A Message For All Of Us

Samantha again looked at the clock across the room from her desk. Five minutes until five. She figured that she’d get an early start on packing up for the day now and began collecting her things. Phone back in her purse, computer monitor logged out. The usual.
“Bye Samantha, have a good one,” Eden, the woman who worked adjacent to her, said as she walked past her desk.
“Bye Eden. See you tomorrow.”
She gave out a few more of the typical farewells, most of the time not even realizing she was doing it. After a while it just came naturally. As did the walk down to the parking garage. Really, she could have driven all the way back to her apartment on the other side of town with her eyes closed. It wasn’t that hard of a trip to make. Just old by now.
She pulled into her parking space outside her complex just about thirty minutes or so after leaving the office, yawning as she grabbed her things to head inside. From across the parking lot she heard another door slamming, and she looked up to see Chris unloading the groceries from his car.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hey,” he replied in his typical monotonous tone.
She continued on into the lobby, retrieving her keys from her purse as she walked towards the mail wall. She usually didn’t check her mail everyday, maybe twice a week (a bad habit she knew she needed to break sometime or another), but the past few days she’d been expecting a package that jogged her memory every time she walked by.
She inserted the key and opened the box, revealing but two pieces of mail—neither large enough to be the package. She sighed, collecting the pieces of paper anyways and shutting the door. She reached the elevator doors at the same time as Chris, who was struggling to carry the load of groceries which he had committed to bring up all at once.
“Why don’t you bring up like half at a time?” Samantha asked as the doors parted.
“I’m one-trip Charlie. I bring it all at once.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. His self-bestowed nickname didn’t even make sense. Charlie wasn’t his middle name—where he came up with it she had no idea.
“Alright,” she said, hitting the button for floor four, which they both lived on. The elevator rose through the building, the doors eventually making way for them. Samantha stepped out before Chris, ignoring the thoughts to offer the man her help. He was recently divorced, and looking for a relationship. She didn’t want to give him anything which he might take as a sign. She walked past his door and to her own, snickering as she thought about him struggling to get inside his apartment.
She shut the door behind her and continued to smile as she heard Chris’s cursings. She went directly to the freezer and pulled out a microwave teriyaki chicken bowl, throwing it in for the required four minutes and turning her attention to her cell phone. No new messages, she opened social media and scrolled for the next four minutes until the microwave beeped. She brought it to her small kitchen table and sat down, her eyes catching sight of the two pieces of mail she’d received.
“Let’s see what we have here,” she sighed, reaching across the steaming bowl for the mail. First one up was a small pamphlet, telling her that she just absolutely needed to vote yes on some upcoming legislation. She rolled her eyes and set it aside, telling herself that she’d discard it alongside her empty plastic microwave bowl. She turned her attention to the other one, an eyebrow raising as she did so. It was a pretty thin envelope. Nothing more than a couple of sheets of paper could have been inside. She flipped it over to view the return address, only to find that section of the letter empty. The only two things on the front were a generic stamp and her own mailing address written in sloppy handwriting. That was it, though. Seemed somewhat odd, buthe shrugged and opened it, now curious to see what she’d find inside. A single sheet of paper came out, folded into thirds rather poorly. She lifted the first flap, then the second flap. She stared at the letter for a minute, puzzled. Because, that’s all there was—a single letter. The entire page was filled by one giant capital “L.”
After a few moments she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Ah. Brandon.”
She pulled out her phone to text her ex-boyfriend:
“Hey, I got your letter. You’re a loser too.” She exited the messenger app and continued on to surf the web as she ate her dinner.

She awoke the next morning to the alarm on her phone ringing in that same tone it did every morning. She sighed as she went to get out of bed, checking her phone first thing instinctively. Brandon had texted her at some point in the night. Confused, she opened his message:
“What letter?”
Ah, that’s right. He had sent her a giant “L” in the mail and she texted him about it last night. It did seem weird that someone would go through all that effort just to be rude, but then again, this was Brandon she was dealing with. Though, for a cheapskate like him spending a dollar to send that was unusual.
“The big L you sent me,” she texted back. And with that, he was out of her mind as she continued to prepare herself for the rest of the day.

Brandon had replied to her text around lunch.
“I didn’t mail you anything, he had said, Get off your high-horse. I don’t think about you enough to warrant that.”
Samantha had decided a reply wasn’t in order. She didn’t need to waste her time with him. She simply finished out the remainder of the day, all the while looking forward to when she could go back home and continue watching Netflix. Five o’clock rolled around eventually, and she made her way back to her apartment.
She walked in to see Mrs. Klein at the mail wall. Her wrinkly old hands were fidgeting with the keys, trying desperately to find the right one.
“Oh, Mrs. Klein, let me help you,” Samantha offered.
“Oh, no. I’m just fine. Thank you though,” she asserted in her motherly old voice, trying still to find the proper key.
“It’s no trouble. Here, let me see.” She reached for the keys, and Mrs. Klein eventually gave them to her.
“Box one hundred seven, right?”
“That’s right.”
She inserted the key and opened the door, handing Mrs. Klein’s mail to her.
“Thank you darling,” the old woman said, accepting the mail. Samantha closed the mailbox as she smiled at her elder.
“Of course.”
Mrs. Klein began walking off as Samantha went to open her own mailbox, putting the key into the lock and holding her breath. She opened it and—
No package. But, there was another letter. She pulled it out and looked at it, intrigued. A similarly bland stamp as the one from the day before covered the top right corner. In the center, the same sloppy handwriting spelled out her name and address. The top left corner was vacant, just as yesterday’s.
With her curiosity heightened, she placed the letter in her purse and went back up to her apartment. Once she was inside and her food was in the microwave, her fingers began opening the envelope. Inside again was a sloppily folded piece of paper. Only the one piece. She unfolded it and found herself staring at a large letter “O” which filled the page.
“Okay?” she sighed, flipping it over. The backside was empty. She turned it again to the front, staring at the massive circular letter in Times New Roman. She shrugged, casting the piece of paper into the garbage can.

