The Letterbox

by Layton Green

  It began to talk as I ran, its voice a rough susurration. “You flee in vain.”

  I ran.

  “You knew the dangers that awaited you in this place. What did you think you would find? Knowledge? Answers? Wisdom?”

  I ran.

  “God? Is that what you seek? Did you actually think He would leave His lofty perch and come to you? Why not ask for something else, something more reasonable? Something more like me?”

  Oh, how I ran.

  “I am not what you think, I am nothing you would ever have imagined. But you know me. I began to show you in the tunnels beneath Kostnice, when you took another man’s life. That was just a hint of that which you are capable. A taste.”

  I sprinted until I could run no more, and then continued down the path half-walking, half-stumbling. Fear was a forgotten luxury: I had reached a point of despair I never imagined existed. I came for answers, and found this? A twisted shadow, a half-life, a miserable evil that lurks on after death?

  I collapsed. My legs would go no further. I had lost all sense of time and place, the voices would not stop whispering in my ear, the shadow thing would not cease tormenting my mind.

  Why had I come here? What had I done?

  “You believe in nothing. You cannot even be true to yourself. Let me help you find the way.” The voice turned mocking. “Do you know who I am?”

  I thrust my hands over my ears and laid my head against the ground. “Oh, God,” I cried, “save me from this creature!”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Who are you, then?” I screamed into the darkness, with the voices of the dead swirling around me. “Who are you, you damnable thing?”

  “I am you,” it whispered in my ear.

  -78-

  I felt someone or something pick me up by my waist. I tried to resist, but the grip was immensely strong, and something pressed upon the back of my neck such that I couldn’t turn around. It carried me along the path at a frenzied pace, and I collapsed in its grip.

  The path opened into a square clearing surrounded by a wall of crosses. I was deposited in a simple wooden chair. When I looked back, I saw no one else in the open space, nor did I see an opening by which I might have entered. The shadow creature had disappeared, the whispered voices silenced.

  Facing me were two doorways set into the wall of crosses. One was a normal-sized doorway cut into the hedge. Beyond it, I saw a footpath similar to the one I had been following.

  The other doorway was . . . unnatural. It was of a similar size to the other door, but it was completely—impossibly—opaque, such that I could not see the slightest bit inside of it. A rectangle of inky blackness living within the wall of crosses.

  A man emerged out of the opaque doorway. His step was light, but he was elderly and reminded me of my paternal grandfather, a spry old man who had continued to run marathons at the age of seventy. Wisps of gray hair dotted the man’s age-spotted head. He was bespectacled, of average height, and slightly stooped. A hooked nose protruded between sharp eyes and a thin mouth. A gray wool overcoat reached to the tops of his black shoes, and the edges of a white shirt poked through at the throat and sleeves.

  My body was finished, my mind numb. I was relieved beyond words that the voices and the shadow creature no longer tormented me, but I did not trust that the old man was a change for the better.

  I gathered the strength to talk. “Who are you?”

  Hands folded in front of him, he regarded me with a grave expression. “Who do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He said nothing.

  “Where are my friends?”

  “They have their own concerns.”

  I shuffled my feet. “What concerns?”

  Again no response.

  “Is this real?” I asked. “Any of it?”

  I knew my words sounded trite. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Is it not happening?” he asked.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You came here.”

  I stood and looked around the strange room. “What is this place?”

  “It has been called by many names. It is called the Hill of Crosses now.”

  “Is it the nexus of the ley lines?”

  “It has been called that as well.”

  “But is it?”

  “It is what it is.”

  I clenched my hands in frustration. “So what now? Do we stand here and talk in riddles? What do you want from me?”

  “It is not about what I want from you. I know why you came, and what you seek is within your grasp.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Answers. Knowledge. Purpose. Meaning. All these things are before you now.”

  He had neither moved nor changed his neutral expression.

  I licked my lips. “What do you mean?”

  He stepped aside from the opaque doorway. I edged forward, trying to see inside, but it was as if I were staring into a void darker than the darkest of nights, a black hole trapped within the wall.

  He held out both hands to the doorway, palms up, showcasing it. “This is the doorway to that which you seek. You need only walk inside.”

  I gave a short, hysterical chuckle. “My answers are on the other side of that door? Behind the wall of crosses?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that kind of doorway.”

  “What kind is it, then?”

  “I think you know the purpose of this place,” he said.

  “The bridge between worlds,” I replied, almost jokingly, not expecting a response.

  He nodded, once.

  I would have laughed at the whole absurd situation, at his ridiculous nod, had I not experienced all that I had on the journey, and especially on the Hill of Crosses.

  “I just step through and find the answers,” I said in disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s the catch?”

  “You know that as well, Aidan.”

  I shivered when he said my name. “I won’t be able to return, will I?”

  He again moved his head, this time side to side.

  “Where does the other door lead? The normal one?”

  “To the other side of the wall.”

  “What about my friends?”

