The Threat Of The Menacing Mind

The letter was delivered by registered mail and I had to sign for it. I hadn't noticed it wasn't for me because I was excited to get a handwritten letter in this digital age.

I should have looked closer. I should have paid closer attention. I signed for the letter and thanked the courier. He nodded and went on his way, leaving me holding the little square of paper and wondering who sent this delightfully outmoded means of communication?

Then I saw the name and who it was addressed to and it was not me...

The address was mine but the name was unfamiliar: To Mr and Mrs Mark and Hilda Kildare 13 Deereborn Avenue.

Yes my address but was this for the previous occupants? I had lived here for five years so Mark and Hilda Kildare had to have lived here before then.

I was curious and becoming curiouser.

I should really write on this Return to Sender and ring the company it was sent through, but for some reason I just felt drawn to the letter.

I took it to the kitchen and sat it down in front of me on the table, I would decide as I boiled the jug and made myself a cup of coffee. Who are they? I wondered out loud. Mr and Mrs Kildare? And who had sent them a handwritten letter with stamps from several different places and limited edition stamps too. Was it to hide from where the letter had been sent?

I felt a wave of excitement overtake me as I poured the water over the coffee sending a delicious smell of comfort into my nostrils. I shouldn't open someone else's letter should I?

But the compulsion kept pushing me to do so.

I sat down at the table with my coffee and looked at the thing that was tempting me in the form of this little square and it seemed to whisper to me to open it.

I felt compelled. I felt the need to open the letter not addressed to me but sent to my house. I thought in a warped way that since it was sent here that in some weird way it was mine to do with as I please.

But it wasn't mine was it?

So many questions running through my mind so many reasons to open it so many what? Devil on my left shoulder and Angel was silent on my right- maybe the angel agreed with the devil this time?

Isn't it illegal to open someone else's mail? I whispered.

Yes it was.

Did I care? Hell no.

I was feeling hesitant though and it was a weak protest at best.

I held my coffee cup up to my nose and got a whiff of heaven, drank the first sip and felt the hot liquid slide down my throat.

I opened the letter.

At first I didn't understand what I was looking at.

Then I realized what this was...

I was looking at a kidnap letter.

I gulped and a sweat broke out upon my upper lip as I fought the urge to bring back up the coffee that had turned to burning acid in my heart all the way back up into my throat.

Surely this is a joke? I asked out loud, trying not be sick.

I was regretting opening Mark and Hilda's letter. Especially since the sender didn't know that they had moved on and I had no idea how to reach them. I wiped the sweat away as,

I forced myself to look down at the letter again and the cut out letters stood out starkly against the white paper background, not handwritten at all but magazine letters and words put together to form sentences of evil intention and threats of malice and mayhem.

My mind was racing. I looked for a date stamp upon the envelope it was dated thirteen days earlier. Almost two weeks ago. I felt my stomach drop.

WE HAVE YOUR CHILD DAVID DO NOT CONTACT THE POLICE OR WE WILL MAIM HIM! YOU WILL PUT $100,000 OF SMALL UNMARKED BILLS IN A PACKAGE FOR THE COURIER TO PICK UP. WE HAVE SENT PHOTO CONFIRMATION THAT HE IS ALIVE AND WELL WITH TIME STAMP. HIM STAYING ALIVE IS UPTO YOU. THE COURIER WILL CONTACT YOU FOR PICK UP! IF YOU CONTACT THE POLICE THEN DAVID WILL SUFFER.

My mouth suddenly went dry and I heaved up all the breakfast I had ate that morning and the coffee I had sipped.

I wiped my mouth and the photograph had fallen out of the letter onto my floor.

Here it was. This must have been the kidnapped David. Mark and Hilda's son looked to be about ten or twelve years old, he was blindfolded and tied up with a sign attached to him...PAY UP OR HE DIES!

Holy hell. Time stamp was thirteen days ago. Was David dead? Why hadn't the courier contacted the Kildares again? And why two weeks late? Covid 19 mail was slow these days but this was terrible and the Courier Service's negligence may have killed their son.

Where were the Kildares? This was a ransom demand but where was the rest? Surely there would be another letter? Or a follow up to get the cash?