Getting back home the next day was a bit of a hassle. There was an accident along the way and she ended up sitting in traffic for an hour longer than usual. An annoyance for sure, but she’d still have time to watch an episode of her show tonight. She knew it was kind of horrible to think of this accident as an annoyance instead of recognizing that someone had probably died (it was a severe crash), but in the big city, you can’t really try and care about everyone you see. This sort of stuff is just a part of life.
Speaking of things being a part of life, her package still wasn’t. She opened the door to her mailbox disappointed to see an empty space. No yellow package. Her new necklace would have to continue to wait.
She was about to close it out of frustration when her brain finally registered the envelope sitting in the center of the box. She leaned in, now more confused than ever. Top right corner was that same stamp. She extracted the thing to find, yet again, an empty space where the return address should be and a sloppily written mailing address. Her name wasn’t even quite spelled correctly this time. Intrigued, she stuffed it away in her purse and went back to her apartment. Theories of who was sending her these letters went through her mind, listing off everyone from Brandon to her mother. Her first thoughts were children, as they tended to have the poor handwriting and spelling that was so evident on the envelopes, but that theory was quickly dissolved as she realized none of her siblings had any children yet. Her sister was pregnant, sure, but that obviously wasn’t the culprit. She hadn’t attended her local church in years and knew no children who would be close enough to her to want to send her mail. No, whoever this was was probably an adult. But, who would be doing this?
She went into her apartment, sitting down on the couch to open the letter. Inside again was a hastily folded piece of paper with no time at all taken to make sure the folds looked presentable. She opened up the sheet to find yet another single letter. A large “O” filled the page.
“Didn’t I already get an ‘O?’” she muttered to herself. She set the paper gently down on the couch, trying to put it out of her mind as she went to the refrigerator to find something to eat.

Mark had brought donuts into work the next day. He did so every Friday. Samantha thought it was awfully generous of him to think about his coworkers like that. She might have tried to go out with him based on that attribute alone if he wasn’t already happily married with two kids. That was the kind of man she wanted—not the self-absorbed losers like Brandon which somehow were the only guys she could ever find. Regardless, the donuts were amazing as always, and she made sure to grab a jelly-filled one before they ran out. The day played out slowly. She mostly eavesdropped on people sharing their weekend plans, leaving her to wonder why she couldn’t seem to get into a more social groove. Boating out on Lake Michigan sounded fun, and apparently there was a traveling museum in town right now that she wanted to go to. She just didn’t have anyone to do it with, and so decided on getting through the rest of her season on Netflix that weekend instead. Lame, she knew, but it was easier.
The drive home was less eventful than yesterday’s, luckily. She entered the lobby ready to head up to level four and relax. She made a right turn before the elevator, going to check and see if her package had arrived yet as well as… checking to see if another letter had come.
She opened up the door and smiled upon seeing the yellow paper in there, pulling out the thing.
“Finally,” she exclaimed. Her eyes looked back up to the doorway, registering another letter almost immediately. Her excitement now turned to curiosity, she reached for the letter and pulled it out. It looked just the same as all the other ones, only with different spelling errors in her name and address. The same terrible handwriting, the same bland stamp, the same absence of a return address. She was beginning to get frustrated by this—not because the mail was a nuisance or anything, but simply because it was ramping up her curiosity of where these things were coming from. She had narrowed it down a little last night as she was going to bed. She had a brother who was a prankster, and with the deteriorating state of her father’s mental capacity he might be doing something kooky like this. But… they still didn’t quite satisfy her.
When getting into her apartment she chose to open the letter first. She already knew what was inside the yellow paper package but the envelope was a different story. She opened it up, finding yet again a poorly folded sheet of paper. She lifted the top and bottom flaps and found herself staring at a large “K.”
“What the heck,” she huffed. A minute or so passed of silent staring before she shrugged and tossed the page into the garbage. The possible source of these letters was beginning to bother her. She’d probably be up a little later tonight because of it, the wonderment of it all transfixing her.

After a lazy morning Samantha finally put down the phone and let out a long, exasperated sigh. She looked over to her door, knowing that she needed to head out and restock her pantry and freezer. Going out on Saturday was such a hassle, though. There were just too many people out on the road.
“Guess I’ll just bite the bullet,” she murmured. She headed back towards her bathroom to get ready before leaving. Showered up, makeup on, her typical Saturday clothing on and she was headed out for the busyness of the weekend grocery shopping.
Hours of traffic and waiting in the checkout line later, though, she was on her way back to the apartment building. Her backseat had maybe fifteen bags in it—she tried to stock up as much as possible anytime she did go out in order to avoid a weekly habit of this. Large crowds of people just bugged her. Ironic for sure, since the Chicago area was nothing but large crowds of people.
She got to the apartment building in an even less timely fashion than when leaving it. Chris, or, one-trip Charlie came to mind as she began unloading her car. She decided to carry a modest number of bags up the stairs, taking out only five before heading up the stairs.
As she passed through the lobby, though, her mind began to wander again towards those letters. She turned ninety degrees to face the mail wall, staring at her box. Four days in a row now she had gotten a random letter in the mail. Could today be number five?
She went up to the box, setting down her bags as she did so. She pulled the keys out of her purse and inserted them into the box. She hesitated, nervous to find what was inside. These letters were starting to drive her crazy. But, maybe that was all the more reason to look. Maybe she could get a clue about what was going on. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the key and tore the door open.
Sure enough, another envelope sat there. She took it out and put it in her purse, now moving much faster. She needed to hurry and get her frozens inside the freezer and then she could open the letter. She set the bags down inside her apartment, turning around to rush down the stairs and grab the rest of her groceries. She would be a one-trip Charlie today, but not out of a need to show off like Chris. It was instead a burning curiosity to know what the heck was inside of this one.
Her last bags in her kitchen, she loaded up the freezer and went for her purse. She snatched the letter out and opened it, casting aside the mysterious envelope with no sender listed on the top. She rushed to unfold the terribly folded page, heart speeding up as she looked at the paper.
Blank.
There was nothing on it. She turned it around to find the back empty as well. Confused, and somewhat annoyed, she put the paper in the garbage can and whipped out her phone.
“Hey, Amanda, she began typing in her text thread with her sister. Do you know if Nate or someone is messing with me?”
She waited a few minutes for a reply before receiving one.
“Messing with you how?”
“Like, I keep getting these letters,” she typed. “One everyday. And today, there was no letter.”
“So you got mail a few days in a row and then no mail today?”
“No, I still got mail today. I mean like I’m getting a piece of paper with one giant letter on it. Today I just got a blank sheet of paper.”
“Huh. Weird.”
“So do you know if he’s messing with me?”
“No idea. Sorry, Sammy.”
She slammed her phone on the counter, staring into the trashcan at the blank sheet of paper. If she wanted to know of a surety whether Nate was messing with her, she’d need to go to the source itself. She opened up her messenger app again, beginning to type out a text to her brother.
“LOL. That’s a great prank though. Thanks for the idea,” he replied after she explained the situation. Frustrated, she began typing out another message:
“It really isn’t you?”
“Ha. No. But I wish it was.”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“Sammy, if it turns out to be me, I swear I’ll owe you a hundred dollars.”
She sighed, putting the phone down. Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t Nate.
“What the heck is going on then?” she stammered.

