Even though the sky was devoid of the moon, the piling snow caused the night to glow. Natalie Fields found herself watching it fall from the comfort of her living room, and was reveling in every part of the scene. She fully believed that when its chill couldn’t reach you, the frosty season was just as serene as spring or early summer. Though, when your vulnerable to winter’s wrath, it’s singlehandedly the worst thing known to man; a seasonal curse.
Thanks to Natalie’s new home, she could fully enjoy the holiday season again, but just a little over two months ago, she dreaded the declining temperature passionately. In her mind, she was still going to be stuck at the dump she used to call home and suffer with its inadequate heating.
Actually, that may be kind of harsh. Sure, the former residence lacked proper heat and was as drafty as a castle, but it had been her home for a good five years. And it had been fairly cheap, too. If her previous landlord had just taken the time and money to repair the heating, she might’ve even stayed.
But say she did stay: then Natalie would’ve missed out on her new modest home with all its quirks and perks. It wasn’t much bigger than her last place, but that was fine by her. She didn’t want more space than necessary. After all, it was just her, and she was committed to staying single while living on Sycamore CT. Honestly a basement, attic, garage, or walk in closet was of no use to her. All she needed was the basics; a kitchen, one bathroom, one bedroom, and a living room. Paired with the quality central heating, it was practically her dream home.
That isn’t to say that the new house didn’t have its issues though.
It wasn’t anything she couldn’t overlook, but for one thing, the kitchen sink leaked a tad bit. Each time she tended to the dishes the tile floor would be wet by the time she finished. Of course, Natalie countered this by just mopping every time, but it still has developed into a daunting task.
Her second compliant was one that was justified each time it was presented to her. Similar to most homes over forty years old, it creaked and groaned throughout the night. She heard some of the commotion in the day as well, but it was at night when it seemed loudest. It kept her up at first, and even spooked her a little. At times it seemed like she had company within her walls by the sounds that echoed out of the vents; other times she was sure her house was haunted. She heard shuffling, snapping, scratching, and air rushing all night, but ultimately Natalie perceived it as a small price to pay for such good heating. In fact, that’s what Google had told her as well: it was only the hardworking heat.
As far as complaints go, that was pretty much the gist of it. Nothing to get overly excited or fret about. It was clear that when weighing out the pros and cons of the house, the positives dominated the negatives every time. The heat alone might’ve been the decision maker for her, but there were a few other perks as well. For example, Natalie was over the moon when she saw all the furniture and learned it was hers to use.
There had to be around two-thousand dollars of furniture in the house when she moved in. The leather couch was generous enough, but grouped with the loveseat, washer and dryer, and the immense bookshelf, it was a blessing. And her new landlord knew that. He was an older man, and an immigrant from the middle east, but he sympathized with the youth of America. His name was Mr. Dogan, and Natalie instantly felt comfortable around him. He was a little goofy, but in the same way a grandparent or an eccentric teacher would be, and not to mention, just as sweet. He said that he realized that kids have more of an up-hill battle today with the prices of everything and that it was utterly unfair to expect them to live the lives that their parents had. And Natalie obviously couldn’t agree more.
She was completely elated when Dogan informed her of the furniture she would get to use, even though Natalie knew that she would never even touch the bookshelf. She wasn’t much of a reader (not since her Percy Jackson days anyway) but luckily the shelf already had plenty of books to hold. Mostly encyclopedias, world maps, children’s books, and religious texts like the Bible.
By the time she decided to check the mail, there was about five inches of snow on the ground. Avoiding putting on real shoes, she slipped on her fuzzy slippers and snatched her jacket from the back of the couch. Once she stepped outside, Natalie immediately regretted her choice of footwear. Snow quickly found its way inside her shoes and underneath her bare feet.
“Jesus!” she yelped, speedwalking to the mailbox and indenting the snow with every step.
She reached the mailbox and swiftly retrieved anything that lay inside. And then on the way back in, Natalie hauled balls.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” She chanted while more and more snow made contact with the flesh of her feet.
When she made it back inside, Natalie urgently kicked off her snowy pajama-like shoes, and within a minute, a small puddle formed from her home’s warmth. Her toes were still cold, so she found a nearby vent and placed them on top. While Natalie regained feeling in her feet, she took a look at the mail she had so bravely fetched.
