Head Cases by Scott Nicholson

Author:Scott Nicholson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: action, anthologies, crazy, crime, detectives, drama, fantasy, horror, insanity, lunatic, mental asylum, mindbending, mystery, paranoia, psychological thriller, serial killer, short stories, spinechilling, suspense, thriller
Publisher: Scott Nicholson

LETTERS AND LIES

By Scott Nicholson

"Neither rain nor gloom nor dead of night...that doesn't sound right. Now how does that go?" Charlie Blevins shook his head. "Something something appointed rounds."

Charlie steered his postal jeep to the curb on Poplar Hills, where box houses with vinyl siding and slatted shutters horseshoed around a cul-de-sac. All the poplars had been cut down because the trees got too tall and homeowners' insurance had gone up. The leaves of the spindly maples that had been planted in their stead were just beginning to turn orange-red, and the grass smelled sweetly of autumn. This was Charlie's favorite time of year.

He lifted the bundle of papers, letters, and catalogs off the seat beside him and swung his tan, knobby legs onto the pavement. The two little dogs behind the fence at 106 were yapping, just as if he hadn't driven by every day, excepting legal holidays and Sundays, for the last five years. Punters, Charlie called them, the kind that would lift satisfyingly off the foot and sail about ten yards.

Charlie walked along the fence to the mail slot hanging by the garage door. The punters followed him every step of the way, tumbling over each other in their frenzy. Charlie pulled a rubber band off the pile of mail, glanced around to make sure the snoopy old bat at 108 wasn't watching, and shot the rubber band through the chain links, hitting the closest dog in the nose. Its face registered surprise, and a good two seconds passed as its brain analyzed the new information. It decided pain was the message the brain was receiving, and the brain sent an order to the dog's mouth commanding it to yelp.

"The U.S. Postal Service. We deliver," Charlie said, blissfully unaware that he had lifted the line from a rival package company. He walked to 107, whistling cheerfully. 107 had a heft of mail, including a pair of periodicals in plain brown wrappers. Charlie recognized the return address. He delivered a lot of these "pictorials" to this end of town, where the citizens were just solid enough to worry about appearances. They couldn't just buy their smut off the convenience store rack, right in front of God, the PTA, or whoever else might happen to stop in for a Big Gulp and a pack of smokes.

Charlie dropped off the stack and continued to 108. The curtains didn't part, so Miss Mauretta Whiting, You May Already Be A Winner, was definitely not at home. Today she had a pair of sweepstakes packages from the same clearing house, one addressed to "Maura White," the other to "Ma Whiting." If she had been home, she would be standing by the mailbox waiting for him.

"Time-dated material," she would say. She personally blamed him for all the shortcomings of the postal service. She didn't even have to be standing there for Charlie to hear her thin, scratchy voice.

"Why, for thirty-three cents, I'd expect a letter to get here the day before it was mailed. You keep chargin' more and more and gettin' slower and slower.

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