Samantha sat on the couch that Sunday afternoon, trying to get into her show but failing. Her mind felt somewhat stuck on the letters. Distractions only worked minimally, and she so very much wanted to think about something else. But, nothing seemed to do the trick. Her mind reviewed a list of everyone she knew over and over again. She had called her brother earlier that day, still skeptical about his claims from yesterday, and, either he had a masterful “poker voice” or he really wasn’t to blame. He reasserted that he had nothing to do with it. Her mother said that her father wasn’t the culprit either. He didn’t have the mental capability anymore to do something like that. And her sister wasn’t the type. Her sister’s husband probably wasn’t either. Only a few of her coworkers even knew her address, so unless one of them had begun stalking her online none of them were sending these prank letters either.
She was suddenly forced out of her thoughts when there was a light rapping at her door. She jumped a little, taking a sigh as the startle wore off. She paused the television and went for the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned upon seeing the face of her neighbor.
“What do you want, Chris?” she sighed, opening the door.
“Hey, uh… sorry to bother you, but, do you have any booze I can borrow?”
She just glared at him. “None that you can borrow.”
“Oh. Okay. I understand. Thanks anyways.”
He turned and began leaving, which is right when Samantha found herself calling after him.
“Wait!”
“Huh?”
“Have you… have you been getting any weird letters in your mail? Recently?”
“You mean the lawyer bills? Yeah, the numbers on those are pretty weird. They can’t be right.”
“No, I mean like… like letters. Not letters as in letters, but like just a single letter that covers the whole page.”
Chris stared blankly at her. “Uh… what do you mean?”
“Like, ever since Tuesday I’ve been getting these letters in the mail. I open them, and there’s just a big letter on them. Like, one massive letter that takes up the entire page.”
“I haven’t been getting any. What letters are they?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. The first one was an ‘L’ I know because I thought that Brandon had sent it—”
“Who’s Brandon?”
“That’s besides the point. Have you been getting anything like this?”
“No. That’s pretty weird though. Have they spelt anything?”
“What?”
“Yeah. Spelt anything. Like did they make a word.”
Samantha blinked, shocked that she hadn’t thought about this possibility earlier. They… they could have been spelling something.
“Samantha?”
“Huh? Oh, I don’t know.”
“Hm. Well I’d be curious to know what they spell. Did you get any today?”
“It’s Sunday, Chris. The mail doesn’t run on Sunday.”
He shrugged. “I mean, maybe someone is putting them in your mailbox instead of sending them through the mail. There could be one in there right now.”
“That’s a crime though.”
“So? People commit crimes all the time.”
Samantha lost all words at that point, simply staring ahead blankly.
“Samantha? Samantha? Well, nice talk, I guess. I’m gonna go ask Jorge if he’s got anything.”
Chris began stumbling away, and Samantha slammed the door shut behind him. Maybe he was a secret genius, or maybe the alcohol she could smell on him had somehow made him smarter for the time being. Whatever the case, she needed to go and check her mailbox right away. She went for her keys and quickly exited her apartment, not bothering to put on any shoes. She hustled down to the main floor as fast as she could and went straight for her mailbox. In the key went, and out the door went. She gasped when she saw it—a letter sitting right there. She reached for it instantly and ripped it open right then and there, heart pounding as she opened it. On the paper was printed a giant letter “U.”

