Don't Check the Mail

1000 words
Written for the writer's cramp contest.






"Okay, I'll let you in on something; ain't a crime to write something down." the detective said. "Day that becomes illegal, I'll come pick up that diary myself. Till then, nothing's been done, so just go on home." He tossed the diary to the end of his desk, towards where I was sitting. "Take that with ya." he said. I wanted to throw it at him, but when I lifted the little book it felt far too heavy. My strength was gone.

As I walked out of the detective's office, I pulled out my cell phone and called my wife, Julie. "He didn't do a damn thing." I said. I hoped that the detective heard my comment. "He read the first few sentences, flipped through a few more pages, and then blew me off. And the look that asshole gave me!"

"That's American justice." Julie said. "Well, just because they won't do anything doesn't mean we can't. I'm getting off early Friday and I’m going to the library. I'm gonna check and see if there were any reports of missing people around the dates in that diary."

"Julie, you don't need..."

"No, it's okay." she said. "We're overstaffed anyway. I'd just be sitting at work doing nothing. Anyway, I love doing research. Especially if it means I might get to put a smug asshole detective in his place."

"I love you, honey."

Julie and I had moved cross country so she could take a job at an advertising agency. I worked from home. We had only lived in the town for ten months before the tornadoes hit.

I thought we were both going to die that night. We sat in the cellar and played cards. We both joked about the storms. Our masks of courage slid off when the power went out. We listened quietly as the wind screamed and debris bombarded the house . I held Julie and told her I loved her. I waited for the roof to collapse, for us to be sucked outside, for a tree branch to impale us. Nothing happened.

Our house was spared, but many people lost their homes. Trash covered the streets. I was cleaning up trash in our backyard when I found a tattered, soggy, black hardbound diary.

I took the diary in the house, laid it on the table, and went back outside to finish working. When I came back inside, I found Julie reading the diary. "We need to show this to the police." she said.

Jul 9, 02. The room likes her. At nite I like to imagin the room eats her. She is food in its bowels. it dijest her. Its big and power ful and shes helpless. I get excited when i tuch her first time each day. Of the 2 of us, i'm probably more nervous! I put her on the bord and crank it to skrech her longways. Her body sound like bits of sereal cracking. I pull my (bottom of page missing)...soundproof. Don't mater anyway cause she don't make sound nomore. I thingk of how she'l taste as i cut peaces of her with my utility nife.

"The entire thing is like that. There's like ten different women he talks about." Julie said. “We’re going to the police about this.”

“Honey, some kid might’ve wrote this. Maybe it’s just fantasy.”

“I don’t care if it’s just pretend. Who the hell pretends this kind of stuff?”

I didn’t feel like working the morning after I went to the police station. Julie was gone when I woke up. I tried to do some work, but I kept picturing the belittling expression on the detective’s face. Fat, bald head. The back of his neck looks like a pack of hotdogs. And he treated me like that?!

I had stayed up the night before reading the diary. Whoever wrote it didn’t mention any names or specific locations. I got an idea. I tore a page out of the diary and went for a walk. Chances are he probably lives in this area. If he set out some mail, maybe I can match the handwriting.

A block and a half away, I saw a letter set out for pickup. I went to the doorside mailbox, glanced at the handwriting, and checked it against the diary. Not even close. This is silly. I kept walking.

Three more blocks. The house was old and brick. It looked like a sentry that never sleeps. A sideroom of the house had been destroyed in the storm. A makeshift wall plugged the hole. I saw a piece of mail set out. I spun aimlessly to make sure nobody was looking. I went to the door and looked at the mail. I pulled out the page to check the handwriting. Someone pulled the door open.

“What you doin?” the man said. He was big and square shaped. His gaze dissected me; pulled out my fears and showed them to me without blinking.

“Just...I had...saw your house. Looks like the storm got you.” I said. I had the page in my hand and out in the open. I was afraid to move.

“Why you on my porch?”

“I was, just wanted to take a look. I had a house and took some damage too.” My throat swelled. Please. I’m only here to check this silly diary. You can have it back. No harm done.

“Come on in. Take a look. You can help me with something.”

“No...I really need to get...”

“You got time. You had time to come up here. Come inside.”

Julie thought about taking off early Thursday instead of Friday.

“What you got there in your hand?” the man said as he closed the door.

Julie filed a missing person report. She talked to a detective. He had a fat bald head. “Probably ran off” he explained. “You know, blowing off steam. He’ll be back. Happens all the time. Anyway, we can’t do a thing till he’s been gone seventy-two hours.”