The Devil's Assistant

From: Mebila Hartfelt To: Alastor Hartfelt

A man with a blonde mustache while wearing a dark blue work uniform and carrying a brown satchel walked down a dusty pathway through an untouched forest. Everything there was green and brown and growing with hints of other brightly colored plants coming in. Spring was right around the corner and he was still dropping mail off at a shabby unsellable house in the middle of nowhere.

It has gotten to a point where when he had this letter he'd save it for the last piece of mail to deliver before ending his shift. Whoever keeps sending these letters really needs to accept whatever happened to this dump. The mailman thought to himself as he finally got out of the forest and reached a clearing. A clearing with a white two storied burnt house and a porch with broken windows and knocked over railings and beer bottles and graffiti all over the place. Probably more on the inside as well. This tiny old house had definitely seen better years, and it was a fucking miracle that it was still standing.

The blonde mailman slumped over to the wreck of a house. He placed one foot onto the porch and the wooden step immediately broke underneath his foot. He cursed and pulled his foot out of the ground. Why was he still doing this? Out of pity or because his boss would get overly pissed when he didn't deliver all of the mail? He grunted and stepped over the broken wood. He walked up to the front door and pulled the fresh letter out of his satchel before sliding it into the mail slot.

Turning on his heel and taking off. Finally being able to enjoy the rest of his day.

The new letter had slipped through the mail slot, falling back and forth in the small breeze before landing calmly on the ground. Joining the giant pile of many dusty untouched envelopes.