Samantha stayed up most of that night, racking her brain to try and recall what the other letters were. She remembered the “L” for sure, that was the first one. She felt like the other two might have been the same one… though she didn’t pay much attention to it. She couldn’t remember Friday’s, but Saturday’s she knew was a blank paper because that’s when she texted her sister about it. And yesterday’s… a giant “U.” “L,” something, something, something, blank, “U.”
Focusing at work was difficult. She couldn’t get her mind off of it. Eden kept trying to talk with her, she knew, but one-worded responses were all that she could muster. What the heck were those other letters?
Wednesday. Wednesday was trash day. Today was Monday, those letters were still in the dumpsters outside her building. She used gray trash bags, which were somewhat uncommon to use. Maybe she could find the letters easily.
She shook her head. No, no, no. That was absurd. She wasn’t going to go through her trash just for a couple of letters. That was stupid. Unsanitary. Yet… her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. Maybe she should…
No. Chris had said something the other day, something that made a lot of sense. Since the letter had come on Sunday, that meant that someone was probably putting it in her mailbox. Another tenant? Or, what of the lobbyist? Maybe they were the culprit. Whatever the case, it had to be someone in her building. She just needed to figure out who.
When she got home that day she again went directly for the mail, and, sure enough, there was a letter inside. It was the same as all the others—bland stamp, sloppy handwriting, no return address. She ripped it out of the mailbox and slammed the door, ignoring the other mail which was lying beneath it. She marched straight for the counter in the lobby.
“Excuse me?” she huffed. “Excuse me!”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Hi, I keep getting these letters in my mailbox, do you have any idea who might be putting them there?”
The man scratched his head. “Uh, the mailman?”
“No, no! I got one of these yesterday.”
“So?”
“Yesterday was Sunday! The mail doesn’t come on Sunday!”
“So you’re saying someone else put that in your mailbox?”
“Yes! And it was on top of the other mail, so they must’ve done it since the mailman came!”
“Uh… well, the mailman was the last person in there besides you. He’s the only one you would’ve put it in there.”
“Then what about the one from Sunday?”
“I… think you could be mistaken about that.”
“No, I saw it! There was one on Sunday!”
“Ma’am, I really don’t see what the problem is here. It’s just a piece of mail.”
“Yeah, the seventh one like this that I’ve gotten! It’s starting to freak me out!”
“Please, ma’am, calm yourself.”
“Fine, if you’re not going to investigate who’s putting these things in my mailbox, I will!”
“What do you mean? You’re gonna go door to door until you find them?”
“Yes!”
The man sighed. “Fine, I’ll keep my eye out for it tomorrow. You don’t need to bug everyone like that.”
Samantha huffed. “Good.”
She began marching back towards the elevator, unable to resist opening the letter right then. She stepped into the lift and tore the envelope open, pulling out a paper with a single, massive “N” sprawled across it.

“L,” something, something, something, blank, “U,” “N.” What if they really were spelling out something? She’d have no idea what it was saying. Today was Tuesday, trash day was tomorrow. She really didn’t want to dig through the dumpster, but the more time waned on the more she felt like she needed to. The closer it got to five o’clock, the more her hands seemed to tremble as she realized what needed to be done.
Five o’clock eventually came, and she couldn’t rush back fast enough. She left her purse just behind the dumpster and climbed in. She was just grateful that she always used the dumpster farthest to the right, so that she wouldn’t need to check all of them. She moved around pizza boxes, beer bottles, and shoved aside black and white trash bags until she found a gray one. She rotated it vertically, ripping into the top. She saw a pair of orange peels and recalled eating two of the fruit just before taking the trash out on Friday. She hadn’t taken the trash out before then since Monday, so this bag should have all the letters in it. She began removing fruit peels, blown tissues, and rancid leftovers from when she had tried making some soup last week. Her hands slowly took on the feel of the mess, and she could smell the stench clinging onto her clothes.
“Samantha?”
She spun around to see Chris standing there, a look of confusion on his face. She smiled sheepishly.
“Hi Chris….”
“Samantha, what are you doing?”
“Uh…”
He raised a hand. “You know what, nevermind. I’ve been in your position before. I get it. Just do what you need to do.”
She nodded as he began to march away. “Okay?” She swallowed, her face turning red as he moved on. What the heck was she doing? This was absurd. She was trying to find a few pieces of paper? And all for what, some silly prank someone was playing on her? This was… stupid….
Her hand brushed against a piece of paper, and she pulled it out hoping it would be something. There it was, a giant “O.”
“I got two of those I think,” she muttered as she continued looking. With time, she found the other one, as well as the “L” and the “K.”
She climbed out of the dumpster, trying to scrape off as much of the old soup as she could. She grabbed her purse and went into the lobby, heading right for her mailbox.
Inside was another letter. She snapped around to look at the lobbyist.
“Did you watch it today?”
He looked up. “Uh, yeah, I did. The mailman was the only person here.”
“How can I believe you?”
“Uh, look. Just go to the post office tomorrow and ask them about it before you go and knock on everyone’s doors. Especially… like that—were you just digging through the dumpsters?”
“My business is my business, leave me alone about it.”
She marched to the elevator, old letters clutched alongside the new one still in its envelope. She’d save the envelope and head to the post office tomorrow, that was a good idea. Upon getting into her apartment she laid out the other letters, looking at the ones she had just taken from the trash.
“The ‘L’ was the first one, let’s see…. Yesterday was The ‘N.’ Before that, the ‘U.’ The blank was just the day before.” That left her with the “O,” “O,” and “K.” She opened the new envelope, finding a “D” inside.
“Look…” she muttered. “Look und… look und. That’s what it spells. At least, so far…”

“Next,” the woman at the post office counter said. Samantha stepped forward.
“Hi, my name is Samantha Lewis. I keep getting these letters in the mail. I’ve been getting one a day since last Tuesday. I was just wondering if you guys could help me figure out where they’re coming from?” she spat out all at once.
“Woah, woah. Slow down there, honey. What?”
“These letters!” she exclaimed, waving the envelope. “I keep getting them. It’s starting to freak me out. I don’t know where they’re coming from. I need to find out.”
She just looked at Samantha. “Honey, this is above my paygrade. If there ain’t no return address, I can’t help you.”
“Can you just please take this envelope and be on the watch for any more that come in? Tell me what truck they’re coming in from?”
The woman sighed. “Sure, honey. Hand over the letter.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”
She handed over the empty envelope, taking a sigh of relief.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Very well then. Next.”
Samantha passed by the line, heading back to her car. She had left work early to come and do this, and was about to go back to the office when… when her stomach just dropped. She looked around before getting into her car, suddenly nervous. And her mind felt suddenly clear. She didn’t need to go back to work. She needed to go and check the next letter.
She sped away back to her place, Rushing in right to the mailboxes.
“Was the mailman the only one here again?” she inquired of the lobbyist.
“Yes,” he groaned, leaving Samantha unsure as to whether he actually paid attention or just wanted to be left alone. Regardless, she threw open the mailbox and pulled out the letter that she just knew would be in there. She tore into it right there, her heart pounding.
“E.”

