It was a small neighborhood. No one was truly memorable. They all lived normal lives in their normal houses with their normal families and normal household appliances. The only thing they didn’t believe belonged in their normal town was the postman.
The postman had come from three different towns, moving around and working for the same mail delivery company, but just replacing the other postmen that also didn’t seem very normal in that town. All of them had ended up being mean, sending angry letters to every resident, complaining about them and proclaiming that the postman (who had written the letters at the time) was running off and joining a secret society of under-appreciated postmen.
The newest postman, after a couple of days, couldn’t understand why the previous postmen were running off all the time. There isn’t even an under-appreciated postmen society that the world has even heard of before. One could be surprised, but you would’ve heard rumors by now if you had been working as a postman for ten years.
During the second week on the job, he had a package to deliver from one of the other residents across town. He carried it around, making it special priority to deliver before any other mail had been touched, for it was heavy and mildly awkward to carry.
A couple of knocks on the door and it opened. “Oh, hello sir!” the head of the household greeted. “What brings you here so early?”
The postman smiled as he held out the package. “Good morning, Mr. Homeson! I happened upon this package at the mail station and figured it would be easiest for us all if I delivered this first! It is hard to carry, you see.”
“Ah yes, I’m sorry, let me help you with that!” Mr. Homeson said. He took the large package from the postman and maneuvered it inside the house, leaning it against the periwinkle wall of the foyer. The postman adjusted his deep blue overalls and fixed his hat. The homeowner’s smile twitched. “Do you have any letters for me as well? I am expecting a response from my father, you see.”
After itching his junk awkwardly, he postman dug into the mail pouch over his shoulder. “Let me see…ah yes! Here’s two for your wife and three for you. They don’t look like they’re from your father, though.”
Mr. Homeson took it slowly, pinching the letters between his forefinger and his thumb. “Uh, yes…thank you. See you tomorrow!”
As the postman walked down the walkway and away to the neighboring houses, Mr. Homeson discarded the letters on the leaning package on the wall and made for the phone. Dialing a quick number, the feminine voice on the other end quickly spoke. “Is it time?”
“Yes, he’ll be by later than usual but he’ll be there. Be prepared.”
“Of course.”
. . .
The postman came by the fifth to last house. His wide smile hadn’t faded since he’d gone and delivered Mr. Homeson’s package. Letters prepared and in hand, he stepped up to the small townhouse and knocked twice. It took a moment, but as the door slowly opened, his smile hadn’t been touched once. It only grew.
In the doorway was Mrs. Tabitha Kreeley. Her general treatment towards him was loving and kind, sometimes even suggestive. Today, it seemed like it was about to get three times better…or worse, if you were the postman. She leaned against the doorframe in naught but a black see-through nightgown and a fluffy blue robe.
Attempting to only stare into her face, the postman held out her letters with a wide, kind smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Kreeley!” he greeted, putting emphasis on the title of her name. “How’s your husband?”
“Not home, Matthew,” she said. Her words were pronounced slowly, her sensual smile never leaving her pretty pale face. So pale, yet full of life, the postman thought to himself.
“Well, I have mail for him and for you! It seems you’ve gotten that response from your sister after all.”
“So it seems…”
There was a long silence. The postman had his hand outstretched with the letters in hand and she merely stared at him. The letters didn’t exist to her. It was just Matthew the Postman. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, ah…I do have other letters to deliver, ma’am. Would you like me to leave them or come back later?”
“Come inside, if you would.”
A sweat broke out on the man’s brow. “I’m sorry?”
“Come inside. I made a few treats and I would like you to try them. As a gift for being such a…good postman,” she said. Her smile was still there. Her lips never quirked nor faltered. She seemed like a doll, so sensual and needing of attention. And it seemed to be Matthew’s attention she wanted.
“Ah, I’m sorry but I am still on the job.”
“Oh, but my husband will be awfully upset if he found you in the house much later. He’s a very jealous man you see.”
“I see no reason to provoke that, ma’am.”
Mrs. Kreeley pouted. “Please? He’s even worried about my girlfriends coming over! I’ll convince him its okay, I always do! Although it is safer not to tell. Come on, please?”
She reached out and grabbed the wrist held out with the letters, tugging him inside. He couldn’t object, his body wouldn’t let him. Through the door he passed, and was never seen again.
. . .
The next day everyone seemed to have gotten the same letter from the same postman they had come to care for since he’d started two weeks ago. Matthew the Postman had gone to join the Secret Society of Underappreciated Postmen, leaving the normal residents of that normal neighborhood without a way to conveniently acquire their post.
The Secret Society of Underappreciated Postmen, however, welcomed Matthew to their ranks wholeheartedly. They ran their deeds from the black, locked basement of Mr. and Mrs. Kreeley’s home, never to host fundraisers or recruit at local carnivals for the rest of their lives.
