the monkey. They will guide you.

Reo carefully took both treasures home. Through a combination of his parents’ efforts and what Reo suspected was the house’s own magic, it was saved as a community museum and library.

That night, the wooden monkey spoke again as Reo was falling asleep.

“The old man is still here, you know. In the walls, in the garden, in the way light falls through windows at four o’clock. The house remembers him, as it will remember you someday.”

“I’m not moving into the house,” Reo murmured drowsily.

The monkey laughed softly. “Not yet. But you’ll be its Keeper all the same, watching over it, keeping its stories alive.”

“And when I’m old? Will I find another child who sees with the right eyes?”

“The house will help you look,” the monkey promised. “That’s what houses do. They shelter not just bodies, but dreams.” 

As Reo finally surrendered to sleep, he thought he heard the house sighing contentedly across the street, settling into its foundations for another long chapter in its extraordinary existence. And a most extraordinary boy, in a perfectly ordinary modern home, began his lifelong journey as a Keeper of old magic and timeless wonders.

Reo smiled, knowing that someday, another curious child would notice something special about the ancient house with its dragon fountain.

The End

Hope you have enjoyed this retelling of “The Old House” from the book Andersen’s Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen.

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