'Little Lucifer'

My grandfather loves books. He's an old and wonderful man. When I lived with my parents and my office was up in the attic I would hear him shut the living room door and climb up the stairs to the attic, slowly and cautiously. He would do this long, exhausting exercise to come and talk to me about books, my life and tell me stories of his own. So, one day, I thought I'd write him a story for his birthday. I called it Little Lucifer and was a story of a young boy named Lucifer who meets a Snowdemon in the woods. It's a children's, fantasy tale. Something I knew my grandfather would love. Here's the opening:

"In the large house that stood in complete solitude there sat a boy. The little boy looked out of the window, allowing his eyes to be set on the forest surrounding him and the small road. His house was the only one for miles, buried beneath a cobbled road that led into town and a wonderful forest that he was forbid to enter. How he loved the forest, how he loved the tall trees, so high that you could climb them for days and never reach the top. He loved the different animals, from annoying, buzzing bugs to large, wide birds. He loved the different bushes, whether they be hurtful or soft and sweet. Everything about the forest was magical.

            But his parents forbid him to go inside.  And yet he still did.  He knew it was wrong, disobeying his parents was, of course, wrong but there was nothing else to do. He had heard the other boys talking about a park they went to after school. He imagined them playing football, falling over and collecting grass stains, laughing in joy and happiness. He imagined the happiness that came with being with your friends but on such days, on the days when the other boys played, he sat in the large house, alone. The only people in the house would be the suspicious butler and maids, the Demons, his grandmother called them. His parents would be out, his father at work, his mother shopping and his sister would be somewhere in town with her friends."