How much time is forever? How much time goes by till the minutes and the hours feel like ages? For me forever is 364 days. 364 days. Three hundred sixty four days. 364 days since you've gone. Every single day has been agony, a slow seeping feeling of drowsiness overcoming all that I am and all that I feel. A deep drowning feeling that suffocates all the air out of my lungs till I'm hyperventilating on the floor, screaming for someone who is never bound to come. Fainted, unconscious, half-alive. Everyday, for three hundred and sixty four days l've sent you letters. Letters you'll never see, you'll never hold and you'll never read. Three hundred and sixty four letters. Each letter another noose around my neck. But the blade that cuts all the weight comes in a number. For three hundred and sixty five days is the last number. Three hundred and sixty five is the end of my forever. 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,000 seconds. It's been forever. I have never been more excited to visit a post office. Three hundred and sixty five, five, f i v e. This letter is for you, but it's also for me. Because forever ends now, and tomorrow l'll be finally free.

"I have never been more excited to visit a post office."

Lana raised an eyebrow. "You know, I could do without the attitude."

Austin rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

The two shuffled into the tiny office, stepping in line behind an elderly man. The employee was busy, trying to explain something to him, but he seemed to be having a hard time hearing her, let alone understanding her.

"Sir, I already told you the price of stamps went up last month."

"But I always pay seven-fifty, no more, no less."

Austin and Lana shuffled their weight from foot to foot, patience wearing thin.

Finally, the man seemed to give up and waddled out of the post office, muttering something angrily to himself. The employee gestured them forward, a tired look on her face.

"Finally," Austin muttered, pulling a pistol out of his pocket. "Empty your drawer." Lana held out a reusable grocery bag for her to fill.

"Thank goodness," the employee sighed, moving to do as they requested.

They shared a glance of confusion. "What?"

"I hate this job. Always have. At least today I'll get to go home early." She began shoving dollar bills into the bag. "Seriously, thank you guys so much."

"Uh, you're welcome?" Lana offered.

Once the bag was full, they ran back out to their van and jumped inside.

"Okay, maybe the post office wasn't such a bad choice after all," Austin said begrudgingly.

I have never been more excited to visit a post office before! Today was the day I’d get the letter, though. It had to be today. It had been three weeks since I’d sent my letter, and this was the longest I’d waited for an answer. Was something wrong across the pond? No, today I’d get a letter—

“James, wait up!” My younger sister, Nora, yelled from behind me.

I hit the brakes on my red bike as she pedaled her blue one level with mine.

“I can’t believe my school assigned pen pal has become your girlfriend!” Nora grumbled.

I felt my cheeks burn.

“I said before, she’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we haven’t even met.”

“Yet!” Nora interjected pointedly.

“We just like writing to each other,” I continued rather weakly.

“You only ever started writing to her because I dared you to,” Nora retorted with a mischievous grin. She then became very serious, as if a sudden thought had just hit her.

“It’s been a while since we heard from her last. Longer than usual. You don’t think something might’ve…” Nora’s voice trailed.

“Course not!” I responded as the two of us started pedaling down the street again. But the thought that something might’ve happened had been on my mind for days. Today was the day I’d get the letter, though. It had to be today!

A few minutes later, my sister and I walked through the door of the general store that doubled as a post office for our small town. The bell on the door rang out alerting a tall boy behind the counter to our presence. The boy’s name was Toby Dawkins, one year my senior in school. He just recently been hired by Mr. Davey, the owner, who at the moment was no where in sight. Nora and I made our way to the front counter, passing shelves stacked with victory coffee, a shipment of the newest food stamp booklets, and walls plastered with military recruiting posters.

“Where’s Mr. Davey?” I asked.

Toby frowned. “Well, how do you like that? Not even a — Hi, Toby — before you start asking questions?” Then he spotted my sister behind me. “Mr. Davey stepped out to deliver Widow Kennedy her groceries and left me in charge of the store,” Toby puffed himself up and gave a meaningful look at Nora, “Said I was responsible.”

Nora and I exchanged an exasperated expression.

“Has the mail come in yet?” questioned Nora.

“Yeah,” answered Toby, “Expecting something?”

“A letter from England. Mrs. Peters assigned us an English pen pal at the start of the school year,” Nora continued. She knew I wasn’t keen on asking Toby for the letter myself.

