Letters You were out of town for the week­end. When you came - TopicsExpress



          

Letters You were out of town for the week­end. When you came back to your apart­ment, your mail­box was stuffed full. At least 30 let­ters. Let­ters with no re­turn ad­dress, sev­eral of them felt soggy and heavy, as though they were re­cently wet, or per­haps con­tained a liq­uid. All of the let­ters have your name and ad­dress writ­ten on them, and many of them had your name scratched all over them in red in. They don’t smell nice, they smell like rot­ting meat and old garbage and you’re re­luc­tant to take them back to your room, but cu­rios­ity gets the bet­ter of you. So you man­age to cart them all back to your room, you dump them in your kitch­enette sink be­cause you don’t want them smelling up the rest of the apart­ment. You grab one that doesn’t seem damp and isn’t cov­ered with writ­ing, and open it up. There’s pic­tures in­side. Pic­tures of peo­ple you don’t know, with their eyes torn out, teeth miss­ing, un­hinged jaws hang­ing open, throats ripped out. You’re hor­ri­fied and yet you can’t help but won­der what’s in the rest of the let­ters. You open more, and more to dis­cover in­creas­ingly grue­some pho­tos of dead peo­ple. Piles of bod­ies with limps miss­ing, splayed open corpses on op­er­at­ing ta­bles with their vital or­gans re­moved, hanged bod­ies that have been gut­ted and bled dry. Some of the soggy let­ters had blood and other flu­ids in them. The more let­ters you open, the more you no­tice that not all of the peo­ple are strangers. Some of them were peo­ple you see at work, oth­ers peo­ple you went to high school with. By the time you get to the last few let­ters, the pic­tures are of the mu­ti­lated bod­ies of your close friends and fam­ily mem­bers. Even­tu­ally you reach the last let­ter. You don’t want to know what’s in it, but it’s not like you have a choice now. You peel the let­ter open, and it’s a pic­ture of your­self. Not dead, eyes in­tact, no limbs miss­ing. It’s a pic­ture of you en­ter­ing your apart­ment build­ing ear­lier that day, shortly be­fore you col­lected your dis­gust­ing let­ters. As you hear a door else­where in your apart­ment open, you sud­denly find your­self par­a­lyzed with fear. ©goback2sleep.tumblr
Posted on: Sat, 05 Jul 2014 11:33:31 +0000

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