Wordsmiths Fiction Week 2: Season 24 – The Envelope

Diego’s hands trembled as he opened the envelope. Inside was a single old, grainy, and black and white photo. It showed two young boys standing in front of a wooden cabin. One of them was unmistakably a younger Diego maybe five or six. The other was a boy he did not recognize. But the eyes of the other kid were wide and dark made Diego’s stomach clench.

Image by Nanne Tiggelman from Pixabay
On the back of the photo in the same neat block letters the words were: “Do you remember what you did?”

His breath caught. He did not. But something deep inside him shifted like a puzzle piece trying to click into place. He put the envelope into his backpack and locked the gas station doors for a few minutes. He pretended to clean the bathrooms. He just needed to breathe.

The next night Diego barely focused. Every passing car made his heart jump. At 2:17 AM right on time the rusted blue sedan slid into the lot. The engine idled. Diego did not move. He watched through the glass. The driver raised one hand and pointed directly behind Diego.

He spun around. There was nothing but shelves of gum and soda. When he looked back the sedan was already pulling away taillights fading into the dark. That night at home Diego pulled out the photo again. He stared at the other boy's face. Those eyes. Something was there.

A memory flickered the smell of pine trees. A summer trip to his uncle’s cabin when he was six. But he’d been alone, right? He called his mom the next day. “Hey,” he said casually, “do you remember that trip to Uncle Raul’s cabin when I was little?” There was a pause on the line. “Diego, why are you asking about that?” her voice was guarded. “I found a picture. I don’t remember much, just thought I’d ask.”

Her voice dropped. “Diego... there was no cabin trip. You never went to Uncle Raul’s alone. He passed away before you were born.”

“But I remember—”

“There’s nothing to remember.”

She hung up. Now Diego was certain that something was wrong with his past. The next night he waited by the ice machine. Sure enough another envelope appeared. This time it held a page torn from a children’s storybook — The Woods Are Not Empty. A story about two boys who got lost in a forest and made a deal with a “shadow that lives between trees.” At the bottom of the page was a hand drawn map and one more message: “The place you forgot is the place you left him.”

The guilt hit like a wave. That boy in the photo he was not just some random kid. He had been there.

At 5:00 AM Diego clocked out early claiming a migraine. He drove for hours out of the city through pine lined roads. He reached something that looked like the map. A rusted gate a path overgrown with weeds and the faint smell of moss and old memories.

He followed the trail as the sun rose, birds chirping with oblivious cheer. Eventually he reached it. It was a collapsed cabin in a clearing. Diego pushed open the rotted door. The smell of mildew hit him first. Dust motes danced in the early light.

And then he saw it on the far wall, a name scratched into the wood. “Matty.”

Like a flood it all came back. Matty had been real. His best friend. Not a cousin, not a neighbour. A foster kid Diego met when his parents took in children for a short time. They were inseparable until that summer.

Image by Thomas from Pixabay

They would snuck away to explore the woods. Found the old cabin. They played for hours then got lost. It got cold. They argued. Diego ran off to find help, swearing he would come back. But he never did. He had forgotten him. Or maybe… something had made him forget.

From the corner of his eye Diego saw movement. He turned. There standing in the doorway was the man from the sedan. No — Matty. Older, thinner, pale, with those same deep eyes.

"You left me," Matty said, voice hollow. "But I never left." Diego stepped forward. "Matty I did not know and did not remember."

"I did," Matty said. "Every night. For twenty years. This place kept me. Fed on what I lost. My memories. My time." Tears welled in Diego’s eyes. "I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t know—"

"Apologies don’t fix time," Matty said. "But you came back. That matters." Diego tried to step forward but Matty raised a hand. "You can not stay. It is still watching. And if it knows you are here it won’t let you go again."

"What is it?" Diego asked, chilled. Matty only said: "Don’t forget me again." Then like mist he faded. Diego stumbled back. The sunlight suddenly harsh. The clearing buzzed with insects again, the air lighter. He ran. Back at the gas station he never saw the blue sedan again. But he kept the photo and the book page in his locker. And every night at 2:17 AM, Diego looked out at the empty lot remembering.

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I would like to invite @chant, @suboohi and @josepha to join this contest and show up with their own fictional story.