There were four pieces in total; one being a catalog of coupons for fast food, and the other three being sealed plain envelopes. However, only one of them belonged to her. The other two belonged to Aimme Herrera, and upon reading the unknown woman’s name, Natalie was reminded of another compliant she had about her new home.
It was a small one, microscopic even, but it still got on her nerves now and then. Like the moment she presently stood in for instance. Natalie hated that she had just braved the cold and snow to fetch a stranger’s mail. And the worst part about it was that they’ll never even read them; it’ll just be stacked with the rest.
The post office hadn’t been of much help when she brought the issue up to them. They quickly dismissed her concerns by saying, ‘Frankly, ma’am, this happens to almost everyone. What happens is that a certain resident will move out, or even pass away, and big companies, or even just regular folks won’t realize it. So, they just keep churning out mail because they have set mailing lists and whatnot. Chances are this Aimme didn’t even open these pieces of mail you’re receiving when she lived there either.”
And then whenever Natalie asked what she was expected to do with all the stranger’s mail, the unconcerned post-woman said, ‘Just toss em.’
But that didn’t feel right to Natalie. What if someone had thrown away her mail and she really needed it? How would she feel in Aimme’s shoes? Therefore, she let the former resident’s mail stack on the foyer by the door while she spent weeks searching for Aimme Herrera online. The mail only continued to come and pile up on the foyer, day by day, sometimes a handful of mail at a time. She knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon either. Natalie accepted that about a week ago, and once she left the vent, she placed Aimme’s mail with the rest.
***
Natalie abruptly popped upright in bed, shallowly breathing and her chest slick with sweat. Her mouth was dry and tasted biter. She looked to her nightstand for a cure, but found nothing useful. She must’ve not brought any water with her to bed tonight. Only her phone and a few miscellaneous health items like pill bottles and two different types of Chapstick sat bedside.
That meant she would have to go out to the kitchen, whether she liked it or not. Her throat was drying out quickly after her mouth and a painful cough was ensuing. She threw her blankets back then swung her feet off the bed. Then, the second she made contact with the carpeted floor, she asked herself why she had woken up. Was it from her mouth drying out, or something else? It wasn’t totally unlike her to wake up randomly, but this felt different. Not only was her throat feeling rough, but she now had a peculiar sense of urgency. As if something had legitimately disturbed her peace and plucked her out of sleep.
Ignoring her own question because she didn’t have the answer, Natalie stood and went to her bedroom door. She had just barely grabbed ahold of the door knob when she heard it. A pair of feet had raced past her door. Suddenly terrified and wide awake, she jumped back and drew closer to the bed.
Frozen, she anticipated another sound. Natalie could feel her face start to blotch with heat as she pictured the intruder on the other side of the door. In her mind it was a desperate burglar, but just because he was merely a thief didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her if she appeared. Hence why she stayed put in her dark room and attempted to stay as silent as possible.
But her throat was still dry, as well as beginning to itch.
She tried to clear her throat gently, even putting both her palms across her mouth to snuff it further. The itch endured though; it wouldn’t be dismissed so easily. Natalie knew her body was begging her to full on cough.
So, she did, but not from by her own will. Involuntarily, a sharp and painful cough escaped her lips, and immediately after, more sounds of quick feet rushed by her room yet again. Then, a sudden and loud skiiirrrt blared and caused Natalie to slip out a small scream.
She felt like screaming more, but resisted. She bit her tongue and prayed the intruder wasn’t heading to her room. Best case scenario they were fleeing from the sound of her cough. And after a minute or two, it seemed likely. All was quiet in the house. Apparently, they didn’t want any trouble just as much as she didn’t. But had she heard them actually leave?
The fear surging through her body had made her sweat double. Her face was soaked from chin to scalp, but it wasn’t until she wiped her eyes that she realized she was also crying. Natalie put a hand on the doorknob once more, praying that the intruder had left. She turned it clockwise and had just started to pull when another startling sound forced her the close the door again.
Skiiirrrt!
Stepping back even further, Natalie almost cried o-
Skiiirrrt!
