Josh paused as he sorted the last
of his mail behind a black envelope. Thicker than the others, the greeting card
bore no return address or mark aside from the name in silver script.
Mr. Miles O’Hannigan.
Two years since Josh moved into
his place and he still got junk for the old potato; AARP magazines, a
subscription renewal for model train clubs, mortgage scams. For the first few
months, he piled it up in a basket by his door waiting for the coot to pick it
up. When the basket filled, he dumped it all in the trash.
Josh closed the mailbox and turned
back to his house. He stopped and re-weighed the black envelope in his hands.
It was heavier than the average Hallmark; something must be inside. Judging by
the heft, a wad of somethings. Glancing down the empty suburban street, he
flipped over the letter. Only a dab of silver wax sealed off the contents.
Sliding his finger under, he popped the seal off.
Silver filigree bordered the thick
paper in the same ebony as the envelope. Only the words “My Condolences” filled
the front. Josh thought of stuffing it back in, but in for a penny… His fingers
ran along the thick edge and he yanked open the card.
A
banshee wail erupted from a mechanism inside, exploding all of his capillaries.
The spent card slipped from his fingers. Josh’s body crumpled, dead before it
hit the ground.
No comments:
Post a Comment