Receive a letter

“Receive a letter”

I wake up with a gasp, there’s a cold breeze flowing through my room. I sat there for a second trying to come to my senses and recall what I was dreaming about. My window is open. Did I open my window in my sleep? Maybe I opened it while looking out into the backyard. I stood up and slowly shuffled to the window, before shoving it closed.

My beloved cat, Hermes, must have heard me because he started to meow. I opened my bedroom door and looked around. Where is he? I hear his quiet meows, but he’s not outside my door. Is he in my room? I turn around to look at my pillows, where he usually sleeps. He’s not there. I suddenly feel something brushing against my feet. I look down to see Hermes, rubbing against my legs.

“You scared me, you know,” I say to him. “I thought you were stuck in the walls or something.” He only meows in response.

I head toward my kitchen, followed by my “starving” cat. I open one of the lower cabinets and take out a wet cat food container. Hermes starts to meow again and he hops up onto the counter and looks at me. I take out a spoon from a drawer and Hermes meows again.

“Calm down, you're going to get your food,” I say while scooping out some of the cat food and putting it into his bowl.

“You should learn to be more patient,” I say to him before turning away.

I head to the door and see a small pile of mail on my doormat. It has nothing special, just bills, a couple of magazines, the news, and history papers. I hear a noise from my mail slot and see a neatly sealed envelope with a single daffodil imprint on some violet wax. I turned it around. It reads

Zephir Amaros

1414 Foxglove Drive, Apt 74

Cambridge, EG, 85709734

That's strange. I don't know anyone who would send me a letter like this. Is one of the kids in the complex playing a prank? Nah, they don't know my name. I put the stack of mail and magazines down and take the strange letter to my desk. I walk over to my desk and open my drawer. I take out the letter opener and carefully begin to open the letter, making sure not to rip it accidentally.

The hawk will strike the wren, for this is not new.

The wren shall follow the owl off it is concerned.

Hawk shall strike the wren but not the wolf.

The wolf will strike the hawk fast and smoothly.

The wren shall watch from afar.

Creepy, did I subscribe to a crummy poetry paper? Who sent me this? I should go check the front desk to see if they know. They also have security cameras in the hallway, right? I put the letter down on my desk and put on my slippers. The door knob was cold and so was the hallway as I walked to the stairwell. I usually use the stairwell because the elevators are slow. The stairwell could access all floors except for the top one, it's a bit of a safety hazard.

I get to the first floor indicated by the giant white one painted on the wall. I open the door and it squeaks loudly. The receptionist's name is Arella, she's been working at this apartment for a good ten years but she doesn't look more than seventeen. I walk up to the black desk tucked away in a corner of the busy lobby. There is going to be another person moving in soon, he's not going to be on my floor, but I hear he’s a bit of a pyromaniac. Arella is seated at the desk reading a green hardcover book. She has a new book every day, but I never see her move away from her desk unless she's unlocking a door.

“Hello, what seems to be the problem Zeph?” she says, not even looking up at me. Arella looked annoyed which isn't normal for her.

“There was a strange letter dropped off at my apartment a couple of minutes ago, do you know who sent it?” I say.

She looked up at me slowly “Zeph” she said coldly “Why would I know who is sending you letters?”

I pause for a second “My bad,” I respond in a quiet voice

“Good luck,” she said deadpan.

“Oh well,” I thought, "it's probably a random subscription, I'll cancel it later”. I was about to bid Arella a good day when I heard a loud noise.

CRASH

I turn my head to see a blue couch lying on the floor, broken. People started moving more frantically now, some were trying to get everything cleaned up, while others were scolding the man who dropped it.

“That sucks,” Arella spoke suddenly, almost making me jump. “I guess the newbie will have to get a new couch.”

“Arella,” I spoke softly “ please tell me you aren't going to refer to the new tenant as a ‘newbie’.’”

She nods in response, “ I called you a newbie too Zeph.” she said before turning around. Arella, when I was a new tenant, called me a newbie for months.“And good luck at the dig site today; I'm sure it’ll go well; it's fortunate that the landslide uncovered so much of those temples.”

“Yeah, it is; I should get going if I want to make it on time,” I say, glancing at the clock above the desk, it's 8:30.

