Polaroid

Chapter 8: Strange Letter #2

I must've drifted off to sleep while sobbing in bed. When I woke up, my eyes were still burning from the tears. I wasn't even depressed or sad anymore. I was angry. I was angry that my mom died. I was angry that I had to find that stupid hole in the wall with the Polaroid and letter. Screaming into a pillow wasn't working for me anymore. I needed to take my anger out on something to get it out of me. Vaughan or dad weren't options because I would never take anger out on them. Even screaming at Eli would be unacceptable because of what we all just had to go through. I stormed into the back room with that wretched hole in the wall.

"Why? It's all your fault! You stupid hole in the wall! You caused all of this in the first place! If you hadn't been hiding that revolting letter and Polaroid, then none of this would've happened! We are all having to go through this because of..." I stopped. What was I even doing? I must be going insane. I was screaming at a hole in the wall. An inanimate object. It wasn't going to listen or respond to me. All of my yelling was probably just causing stress for the rest of my family. I'm blaming a wall for something that is technically my fault. My fault. It's my fault that my mother is dead. It's my fault that I got curious and decided to study the hole in the wall. It's my fault that I took the Polaroid and letter out of their hiding place. Why am I such an idiot? I asked myself. It's all my fault.

I noticed yet another envelope in the hole as I banged my head against the wall. Regretfully, I slipped it out and quickly walked into my room. Right before I opened the envelope, I had an anxiety attack. I went to talk to Vaughan to vent my frustrations.

"It's all my fault," I repeated as I ran into Vaughan's room.

"What's your fault?" he asked.

"Everything. Mom dying. Our family being filled with stress and anxiety. It's my fault!" I cried.

"You can't blame yourself for this Melodie," he responded.

"Yes I can and I will! If I hadn't been so curious when I went to get flashlights last night, then none of this would've happened! I just had to find that Polaroid picture and that envelope with the letter inside of it!" I screamed.

"It's just a freak thing that the letter happened to be there. You didn't put it there so it's not your fault," he explained.

I stormed out. I just couldn't deal with people right now. He tried calling after me, but walked away when I slammed my door. Curiosity filled me again as I opened this second envelope. It looked identical to the last one. The second letter read:

Melodie Rivers,

Your father was just going to get some Tylenol for you at CVS. You got hit with the stomach flu and a fever at exactly 6:44 PM. Your brother, Vaughan Rivers, noticed you looked ill at dinner and mentioned it to your father. Right after that, you ran to the bathroom to vomit and check your temperature. You had a fever of 100.6. He was still overly depressed from this previous incident, but volunteered to get medicine. The tragedy occurred at 7:13 PM. Your father, Jimmy Rivers, was pulling into the CVS parking lot. A drunk driver was going the wrong way, and was speeding towards your father. The driver was going at approximately 97 mph in the CVS parking lot. The drunk driver hit your father's car head-on, and your father didn't make it. Unfortunately, your father died in the crash. His car was totally destroyed, and there was no way he could survive. He wasn't even sent to a hospital since he was dead the second the crash occurred, and there was no way of saving him. The drunk driver sped away before police could arrive at the scene. I am sorry to break this awful news to you, but your father, Jimmy Rivers, has been killed by a drunk driver in a car accident.

I sat on the edge of my bed in silence. I let the tears pour down my cheeks and fall onto the letter. My father was going to die tonight. Whoever is sending these letters is leaving my family and I defenseless against death. The only thing I could possibly do is fake not being sick if I get this sickness that the letter talks about. I quickly glanced at the Polaroid picture again. Just like last time, my dad was starting to fade from the picture.