Flash Fiction Contest: A Postal Worker's Mad Night and Mysterious Morning

Someone was knocking at the door. It started as a soft tap and grew louder and bolder with each passing minute. It was 6:00AM and Bill felt as though he should know who was rapping on the wooden shield of his house. However, his mind was dark and blank. He had no friends and all of his family members had died, so he was neither expecting a visitor, a letter or a present to be at the door. Bill groggily sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision and regain his composure. He had not slept, but a few hours during the night. Why was that, he wondered to himself. Ah, yes. It was that eerie dream that startled him from his peaceful slumber. He recalled awaking at about 3:00 AM. He remembered the time, because the dream had woken him up sharply and he had gazed briefly at his alarm clock, and the time was etched in his brain. In the early hours before dawn he had tried to piece the dream together. Actually, as he dwelled on it and the details came into focus, he became painfully aware that he had dreamed the identical dream the night before. Apparently, his mind had not put the matter to rest as it was now clear he still couldn't shake the previous night's dream.

As he concentrated and peered deeper into his own mind, he saw that the scene of the dream was the local post office. He was a postal worker and had punched the clock at the post office for the past twenty years. He was a mail sorter, and a good one at that. Bill had made a promise to himself, many years in the past, that he would never allow a faster and more accurate computer to replace him. So far he had held that demon at bay. However, lately there was talk all over the land about the postal service reducing the workforce or at least cutting the hours of the employees. This was troubling to Bill. Bill, like most folks had bills and he needed a decent wage to pay them. In his dream, he remembered punching out at the end of his shift and setting his course towards home. He lived about a mile away from the post office, so he always commuted to and from work by foot each day. His body was toner for his efforts and Bill felt that his mind was keener as a result as well. In the dream, as he set his feet towards home, Bill looked over his shoulder and saw an unfamiliar face emerging from post office. It was a man's face with very distinctive and pointed features. It wasn't a mean face, yet it wasn't happy in its expression either. What struck Bill was that it was unfamiliar. As a worker for twenty years at the post office, an unfamiliar face was odd. Bill hastened his step and the man called Bill out by name. Bill couldn't recall the exact words, but he seemed to be telling Bill that there was one more letter for him. Was it a letter that needed to be sorted? No, that couldn't be it. His time was done for the day. Any letter that needed to be sorted could wait until the next day. Was it a bill for Bill? The man had said, "Bill." Bill took that to mean he was being called out by name, but perhaps the man was trying to tell Bill that he had a bill for him. Bill stopped and turned, but the man was gone. This is when Bill had woken up on these two nights. Bill again thought to himself, what does it mean?

As he tried to piece the dream puzzle back together in his mind, Bill had become oblivious to the fact that the knocking on his door had not ceased. Bill was annoyed that he had to get out of bed and deal with this loud and unexpected intrusion. When Bill reached the door, he swung it open and there standing quietly was the man with the pointed features from his dream. His arm was outstretched and in his hand was an envelope. The man said, "Bill, take this letter. It is for you." Bill reached out and took the envelope. The man took a step back and without uttering a word, pulled the door closed. Bill slowly opened the envelope. When the letter was freed, Bill began to read it. There in black and white print were the words, April Fools Day. Luckily, it was Sunday. The post office was closed. Bill slowly retreated to his bedroom, climbed into bed and wondered now more than ever what this experience meant.