Panicked and afraid for her life, she retreated back into bed and pulled the sheets over herself. Before cowering underneath all her pillows and blankets, she sought out her phone. A part of her was baffled that she hadn’t used it sooner, but she knew it was because it had happened so fast. Now that she had a handle on what was happening, Natalie quietly called the police.
Somebody responded within ten minutes of the call and came knocking at her front door while she still sat shivering affright in her bed. Natalie dreaded leaving her room, even if the cops were just right outside. Though when she did leave, nothing was out of place. As far as she could tell, they hadn’t taken a single thing, nor was there any other sign that they were ever there.
The lone officer who came to her rescue gave law enforcement a good name. Upon meeting Natalie, Officer Reynolds catered to her instantly and not for a second did he doubt her story or dismiss her concerns. He seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing, which both unsettled and comforted her at the same time. She liked that she wasn’t being treated like a hysteric woman, but seeing the cop treat her situation as if she had just barely escaped death, or worse, had freaked her out. How close was she to being hurt? Did this sort of thing happen a lot in this neighborhood?
“Do calls like this come through often?” Natalie asked on the officer’s way out.
“Well, no actually. Not throughout the city, that is, but I can’t say the same for around these parts.”
“What do you mean by that? Is it not safe here?”
“It’s not that I think it’s unsafe.” Reynolds replied. “But I don’t know if I should elaborate any further.”
“What? You can’t just say stuff like that and not explain!” she pleaded.
“I feel like this is a conversation you should have with your landlord, ma’am. I don’t want to be ruining anyone’s business now.”
“The hell with that! What about my safety?”
“All right, all right, I’ll tell you what I know.” He attempted to calm Natalie. “I don’t know that much about it, but the old woman who used to live here had called several times reporting a break-in. She always swore somebody was walking around her house when she was sleeping.”
“You’re joking.” she tried not to sound scared, but nearly gasped.
“Nothing ever happened though. I promise. I’m pretty certain that she just moved away is all.”
Natalie let a lull pass in conversation while she stomached the unnerving insight of her new home. Her eyes fell to the floor in search of a response, and she found it underneath the foyer table. One of Aimme’s pieces of mail had fallen.
“Was her name Aimme?”
Officer Reynolds squished his face in thought. After clicking his tongue, he seemed disappointed to tell her, “No, I don’t believe it was…”
***
One week removed from her close call with the intruder, Natalie came home dog-tired, empty-bellied, and aggravated from work. Working in retail during the holiday season was actual hell, and could give railroad work a run for its money. But then again, Natalie had never worked on the railroad, so maybe that wasn’t fair for her to think. She did, however, know that railroad workers had never been screamed at for feces being on the wall of a public bathroom before. Natalie had definitely been in that position herself though, and each time they yelled at her as if she were the one who violated the bathroom, when in fact, it was more likely that it was the indignant customer who had the ‘accident’.
Fortunately, that shit was over with. At least for tonight anyway. Tomorrow was a different story, but she took comfort in the fact that she had more than twelve hours until she’d have to be back in. Now it was time to eat and sleep with very little in between.
The majority of the snow had melted the day before, so she didn’t worry about dragging in a wet mess when coming inside. Natalie kept her shoes on all night, but finally took them off when she was committed to going to sleep. Once her feet were free from her shoes, she sighed with relief and crawled into bed. Minutes later, she lay there, digesting her late dinner and scrolling on her phone with a tired gaze.
Now, Natalie didn’t own a therapeutic mattress, but at the moment, she swore she could feel herself sinking in little by little. Soon enough, only my nose will be visible if the bed continues to swallow me, she thought and grinned. Her eyes fluttered and her breathing was calm, her chest rising and falling subtly. Not embracing it wasn’t an option, and it wasn’t long until she was seconds away from sleep.
But then she thought she heard footsteps in the hall.
Alarmed, Natalie pulled herself up and tried to put her ear on the other side of the bedroom. She couldn’t hear anything now. The steps had vanished just as quickly as they appeared. Only the hissing of her hardworking heat filled the air. Natalie waited and waited until she felt like she had imagined it.
There were never any steps. Quickly she accepted the idea that what she just heard was only her sleepy subconscious. Which seemed likely, given how much the intruder had been on her mind lately. She hated that someone—assumingly a man—had crept around her house while she lay asleep. It made her feel unsafe, scared, and overall, a little neurotic.