Samantha’s coworkers were beginning to take notice of her seeming inability to focus. Eden seemed to ask her every twenty minutes if she was alright. Each time, Samantha ignored her friend and continued to stare at her computer screen blankly.
“The post office will have an answer today,” she kept muttering to herself. “There’s a letter coming in everyday. They’ll have an answer. They’ll have an answer. It isn’t someone else, the lobby man said so. Unless he was wrong?”
“Samantha!”
She finally looked up, her face pale.
“What’s going on?”
She hesitated, swallowing. “I… I don’t know.”
“Samantha, you’ve been talking to yourself under your breath throughout the day. Your face is white as snow! Something’s for sure wrong.”
She again didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to stare off into space.
“Samantha!” Eden again hollered. This time, she replied.
“Tell Thomas I’m heading out for the day.”
“What?”
“I need to go to the post office.”
“Again?”
“Yes. Just tell him I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.”
“Samantha, it’s just barely two o’clock. You can’t possibly be serious—”
“Just tell him!” she yelled. Eden looked taken aback, and Samantha became flustered. “Sorry. Please, just tell him.”
“Okay?”
Samantha nodded, departing the office building. To her vehicle she went, off to the post office. Her mind seemed to have slowly become more and more of a mess these past few days. Everytime she got a new letter, she just felt uneasy. Really, truly uneasy. Her mind had ceased thinking of this as a playful matter and begun to wonder if there was some sort of malintent here. The more she thought about it, the more she seemed to believe it. Someone was stalking her, or, something of the sort. She just needed to find out who.
She walked into the post office, relieved to find the line relatively short. She waited, though impatiently. Her foot seemed to tap the floor at an increasing rhythm, her heart following suit.
“Next.”
She stepped forward.
“Hi, my name is Samantha Lewis? I came here yesterday to ask about where some letters have been coming from?”
The attendant, the same one from yesterday, just looked ahead. “Huh?”
“I gave you an envelope yesterday. I keep getting them, none of them have a return address.”
The woman scratched her head. “Yeah, yeah I remember you. What do you need?”
“To find out if you found out where they’re coming from!”
She snorted. “Look, ma’am. That’s a more difficult thing to do than you’d think—”
“I don’t care how difficult it is!” she shouted, slamming a fist on the desk. “Just do it! Please!”
The clerk seemed frazzled. “Ma’am, if you’re going to make a scene, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ll… I’ll have them get on it. Okay?”
Samantha nodded, feeling embarrassed by her outburst. “Okay. Thank you,” she stammered, trying to still sound dignified. She walked out of the office back to her car, head hanging. What was she becoming? She just needed to settle down, take a deep breath. All this would be resolved soon. Even if it was malicious, she would get it sorted out. Things would be okay. She would be able to push through this. She was strong, she knew she could. She just had to stay level-headed for the time being, and things would work out. Right?
All thoughts of self-confidence flew out the window when she got home. She went right for the mailbox, pulling out the envelope which she had come to expect. Holding her breath, she opened the thing.
“‘R…’” she murmured. “‘L,’ ‘O,’ ‘O,’ ‘K,’ space, ‘U,’ ‘N,’ ‘D,’ ‘E,’ ‘R.”
Her heart wrenched. “Look under… underneath? Under your car? Under what? Under what?”
She could feel the blood veins in her head pounding against her skull as she went up the elevator. Was this a threat? A warning? Advice? Look under… look under… what the heck was she supposed to look under?
She went into her apartment, falling on the couch and crying.

She called in sick to work that next morning. It wasn’t truly a lie. She was somewhat mentally ill at this point, after all. Wasn’t she?
She shook the thoughts away. No, she couldn’t doubt herself. Contradicting herself at this point would just make her more paranoid. She needed to focus. Focus, and watch. She had determined that she needed to watch the mailboxes herself that day. If the post office said that they weren’t receiving any envelopes like that, then it had to be someone else. The lobbyist couldn’t be trusted. She needed to watch it herself. She got down to the lobby at six o’clock that morning, checking to see if her mailbox was empty before she started for the day. Sure enough, it was. She stepped back, sitting in one of the lobby chairs and pulling out her phone. She’d brought a charger with her too, to keep the phone alive as this was going to be a long day.
Every time someone walked by her head bounced up, following them as they then briskly made their way to either the elevator or the doors to the outside. For hours she did so. So far, no one had even gone to the mail wall yet. Nobody.
“Uh… ma’am?” the lobbyist eventually said. She looked up at him and smiled.
“Why, yes?”
“What exactly are you doing here?”
She snapped her head back to the mail wall as someone walked by, lasering in on her own box to make sure no one messed with it.
“I’m watching.”
“For what?”
“Those letters!”
“Ma’am, you’re making the other tenets uncomfortable. I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
She looked at him dead in the eye. “No! I can’t leave! I have to see where the letters are coming from! Please! You can’t make me!”
“I’m going to.”
“No!” she again cried, making sure to peer over at the wall periodically as she argued her case. “The letters… they keep coming to me. I need to find out where they’re coming from. I have to know!”
“Ma’am! You are causing a scene! Please leave, right now!”
“No! I have to at least wait until the mailman gets here.”
“I’ll call you down when he gets here.”
“No! I need to know! I need to know. I need to know…”
“Ma’am, please—”
“You will leave me alone! I have to see this!”
Somebody suddenly walked by. Samantha looked up to see Mrs. Klein heading towards the mail wall. Her eyes became wide, her mind foggy as she watched the elderly woman began to look for her key.
“It’s her…” she muttered.
“What?” the lobbyist snapped.
“It’s her. Or, maybe it’s not. Is it?”
She continued to watch as the old woman messed with her keys, eventually finding the right one and opening her door. She pulled out a handful of mail, shutting the door and beginning to make her way back to the elevator.
Samantha held her breath, almost involuntarily. Her lungs seemed to swell up as she glared at the woman, fists and jaw trembling. She hadn’t gone to Samantha’s mailbox. At least, not that she saw. What if… what if she blinked and missed it? No, Mrs. Klein was too slow. That wouldn’t make sense. Unless she possessed some supernatural capability. Oh, but that was foolish. Then again, this whole situation seemed to be foolish.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, hello?”
She looked back at the lobbyist. “Yes?”
“Will you please leave the premises?”
She couldn’t shake her head yes nor no. She only stared. “The letters… the letters—I have to find them!”
“I’m calling security.”
“No!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll go. Just… just let me check my mail first.
The man put the phone down, nodding sternly. Samantha crept over to the wall, opening her door. She gasped as she saw an envelope inside, a sloppily written mailing address and an absent return address on it. Only… the stamp. The stamp was different. It probably shouldn’t have looked any different, she was almost sure it wasn’t. But it somehow looked more… menacing.

