A letter for the puzzle

By Rinoa Sheffield, Weymouth College

The letter sat gloomily at the foot if the door, waiting to be picked up and observed by a new set of eyes. With each passing day the letter slowly became increasingly covered in dust. Despite the lack of life within the home, every small gust of wind brought the house right back to life. Yet the letter never moved from its position, thriving with another dosage of dust upon its outer shell. But then weeks passed by, since the letters arrival, eventually the dust stopped piling up on top of the letter and chose to start their vacation elsewhere.

Suddenly the house was no longer quiet, the life that was slowly dissipating started to announce itself and pound at the for entry. Sirens wailed on the street eating up all of the usual muffled noises that once kept the deprived home of its boredom. Abruptly the door was flung open as a team of paramedics and firefighters breached the entrance, storming through the house only to holler at each other to gather in the living room. The thundering herd of feet trampled the letter causing it to finally depart from its location and make its way down the hallway.

There was a human sat slumped against the far wall in the living room, body showing no of exercise for weeks. The paramedics examining them, doing all that they could to extract data for what had caused this occurrence. Each paramedic muttering between each other, their conversations failing to be loud enough that the wind could carry the sound. The conversations volume lowered as they all trailed off to the outside world to return to their vehicles. However, taking something with them like some trophy for their efforts, they took the human. Loading them into the back of the ambulance.

Few days wondered by no visitors but then a noise, the door was being opened, this time no sirens lurked to give the visitor company. The visitor wore clothes of a detective, investigating the home. The letter finally noticed by someone; it was lifted up with gentle hands. The man tilted the letter, taking in the details and condition of the letter. Eventually the man sniffed the letter, instead of a look of amazement or happiness he displayed negative expressions. The man realised what had happened to the human, he tried to grab his radio to alert someone. He failed.

In another house, sat at a desk, was a man. Stacks of letters littered all around his room, a box of pens on the desk filled with fancy, expensive fountain pens. He was reading a newspaper about the recent occurrence with the mysterious death. A smile spread across his face in amusement, noticing how the letter was put as the image for the frontpage of the newspaper. Feeling smug about his new piece being finally noticed as the real weapon for the mysterious circumstances with the other cases. Yet the letter bore no signs of the one responsible for this.