Confident that the commotion she heard was imaginary, Natalie loudly spoke up. “Hello?”
No indication of company came.
“Is there anybody out there? I’m calling the police!”
But she was only bluffing this time. There wasn’t anybody out there, she was sure of it. And now that she truly felt alone, Natalie could continue her route to sleep.
She flipped her pillow cool-side up then threw her head in the center. The cool silk of her pillowcase contrasted nicely with the warmth of the bed, and before she knew it, Natalie was twitching. Usually when sleep was within grasp, her legs slightly kicked, and knowing that, she reached for it. And she would have grasped it if it hadn’t been for the chatter in her pillow.
The God-honest truth was that she wanted to ignore it. To just play it off as her brain activating sleep mode after a long and busy day. Something that could be boiled down to overthinking, and wasn’t actually transpiring in her house. But Natalie knew she couldn’t allow herself to be so oblivious. She was already way too paranoid.
For the second time tonight, she aborted sleep and picked her head up. The faint voices were still to be found. It resembled T.V chatter, or maybe from a radio; but both at a low volume. While listening, she could even hear a melody at times. In her exhausted head, it sounded as if her house was humming its favorite tune.
Bravely, Natalie raced out of her room. She hadn’t put much thought into her plan if someone had been out here to meet her, but even if she had, it would’ve been useless.
Nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself. And the vague voices had ceased on top of it.
Mystified as well as irritated, she stomped to her front door. There wasn’t a single sign of activity outside the panel window, but she still opened the door and took a gander.
Nothing but her empty street.
A part of her said she were losing it. What was she expecting to see? Somebody holding a radio on their shoulders like some 80s cliché? Or maybe something more practical like a car with a loud sound-system driving by?
But none of that was there. It was only herself and her worrisome thoughts about not being as alone as she expected. Natalie didn’t slam her door shut, but she wanted to. Instead, she locked her door aggressively and as tightly as possible, then she finally went to sleep.
***
Early on in the week, a notable snow storm was put into the forecast. It was said to begin on the evening of December 22nd and continue until the afternoon of December 23rd. Altogether they were looking at about eight to ten inches with moments of high winds and dangerously low temperatures.
Natalie made sure to collect all the mail the morning before the storm. Lucky for her, she had the day off from work, but even if she had been scheduled, Natalie likely would’ve called in. She didn’t want any part of the oncoming snow, and not only was she annoyed with it already, she was also determined to avoid it all cost. Hence why she was retrieving the mail now rather than later. She had learned her lesson last time; her house shoes were damp for days after.
Today’s mail was no different from all the weeks before; only a quarter of the mail actually belonged to her and the rest was addressed to Aimme. Honestly, Natalie wasn’t even sure why she checked the mail anymore to begin with. Even the mail she did receive was useless. More than half the time, the important stuff came via email these days. Aside from her insurance holder and her dentist, Natalie couldn’t remember the last time she received a piece of mail that wasn’t a package or junk mail.
Aimme Herrera had clearly never boarded the email train though. Apparently, she still received her mail the old fashion way. Well, she wasn’t actually receiving it, Natalie thought. She’s never going to sort through the thick stack of mail on the foyer, despite that every single one was addressed to her. Likewise, she also wouldn’t read a word written inside any of them. Which, at times, made Natalie feel like she was doing something wrong. She only hoped that whatever lay inside, wasn’t of importance.
Resisting any more troublesome ideas around the stranger’s mail, she put today’s load with the rest and picked up any envelopes that had fallen to the floor. It seemed like every time she opened her front door that Aimme’s pile would tumble. Whether she was going in or out, Natalie knew she’d be picking up the mail from underneath most of the furniture; but that’s just what happens when you have over fifty envelopes stacked precariously next to the door. At this point, she was doing it to herself. Why haven’t I just put a rubber band or hair tie around them, she wondered?
Or better yet, why not just throw them all away? What’s the difference?
But Natalie couldn’t bring herself to do it. No matter how much she might enjoy the clear foyer space if the mail was tossed, she couldn’t throw them away. The best she could do was put them in a bag and store them in a closet. Maybe she’ll do that tonight; it sort of fit into her agenda anyhow.