“If Chris calls, please tell him to leave you alone,” I say on my way to the stairwell.

I left at about 8:50 and it took about an hour to get there. At 10:00 I finally arrived at the dig site. I would've gotten here earlier but that power-hungry professor insisted I get him coffee. When I arive there he was yelling at one of the interns, again. It's honestly no surprise that people call him "Ballarag” behind his back. I step out of the car and go to talk to them. Mr. Haukur, otherwise known as Ballarog, is yelling at the poor intern about the brushing technique he is using. He does this every day no matter how good the technique is. The intern looks like he is about to cry, but just before he does, Mr. Haukur turns to me and begins to yell something about me being late. The dig site is beautiful and now we've uncovered more of an ancient Aztec temple. Mr. Haukur was still going strong, probably enjoying the sound of his own voice, when I noticed something. There are cracks on the floor, the floor that we’re standing on. The intern must've noticed it too because he slowly started to retreat to the tents. I follow him.

Crack

“Mr.Haukur,” I say yell-talking.

Crack

“Mr.Haukur, get off the path it's starting to crumble,” I say louder.

Thump, Crack, Rumble,

“MR.HAUKUR” I yell. It's too late. He fell. Oh my god, I just let a man die. I'm trembling, staring at the dirt, mud, and rocks as others call for the emergency services. His head was crushed. I let a man die.

I went home early that day. I couldn't stay at the dig, no one could. Westayed at the dig, until it was midday. I head up to my apartment as usual and give Hermes some food. Maybe this is all some sick dream and I’ll wake up.

The next morning I woke up tired, we didn't have to dig today because the police were still there. I go out to my kitchen, the sun hasn't even completely risen yet. I start to trudge to my cabinets but out of the corner of my eye, I see a letter. The same letter, unopened. I slowly walk over to the letter and open it.

The wren shall rest in its little nest.

Oblivious to its tree.

Its friend the lizard will go up to it.

The lizard shall fall prey to a fox.

If only the Wren found the lizard

“What is with all of the creepy poems, are they trying to kill me or something” I sigh. Wait. Hawk? Wren? Who is writing this stuff? Am I being targeted? I don't have a poetry subscription, I checked. I was only brought out of my thoughts by a scream coming from the hall. I rush out of my apartment with the letter still in hand. There was no one there. I hear the scream from farther down the hall. I rush to the stairs. It's locked. Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Was I hallucinating?

I returned to my apartment quickly and stood in the corridor for a couple of minutes with my back to the wall. I ended up looking up symptoms of schizophrenia.

I was watching the evening cartoons trying to take my mind off of things when I got a knock on my door. I carefully got up. My baseball bat, Georgie, is kept by my door in case I ever need it. I quietly creep towards the door and reach to grab Georgie when suddenly I hear shuffling outside. I grab my bat and open the door as fast as I can. There is no one there. I sigh realizing that I will need to see that psychiatrist. Hermes brushes on my leg and begins to purr. I look down only to see another letter.

My mind is racing, all the possibilities of what could happen dawning on me at once. I only hear static. My hands are shaking. Is this the end? Why does my leg hurt? I am pulled out of my thoughts by Hermes, who is scratching my leg.

“Thanks, bud,” I say, picking him up, I don't even close the door.

My leg is bleeding a little. I was just about to throw the letter in the trash when the TV channel changed.

Breaking News Woman, Arella Barlowe, found dead this evening! The main suspect is her boyfriend Chris P Bacon. A police investigation is underway!

My mind goes blank and I tune it out. Why her? Was this my fault? What did I do? Arella, before I left this morning, had made it very clear that she didn't want to go near him. So why is she dead? My legs began to feel weak, and I couldn’t see straight. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I wobble my way over to the sink, my breath heavy. I hear someone running down the hall and some yelling. I collapse.

Soon three people barge into my room, all dressed in red. A man ran over to me, one going to open the windows and the other grabbing Hermes. The man puts me on his back and he begins to run. All I can see are the gray tiles before I pass out. No, no, no I want to live, why is this happening again? What did I do to deserve this?

I wake up with a gasp, there’s a cold breeze flowing through my room. I sat there for a second trying to come to my senses and recall what I was dreaming about.