Junk Mail

A short story

My mailbox is never full. I gaze out my window, watching the post arrive for everyone except me — an infinite loop of loneliness. I don’t know why I torture myself so.

Wednesday was my favorite day! It was the day I got junk mail. I rush out to the little metal box. A slit in the front is too small for fingers to slip in but perfect for thin pieces of coupon paper. I put my key in the lock, twist and enjoy the sensory perfection of the click.

The lid flops down, and I close my eyes, imagining receiving a gift from a lover. It’s Valentine’s Day, it’s a surprise! I reach into the abyss, grab the papers, and pull them out in one single clump.

Wait, what is that?

A white envelope hits the ground. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought the ground vibrated as it hit. I stared at it for a moment. It could be a new fancy advertisement. Something blingy they want me to buy, like a new microwave.

I kneel. I pick it up. No stamp. No return address. Just my name scrawled on the front.

Tina.

I am frozen. I could open it here or go inside. I am horrified that a stranger knows my name. Someone came to my home and slipped a suspicious item in my mailbox. Is that even legal?

I take a deep breath in and exhale slowly as I flip it over. I slide my finger softly across the edge; it loosens.

Who thinks of me and leaves me notes? No one I would know. Who is watching me? The lump in my throat grew. I coughed involuntarily, too afraid to swallow. Dry mouth, lips cracking in what felt like an eternity.

Dehydrated by fear, that is a new one for me.

The flap opens, revealing a Post-It note-sized paper. Pulling it from Pandora’s box, it’s blank on one side.

Inhale, exhale, flip

The mailbox remains open. Little bits of junk mail scattered across the neighborhood. The house stood vacant.

A little boy riding his bike picked up the clutter in the gutter. He got off his bike to get the trash in the bag. He loved working in the summertime cleaning the streets. The easiest twenty dollars he ever made.

He stuffs the junk mail in his black trash bag and returns on his bike. As his foot pedals, you can see a white piece of paper, the size of a Post-It note, stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He paused at a stop sign with the smeared ink visible just enough to read it.

“We don’t know each other, but I need someone in this world to know my secret. Tina, you have to leave that house. Stop haunting it. I killed you. Move on. You’re dead.”

Prompt by Dr. Casey Lawrence in Promptly Written “Wednesdays’ Letter: On an ordinary Wednesday, someone leaves a letter in your mailbox. It begins, “We don’t know each other, but I need someone in this world to know my secret.”