THE TRAUMATIZER

Fret seemed to riddle his willpower; he suppressed a cold shiver. His irises were paralyzed with fear, a fear that half-unmanned him. His heart hung silent, the beating stationary in the air. His hands were cold and clammy – the proof were the marks of sweat embalmed on the letter – as he shakily handed it over.

Twitching reptilian eyes, a watery smile. Hair, a fine moist merlot concealed by the scarlet shako - such an uncanny mailman.

His nervousness was a sorrowful sight.

And so, with the letter given, his job done, the postman turned around, pools of sweat racing down the neck. Strolling wearily, he disappeared into the dusk, his soul dragging behind, its horcruxes half-dead.

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Perplexed by the postman’s aberrant performance, I stumbled a retreat into the front door, with the crisp envelope still dangling between my humid fingers. An icy shiver relentlessly weaved its way down my spine as I was instantly enveloped by the warmth of my house.

By the time I had been wrapped within the mellow feeling of home, all thoughts of the mailman’s supernatural behavior had vanished into the humid air.

Grabbing the nearest chair, I leisurely sat down, allowing myself a moment of tranquility. The envelope had a smooth, velvety touch to it – a fine silky one – as though it had come from a land far away, or perhaps was sent by the princes of Arabia.

From the looks of it, it seemed quite outdated. The top left corner was imprinted with a large stamp, which pictured a huge tower, crafted with sparks and swirls of gold.

But then a sudden thought occurred to my mind. Yet before the thought had been processed well enough to be applied, my hands decided to flip the letter. That’s when the shock sunk in.

My eyes snapped open in horror; the unexpectedness of such a simple task resulting in this horrific stain splattered upon the left corner of the back side; it seemed to be far from unpredicted – rather unexplainable.

A fresh, crimson blood stain: as though it had just been ensanguined upon the snowy background. However, there was definitely something abnormal about this stain. It seemingly failed to outstand the name that it partially concealed; “To Joseph Relic”, written in large, bold letters, blood bedaubed on top of it, as though it had been intentionally smeared.

This was something that horrified me to an immense extent – for, right in front of my eyes was the name of my very own… father? What would a letter addressed to my father have anything to do with me? He was dead, as far as I knew.

Yet, if the letter was really addressed to a member of my bloodline, what should stop me from reading it as well? After all, there was little chance that it would contain private information over grave topics he used to enclose within the household or matters as intense as that.

And so, in a state of queasy distress, I heaved myself onto the recliner sofa as my fingers gingerly opened the envelope, the nails simply working their way into peeling off the seal that separated them and the unknown words that lay inside.

Then I read, the words unfolding inside my heart with such fear that the use of the tongue was not needed:

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13 July 1963

Address: Unknown

To Mr. Joseph Relic,

It has come to our concern that you must be notified by the fact that you are at excessive risk.

Our Secret Protection Agency has been operating against major as well as minor outlaws that engage in crimes of slaughter, abduction and so on. Our sole aim is to safeguard all innocent civilians as well as to eradicate all offenders as they deserve to be and to castigate them justly. Although we have elucidated countless complex cases, a case as inexplicable and unique as yours has not yet been recognized before.

By reason of our exceptionally enhanced technology, we have uncovered a vast crisis that may bring about concerns throughout your lifetime. Our agents have witnessed many occurrences in which your past relatives were spotted committing manslaughter as well as organizing meetings that discussed the assassination of you and your family.

Recently, we have surveyed, and are unfortunate to say, that your ancestors have been plotting against your lineage for an extensive era of time and consequently you are at threat of being slayed. The S.P.A (Secret Protection Agency) is attempting to guarantee the welfare of you and your bloodline. We have stationed spies and masked agents that are offered to assist you in keeping safe and secure.

As well as this, we are endeavoring to obtain and admonish these terrorists as they justify to be. We are not absolutely convinced how or why this circumstance has come to be, yet we will supply you with all the information received regarding this matter. Likewise, we deeply advise you to elude any kinds of dangers that may expose you or cause you harm. Please be exceptionally mindful of this and do not disclose or discuss this matter with any outside person.

If you do defy to enclose this publicly, it may have a consequence in bringing terror at your own doorstep.

Yours sincerely,

The S.P.A

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Eyes wide in disbelief, hands quivering, I fought to breathe; my lips were dry as smoke. I picked up the letter and shoved it into the bloodstained envelope, unwilling to spare another glance. A sudden throb ached my head; all this inconceivable information was a huge overload to my brain’s capacity.

My breath morphed into a ragged shaking that stirred the whole of my body. I shivered for the umpteenth time, futilely attempting to calm myself down.

I heaved in a deep sigh, and steadily leaned back onto the sofa once again, my hand half-trembling on top of my lap. My eyelids gradually lost the heaviness that weighed upon them as they commenced to close.

Fogginess still consumed my brain; I struggled to function. Empty as my head was, it was somehow crammed at the same time. And on top of that, my body ached from shock.

Nevertheless, despite the chaos that echoed in between my hollow head, I tentatively made up my mind. The letter had to be safeguarded. Nobody was allowed to lay their eyes upon it, for my security hung and others’ security varied on the sake of this.

And so I decided. With a mighty gulp, forcefully dragging my stinging body, I limped towards the horror-filled envelope that calmly lay near the window, the dusky moonlight painting it in a gorgeous, striped pattern.

I swept it up with my yet trembling hand, using but the tips of my thumbs and forefinger, making the least of contact with the torn envelope. I attempted to move in a confident manner, yet my body was still not conscious enough to function well. I plodded fearfully towards the corner of the room, and rummaged through the decorative shelves, hoping to catch sight of what I desperately needed.

There and then, I saw it. Piles of dust gathered on top of the box – in this moment, it was a heavenly thing: a treasure chest crafted out of rich mahogany with bronze buckles. I lifted it off the shelf and hastily blew away the dust that had concealed its shining hue.

The fine place for hiding a secret.

But still - little did I know... I would be traumatized for life.