39
It's the fourth time this week and the umpteenth time this month that I've received Ken Perez's mail in my mailbox.
I always take a walk down the street and place his mail in his box, and that's that. I'm not sure how many times I've mentioned to the mail person to stop giving me someone else's mail. I get an apology and a promise that it won't happen again, but it keeps happening. Luckily, the walk to Ken's home is on a downhill slope, so no extraneous walking for me, thank you. I had enough energy to confidently march up Ken's walkway with the hopes that he would see me coming while looking through his big picture window, but Ken's front screen door suddenly burst open, and here came Ken bounding down the steps, completely bloody. His wild eye look told me that something horrible happened and he had to get away. In close pursuit was his wife, Sharon. She held a bloodied kitchen knife in one hand and a cleaver in another. She had a hardened look on her face as if she'd been completely surprised in the middle of killing her husband and was now determined to finish the job. Ken pushed right past me, desperate and nearly ready to heave. I let out a scream as Sharon came toward me, thinking I'd be next. "Fucking move!" She growled at me. Ken tumbled at the end of the sidewalk, and his wife was right on top of him. With both kitchen knife and cleaver, Sharon made quick work of her husband. Everyone on the block came out to see what the commotion was about; most were smart enough to stay in their garage and yards. Others didn't come out of the house. The stupid few, like myself, came to see the butchery up close.Mrs. Nakagawa came with her husband in tow, and her fur baby in her arms, screaming at Sharon to stop. Sharon broke away long enough to stand up and plunge the kitchen knife into Mrs. Nakagawa's sternum, who fell to the pavement while still holding onto little Pugsly. Mr. Nakagawa turned to run while Sharon snickered behind him. "Run little samurai attitude!" She threw the cleaver at him and watched with surprise as it lodged itself into the back of his skull. As she returned to finish off her husband, Sharon paused, finally taking notice of my presence. "What the fuck do you want, Dennis? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Uhm, uhm, I keep getting your mail, like for the past month," I stuttered so badly, and I'm sure I soiled myself. "It's not a complaint. I just wanted to know if you wanted it? Wasn't sure if you had already moved?"
"Yeah, just leave it over there in the garage somewhere," she pointed with the bloodied knife in her hand.
"Uh yeah, sure," I waved while quickly making my way back to my house.
"Uh, hold it right there," she blustered.
I jumped out of my shorts, and I'm pretty sure I yelped like Mrs. Nakagawa's fur baby. "What is it?"
"Help me carry Ken back in the house?" She looked exhausted and defeated. "Just inside the door there, I'll do the rest."
I don't know why I did it -why I helped. I think it was mainly because I didn't want Sharon to kill me. It wasn't so much that Ken's body was so heavy now that it was relaxed and dead that bothered me. It was more because of all the blood. It was hard to get a good grip anywhere, so I used my forearms to lift him from under his armpits. It wasn't easy, especially carrying Ken up those stairs, but Sharon and I finally got him to where she suggested. Just inside the door. I sat on the bloodied floor to catch my breath for a second, not knowing what was going to happen next. Sharon sat opposite me, leaning up the door frame. "Thanks, Dennis," her voice wasn't as burdened as it was only minutes ago. "This was all so unexpected. Bet you didn't think that this is how your day was going to end up, right?"
"I didn't," I replied.
"Sorry about the mail, I don't know what that was all about, but hopefully, it won't be a problem after today," she mused.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Her reply was to take her kitchen knife and run the blade deeply across her throat from ear to ear. The blood spattered everywhere like a shaken can of Coca-Cola. I couldn't watch the rest. I screamed and ran out of the house and back up the road to my place. I called the police, and they were there quicker than I thought they would be. So, was the EMT and the fire trucks. There was no suicide note and no explanation for why Sharon slaughtered Ken, her husband of twenty years.
~
The mail problem was fixed but only temporarily. The next piece of mail I received was an unmarked black cardboard box. It was addressed to Ken and Sharon Nāmauʻu. "Fucking shit," I swore to myself. I pondered over what I should do. Finally, I started to march out of the kitchen, but something caught my eye. A little folded-up piece of paper stuck out of the bottom flap of the box. I took it out and unfolded the note.
"Whom so ever shall read this note will be the next recipient of the box and shall therefore take on all that his flesh shall be heir to. Verily, open the box."
Tearing off the packing tape and opening the box, I saw a small paperback book with a black cover. The font of the body read,
"How to kill yourself after you failed to save Sharonʻs life."
In a smaller font toward the bottom of the cover, it read, "If you donʻt want to participate, then leave it in your neighborʻs mailbox."
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