De-Life-ry

[WP] Newly hired by the Post Office, you find an address on your route that only appears when it has mail. The house can't be found when it doesn't. One day you get a package for the mysterious house that requires a signature.

******

Cold feet.

Usually used when referring to marriage, weddings, new jobs, first days at school and... Postal deliveries?

Maybe that didn't come out right, but then again, very few people had been in the situation I was currently in. Even fewer people understood it. Or, to be honest, nobody except me knew the gravity of what I was facing.

When I first noticed that 1 CMT3 Lane used to perform a strange disappearing act, I myself thought that I'd had too much coffee that morning. I wasn't aware of the existence of CMT3 Lane to begin with, as I was a local in the area and virtually knew every street, avenue, and boulevard in the area.

Worse still, after making the delivery, I was ticking through my paper man in the deliveries I'd made that day and when I got to CMT3, it wasn’t on the map. Which was strange, as I had asterisked it that same morning when I was getting ready to deliver the mail,

Perplexed, I opened the Maps app on my phone, but alas, it wasn't there either.

I was faced with three possible explanations:

• My coffee this morning was spiked, adulterated or I drank too much.

• I was losing my mind, or I had imagined this all up, as consistent with some mental illness.

• The whole friggin' house appeared before the delivery and disappeared after.

Naturally (and as logically as one would expect), I decided to focus on the first two. I wished away the second possible explanation because there was no way I was going to a shrink, knowing that my Boss could find out and fire me on grounds of incompetence or inability to perform or whatever (I really didn't read any of the Terms of Agreement).

Not like anyone ever did.

So I just assumed that my friends at work had pulled off a wild one here. Of course, their jokes did tend to lean towards the ‘could probably get me arrested and found guilty of assault’ side of things, but it was all in good spirits, so I thought to just ignore it this time.

But then it happened again. As soon as I dropped the mail and entered my car, I checked the Map just to confirm… lo and behold, there was no such address. I drove back to the location, and there was the double whammy: there was no such building. Just a wall with graffiti on it.

It was time to have a little chitchat with my friends.

“What do you mean, ‘spiked’? You tryna say we drugged you?” Mike asked.’

“You didn’t?” I answered, quite confused at the turn of events.

“Hell no we didn’t, sum’n wrong with you? What the hell even happened to make you think that?”

I told them the story, and then at the end, they all exchanged funny looks and burst out laughing. D*cks, I thought, they know what they…

“You got us there, you really did Matt. For a second I almost believed your story,” Mike said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “CMT3 Lane. Did I ever,” he finished.’

”What do you mean? I’m serious here guys!”

“Oh come on, Matthew,” Eric chipped in. “CMT3… Cemetery, even blockheads like us can see through that wordplay.”

I walked out of that gathering, leaving confused glances in my wake as I thought about the fact that I might actually be the biggest blockhead of them all. How did I not see that CMT3 was probably Cemetery? Now that I thought about it, I could clearly see the similarities.

“Did I deliver mail to the undead, or should I really book an appointment with a damn shrink?” I asked myself heading to the Dispatch Office to receive my letters for that day. They were few, just six in number, and as I looked through the addresses, I saw that the last one was boldly designated “Number 1, CMT3 Lane…”

Third time now? You have got to be kidding me for f*cks sake.

I opened my maps app and quickly scanned the map of the areas, and sure enough, in a very narrow close, I saw that 1, Cemetery Lane was the only one in that close. But then, right behind the house – sharing a fence with it actually - was the town’s local cemetery.

So it was down to two possible explanations – either I was raving mad, or I was delivering mail to the dead…or undead actually, as the case seemed to be. For some reason, it actually seemed the latter was plausible.

I jumped in my car and zoomed off to the address first, determined to get even the slightest information on what the hell was going on. As soon as I arrived, I noticed quite a few things I didn’t the last two times I had been here.

There was a strange mist hanging around the area; not thick enough to hinder visibility, but just enough to give the place an eerie ‘do not approach’ look. There was a hanging line by the side of the building, but only a few clothes were loosely attached to it, and they were all in tatters.

The door looked slightly open, and the mat said 'Unwelcome'. I shrugged it off and dropped the mail in its box, but as I turned to leave, I saw the door again. My curiosity was piqued, so I approached the door to try and open it.

To my surprise, it shut instantly.

Shaking my head, I walked back into my car and shut the door. Just as I was about to drive off, I turned to look at the house, and just as I expected, it was no longer there.

Curse you...

The next week, I was in the Dispatch Office again and this time, there was another package, but one that required a signature. I became perplexed instantly. Who, or even what, would come out to sign for the package?

I drove slowly, very much afraid of the unknown that I was going to encounter. Stopping in front of the house - which, goddamnit, was right there again - I came out and marched to the door tentatively. Looking down, I noticed the mat now read "Welcome".

What was that supposed to mean?

I was about turning back when the door suddenly opened, and a fair - quite pale actually - lady in a long black gown stood at the door, pen in hand. "You have the package?"

Her voice was musical, soft, and beautiful, but there was a strange coldness lurking behind it that made me shudder as I stretched forth my hand to give her the package.

I froze in shock suddenly, looking at my hand. It was empty. I could have sworn I...

"Their confusion is always so cute to watch," she said, smiling as she looked at me. "You're the package, dear. Why do you think you're now welcome?"

Before I could even shout, she grabbed my neck and drew me close, before pressing her pen to my forehead. Its nib was as hot as hell, and it sizzled as she signed on my skin, my screams echoing within the halls.

"There, now your death has been processed."

As I watched myself - or my soul - leave my body, my soundless screams haunted me more than anything else.