Mr. Death

You check your mail everyday. Today was different though. Yes, you still opened up the door and got the contents of that box attached to the wall in your appartment building's lobby. Rifiling through the envelopes, bills and coupon packets, you see a letter that makes the breath stop on its way out.

Both addresses are done in letters cut out from magazines. Chills run down your spine. It was happening again. Already knowing the envelope's basic contents, you open it.

Inside, just like before, is a letter composed in a collage of fonts from various publications. The words were "Dear Jane, It's been five years; I finally found you again. You thought you could hide from me? Don't be stupid, this time I will get you. You're mine, don't forget it. Signed, Mr. Death."

How had he found you?! After moving from Bakersfield to Philadelphia, changing your hair and the car you drive, Mr. Death was writing to you again.

Back when the first letter had came, you thought it was a prank being pulled by your older brother, Tom. He always had a warped sense of humor. Only slightly amused and mostly irritated, you called your brother.

"Tommy;" you chided. "It's not funny!" You can tell he's suprised by your words. "What are you talking about Jane?" Heart starting to beat faster, you try to get him to confess. "Come on Tommy," you said. "It's obvious that this creepy letter is from you. It's just your kind of cheesy joke." Obviously taken aback your brother responded. "Jane," he said. "I didn't send you any letters! What's going on?!"

After collecting yourself, you explained about the strange note. Someone who called themself Mr. Death claimed that he had been watching you every day. This person said he knew what route you took on your jog to the local cofee shop, where you parked your car outside the law firm you worked at, and when you came home at night. While this was unsettling, Mr. Death made only vague suggestions in the letter. Something about wanting to add you to his collection.

After telling Tom all this, you appologized to him and ended the call.

Since there were no specific threats, you felt it silly and unnecessary to involve the police. You ignored the letter and tried to get on with everday life. It worked for a while.

Then, about a week later, another missive from Mr. Death arrived. This one had a photograph with it. "Just in case you're not taking me serriouly." That was the only sentance above the sender's name.

You examined the picture. It was truly terrifying; it had been shot through the outside of your bedroom window. The photo showed the back of your blonde, shoulder length hair as you sat combing it in front of your vanity. In the mirror, you can see a reflection of a man. His face is obscured by a camera with a high power lens but you can tell he was a tall, white man in a black hoodie, dark jeans. The way he held his camera tells you he was probably an experienced photographer. Which meant this likely wasn't the first time he'd stalked someone. Most alarming of all, he was standing what appeared to be less than twenty feet from your bedroom window.

When you finished examining the photograph, you rushed over to your computer. At the same time, you grabbed your phone. While searching for one way airline tickets, you call your boss. She answers after two rings. Without explaining in too much detail, you told her you're sorry but you have to leave the firm. She reluctantly accepted your resignation.

You found a red eye flight to Philadelphia and booked a room in a residential hotel. After packing two large suitcases full of clothes and other necessities, you grabbed your purse and feel thankfull your landlord had pre-furnished your appartment. That made it so much easier to leave. Even though you feel guilty about breaking the lease, you know going on the run is the right thing to do.

Not long after arriving in the city of brotherly love, you get a job as a secretary in another law office. Once you had enough for first and last month rent saved up, you got yourself a studio appartment in the Main Line District. It was hard not to look over your shoulder, watching to see if Mr. Death was near. Months passed and the anxiety faded, life was good.

That changed really quick when Mr. Death's latest letter had arrived. Now you stare at the glossy, multicolored composition in disbelief. You ask yourself questions. Who was this man? Why was he so obsessed with you?

Evening comes after the day's gears slowly grind forward. You find yourself still undecided on what to do next. Somehow it feels like you wouldn't be taken seriously by the police. Even if they did listen wouldn't they just assume you're only being paranoid? How would they even find let alone arrest a man who you don't know the name of?

Sighing, you get up from the couch grab your keys and go for a walk. The fresh air helps you relax as you feel the steady motion of your feet. After walking a couple of blocks, you decide you're comfortable enough to go back to your appartment.

You open the door but somethings not right. Strange, you think, I'm positive I left the lights on. Fumbling a bit, you flip the switch. A dark hooded figure sits on your couch looking at the floor. Slowly, its head raises to meet your gaze. "Hello, Jane, so nice to meet you;" the voice sounds masculine but not deep and somehow oily. Like a slick on top of a rain puddle if you could hear it instead of see it.

"Who are you?" It sounds cliche, but you ask it anyway. "Jane, I'm hurt;" he said. "I even sent you that photo with me in it." Now you know who this is. "You sent me those letters;" You conclude. "You're Mr. Death!" He applauds and smiles sardonically. "Very good!" he praises you tauntingly. "I've come to add you to my gallery."

Starting to panic, you try to stall him so you can have a chance to dail 911. "What's that mean?" You ask. "Why can't you leave me alone?" A low chuckle escaped Mr. Death. "Fine;" he says. "I'll tell you. You reminded me of a girl I once knew. I loved her, it took me years to build up the courage to tell her. When I did, she sneered and dumped her diet coke all over me!" Trying to make it sound like you're interested while still digging for through your purse you ask "what did you do next?" Mr. Death nearly screamed his words. "I KILLED HER!" He says. "I stabbed her six times! I didn't want to but I had to. She wasn't going to let me have her so why let her go?! Once she was dead, I took her corpse, taxidermied her myself and stored her in my basement." He was pacing, agitatedly playing with the long knife he'd pulled out of his pants. "Is that what you're going to do with me?" You ask, trying to back towards the door.

Like a greyhound pouncing on a rabbit, Mr. Death runs over, brings you to the ground and restrains you. You stare up at him, paralyzed by fear. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheek. "Yes;" he wispers intensely. "I'll give you a spot along with all the others in my harem. It's a shame you died your hair, I'll have to bleach it back. Now hold still, this is going to hurt."

You gasp as the knife plunges into your abdomen. Subsequent stabs bring blood up into your mouth, choking you. Mr. Death deals one final blow then climbs off. While you're bleeding out, your vision fading, the last words you hear are "She's so beautiful, I can't help but stare."