  “They have their own choices to make.”

  “Why is this happening?” I asked.

  “You brought that which you carry to this place. You sought this choice.”

  “I don’t remember asking for this.”

  “You don’t always have to use words to ask.”

  I looked down at my feet, then back up. “Let’s assume you’re telling the truth. There’s a spirit world and that doorway leads to it. Won’t I be there one day, anyway? Won’t I have the answers when I die?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “Why perhaps?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There will be other choices in your life. There are always choices.”

  “What choices?”

  He stood there impassively, saying nothing.

  “You’re not going to help me, are you?” I said. “Why has the letterbox only shown us evil things?”

  “Is that all you’ve seen?” he asked.

  I remembered Asha’s brother, and Vivian. “Perhaps not,” I said slowly, then had another flash of insight. “If the letterbox opens the doorway and spirits are able to pass through, then only those who are unhappy would come here. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Or spirits who might want to appear for a particular reason, like Asha’s brother and Vivian.”

  Another silence, which I had begun to take for acquiescence.

  “What was that black thing? The shadow creature that was chasing me. He seemed . . . different.”

  “Another piece of knowledge you already possess.”

  “Tell me,” I said in desperation, needing at least one con
crete answer in the midst of this madness.

  He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a large, handheld mirror. “Look,” he commanded.

  I took a step closer. Behind my reflection in the mirror I saw—I spun, gasping in horror.

  There was nothing behind me. But I had just seen . . . I turned back around, and hovering behind me in the mirror, on me, attached to my body like a parasite, was the shadow creature that had tormented me at Kostnice and on the hill just minutes before.

  I shrank in fear, then looked behind me again and saw nothing. “What is it?”

  “It is part of your essence. Because of what you brought here, it is able to separate itself. It is very strong here.”

  “What am I?” I whispered in horror. “If I step through the black doorway, will I become . . . that one day?”

  “By entering the doorway in this place, you will have sidestepped certain choices.”

  I hadn’t expected that answer. “So the black doorway is the better choice?”

  “Better is a relative term.”

  “Relative to what? The other choices I might make in life? The ones you won’t tell me about?”

  I took his maddening silence for another acquiescence.

  “Why is it uncertain, if I don’t go through that doorway, what I’ll become?”

  “Because you have the freedom to make your own choices,” he said.

  “But there are questions to which I might never know the answers, according to you, unless I step through the black doorway. That’s unfair.”

  He smiled again. Even his smiles were neutral, as if he was merely acknowledging a point by smiling.

  “Will I be happy if I choose the black doorway?” I said.

  “That depends on your definition of happiness.”

  “Is it heaven?” I whispered.

  “You cannot possibly comprehend what lies beyond the doorway until you choose to step through it.”

  “Are you God?” I blurted out.

  He chuckled.

  The black doorway started to waver, as if becoming less substantial.

  “What’s happening?” I said.

  “You must choose. The doorway will not last much longer.”

  I started to panic. Everything flashed through my mind. That place, the choice, my life. I didn’t have time to ponder the ludicrous nature of what was happening; at the moment, it seemed as real as anything had in my entire life. I could see the doorway shimmering, wavering, like no earthly doorway could do.

  Why should I not step through that doorway? Isn’t that what I had come for? Answers?

  Or perhaps I wouldn’t want to return. Perhaps I would be someplace beautiful. Isn’t that what he had intimated? A place where I would never become that . . . thing . . . I had seen in the mirror. Shouldn’t I make sure that didn’t happen? What if I made the wrong choices later in life?

  My eyes flicked to the doorway. It looked even less substantial, fading away.

  I had a failed career, no purpose in life. My beloved did not love me. I bowed my head, feeling more lost and alone than I ever had.

  But still, to turn my back on everything . . . I clasped my hands to my head, unable to choose.

  He held up the mirror. I gazed into it again and saw a rush of terrible images: war, murder, rape, incest. I drew back in horror, cringing, but I couldn’t look away. The evils of the world came at me in a barrage, assaulting my humanity, bringing me to my knees. I saw beheadings broadcast online, chemical warfare on children, men and women torn apart by their neighbors in a frenzy of violence. The Holocaust, the slave ships, the slaughter of the Native Americans. Children sick and dying, emaciated from hunger, bathing in rivers of sewage, used as sex slaves and drug mules. I saw concentration camps and torture chambers and other depravities that had no place in human existence.

  Yet they existed. Not only did they exist—they were common.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the unfathomable evil of the world. Were we human or were we devils? How could I possibly choose to live in such a place?

  Choking back my bile, I watched as the images stopped and my reflection returned. Now the black shadow reached halfway inside my body, its appendages tucked into my reflected form.

  He was right, I knew. He wasn’t just showing me how polluted the world was, he was showing me my own place in the Freak Show.

  And he was offering me a way out.

  He passed his hand over the mirror. The images disappeared.