The letter from yesterday had been another blank. That meant that a new word was starting. All morning at work she kept trying to justify how it could’ve gotten in there. No one but Mrs. Klein had been at the wall. And Mrs. Klein hadn’t done it. She thought. She knew. She was unsure. She had no idea.
All morning the thought of what the next letter would be tormented her. What if it was an “A?” What could the next word be? “Another?” “An?” “Andy’s?” Simply “a?” Or, what if it was a “B?” What words started with a “B” that could come next in this horrifying sentence?
She seemed to jump every time someone walked behind her, the paranoia that someone was after her with these letters slowly encasing her mind in a thick, inescapable coating. What if the phrase was going to be “Look under your bed?” What if some madman was hiding under there? Or, what if it was going to tell her to look under her car, and she’d find a bomb or something just waiting to detonate? What if… what if it wasn’t of this world… and she wouldn’t understand the cryptic warning? What then? Would she die? Would she be seriously deformed?
At lunch she decided a visit to the police station was in order. She brought the envelope along with her, constantly looking back in the rearview mirror so see if anyone, or anything, laid behind her chair waiting to strike. She went into the police office, heart pounding as she approached the desk to explain the situation and ask for help.
“Woah, woah, woah, woah, lady. You’re making no sense.”
“I don’t care! I don’t care anymore! I need help!”
“Okay, okay. Just… slow down, and we’ll help you, alright? So you think someone is stalking you?”
“Yes. Someone keeps putting letters in my mailbox.”
“Probably the mailman.”
“No! These letters… they’re spelling something out. I get one everyday, and I think they’re telling me to do something. I don’t know what though. I’m scared.”
“One letter everyday is coming to your mailbox, and they’re slowly spelling something out.”
“Yes!”
“Lady, that seems a little far-fetched.”
“I’m not crazy!”
“I’m not saying that you are. What I’m saying is that maybe you need some help from someone other than the police.”
“No! Someone is after me! I need help from you all! You protect people, and I’m afraid!”
“Alright, alright, alright. Tell you what—I think I might have a solution for you. Just hang tight, I’ll go and find them.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you!”
“Yep. Stay put, I’ll be right back.”
Samantha sat in the chair, feeling eerily cold. She couldn’t help but continue to look back at the window behind her, expecting someone to be there watching her everytime she did so. There were a pair of eyes on her, she just knew it. Someone was mailing her those letters and they were not friendly. They were here now perhaps… waiting for the perfect moment to strike—
“Okay, ma’am? This is Dr. Lyman. She’ll take you back, just follow her.”
Samantha stood slowly, her fists white as she clutched her purse. She began following the doctor, confused at how seeing a medical professional could help. Unless… unless she was a part of all this!
“No! No, I won’t go!”
“Ma’am, please. It’s for your own good,” the officer stated.
“No. How will a doctor help me find whoever is after me?”
That’s when Samantha spotted the plastic cup in Dr. Lyman’s hand. She stepped back, heart pounding.
“You think I’m on drugs… don’t you? You think I’m crazy!”
“Ma’am, we just want to test you—”
“No! No, I won’t do this!”
“Ma’am, we have reason to be concerned for your health. Please, follow Dr. Lyman.”
“I promise you that we don’t think anything is wrong with you. We just want to help,” Dr. Lyman said. Samantha stood there, her lip quivering.
“But I’m not crazy!”
“We believe you! We just need to get a test. It’s standard procedure,” the officer pleaded.
Samantha could tell he was lying—this wasn’t standard. Granted, it was her own darn fault for coming in here and acting like a crazed lunatic. Oh, she was acting insane. Utterly mad. Of course they’d be worried about her. She didn’t even think she was quite sane anymore.
“Ma’am?”
“Al… alright,” she finally sputtered. She followed Dr. Lyman in the back to perform the drug test.
“We’re going to ask that you stay here overnight while the testing takes place,” Dr. Lyman said as Samantha came back with the cup.
“What?”
“Ms. Lewis, it’s for your own good.”
“No. No, I can’t stay here. I….”
“Ma’am, the test takes at least twenty-four hours. For your own safety, we ask that you stay here tonight.”
Samantha was shaking, almost feeling the breath of her stalker behind her. “No…”
“Ma’am, you are going to stay the night here. We can’t have you on the roads.”
“I’m not on drugs! I swear! I’m not crazy—something is just going on. Something very, very bad is going on.”
“Ms. Lewis, you are staying the night here.”
Shaking, Samantha knew that she had to comply.

She couldn’t get home fast enough the next day. Just as she expected, the results were negative. She had missed the letter from the day before, and was a day behind. She pulled into her parking space, ignoring Chris’s hellos as she marched for the mail wall.
Inside she found two of the letters, ignoring all the other things which had accumulated there.
“The one on the bottom is older,” she muttered. Off the seal came, and she pulled out the paper.
“Y.”
Breathing heavily, she went for the next one. She cast aside the envelope, unfolding the paper as quickly as possible to see yet another “O.”
“‘Y,’ ‘O.’ ‘Y,’ ‘O.’ ‘Y,’ ‘O.’ Look under yo… yoga pants. Yo-yo. Uh… uh… uh…”
She dropped to the floor, tears beginning to formulate in her eyes.
“What? What is it?”
She stood up slowly, looking carefully at her surroundings for anyone she didn’t recognize. Or… or that she did recognize….

