The Backyard Cottage

---

“Never step into the backyard cottage alone.”

“What’s there?”

“Granny lives there. But something’s… off with her. If she sees anything out of place, it sets her off. And she can hurt you. Real bad.”

“No way. Grandmas don’t hurt their grandkids. You’re just freaking me out.”

“Have you met her?”

“No… it’s my first time visiting, remember?”

“Then listen to me.”

“No way!”

“Fine. But there’s something you should know… about last year.”

“What happened last year?”

“Remember Sara?… She was like you. Didn’t listen to us.”

“Okay… I’m listening now.”

“She’s dead.”

“What?! What happened to her?”

“No one knows for sure. But they found her body outside the cottage…”

“That’s… that’s awful. But how can a grandma hurt her own grandchild?”

“We don’t ask that anymore. We just follow the rules.”

“Rules?”

“Every night, we leave her a fruit. We never miss. If we ever do… she will come into the house.”

“That’s… strange.”

“One of the grown-ups handles it. But kids are not supposed to go near that place. Got it?”

“…Got it.”

---

That backyard cottage isn’t a creepy family story.
It’s the image of God I inherited — one I didn’t want.

I grew up with the idea of an angry, greedy God who lived in a corner of my life like that “granny in the cottage.”

A God who got angry if I didn’t perform the rituals as told.
A God who demanded offerings like fruits, flowers, or money.

The message was clear: Follow the rules. Or you’ll be hurt.

But as I grew older, I couldn’t suppress the questions:

How could a God who embodies all that is good and holy be so short‑tempered — offended just because I skipped a ritual?

How could the One who created the entire universe be pleased by something as small as my offering of a fruit?

Later in life, when I found myself in places that worshipped different Gods with different rituals, that lingering doubt grew louder:

Would a just God punish me for not following a ritual, while turning a blind eye to those who never knew such rituals existed?

---

Maybe it was God…
Maybe it was the echo of my questions reaching out into the universe…

One day, I stumbled upon a famous book — A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. That book became the antidote to my confusion about God.

As I turned its pages, I felt the insignificance of our world against the unfathomable vastness of the universe, and I caught glimpses of the mysteries behind its creation and its intricate workings.

With that realization, the image of God in my mind transcended to another level. The petty notions I had— the rituals, the appeasement — all dissolved.

Along the way, I met others who saw God as I did, and every conversation with them strengthened my confidence in my understanding of God.

The God who knows my true intentions.
Because the universe speaks through the subconscious.

Everything else belongs in the backyard cottage.

---

Author’s Note

If you find this story resonating, consider subscribing to receive future stories straight to your inbox.