“Well, I can check, but the post from England has been awfully slow because—” Toby was going to say 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳, but broke off suddenly as he paled.

I remembered with a pang of guilt that Toby’s older brother was currently MIA, presumed dead. Even though I thought Toby was pompous and annoying most of the time, the war was real for him in a way I hoped I would never experience. Toby cleared his throat significantly and began to rummage through the bags of mail behind the counter.

“Here’s a letter for you, Josh, from…” Toby squinted at the return address, “Nony?”

My heart did a painful drum roll in my chest. She had never addressed the letter to me before. She had always addressed them to Nora and simply included a letter for me. I glanced at Nora. Her brows were furrowed in curiosity as Toby handed me the letter.

“What kind of name is Nony?” remarked Toby.

“It’s short for anonymous,” I answered, not caring at this point what Toby thought of me, “It’s a nickname her grandmother gave her because she’s so shy.”

I tore open the letter. Nora came up behind me in order to read over my shoulder. The letter read:

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒥𝑜𝓈𝒽, 𝒜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶. 𝐼𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝐸𝓃𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇, 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒜𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶. 𝑀𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝐸𝓁𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒷𝓊𝓇𝑔, 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓃𝓈𝓎𝓁𝓋𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒶,𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎, 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓊𝓃𝓉'𝓈 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒.

𝒫. 𝒮. 𝐼 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒. 𝑀𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒥𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓂.

“Jane,” Nora breathed behind me, “How beautiful!”

My eyes flicked to the address at the bottom of the page and smiled with excitement, “She’s going to be living right next to David!” My best friend! After all the doom and dread of the war overshadowing this past summer, this turn of events was shaping up to be a chance at a fresh start.

“I have never been more excited to visit a post office,” Rowan sighed, drumming his fingers on the bus window. “In fact, I have never been less excited to visit a post office.”

“Because you’ve never visited a post office.”

“Exactly. Say, when did Casey get this smart?”

Casey laughed, leaning over the back of Rowan’s seat and swatting at him. “Bastard.”

“Look, my parents were married—“

“They’re awful people, Rowan.”

Rowan sighed again, tipping his head back to stare up at the peeling adverts all over the bus ceiling. He didn’t say a word to us for the next three stops, and then breathed out an ‘I know’.

We didn’t push it.

Waiting on confirmation that the people we most suspected of being the missing Cross children were, well, the missing Cross children… it had been difficult. Dealing with Rowan’s intermittent silences and outbursts and depressive funks was technically Casey’s strong suit, despite the fact that he was remarkably shit at it all.

I was worse at it, of course. Rowan and I… we were a bad mix. Which made it all the more incredible that so many people thought we were together.

But I was good at being a sort of bodyguard for him, in a way. Even if he blew up at me about not needing a ‘bodyguard’ and then got his ass kicked by a Year Ten within fifteen minutes…

You know.

Perfectly healthy mindset for a barely-teenaged boy, the idea of not needing when you most certainly do need it.

It had been a million times worse when Rowan had been missing, though. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like for his parents, trying their damned best to keep it all under wraps while Piper Meadowes and whatever-his-real-name-is Casey investigated… I hope they were terrified.

The bus stopped, and Rowan let out a small groan. “I don’t want to know.”

“I think you do.”

“I’d rather not…”

But we dragged him off anyway.

    “I have never been more excited to visit a post office.” Is not something you hear often. But, here they are, standing, staring, at the front of a post office,(bikes thrown carelessly to the side) which could be their one way ticket back to the real world. A portal-gate-thingy, in all it’s orange glory, was open. Six months, six, of running around, surviving the hellhole known as the upside down. “I think I might start crying,” I say whole-heartedly. He gives a nod and let’s out a breath.

“I can’t wait for a shower, oh my god.” The only way they could stay somewhat clean, was to use water bottles which they had to save for drinking. “I’m going first.” “How generous Bill.” Billy throws him a dirty look and grabs a stick to poke at the gate with. He uses the stick to tear the gate and turns his head in Ben’s direction. He silently tiptoe’s forward, and pats his shoulder after looking through the portal. “Go Billy.” Ben urges. Billy crouches and steps through the gate quickly. “Safe!” Billy yells from the other side. Ben takes one last look around the upside down and follows through.