Monday. Today was Monday. Work wasn’t on her mind. Not at all. The letters… the letters were everything. She didn’t get anything done there at work. Eden kept asking if she was alright, and Samantha knew that she wasn’t. She really wasn’t. All of her coworkers had started to seem threatening. The idea that one of them was the stalker kept her shaking all day. And when she was home, the idea that one of her fellow tenants was the stalker made her tremble even more. Despite this, she somehow managed to fit the key into its hole, all the while feeling the eyes of something staring at her back. She unlocked it and pulled out the envelope, looking at it for a moment before opening it. The stamp… that bland, generic stamp no longer felt generic. It… it seemed to be watching her, though she knew that to be impossible. There wasn’t even anything with eyes depicted on the thing! Oh, she was being so ridiculous! All this—ludicrous! Ludicrous!
Yet she opened the letter anyways, opening the thing to find a large “U.”
She dropped the paper as she stumbled back. “Y” “O” “U.” You. Or… your. Or… yours. Or… yourself. Look under yourself. Look under your couch. Look under your bed. Look under your car. Look under. Look under. Look under what?

At work that next day she made sure to follow what instructions she had. She looked under her chair, under her desk, under her computer, under her pen holder, under the small plant she kept at her work station—she even went to the bathroom periodically to check under her shirt and pants. Whatever she was supposed to look under, she didn’t seem to be finding it.
“Samantha?” came Eden’s voice. Samantha looked up.
“Yeah?”
“Samantha… I am really, really worried about you. You… don’t seem right anymore.”
“Don’t seem right? Hah! Of course! I’m not right. Nothing is right. Everything is off.”
“Samantha, what’s going on?”
She sighed, feeling ashamed of her situation. It didn’t make sense. No one would believe her. All this was just so absurd…
“I keep getting these letters,” she finally sighed after a long moments’ pause. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but I don’t feel safe anymore.”
“Samantha… that’s pretty serious. Did you go to the police yet?”
“They thought I was crazy!”
“No, they wouldn’t. Someone sending you letters like that is a serious thing.”
“But they’re not like that. They’re just… letters. Like single letters. Like the first day I got an ‘L,’ and the next day I got an ‘O,’ and then another ‘O…’ Oh! It sounds so stupid! I’m just…”
“Hey, it’s okay. If you don’t feel safe you could come and stay at my apartment for the night. I have a fold-out bed.”
Samantha recoiled at the suggestion. No way. She had to see what the next letter was. Going to Eden’s place would make that impossible.
“I have to find out what’s next.”
“What?”
“What’s next! I have to find out what’s next! What’s next in the phrase—” she jumped. “Gah!”
Mark, who was walking behind her, paused. “You… okay?”
“She’s just a little jumpy right now,” Eden explained. “She’s going through some things…”
Samantha gritted her teeth. “No, everything’s fine, everything’s okay. I just… I just…”
She suddenly found herself standing up, heading for the stairwell.
“Samantha?” Eden hollered, receiving only silence in return. The next letter. The next letter. She had to find out!
She got in her car without a word and headed home, her head spinning the entire thirty minutes. She pulled into her space and marched into the lobby where she went right for her mailbox.
“R” was the next letter.

She spent all the next day at home, sitting on her bed. The only time she left was to go and get the mail. It was a blank that day. “Look under your.” That’s what it was so far. Samantha was petrified, unable to look under anything. The images of what she could potentially discover ripped through her mind, and she stared at her closet wondering if the sender was in there.
Eventually, she called her mother. Panic-stricken and crying, their conversation was not at all fruitful. Her mother was unable to console her. In fact, talking openly about it seemed only to make the tears more prevalent. Even in the light of the afternoon everything seemed to be a threatening shadow. Her dresser—someone might be inside of there. Oh, no. No one could fit in there. That was absurd. But under her bed, on the other hand…
Her hunger eventually won out, and she braved the idea of climbing off her bed to go and get some food. Once on the couch with a bowl of ramen, she was unable to move off of it for the rest of the day. She fell asleep there, her dreams nightmarish in nature as a concourse of possible letters flooded her mind.

She awoke the next day with an ache in her back, brought on by the poor sleeping position she had put herself in. She ate minimally until around noon when the letters seemed to appear. Opening her fridge was heart wrenching—someone could be hiding inside. In the bathroom… there could be a man behind the shower curtain waiting for her. The walls could be hollow, and the threat could be poised in there ready to strike. She found herself sitting in the middle of her living room after retrieving the letter, away from all the major appliances and furniture where someone could be inside the couch cushions or in the dishwasher. Though it would seem no one could fit inside of either of those, who’s to say they couldn’t? The letters didn’t seem to follow any logic. The mysterious person or thing could be anywhere. Waiting. Watching.
She swallowed, the sweat running down her face as if the air conditioning was turned on in this, the warm season. Her fingers lined themselves up to open the envelope, the stamp staring at her with a horrid grin as she began to cut into it. Out came the paper, and upon unfolding it it showed the letter “S.”

Sabled. Sabotage. Saboteur. Sabres. Sack. Sackbutt…
Samantha had spent the rest of yesterday evening finding every word that started with an “S” she could online. There were hundreds—thousands of them, and she had no idea what it could be. What did she need to look under? Or, what should she avoid looking under?
Siphon. Siphoning. Sips. Sire. Sired. Sissies…
She found herself unable to approach the fridge, much less the larger and easier-to-hide-in pantry. Her stomach groaned oh so dreadfully loud, but her imagination was stronger. Nobody at work knew where she was. Nobody could help her. Her phone had died, but she wouldn’t go into the next room to retrieve the charger. Someone could be in there. In the doorway. She wanted to turn and look so badly, but her nerves said no.
Sticklers. Stickiness. Stillborn. Stingrays. Stitches. Stoat…
She knew the meanings of none of them. All definitions she had once learned were gone from her mind. What was a struggle? Who knew! What was a sty? Anyone’s guess! All that mattered were the letters… the letters… the next one was coming soon.
Samantha soon found the strength to get up, the urge to learn the next letter swallowing her. Down to the mailroom she went, taking the stairs in case someone ambushed her on the elevator.
“Hey, Samantha!” she heard Chris call. She ignored him, instead focusing on the mailbox. She inserted her key, the ability to breath escaping her as she turned it.
“Here it is,” her voice squeaked, hardly able to talk.
“Samantha! Hey! I haven’t seen you in days. Everything okay?’
He was one to talk. Hah, the man was a drunk. She was the sane one. Yes, yes, she was quite sane.
“Samantha?”
She spun on her heel, walking right past him and to the elevator. The stairs weren’t safe. There could be someone there waiting for her.

