Bentley Little - The Mailman

She pulled the curtain opening wider.

The red car of the mailman pulled up on the road in front of the house.

Tritia sucked in her breath. She could hear the faint sound of a rock-'n'

roll song from the car's stereo. As she watched, a thin pale hand reached out from the driver's window and pulled open the gate of the mailbox, the other hand depositing several envelopes. The mailman's face appeared at the car window, white against the black background. He looked in her direction, seeming to know right where she was, though he could not possibly have seen the thin crack between the curtain halves in this darkness. He smiled, a slow sly corrupt smile that promised things she did not want to think about, things that made her blood run cold.

She wanted to look away, to move out of his sight, but she was afraid to let him see the curtains fall, and she remained completely still, unmoving.

Although only one eye and a portion of her right cheek was next to the narrow opening, she was acutely aware of the fact that she was almost naked, that her nightdress had ridden up above her panties as she bent forward, and she felt as embarrassed and humiliated, as if she had been caught masturbating.

The mailman waved once, smiling broadly at her, then pulled away, into the darkness, the sound of his engine fading.

She realized only now that she'd been holding her breath, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, relaxing, as the car drove down the dirt road.

She let the curtain fall and stood there for a moment, holding on to the table for support, before finally retreating to the bedroom, climbing into bed, and snuggling under the safety of the sheets. Next to her, Doug's body felt warm and strong and reassuring.

The night was completely silent now, even the crickets making no noise, and she lay awake for what seemed like an eternity before finally falling asleep.

She dreamed of the mailman.

He was delivering the mail, but instead of stopping at their mailbox, he pulled into the drive and parked next to the house. Through the window, she saw him getting out of the car. He was smiling. She ran through the house, into the bedroom, the bathroom, the loft, looking for Doug or even Billy, but she was all alone. The house was empty. She tried to escape through the back door, but it would not open. Behind her, she heard the mailman's footsteps crossing the living room and then the kitchen. She ran into the bedroom, intending to shut the door and barricade it, but she discovered that there was no door.

The mailman stepped into the room, grinning hugely.

He was wearing no pants.

And then he was on her and in her, his unnaturally long penis hot and burning, like a curling iron or a soldering gun, and she could feel the cauterizing pain as he pumped away inside her. The agony of it caused her to scream --primally , uncontrollably -- but she was aware with a sickening feeling of revulsion that there was pleasure mixed in with that horrible burning pain, that on some gross physical level a part of her body was enjoying this.

She awoke drenched in sweat, hair and pillow damp, and she cuddled close to Doug to push away the fear, holding him tightly. Outside, far away, she thought she heard the low smooth purring sound of the mailman's car retreating into the forest.

11

Doug was taking a shower when the water went off; he was washing his hair, the top of his head covered with shampoo lather, as the water disappeared in midspray. "Hey!" he yelled. , "Water's off!" Tritia called from the kitchen.

"Great," he muttered. Eyes still closed, the shampoo beginning to drip onto his nose and cheeks, he drew aside the shower curtain and felt along the wall for the towel rack. His fingers closed around terry cloth. It felt like one of Tritia 's good towels, the ones that hung in the bathroom for decoration and were not to be used, but this was an emergency and he used it to wipe the shampoo off of his face and out of his eyes. The bathroom was dark. The power had not come back on since last night, and the only illumination came from the small window. He quickly toweled off his hair, then stepped out of the tub. He pulled on his underwear and pants and opened the door, walking out to the kitchen, still dripping. "What happened?"

Tritia was standing in the center of the kitchen, hair sticking out at odd sleep angles, staring at the half-filled coffeepot in the sink. She shook her head. "I was filling the pot and the water shut off."

"Did you check under the sink?" He opened the bottom cupboard, but the garbage sack and the boxes of cleanser and detergent were all dry. None of the pipes was dripping.

"I'll go outside," he said, "see if I can find anything."

He went out through the back door. The rocks and pine needles hurt his feet, but he walked across the dirt to the side of the house where the pipes connected with the meter. He looked at the numbers through the yellowed glass.

There was no water pressure at all.

He bent down and opened the runoff faucet but nothing came out.

"What the hell . . . ?" He turned the handle at the junction of the water main and house pipes, but nothing registered on the meter.

"What is it?" Tritia asked as he came back in the house.

"Hell if I know. The water doesn't seem to be turned on." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the stickiness of the shampoo against his fingers.

"I'll go find out about the water and electricity after breakfast."

"And the phone," Tritia reminded him.

He shook his head disgustedly as he walked back into the bathroom. "And the phone."

The department of water and power was located in a small brown prefab building adjoining Town Hall. Doug drove slowly over the speed bump that separated the parking lot from the street, and pulled into a marked space next to one of the town's three police cars. He got out of the Bronco without bothering to lock it and strode across the asphalt to the glass doors of the front entrance. The top of his head felt strange and he realized that he could still sense the subtle stiffness of dried shampoo in his hair.

The girl behind the counter seemed young enough to be one of his students, but her face didn't look familiar. She was bent over the keyboard of an Apple computer, studiously watching her fingers hunt and peck through the alphabet, not even bothering to look up when he entered the office.

He cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me."

"Be with you in a sec," the girl said. She examined the screen before her, then pressed a series of keys, intently watching their effect.

Doug looked around the office. It was small and poorly furnished, the walls covered with cheap paneling and framed documents. An empty desk across from the girl's was covered with layers of paperwork. Against one wall was a series of gray metal file cabinets.

The girl pressed another key, then, nodding, stood up and approached the counter. She was pretty and her smile appeared to be genuine, but the expression on her face was terminally vacuous. "How may I help you, sir?"

"Last night, around nine o'clock, our electricity went out. We thought at first that it was just a blackout, but the power never came back on. Then, this morning, our water was shut off. I went out to check the pipes, but there was nothing wrong. The meter said we had no water pressure at all. I want to get both our water and electricity turned back on."

The girl retreated to her computer. "Can I have your name and address?"

"DougAlbin . Lot Four-fifty-three, Trail End Drive."

One key at a time, the girl punched his name and address into the computer. She examined the screen before her. "According to our records, you notified us that you wished to discontinue service."

"Discontinue service? Why the hell would I do that?"

"I don't know, sir." She stood up. "Here, let me check. We should have your letter on file."