I have never been more excited to visit a post office, except when I was actually receiving mail. Instead, I was there to drop off the last of Carter’s belongings, shipping them across country to his family. As I stood in line waiting for the next attendant, a pamphlet caught my eye from across the room. In a bold yellow font, the title of it read “LOST YOUR PACKAGE? WE’RE HERE TO HELP.” Although the pamphlet itself seemed tacky, with the picture of a WASP smiling ear-to-ear on the cover, it made me wonder what would exactly happen if the package I sent got lost.

The medium-sized box contained mainly bobble heads and baseball cards, neatly wrapped in bubble wrap to preserve its condition. Carter always had a strange fascination with America, more than most Americans. He collected everything from merchandise of America’s favorite past-time, to those Coca-Cola cans with random names embellished on the side of them. The last thing he had bought was a FunkoPop of Ronald McDonald, saying that was “peak-America”. For someone so patriotic, I was surprised to see that his blood wasn’t also white and blue when I found his body.

When the person you’ve been dating for only 6 months kills themselves, it may seem like a mystery. I thought to myself that I should’ve seen it coming, but how could I? We only knew each other for half a year, less if you calculate the time we actually spent together. Whenever we were together, talking was at a minimum. Our hands spoke for us instead, trailing the natural curves and bends of our bodies. Still, I immediately figured out Carter’s America fascination after two visits to his downtown apartment. His baseball bobbleheads were taped down to the top of his oak headboard, as they shook their heads at us during sex. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve figured that Carter only had weekly sex with me so he could have the eyes of something other than his bobbleheads witnessing him.

The thought of losing Carter’s package stuck in my head. If it went missing during transit, would I be to blame? I did my due diligence, neatly placing the address of his family, 247 Moth Lane, on the smack middle of the box, in addition to waiting in line at the post office to ship it. I did what could be done, which was more than what his family did. A week after Carter passed, his workplace arranged a funeral service to be held for him. I showed up, along with a couple of his work colleagues and schoolmates, except for his family. There was not one person actually related to Carter there, with an arrangement of poppies and chrysanthemums being sent in their place. In a way, I relished in the fact that I was the only one there who seemed to really know Carter, minus his suicide.

When I finally reached the post office attendant, I stuck out my hand to give her the package, but something inside me pulled it back.

“Is there a problem sir?”

“No, not at all. I just don’t want to lose this package.”

I turned around and walked out the doors of the post office.

Coral had agonized over this decision for months. Actually, that wasn’t true. She had been agonizing over it for years, the majority of her adult life, ever since she knew it was a choice she would eventually be forced to make. College.

Now, of course, that in and of itself is not an Earth shattering revelation. Most high school seniors have to make such a choice at this point in their life - if they’re lucky. But for Coral, this decision that should be about the direction of her future seemed to be focused on her past. Her parents had gone through a bitter divorce before Cora was out of diapers and ever since, she had been less of a daughter and more of a football to be captured from the other team. Her university plans were of course no different. Since before she could conceptualize of higher education, it was very clear that she was expected to pick one of her parents alma maters and that her choice would align her once and for all firmly on the side of the alumni that she chose. Even thinking about it filled her with icy dread.

Her parents had tried to force Cora to declare her loyalties in hundreds of different ways over the years - favorite musicians, vacation choices, basic opinions. Nothing she did or said could just be her own or a reflection of herself. Every word out of her mouth, every action she took, friend she made, presence she displayed was interpreted by her parents to be a statement that she was either more of their side or the side of their opposing parental figure. Deep down, Cora was sure her parents loved her. But they had also loved each other once upon a time. She knew this not only because of her own existence, but because of the passion with which they hated one another. No one could hate someone that much unless they had once loved them intensely as well. Lukewarm love could never become hot burning hate, there simply wasn’t enough emotional kindling. That love had culminated in their mutual love for her, as it does for all parents. Probably. To be honest, she was unsure what unconditional parental love felt like, it had been so long since she felt it. Her mom and dad individually showed her love and affection, to be sure. They shared good times, laughter, things that looked like love and sometimes even felt like it. But it was always a conditional affection because it was weighed against the perceived love of their counterpart, and what love for one meant for the other. Sometimes Cora would watch ridiculous reality dating shows with her friends, and the contestants would often bemoan the lead showing affection to someone else with the refrain, “If he can be interested in hheerrrr, I don’t know what he could see in me.” This seemed to be the same attitude her parents seemed to have towards her. Like these contestants who are trying to appear to be the most superior of the group, it of course isn’t that they were jealous or insecure or had anything wrong with THEM. It was more what the choice said about the lead - or in this case, the child. Her parents never tried to dissuade her from loving the other in exact words - but they made it very clear that it had an impact on their perception of their relationship in turn. If you could see something in them, I don’t know what you could see in me.

