Billet-doux – a love letter.
Inside this shoe box are the love letters written by your great-grandparents who had to be secretly together due to their racial differences. If it wasn’t for their defiantance of laws and belief in love, you wouldn’t be here right now.
(Inspired by; http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/)
The postman knew the house was empty because he had never delivered any letters there. So, it was a shock on Monday morning when he saw a letter with that address.
Frowning, he went up to the house and saw a metal box with mail written on the lid. He posted the letter through then looked around. There was no signs of anybody.
Weeks and months passed, the postman kept delivering letters but he never saw anybody. Perhaps, no one had moved in and someone was just using the address? Criminals? Lovers?
Whoever it was, was none of his business and he was just doing a job.
(Inspired by; https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/06/19/crimsons-creative-challenge-32/ thanks).
The builder was surprised by the undelivered letters left in the abandoned post office. He decided to take them and try to deliver them himself. Who knew what important messages they might contain?
(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2019/04/30/twittering-tales-134-30-april-2019/ with thanks).
In the dream, all the letter of the alphabet fell on top of me and I become buried under them. I cried out for help but the letters filled my mouth and out come strange words that made no sense. I tried to free myself, but the letters weighed too much. I knew if I could break them it would be easier but they began to form powerful words and I realised all was lost to them.
(Note; I somehow missed a day of the A To Z Challenge even though I have also kept on track with the letters each day so I’m not sure how it’s happened. A lot has been going on in my life which might be why I missed this day. I can’t cope with that, so I filled in the gap with this story. Just in case anyone came across this post and wondered why it had been missed and what I was going on).Â
Postman Bert finished his cup of tea and looked outside. The rain was falling steadily from a dark grey sky and the wind was sweeping leaves about. It looked like autumn out there for sure.
He returned his cup to the small canteen counter, said goodbye to Maureen who was busy making toast for another postman and went to collect his bags full of letters and small parcels. Then he left the post sorting office and started his rounds. The weather was just as bad as it had seemed inside but Bert didn’t mind that much.
He rode his bicycle for ten minutes then turned down a small street. Here, he padlocked his bicycle to a lamp post and started delivering the mail. And that was how it was for much of the morning; he went from street to street, door to door, posting through letters of all kinds and sometimes parcels.
At one house though as he was getting the right letters for that address, he saw an envelope with his name on it. Bert stopped and read the child’s handwriting on the front. The address had been the post office. Wondering why this letter for him had been mixed in with someone else’s, Bert turned the envelope over and saw the return address was for the door he was standing before. That explained it.
Bert posted the other letters through and put the letter for himself into a deep pocket of his red coat. Then he finished off his morning round and went back to the sorting office for a lunch break.
Whilst waiting for his hot lunch, Bert took the letter from his pocket and opened it. The child’s handwriting was difficult to read in places but the words brought a smile to his face. It wasn’t often a postman got thanked for doing his job and that made Bert feel happy.
Dear Postman Bert,Â
Thank you for delivering my birthday presents last week. Mummy has been in hospital and she is now getting better at home, but she wasn’t able to go out and buy anything. She brought things online and she wasn’t sure they would be here on time but you and the post office helped to make it so!Â
I had a great day and enjoyed all my new toys.Â
Thank you, Bethany Wardle.  Â
He misunderstand the term and thought people wrote letters to each other on the shells of snails.
(Inspired by; https://lindaghill.com/2018/08/15/one-liner-wednesday-snail-mail/ with thanks).
Dear Lucy,
The sickness is growing, I can feel it and if you’ve found this letter it means the time has finally come. I’m now too sick to sick to talk to you. I’ve gone to my bedroom and will die in my bed. Don’t bother coming to see me, there’s no point. My life has been so empty from the beginning that it only seems fitting that I should die alone now.
I’m trusting everything to you. Underneath this letter is the envelope containing my will. Only you and I know about how I live and that what people say about me isn’t true. I want you to up hold that imagine of me though; the quiet, yet social writer and artist. Who attend a different party or grand opening or some other important event every evening. Who’s house was always full with friends and he slept with different women each night. The too kind, mysterious, rich young man I wish I’d been in my youth.
Please carry on writing my ideas and books for me. You were always so good with new technology. I made it so in my will that you were able to write under my pseudonym, that way you can carry on perfecting your craft. You’ll make a great writer someday and finally be able to step out of my shadow.
I’m sorry to have to leave you like this. You have been like the wife and daughter, I daydreamed about having. I feel I should give you more but you already have my name and career in your hands, so what else can there be?
Good luck.
He watches and awaits by the front door, listening as footsteps go up and down the street. He growls as he hears the mailman approach and a shuffling of papers. The letter flap is fluttering and it’s raining inside the house. He jumps, catching white and brown papers which he rips and throws about. He snatches the last few out of a hand he can’t see and tears the letters up.
Afterwards, he sits, tail wagging and tongue lolling, his task of defending his home and family complete.
Meka sink down into the sofa, it was the first time in days she’d had some time for herself. Taking a sip from her wine glass, she placed it down and opened the two envelopes in her lap. It was the first chance she had gotten to read the letters the kids had wrote to Santa.
Starting with her son’s one, she read it quickly. He had asked for a new bike. A bright blue one. She’d got him a helmet too and the new coat he’d seen last week. Folding the paper back up and slotting it into the envelope, Meka picked up the pink one.
Pulling out and unfolding the paper, she read what her daughter wanted.
Dear Santa,
I have been really good this year. I only want one thing and that’s a unicorn!Â
Love Ginny.Â
‘A unicorn?’ Meka cried, ‘that wasn’t what she said. She wanted a doll’s house.’