“K.” The next letter had been “K.” Now with a smaller search range, Samantha spent all day searching the Internet again. She had managed to charge up her phone, moving quickly so as to not allow the man in the walls the ability to strike when she plugged it in. So many words started with an “SK” though. So… so… many. She needed to look under her… skateboard. Under her… skillet. Under her…skis. No, no, no, no! None of this made any sense!
She rocked back and forth, her breathing erratic and head spinning. She had slowly begun to lose the will to keep her floor clean… as there could be something in the toilet waiting for her. Slowly, the smell had started to overtake the room. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t go near it. The letter man might be there. The sender.
But the one place she did need to go was the mailbox. Putting on the bravest face she could, she went down to check it. Weird looks were shot at her as she walked past other humans, not a care in the world about it. To the mailbox she went, cheerfully opening it in a terrified haste. She rushed back up to her room, tearing into the letter.
“I.”

“S,” “K,” “I.” “S,” “K,” “I.” “S,” “K,” “I.” Oh so many things began with those letters! Oh so… oh so many…
What was she doing? What was she doing sitting here, letting her life become ruined by this? She had gotten a call yesterday from her boss. Fired. She was fired. Understandable, she wouldn’t have been able to work even if she was showing up. The idea of the letter man… the sender… he could be anywhere.
But what if it wasn’t a he? What if it was an it? What then? What if some demonic monster had been the thing communicating with her these past weeks? It seemed plausible, nothing made sense anymore. So why should this? Why on the planet Earth should this? Whatever was out there… wanted her. She could feel it. It wanted her. And she wanted it to just leave her alone! Oh… she was a manic mess. She had eaten barely anything in days. She could hardly recall the last time she urinated. Nothing… nothing seemed to make sense anymore.
Except the letters. They were clear. They made sense. Speaking of which, the next one should be arriving soon…

It was an “N.” A big, fat letter “N,” hiding behind the envelope with the demonic postage stamp on the front. It had stared into her soul… just as all these letters seemed to be doing. Staring into her, almost right through her. They knew all. They were in control.
“S,” “K,” “I,” “N.” “Look under your skin…” Skinny jeans? Skin care products? Oh… there could be so many more letters! So, so many more… how would she ever know at a rate of just one a day? The days seemed to drag on for an eternity… just sitting there, staring at a wall while wondering what she had to look under. No, she needed to avoid looking under them. Or, would looking under them send the letter man away? Whatever the case, she just needed to trust the letters. Trust the letters. Trust the letters…

The next day couldn’t come soon enough. Sleep deprived and a filthy mess, Samantha no longer cared about human relations. All that mattered were the letters. Yes, the letters. They were everything. Everything! Nothing mattered more. Nothing could. Nothing did. She just needed to get the next letter…
Down at her mailbox, she threw open the door. She pulled out the next letter, surprised by its weight. What… why was it heavier? What was in this one? What was going on?
She turned around. Chris was there, standing behind her.
“Samantha, you need help. You smell like… well, you look like…”
She walked past him, not seeming to notice the worried neighbor.
“Samantha! Samantha! Hey, come back here!”
She continued moving on, a wicked smile on her face as she went up to open the next letter and discover why it weighed so much.
“Samantha, you are not well! I want to help you! I’ve been in some dark places too—hey!”
She went right into her room, shutting the door in Chris’s face. She felt gleeful, giddy with the envelope in hand. Oh, the next letter! Here it was!
She opened the top, pulling out another piece of paper. She hummed as she opened it, stopping dead in her tune as she saw what was on it. Her heart throbbed, her head ached.
A dot. Just a single dot was on it. No—a period. “Look under your skin.” Period. That was the end of the sentence. The letter… she had the last letter. Look under your skin. What did that mean? What was it?
She turned her attention back to the envelope, the heft of it still there. She looked in, seeing a metallic reflection inside. Reaching into it, her fingers nimbly brought out the shiny, polished blade of a knife with a wooden handle.
Look under your skin…
She lost her breath as it all clicked in a single moment of clarity. The world went silent, the banging of Chris drowned out by her sudden burst of excitement. She dropped the envelope, holding the knife to her wrist.
“Samantha! Samantha, I’m going to get help!”
She ignored him, a wild grin now living on her face. She pushed the knife down and began to move it up her forearm. The blood felt warm coming out, like a comforting blanket on a cold day. It spilled onto the floor as she continued to move the knife, stopping at the eye of the elbow. That should be sufficient, yes.
She dropped the knife, humming all the while as she reached between the two flaps of the open wound. Her fingers caught old of the one side, and she began pulling with all her strength. A searing pain shot through her forearm as the skin slowly moved away from the flesh and bone, the red liquid of life coming out with more and more force every passing second. She ripped the massive chunk of skin and tissue off, bringing it to her face.
Oh… oh it was beautiful! Such… such perfection. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It… it was indescribable. The immaculate beauty that stood before her eyes… why, it needed to be shared with the world!
Her heart skipped a beat as she realized time was running out. The blood continued to pour over the floor—she needed to act fast. Dashing to her room, she grabbed a pen an paper and began writing:
“To my friends and family—I beg you, do not mourn my loss. It was a worthy sacrifice to see what true beauty really is. Look under your skin, that’s what the papers said. To look under your skin. I… I did so. And I realized that that message is for anyone who wants to know what perfection looks like. Who wants to know true joy. That message… is for all of us. My final wish is that you will, please, look under your skin. I can promise that you will not regret it.”

Credit: The Quiet One