They had never out and out demanded that she pick a side once and for all, though. They came close many times, but never seemed to full on demand it - because it was made clear that here was where that declaration would be made. UCSB, home of the Gauchos and forever aligned to her mother. Or the Santa Cruz Banana Slugs, tied intrinsically on her father. She was expected to pick one, forever going forward one that time and leaving the other behind.

Or would she?

She sat at her desk with the forms of intent to enroll. UCSB. UCSC. Staring at each, she took a deep breath and then definitively picked up one of the pieces of paper and signed it. She folded it and checked the address. “Office of Admissions, Pepperdine University.” Finally, her future was hers alone.

“I have never been more excited to visit a post office,” she said to herself.

Alessio scuffed his feet along the ground.

His father, Carlo, had taken him up the mountain. For an hour, they had hiked over craggy ledges, ducked beneath low branches and almost tripped over every rock. “Bring your son to work day,” his father had said, and now, Alessio couldn't think of anything worse.

“You’ll ruin your shoes,” his father scolded from in front, but when he turned, he smiled, and his warm hand squeezed Alessio’s, guiding him a little further up the path. Alessio’s father was like that— dignified but kind, strict but loving. Appearances meant everything, yet nothing could beat the love he had for his son. Alessio knew how much his father loved him, and he took pride in it. “And I will ask if you could quicken the pace—if only a little. We don't wish to be late, do we?”

“But I’m tired, papa.”

“The faster we get there,” his father said, not a breath out of place, “the sooner you can have a short rest. And perhaps a warm Taralli. Yes?”

Alessio huffed and swept the sweat from his forehead. Above, the path appeared to stretch for miles. It twisted and meandered up the cliff face, reminding Alessio of the sketches he'd seen in his books of the river Po. Morning mist shrouded the mountain's peak in a haze of white, the sun's golden glow kissing the stone, igniting it in burning brilliance.

As Alessio squinted, he could just make out the yellow streak of the post office, a pop of colour against the grey of the rock. His legs wobbled, and Alessio thought, ‘I have never been more excited to visit a post office’—even if the only thing he was excited for was a good rest and a Taralli.

Half an hour passed in a slow, agonising crawl. By the time they reached the white stairs of the post office, sweat had soaked through Alessio's clothes, and his dark hair fell in limp strands over his face. He pressed a hand to his chest, his heart pounding the hooves of a galloping horse.

“Do that twice a day, every day for thirty years, Mio Figlio, and one day, like me, you will no longer break a sweat.” Carlo held his hand out to his son. He stood on the first step, straight-backed, his suit still pressed and not a hair out of place—it made Alessio’s lungs wheeze just looking at him.

“Come,” his father added, “Just a few more steps, and you can have a rest.”

Sucking in the fresh swell of the mountain air, Alessio accepted his father's hand, stumbling; he staggered up the stairs behind him.

As they entered the small—not at all grand (slightly disappointing) room—dust from Alessio's shoes dispersed over the polished marble floor. A sizeable welcome desk curved in the corner, and behind it sat a lady; her black hair pinched into a tight bun. She peered through her circular spectacles and bowed her head at Carlo without saying a word.

Alessio looked for a chair, or a stool, somewhere to sit, but other than the desk, the only other thing to relieve the dull, white walls was a single grill door at the back of the room.

“When can I sit down?” Alessio whispered, his feet still numb.

His father smiled reassuringly. “In a moment.”

The weird door slid open with a griding squeak, and they both stepped into a tiny metal compartment. A single, yellow bulb flicked above, and as Carlo drew back the door and pulled a lever, Alessio realised what it was.

A lift. Which meant the post office had more floors.

The lift rattled, groaned, and then down they went. Down, down, down, until Alessio thought they might soon strike the earth's core.

They jolted to a stop, and metal wailed as the door slid open and—

Alessio’s breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping three beats. They were inside the mountain.