Re-reading the letter, just to double check there had been no mistake, Meka put it back in the envelope then placed both letters on the table. Having a mouthful of wine, she grabbed her laptop and began looking for a unicorn soft toy.
Annabelle almost tore through the letter itself as she disregarded the envelope. Her eyes flicked across the neat handwriting that she recognised as being her father’s from the countless letters he had sent her. The letter was brief and written to his lawyer about amendments to his will.
My wife has died, he wrote, And I wish to leave the care of my daughter to my sister, Lucy Yeats and provide her a sum of money monthly to look after the child’s needs and education. My country house, should go to my brother, Edward and his wife. If anything should happen to my sister and her family which means they can no longer care of my child, she is to go to my brother.Â
Annabelle felt she already knew about that, perhaps her aunt Lucy had once told her. Luckily, none of that had come to pass and she was only staying with her uncle to get some fresh air and recover from illness. She knew she’s soon be back in London shopping with her cousins and discussing possible husbands.
She read on, noticing how her father’s last letter for that was which she guessed it to be, was so different from her mother’s. Her father continued to list money and items to people, namely her and other family members. Then he had signed it at the bottom. Annabelle set the letter down and picked up the envelope to put it back in. As she did so though light from the candle light caught it and she saw that something had actually been written on the inside of the envelope.
Carefully, Annabelle opened the thin paper and read the secret message her father had placed there. The ink was fading and the words so small it was hard to read without holding it up to the light. She felt a chill go through her as she read;
My wife is not actually dead, but she is as good as. Her madness has become too much to cope with. She no longer knows me or her child or anyone else. I have had to leave her in Edward’s care and remove our child to a safer place. My wife can not be cured nor do the doctors know how long she will live for. Often, she raves in French about seeing the ghostly form of her mother and we are finding it hard to keep servants in the place.
I need a death certificate but so far I have been unable to find a doctor who will sign one. They think perhaps, I mean to cheat my daughter out of inheritance. My will must be prove enough that I do not wish that to happen. We must arrange a meeting between us and a doctor who will assist us. It should be at the church were my sons are buried and everything done in secret for the time being.
The letter ended and Annabelle fell into a deep reflections. She had once had brothers and all the things she had heard about her mother’s passing had been wrong. Everyone had made her believe it had been in child birth, but all along it had been some other illness. And the ghost! Was the hunchbacked old woman actually her grandmother? Perhaps that explained why she could not rest for she wanted Annabelle to understand what had happened and for things to be settled.
Putting the envelope down, Annabelle picked up her mother’s letter and read it in a new light. The words made better sense now and Annabelle felt her heart breaking further.
I have not much time left, her mother had written, I can feel it. Some days I know my husband by his face and voice, but other days he is a stranger to me! I can not remember much other then my baby is gone to join the others in the grave and my young daughter has been sent to London. I hope that she is spared my illness.
The north tower has become my home and often I think of the poor child of my husband’s brother. That child lived here too, hidden from the world because of his deformity and the family’s shame. I think sometimes I can hear screaming and scratching at the door. My mother visits often in her ghost form. I have for years tried hard not to talk of her, but I can no longer hold it back. Still she does not speak and it is always past the midnight hour when she appears.
What will become of my child? I always think of her when I come back to my senses. I wish to she her, but my husband says she is gone and will only come back when I am better. I have heard the doctor’s whispering and I know I never will survive this. I want to leave. I want to get out of this house, it seems to have some supernatural powers, maybe it is cursed or evil lives here. My husband does not believe me, but I think I could get better if I only left!
My child needs to be kept away from this place. I fear for her if she ever comes here.
Clara.Â
  Annabelle dropped the letter and burst into tears. How had they kept this all from her? She put her head down on the desk, resting on her arms and cried for sometime. Exhausted she then fell asleep and had fitful dreams.
The room was darker when she awoke because some of the candles had burnt themselves out. Annabelle got up and went to the door. It was still locked. She bang her fists against the wood and began shouting loudly. Someone must come!
However, when she paused to drag in deep breaths, she heard nothing but the slow creaking of the house. Annabelle looked at her hands and saw they were bruised. Wondering what to do she swept about the floor and decided to see if there was another way out the room.
She searched for a long time, testing all parts of every wall and even the floor, but the rooms give up no more secrets. Hungry and tried she give in and lay down on the bed. Holding on to the fact that someone would soon start looking for her, she fell asleep.
She dreamed of her parents in the manor house. They were running down the corridors and in out of the rooms, they were chasing each other and laughing. She watched them from the point of view of a baby until they vanished into the folds of the house. Â She cried loudly, begging they come back to her, but they did not reappear and she was left alone.
Annabelle woke with a start, her ears still ringing with the crying of a baby. She sat up, pushed her hair behind her and listened. The crying was still going on. Getting up, she walked around, but could find no source of the noise. She returned to the bedchamber and the desk just as the crying stopped. Annabelle saw the hunchbacked old woman waiting by the foot of the bed.
‘I know now!’ Annabelle cried, ‘I know what happened, but I’m trapped in here. How can I tell my uncle and aunt?’
The ghost looked at her and turned towards the door. Slowly, she floated over and went through the door. Annabelle dropped her shoulders and felt all the energy leaving her. She rose a hand to her head as she felt pain growing and then it was gone. She heard the door click open and slowly move inwards.
Annabelle hurried to the door and opened it fully. The ghost was standing in the hallway lighting the way as the last candle in the room went out. The old woman began moving and Annabelle followed to her chambers.
At the door, she thanked the ghost and promised to make things right, then she went into the room which was warm and blazing with light.
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