Tonight, Natalie wanted to deep clean her house. She hadn’t felt right since the break in. It wasn’t that it just felt unsafe, it felt dirty. A part of her felt like the intruder’s presence lingered; almost like a bad stench would. In fact, sometimes she even thought she could smell him.
Him.
Why had she put a gender to the intruder? Was it because the mental image of a stranger is always a man? Could be. It was hard for her to picture a woman breaking into her house, but she supposed that it could’ve been. There wasn’t any indication that told her otherwise.
While Natalie didn’t live in filth and kept a tidy home as it was, she insisted on thoroughly cleaning for her night off. It had been her plan since a few days prior when she was shopping and had bought the supplies. She even picked up a bottle of red wine to entice the process. Once it was uncorked, her night began and she hopped to it with a glass in her hand.
First, she wiped down counter tops and tables, and then dusted the ceiling fan and the large vent that inhale air. Next, she started to sweep the hardwood floors. Though, before she mopped, Natalie put in her head phones and proceeded to clean with the encouragement of music. After that she vacuumed her room and between couch cushions, cleaned her fridge, scrubbed her oven, and lastly, found a bag for Aimme’s mail.
By the time she found the tawdry backpack her ex-boyfriend had left behind, Natalie was fairly drunk, but let’s just call it intensely tipsy. She wasn’t stumbling around, nor was her head spinning, but she did feel a little light on her feet as well as care-free and confident. That’s probably the reason she decided to put away Aimme’s mail in the first place.
Why did it take me so long to do this? she criticized herself. Natalie supposed that she just wanted to be prepared if Aimme came to collect someday. Before, she could’ve handed the mail right over with it being right next to the door. But what’s the difference between that, and fetching a bag with all the mail in it? It didn’t need to be spilling all over the foyer for it to be convenient for Aimme, whoever she is. Natalie never found her online, and the cop did mention that she was an older woman, so maybe she wasn’t in any condition to check her own mail anyway. The woman could be blind, sick, or even dead.
So why treat her mail so preciously? She asked. Put that bag away and just toss them in the trash. No one is looking for them.
Natalie considered this. Her drunken thoughts were leading her to a reasonable conclusion. Who gives a shit about this woman’s mail? She’s probably too old to care, or else someone would’ve come by now. Chances are that she lived on Sycamore for years. There was even a chance that she had died here.
No one is coming, she told herself, then made a decision.
She scooped up all of Aimme’s mail with both arms. Then she carried them to the kitchen, used her foot to lift the lid, and then toss every piece of mail inside. Once it was packed down, the once near empty trash bag was almost full.
She felt better already.
And the foyer table looked great! Now the only trouble was finding what to put there. She didn’t have a clue what that’d be, but maybe that was ideal. Maybe it was supposed to be a clear space, she thought. It could be a place for keys, wallets, hats, and such. Just as long as it wasn’t a sloppy stack full of stranger’s mail, she’d be happy.
Having put all her energy into scrubbing down the house and drinking four glasses of wine, Natalie suddenly felt spent and ready to sleep. She poured the rest of her final glass out, then went to freshen up in her restroom before she called it a night.
Laying in her clean bed in her clean home with her now clean body, Natalie dove right into sleep. Mesmerized by how quickly she was slipping, she figured she must’ve needed it. It was no doubt from the stress of work, as well as the newfound stress from home. Speaking of which, had she remembered to lock the door tonight?
Of course, it’s locked, she answered, just barely awake. It’s been locked all night.
And she was right. It had been locked ever since she checked the mail. There was no chance of a clean break-in tonight. Someone would have to break a window to get in, and if that happened, she would surely hear it. Any intruder would have to have some tricks up his sleeve if he wanted to get it without a single peep. For the first time in weeks, Natalie was completely at ease in her home.
All of a sudden, Natalie was awake in the middle of the night. As far as she knew, there had been no ruckus to jolt her out of sleep. It seemed as if she was awake without a cause, and that annoyed her tremendously. She blamed the wine, and had been smart to do so.
Natalie had to pee.
Before she left the warmth of her bed, Natalie wanted to take note of the time. She uncovered her phone from underneath her pillow and sought out the time, her eyes wincing from the screen’s brightness. Though half-asleep, she was taken aback from the time. It was just barely past midnight, Natalie had only been asleep for an hour, tops.