Handing lanterns dangled from the vast cavern walls, and the place smelt of mildew and burned paper. Alessio counted ten or twelve people walking around, their arms stacked with boxes or pushing trollies filled with brown parcels and white envelopes.

On the far wall, wooden scaffolding framed a jagged hole in the rocky ceiling, gaping open like a screaming mouth. Stark, white light burst through the fracture, and Alessio’s eyes widened as it haloed a creature believed long extinct, one Alessio had only read about.

“A-a dragon?” Alessio squeaked. Thoughts whizzed about his mind, and he rubbed his eyes, hoping against hope this wasn't a dream.

His father grinned, his eyes twinkling, and he rested a hand on Alessio's shoulder. “How else did you think we delivered the post so quickly? One puff of smoke from its gold-mine nostrils, and those letters and parcels get delivered straight to the customer's door. This—” He flourished an arm towards the creature, and if on cue, the dragon moaned, a vibrating roar that rippled right through Alessio's chest. “—is our prized employee.”

Alessio didn't know what to think. His eyes wandered over the thin, hunched creature again.

Green scales, the colour of rust on old metal, ran the length of the dragon's body. Her wings were folded in, small and almost invisible against her sides. From snout to tail, she had to be no bigger than the gondola boats back home, and from what Alessio had read in his books, that wasn't nearly large enough.

She was only young, he realised, a baby—where were her family, her parents?

His father wouldn't take a child—no matter how beastly—away from their family?

Would he?

Something around the dragon's ankle caught Alessio's eye: an iron ore chain shackling her to the floor.

“Papa, why... Why is she chained up?” Alessio said hesitantly. A magnificent creature such as that shouldn't be chained up. “Where’s her family?”

“The chain is for security, Mio Figlio,” Carlo said softly. “To protect it from anyone who would try to steal it. And it's family... It's a simple creature; it has no concept of family.”

“Papa, that's not—!”

Someone shouted Carlo’s name. “Stay here,” he said, “I won't be a moment.” He kissed Alessio’s head and then hurried to where the call had come from.

By Alessio’s feet was a crate similar to that he had seen some of the workers carry, overflowing with green envelopes. They were all addressed to the Post Office, with the same emblem of a dragon and company name stamped in the corner.

The dragon growled, and Alessio quickly glanced up before returning to the message.

“Podac,” he read, squinting at the symbol, “Protection Of Dragons and All Creatures.”

Alessio turned the letter over. There were hundreds like it in the crate, all identical, all asking the Post Office to release the dragon into Podac's care.

When Alessio's father returned, he asked, “Papa, what’s Podac?”

“The people we are trying to protect this dragon from. Somehow, word... got out that we possibly had a dragon in our care.” Spots of red began to blot Carlo’s face, and he snatched the letter from Alessio. “This group,” he growled, “think it's their job, their duty, to... to—as they say—rescue it. Pha! I say.”

Alessio swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Why did you bring me here today, papa?”

“To show you what you will one day inherit. Come,” he said, his fire gone, extinguished by his usual distinguished poise, “I have so much more to show you.”

But Alessio didn't know if he wanted to be here anymore, didn't know if he wanted to see any more. He wanted to sit down...

...To think.

The dragon groaned a deep, mournful tune.

Snatching another Podac letter from the crate, Alessio quickly hurried after his father, his tired legs forgotten, his mind scheming ways to save that dragon.

“Hey, you know how my parents have a Post box?” Shannon, my best friend sat in front of me idly picking at her fingers.

“Hm.” I spared her a glance, relinquishing the death grip that a video of a dog singing to ‘Abba’ held on my eyes.

“Annika I need you to actually listen dude,” the girl had died her hair blue last fall, and a few faded strands fell to the table as she ran her fingers through it roughly.

“Yeah, I’m hearing you.” I looked to her, again. Shannon was practically vibrating with nerves, “woah hey what’s going on?”

The girl looked nervously around, the mural on the big cafe chalkboard wall catching her eyes for a moment before she spoke,

“I’ve been trying to tell you- look my parents need me to pick up their mail this week since they’ll be on vacation and I feel really dumb asking this but, will you come with me? I’m convinced the place is haunted!”

Shannon looked at me with the biggest watery-est green eyes I’ve ever seen and all I could say was :

“Uh yeah- sure why not?”

I was a weak, gay fool.

