The Postman (standard:other, 4235 words)
Author: Richard J Cobain	Added: May 10 2003	Views/Reads: 5637/2519	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A crazed woman believes that a secret organisation are spying on her and decides to take action with gruesome consequences.

THE POSTMAN 

Dan trudged along with the heavy bundle under one of his tired arms. 
His breath was clearly visible on this freezing cold morning.  "At 
least the sun is shining" he said to himself though it wasn't sharing 
any of it's warmth with him.  In and out of one house, in and out of 
the next house that was the name of the game.  He had been a postman 
for almost five years now having chosen not to do third level education 
after his then girlfriend now wife had become pregnant.  Although it 
was no-where near the most glamorous or even easy job in the world it 
put food on the table for his family and it was honest.  But it was 
hard work.  The blisters on his feet would testify to that and that 
wasn't the half of it.  Sometimes his hands got so cold while pushing 
the bike that he lost all feeling in them which apart from the obvious 
discomfort was also a hindrance in his work.  He was running behind 
schedule today and was trying his best to make up the time but for some 
reason he had very little energy.  He hated cold, icy Monday mornings 
like this with a passion. 

He parked the old bike against the gate of number 11 as he did every
morning and walked up the long driveway nearly slipping on a patch of 
ice on the way "Jesus" he muttered wondering how he could be so 
careless but all the same knowing that every new house was a new 
accident waiting to happen especially at this time of year.  This was 
the one section of his walk that he hated.  The houses in Church Lane 
were very old and sinister looking things.  He couldn't put his finger 
on exactly what he didn't like about them but they bothered him all the 
same.  It was almost as though they were staring at you.  He got to the 
door and bent down to the too low letterbox ignoring the small but 
audible crack in his back as he did so.  "The older the house the 
dodgier the letterbox" this was his motto.  And the houses here were 
certainly the oldest he delivered to.  The letterboxes were like mouse 
traps in the sense that they snapped back to their original position 
when left to their own devices.  He pushed it open, slid the sole 
letter through and pulled out his hand but he wasn't fast enough.  His 
ring finger was caught painfully.  He gave a cry of pain and gently 
retracted his hand from the jaw like box.  Already a small stream of 
blood was trickling out from under his bruised nail.  "Fuck" he cursed 
in annoyance.  He had a long way to go yet and he didn't need this.  He 
sighed deeply as he covered the finger with a tissue; this was 
definitely going to be a day to forget. 

Martha watched the blue man go next door with crazed, frightened eyes. 
He couldn't fool her anymore; she knew what "they" were up to.  It had 
all began about two years ago when her cat had killed a bird in her 
garden and on removing the mangled corpse she discovered that it was in 
actual fact mechanical.  Things started making more sense to her after 
that.  The satellite dish in number 11 she decided was obviously some 
sort of sophisticated surveillance equipment used to spy on her, she 
always kept her curtains drawn after that.  Soon later she found the 
cameras behind all the mirrors in her house.  She had of course smashed 
them all.  And then the blue man.  He worked for "them" no doubt.  His 
job was to coat the letters in poison, which was activated by touch.  
The question was why? Though, why would "they" do such terrible 
things?.  Mrs Philips in number 5 had died without warning last week, 
"she must have been reading her mail the stupid bitch" thought Martha.  
She now grabbed them with tongs and burned them in the back yard.  But 
yesterday was the final straw.  She had been sitting in her couch 
looking at the "birds" outside.  She sighed knowing that she was the 
only one who knew the truth, but she couldn't tell anyone because 
everyone and anyone was more than likely working for them.  "Come on 
people" she suddenly yelled at the empty room, "look at the way they 
move, it's so fake, how could you not know?".  She then calmed down 
after taking her tablet and changed the channel on the tv. To her 
complete and utter astonishment she found that she was looking at 
herself, she was on the fucking telly.  The bastards had set up more 
cameras.  She picked up her footstool in rage and flung it at the tv 
with a roar smashing the screen.  It almost seemed to implode under the 
force of the heavy stool and after a brief period of blue sparks it 
went dead.  She searched the rest of the house from top to bottom but 
found no more cameras.  She collapsed in a heap on the stairs with 
tears rolling down her face.  Why her?, they had ruined her life and 
she wasn't going to take it any more.  She began to form a plan. 

Dan picked the letters for the next house out of the bundle, which was a


Click here to read the rest of this story (280 more lines)