Irritated by the fact she had been woken up by her bladder in the first place, she chucked her blankets back and dragged herself to the door. Before opening it, she half-assed looked for her house shoes, but they were nowhere to be seen. She assumed they were in the kitchen when they didn’t turn up.
Natalie left her bedroom and admired the dim environment of her home in the still of the night. If it weren’t for her mini-Christmas tree, plug-in febreze’s, and stove light, her house would’ve been densely black. She was thankful for them at moments like these; too much light would’ve been too much for her sleepy eyes.
After she finished up in the bathroom, she detoured to the kitchen in search of slippers. She surveyed the tiled floor and came up with nothing but admiration for her own mopping skills, and a single envelope that must’ve fallen from her grasp when throwing them away. She bent down and picked it up, nearly grinning at the strange persistence of the inanimate object.
For the first time since she’s lived on Sycamore, Natalie thought about taking a look inside Aimme’s mail.
Was it a generic, impersonal business letter?
Perhaps a thank you letter?
Or could it be letter from a friend? How about a pin pal?
Screw it, she decided, and out of sheer impulse, she tore open the envelope.
A single piece of notebook paper lay inside, and at the sight of it, Natalie’s body tensed. She pictured a handwritten letter, something sweet and very personal. The idea of somebody tearing out a page from a notebook, writing down a thoughtful message, and then mailing it, only to have it thrown away made Natalie feel like a bitch.
And she could have sworn that’s how she was going to feel from then on out. But that changed when Natalie read it.
There was a disclaimer written on the fold in bulky letters. “DO NOT DISCARD. READING IS CRUCIAL.”
Sweating already, she opened the folds and began to read the letter.
“Dear current resident,
I’m writing this to the young lady who lives at 2210 Sycamore Ct as of December 13th, 2023. I can only hope this finds you as I don’t know your name and only know your address. I know there isn’t an Aimme that lives there. The only reason I used that name is because I figured he wouldn’t touch it. That is also why I kept my name off as well. I have limited reach where I currently live, but I know the Sycamore address by heart. I used to live there no less than two years ago before my old age took my independence.
It would be wise to brace yourself for the message I’m trying to convey. This is going to come off as strange, freighting, and disturbing, but it’s true, and you need to alert the authorities and/or flee immediately. Despite my mind being faulty and no one believing me, I know I’m right. I remember all the signs, but it wasn’t until recently when it clicked for me.
I suspect that you’ve experienced break-ins and invasions just like I had, but never have seen the intruder. I also know they never steal anything, or cause noticeable damage. You lock your doors tight every night and assumingly have even considered buying a security system, but it won’t do you any good. No one is breaking in, because they don’t need to. You simply don’t live alone in that house.
Dogan lives below you in a hidden tiny basement. The bookshelf in the living room covers a door, and when he feels it’s safe enough, he leaves his space. I don’t know what he does upstairs, but he only does it when you’re asleep. He knows your every move, and it isn’t unrealistic to think he can see you, too.
If by some miracle you receive this, please do not second guess the information I have given you. Help yourself and leave before he discovers I’ve written this to you.”
Her stomach was tight and her mouth full of saliva as she swallowed what she had read. She felt legitimately petrified, she knew she was shaking. Natalie reflected over every noise she had ever heard in the house and wondered if Dogan had been responsible for them. She reread the letter again and again until it made sense, but it never did. She had so many questions.
Was this lady writing to her out of her mind?
Or had she been honest and insightful?
And if she was telling the truth, that opened a world of possibilities.
Was Dogan dangerous? Had he seen her sleeping? Were there Cameras somewhere? Had he heard her the same way she heard him?
Could he see he-
Skiiiirrrt!
And at that obnoxious sound, the same one she had heard more than once, she realized what it was. Shuddering as if the heat in the house was nonexistent, she crept down the hall and peeked around the corner into the living room.
The bookshelf was moved, the left side of it pushed ahead. It resembled a thick door and an abyss was below. Natalie refused to get closer and look inside. Instead, she twirled around and watched her back, because all she was concerned with was where Dogan was now.
Wayne's World. 