Not for your eyes

I heard the thump of something coming through the letterbox and landing on the mat, the one that said welcome. Rarely is that sentiment true. I don’t like visitors. I like letters even less.

I don’t subscribe to anything, no marketing lists, no catalogues, nothing. I don’t write to anyone; not ever. So, the sound of a weighty envelope hitting the floor was slightly disconcerting. Who had my name, my details and wanted to write to me?

I dragged myself out from the comfort of my bed, reaching for a towel to help me keep my modesty. I’d had complaints that Mrs Barnsley over in number 56 had seen things she hadn’t seen for years. I didn’t reply. I simply stuck a sign in my bedroom window that read: Stop looking into my house you fucking bitch.

The complaints stopped. I took the sign down a few weeks later at the request of the local governor. I’ve never seen him, but I heard his voice shouting through my letterbox, threatening me with jail and other unspeakable acts. To think that my neighbours voted for him, too.

I don’t go out. I had nothing to do with it.

I sat at the top of the stairs and looked at the package lying on the doormat. It looked fairly large; the edge was ripped where the postman had forced it through the slit in the front door. He knew better than to knock. Anything that didn’t fit through he simply threw in the bin or left it propped outside my door until one of the local lads stole it. Two kids had lost hands and the stealing had stopped. Word got around that someone had it in for me. No one admitted it, but I knew someone was out to get me.

That’s why I chose a self-imposed prison sentence.

It’s also the reason I didn’t pick up the package. What could be in it? Who might have sent it? Would it go off if I picked it up? I was frozen on the spot, not sure what to do next. I didn’t feel safe in my home anymore. Like I’d been burgled or assaulted, or narrowly escaped death. I was scared.

I stood up but my knees buckled and I had to sit down again before I fainted and fell headlong down the flight of stairs. I read my name on the package again and again. It was written in thick black marker, my name spelled out in childish printing. There was no address. Hand delivered.

I must have sat there for hours, the cold slowly reaching into my bones. I didn't move once. I needed to get up, make some tea, to warm up.

Just then, the letterbox flap rose and another package slapped on top of the previous delivery. This one simply said: Open immediately. It was the same size, the same dimensions and it had the same childish scrawl.

GO AWAY. GO AWAY. GO AWAY.

I shouted out. The shadow at the door moved. The flap was released. The metal clanged as it shut. I sat there for another hour.

I'd made it down to the front door. In a fit of anger I ran to the bottom of the stars, seizing the packages. I waited for the flash, the pain and the smell of burning flesh. I waited to be killed. Nothing happened.

I took the two parcels to the kitchen, laying them on the table carefully and flicking the switch on the kettle. While the water boiled I retrieved a knife from the drawer and poked at the first of the two packages. Again, nothing happened. The click of the kettle made me jump and I pierced one of the packages with the end of the knife. It immediately deflated.

I saw a thin, meandering cascade of smoke rise from the small hole and I bent forward to look closer. It had no smell I could discern. The package was now completely flat. I tore at the second package, my fervent fingers ripping at the seams of the cardboard. This time there was a flash, but no loud bang. My eyes were hurting and tears streamed down my face. I scratched at my eyes, at my face.

I couldn't stop. I wanted to slash open my face, to get away from what I'd seen in that instant the package had spilled open.

I knew I was on a hospital ward. I couldn't see anything. I could only hear the sound of those around me screaming out. They also couldn't see. They had also seen what I had.

I can't even bring myself to say it, to describe it. No one else should have to go through this experience. So, please don't ask any more questions. Please. Just let me sleep.