Or was this a joke in bad taste for someone to get their jollies? I mean Covid had people on lockdown for two years and some people went insane coming out of isolation. Was this some kind of prank?

Some kind of idiotic pandemic inspired amusement at the Kildares or even my expense? What if they didn't even exist and the perpetrators expected that I would open a letter that wasn't addressed to me...Did they know me? I looked around with what I am sure is a hunted paranoid expression on my face. Then why would they send a letter? Why not scam digitally? Because even though it was a paper trail it would not be in the system unless they used their real names and credit cards for the courier!

I sincerely doubt they'd be that stupid.

I think I was overthinking this.

Maybe I needed to calm down and phone the police.

But then they would check into me and I don't think (overthinking again) I want that.

Let's just say I am not squeaky clean and would prefer to stay off the police radar.

Do they know me? I have worked hard to stay away from any kind of trouble especially THIS kind of trouble.

I am feeling unsettled.

David was on my mind.

I remember another kid that was kidnapped.

It did not turn out well for anybody.

He was around the same age.

I looked at the photo of him and it looked old. Not new as I first thought.

The time stamp was long ago.

I started to shake and felt cold.

Did I send this to myself?

I have lapses in memory sometimes.

I tried to remember what had happened it had been such a long time. Not two weeks ago but the anniversary was 13 days ago and many years.

I had worked hard to forget.

I changed my name but not my address.

My parents had died thinking I was dead. The memory came suddenly unbidden hitting me with a lightening strike of a shock!

I couldn't breathe.

My real name was David Kildare. They were dead because I killed them. They were the ones that kidnapped me, for years I blocked it out until the pandemic and lockdown cracked my mind, forced me to remember who I was.

That's why I can't ever go to the police.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump!

I stashed the letter and photo, and went to answer the door.

I looked through the peephole and saw two people standing upon my doorstep, they looked familiar but I couldn't quite place their faces.

I opened the door and the woman's face looked searchingly into my own, she had the same coloured eyes as my own: cornflower blue.

She tried to get words out but could not manage it.

The man held her hand and said in a choked voice "David?"

"Dad?" I asked faintly.

The two standing in front of me were indeed my real parents, older and bent with the weight of years of grief I was frozen with what seemed like paralysis.

My mother finally started sobbing with all of the pent up sadness that years of thinking her son was dead at the hands of his kidnappers.

She asked to hug me and I put my arms around her and then drew my father in too. We were reunited after so many years and had so much to talk about.

What happened to my kidnappers? I told them they had dumped me and disappeared and I had no memory of what had happened till recently. I didn't tell them they were buried in the little garden out back under the white roses. I will never never tell.

I asked how they found me. My dad said a letter came out of the blue and told them where I was living, he thought the kidnappers had a change of heart and gave them my address.

I was stunned. Did I send that letter? The secret part that knew where my parents lived all along?

"Did the letter say not to involve the police?" I asked

"Yes, how did you know? Just like the original ransom letter."

I was shaken and was moved by my own minds deviousness. I knew that if the police were to discover me alive there would be an investigation and questions would be asked and have to be answered. The deepest part of my mind knew it could keep the long held secret but the other part that felt guilt and would reveal truths untold would turn on us.

I struggled to keep my composure whilst my internal battle with myself against myself raged on.

"Have you told anyone you found me?" I asked furtively.

"No not yet but we can't wait to tell everyone we found you alive and well!" My dad said excitedly. My mom looked worried.

I asked if they would like a cup of coffee and they both said yes and I went into the kitchen and boiled the jug. I found the rat poison under the sink and measured some carefully into the cups.

I served both of my parents their coffee at the table and watched them drink.

Death came rather suddenly. First came the headaches and then paralysis, both started convulsing and their bleeding eyes and gums signified the end for both of my parents.

I felt bad but knew they couldn't tell everyone they found me because questions would have to be answered.

I decided to bury them next to the kidnappers beneath the white roses.

I cleaned up the kitchen and threw away the coffee cups laced with rat poison.

I was so tired. Murder was exhausting.

A random quote came to mind: "Hypocrite: The man who murdered his parents, and then pleaded for mercy on the grounds he was an orphan."

-Abraham Lincoln