The ride to the post office the next day was spent with Shannon telling story after story on why she thought her parents neighborhood U.S postal service was haunted.

“No. Dude listen, I used to grab their mail with them when I was a kid, and this place used to freak me out! I saw faces in the carpet pattern,”

I took a bite out of my breakfast burrito, supplied by the rambling woman behind the wheel, “ahuh”

“They have creepy dark corners, “

“Ahuh”

“And hallways on hallways of P.O. Boxes that look like they’re going to fall on you! I mean- someone could die from something like that, right?“ Shannon finished with a huff, her face was red from the stress she was putting herself through.

I patted her on the shoulder in sympathy. “I’m not gonna lie, these just sound like things only a kid would notice. I think once you get in there, you’ll realize that the difference between being five foot-something tall, versus 3 feet makes a huge impact on how you process your surroundings”

She thought for a moment, letting the silence drag a bit as she parked. Then she sighed,

“I think maybe you’re right.”

I nearly choked on my burrito.

“Are you actually taking my advice right now? There must be a flying moose somewhere too!”

Shannon rolled her eyes as dramatic as she could and got out of the car.

“I’ve never been more excited to go to a post office,” I was grinning cheekily at Shannon “cmon you can’t be mad, I’m just living for the moment.”

She laughed into her arm, trying to hide her mirth.

Shannon was right, the place was dark and cramped. The entire office was also completely quiet, the only signs of life were one woman writing something furiously on a clipboard behind the customer service desk.

“We go this way..” Shannon pointed at an even darker hallway that led to rows and rows of lockers crammed into a stuffy room. “Uh…kay…” I was slower getting a worse and worse feeling in the pit of my stomach .

“26G, we’re looking for 26G” The woman said, mostly to herself, I trailed behind her feeling the hairs rise on my arms as we walk closer to the back.

“Annika are you coming?” My eyes snapped towards her voice, Shannon was waving at me from the end of the hall, a good few feet away from me.

“Hey… how’d you get so far?” I laughed nervously, shaking my head.

“What do you mean? You said you needed a second so I ditched your ass.”

“Rude” I chuckled at her, jogging to her. I don’t remember saying anything in the last five minutes, but whatever.

“Annika.”

I turned towards the opposite direction, back towards where I had stopped earlier, standing there was Shannon.

I stopped.

“Shannon? Wha-“ I turned again, back towards, well, the other Shannon only to find an empty hallway looming mysteriously.

“Dude stop messing with me, that’s just cruel” The woman waved the parcels she had retrieved from the box at me.

“I uh, yeah… haha you fell for it.” I scrambled back towards her, seeing faded 54G, 53G, etc.. etched into the lockers I was passing, counting back towards the 20s. Where Shannon had found her parents box and locked back up before finding me down the hall.

“You we’re right, though Annika.” Shannon smiled warmly at me. She grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the exit.

“This place isn’t haunted at all.”

-fin

I have never been more excited to visit a post office. What visits were usually bland and in sweatpants, now make me have butterflies in my stomach and trying to find outfits that match my 'oh so fun' personality. She works Tuesdays, and usually has her hair up in a ponytail. Ever since that Friday I saw her, I was hooked. I have never posted more on eBay to have an excuse to go and ship things. We get along great, she’s the cutest person. Today is the day I ask her on a date.

I drive my old beaten down Honda to the post office and find a parking spot that’s facing the front doors. l pop down my mirror and fix my hair before hopping out with my newly wrapped package in hand. I can see her in the back. The other man at the counter motions for me to step forward since the place is empty. "Oh, um, I'm just waiting for her." l lightly point to the girl in the back. The man signs and then calls out " Sam, counter." So her name is Sam. She walks up to the register, hair in a high ponytail and smile and says “you sure have a lot of mail this week!” “Yeah, running a small business.” I hand her the box, excited to be talking to her again. “Oh cool! What kind?” She starts to input something in the computer. “Just flipping guitar parts.” She looks over at me excited and I feel myself smile. “I wish I could play guitar, my boyfriend is trying to teach me.” Her, her what? She continued to talk about guitars but I mentally checked out feeling like an idiot. I told her the address I was shipping the package to and left promptly, trying to smile while saying “have a nice day.” As I got in my car I started looking up other post offices in the area. I have never been more ready to leave a post office.