  I wiped my mouth, numbed by what I had seen. At that moment I couldn’t imagine not reaching out to whatever hope lay beyond that doorway.

  I took a step forward, but he put out a gnarled hand. “There’s one more image you should see, in order that you may choose fairly.”

  I didn’t need to see any more horrors. I just wanted it to stop.

  He passed his hand over the mirror again. As promised, a final image appeared. My eyes widened in surprise. I glanced at the wavering portal, then turned back and gazed for long moments upon that last image.

  In the corner of my vision, the black doorway grew less and less substantial. I sensed I had seconds to decide.

  I closed my eyes, a peculiar warmth washing over me.

  And then I made my choice.

  -79-

  I strode down the path behind the normal, earthly doorway. I somehow knew that if I looked back, it would all be gone: the room surrounded by the wall of crosses, the mysterious old man, the impossible doorway. But I didn’t turn around. I didn’t look back. I knew, deep inside, that I had made the right choice, and I felt, for the first time in a very long while, a sense of peace.

  I walked for a few minutes longer, until the corridor emptied into a tunnel of crosses and overgrowth. I navigated the tunnel and emerged into a large open space beneath a star-filled sky.

  I had reached the summit.

  Four other passageways, identical to mine, spilled into the top of the hill. I watched Lou, Jake, and Asha each emerge from a different passageway, almost simultaneously. They looked as world-weary as I felt.

  There was one other person in the clearing, standing at the apex of the hill. I cringed, thinking it was Nyles, but it was someone I had never seen before. At first glance, I thought he looked like a middle-aged traveling salesman. His bland face was anchored by an almost square jaw and an almost clever mouth, and his hair was short and sandy. He was similar in height to Jake, though thicker around the middle.

  I exchanged a quick glance with the others. We bunched together and warily approached him. “Are you . . .” Asha began, looking back down the hill.

  He finished whatever thought she had started. “I’m afraid not.”

  His voice was cultured and devoid of an accent. He was dressed, with startling incongruity for the locale, in a black business suit with a gray shirt and a white handkerchief. He looked serious in the way of a banker poring over a credit history: slightly grim, no-nonsense, yet not entirely unpleasant. I had seen so many unbelievable things that I hardly cared to question what he was doing standing at the top of a hill in the middle of the Lithuanian woods in a business suit.

  Jake had no such reservations. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You can call me Mr. Chenisdeaux.”

  That got our attention. Jake’s mouth hung open, and we all stared at the man.

  “I believe a couple of things are in order. First of all, congratulations. You’re all most resourceful and courageous. You completed the scenario surprisingly quickly and with great cleverness. You’ve done our business a great service, and we—”

  Jake took a step forward. “Whoa, whoa. Scenario? Business? I swear I’ll—”

  Asha put a hand on his shoulder. “Jake.”

  “Thank you,” the man said. “As I was saying, and I know this comes as a bit of a shock, but as the corporation’s representative I’m here to see you on your way and reward you for your troubles. Now, if you’ll please return the letterbox—”

&nbs
p; “See us on our way?” Asha said. “What’re you talking about? What corporation?”

  “S.T., Inc.,” I said softly.

  He spread a palm. “Correct.”

  Asha paled. “Who was that gray-haired woman in front of the doorway? The one in the sari?”

  “Part of the scenario, of course,” he said.

  I turned to Asha. “You saw a doorway also?”

  “Two,” she said. Lou and Jake nodded as well.

  Lou folded his arms. “How’d you pull off the black doorway? Was it some kind of recorded image?”

  “You’re a bright one,” Chenisdeaux said, rolling his eyes. “If you’d be quiet for a moment, I’ll explain.”

  We looked at each other in uneasy confusion.

  “Fine,” I said. “Explain.”

  He resumed speaking in a rote monotone, as if reciting something from memory. “I’m the principal of a corporation named S.T., Inc. The initials stand for Spirit Tours, Incorporated.”

  He let the words sink in. I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “Our slogan is ‘Spirit Tours: The Heart and Soul of Adventure Travel.’ Catchy, isn’t it? Of course, we keep that to ourselves, for obvious reasons. The basic idea is nothing new, you realize. Psychics, palm readers, astronomers, charlatans, even the world’s organized religions: they’ve all been doing the same thing for centuries. Millennia. We’re just better organized and, if I do say so myself, better managed. You see, people always have, and always will, go to the greatest lengths imaginable to have a spiritual experience.”

  The others looked as stunned as I felt.

  “Quite frankly,” he continued, “people will do anything for evidence that even hints that God exists. They want to know that something is out there that makes them feel better about the harsh, finite reality of our world.”

  I felt as if my thoughts over the past few months were being repeated to me.

  “Our market research indicates that most people will pay inordinate amounts of money for a personal and believable supernatural experience. After observing our live test model which you have so graciously completed, we now have quantifiable evidence.”

  Jake gave a hoarse laugh. “You’re tryin’ to tell me all of this has been a setup? Part of some corporate game?”