A Lonely Man’s Letter

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A Lonely Man’s Letter

He was not expecting a letter. It had been several months since anyone had contacted him. The envelope was a fiery red color with a gold trim. The sun was shining and he had just had his first morning cup of coffee. His fingers ran along the edge wondering, thinking. It was addressed to a Mr. Dave. The front of the letter only contained his first name and nothing else. Finally, he slipped a finger under a gap and slowly tore the envelope open. This is what it read:

Congratulations Mr. Dave! You have won a free day entrance to the Plexus Diner!

Breakfast will be served shortly.

Be sure to make accommodations before leaving to ensure

you receive the most out of your visit. In order to claim your prize,

please answer the questionnaire on the back.

Dave let out a disappointed sigh. It was only another piece of junk mail. He slumped into a chair and let the letter linger between his fingers. A trashcan sat ignored in a corner. Dave looked toward it and began to make his way. Just as the letter was sliding out of his hand, Dave thought he saw something moving within it. Quickly, he spread it open again and at the very bottom of the piece of paper, letters were writing themselves:

I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Dave.

His eyes widened, and in shock he dropped the letter into the trashcan. Dave placed two fingers gently over his mouth, seemingly trying to keep a wheeze from escaping. Chink. Chink. Chink. Behind him, letters were crashing into the windows. Chink. Chink. Chink. Faster, they chucked themselves. Chink, chink, chink, chink! More and more of them came. Chink, chink, chink, chink! Dave backed away from the windows and stumbled over the stairs. His heart was beating fast, like a metronome. With every beat it made, he took a step up. Rhythmically, the letters and Dave’s heart fueled the terrifying atmosphere. When he made it upstairs, he ran into a room and locked the door behind him.

Tink. The sounds of the desperate letters were still audible from inside the room. Tink. Dave realized that it seemed there were less letters colliding into his house. Tink. The room around him was white. A small bed lay centered between two boxes. A portrait of a young girl in a ballerina dress hung on a wall to the right. He looked at it, pressing his fingers into the door. Underneath the portrait, a sad teddy bear with purple and green stripes stood motionless. Dave felt empty inside. He wanted to walk toward the toy, but instead of moving his feet, his eyes began to tear.

The door was still supporting the weight of Dave’s back. Downstairs, the letters had stopped. His breathing slowed and he moved a foot away from the door. As he continued, an envelope slid under the crack and between his legs. Dave jumped and opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out.

The letter rested on the floor. Dave sat on the small bed and glared at it. He was half expecting it to fly or move, at least wiggle. Six minutes of silence pass and Dave picks it up and opens the letter.

All you have to do, Mr. Dave, is answer the questionnaire on the back.

He turned it over and began reading the survey. Each question asked something simple: favorite color, favorite food, home address, shoe size. The last question asked if he liked his eggs scrambled or sunny-side up. Dave was tired of fighting some stupid piece of paper, so he gave in and did what the letter ordered. When he answered the last question, the letter began to write itself again.

Last one. Why did you kill her?

Never mind. I think we both know the answer to that question.

Dave’s heart shrank in his chest. His legs gave way and he fell to the floor. It had been years since he had thought about the death of his daughter. It was an accident, he thought. I was angry and upset. I didn’t mean to hit her that hard. The letter in his hand melted away, turning into a pool of glistening crimson. His tears dripped slowly into it, making the red a deeper shade. The walls around him began to crack and break.

From the top to the bottom, the walls crumbled. Pieces of concrete flew across the room. Repeatedly, he endured slabs of white whip and slice into his back. The room had turned into a whirlwind of debris.  His hands were covered in crimson and his tears were cloudy and unclear. In a last struggle, he attempted to crawl out of the room. His eyes strung and his heart pierced his chest, so much so that he could not feel any other pain. Inches away from the door, there was a loud shattering roar from the other side and something slammed the door down. Dave looked into the eyes of the monster who had delivered the sound and just as he was about to back away, the monster flew at him, jaw agape, ready to devour him, saliva overflowing.

His eyes opened wide and he gasped. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, dipping in and out of wrinkles. Dave sat up in his bed and covered his head with his arms. The bed sheets clung onto him. He was back in his house. Everything was fixed. Dave gave a sigh of relief. It was only a nightmare. His hand struggled in the dark to find the bedside table. They bounced into the lamp and tugged the switch. Underneath the lamp was a letter. Dave smirked. It was a normal, white letter. He picked it up and read:

Welcome back, Mr. Dave. Lunch awaits.

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