Dead Letter by Valentine Wheeler

Rosie’s new job as a letter carrier is much harder than she expected. The discovery of a haunted letter box certainly doesn’t make it any easier. For years, Olive has been waiting for the right person to talk to, and it seems Rosie might just be the one.

Excerpt

Rosie, clutching her instructions tightly, stepped tentatively to the door and knocked. It swung open to reveal a tall blonde woman in a crisp tailored suit.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Roseline Abellard. Um, I’m supposed to be starting here today?”

The woman smiled and stuck out a hand. “Julie. Welcome to Jackson Station.”

Rosie followed her down a narrow hallway into a wide room filled with raised voices, rustling paper, and bustling people pushing carts and hampers across the cement floor.

“Now,” said Julie. “You’ve already passed the driving test, so that’s good. And you’ve had your on-the-job training as well; is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Rosie. “At Kenmore last week.”

“Great.” Julie pushed open a door, and Rosie followed her into a small office filled with stacks of paper and binders. Rummaging behind the desk, she pulled out a box and dug inside. “Here.” She handed a folded pile of cloth to Rosie. “We’ll get you a real uniform soon, but for this week, you’ll be wearing this.”

Rosie unfolded the bundle and shook out the vest, reading the words LETTER CARRIER emblazoned between reflective stripes. In the pocket was a knit cap with the Postal Service logo and LEDs embedded in the brim.

“Follow me.” Julie led her back out and to a case, where a stout Asian woman sat on a stool, sorting letters into slots with practiced ease. “Mei?”

The woman jumped, dropping the letter in her hand. Julie snagged it from the air, handing it back to her as she stepped down and turned.

“Mei, this is—” She turned to Rosie. “I’m sorry, you go by Rose?”

“Rosie. Hi.” Rosie shook her hand.

“Mei Lin,” said the woman. “Welcome to Jackson.”

“Rosie, you’ll be shadowing Mei on the collection today and tomorrow. If that goes okay, then Thursday you’ll take it over yourself, all right?”

“Thursday? Really? That’s—”

“Great.” Julie bustled away.

Mei moved too fast, Rosie decided as they hustled down Mt. Pleasant Street.

“Keep up, kid,” called Mei. “We’ve got three more houses and then the collection!” She was cheerful as she stuffed mail in each box, fingers riffling and collating as she walked, while simultaneously waving at passersby and deftly dodging the dogs who were sticking their growling faces through fences along the route.

Finally, the truck was back in sight, the end of their loop finished. Rosie collapsed down onto the passenger’s seat, panting.

Mei grinned at her from the driver’s side. “Gonna have to get in shape, kiddo,” she said. “This job’ll give you iron calves. I’ve been doing this for thirty-four years, and I’m not slowing down for you.” She turned the key and the vehicle roared to life. “Now comes the fun part.” Flicking her blinker on, she pulled back out into the road. “Have you heard about 22 Rotheby Place?”

Rosie sat up straighter, reaching for her notebook. “No, I haven’t.”

Mei snorted. “Well then, girlie, you’re in for a treat.” She turned down a narrow, dark street and pulled over next to a bank of blue collection boxes. Pulling out her key, she yanked one open and replaced the full bin with an empty one, then moved to the next. “This one in the middle, you have to give a good kick up here in the dent.” She turned the key, stepped back, and slammed her heel into the corner. The box popped open. “And the last one—” She switched the tubs and closed the middle box, moving across the street. “—is a whole different ball game.”

The box was rusted and ancient, its logo peeling from the side. Unlike the others, it sat alone. “What’s so special about it?”

Mei’s voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned in close, reaching up and draping an arm around Rosie’s shoulders. “They say it’s haunted.”

“Haunted?” Rosie looked at the box dubiously. “Why?”

Mei pulled back, fishing her key back out of her pocket and sidling up to the box. “It only opens for certain people,” she replied, voice still hushed. “Take a look at the lock.”

Rosie bent down obligingly, looking closely as Mei pulled out her key.

“And they say, once a year, sometime around September—” She reached out gingerly, fitting her key in the lock with a grimace. “—it opens up and—”

“What?”

Mei gave the box a sharp kick, throwing her hands up in the air— “It eats a new carrier alive!”

Rosie shrieked and scrambled backward, ears ringing, and Mei let out a guffaw, turning the key and shaking the box until the flap fell open. “Oh, man, kid, you should have seen your face!” She pulled out the tub and scanned the barcode, shaking her head. “Nah, it’s just a legend, you know? I promise.”

Rosie put her hand on her chest, feeling her heart hammering through her shirt. “Jeez,” she managed. “Is that how you welcome all your trainees?”

“Sorry,” said Mei, not looking at all apologetic. “But seriously, that was friggin’ hilarious, kiddo. Now come on, we’ve got another fifteen boxes to hit, and they’ve all gotta be kicked in different places.”

Rosie took a deep breath. Suddenly the idea of doing the collection on her own was a little more appealing.