We Regret to Inform You

He had not been expecting a letter. So why was he suddenly sure that he would receive one very soon? And why did that create a nasty chill that ran down his spine and dissipated into the air, leaving the room a tiny bit cooler? Now that he thought about it, he hadn't expected - or received - a letter in some time. How long had it been? Months? Years?

He wasn't superstitious, and usually ignored mysterious fleeting feelings, but this was different. It grabbed hold of him, an invisible cloak that wrapped itself around him. At work, nobody seemed to notice any difference, but they hardly ever noticed him anyway. People who worked with him every day passed him in the street without seeming to recognize him, but that had never bothered him - until now.

He was grateful that whatever had changed wasn't noticeable, but also somewhat disturbed. Was the change really invisible or was it only in his head? Had he had gone, very quietly and inconspicuously, crazy?

His life had suddenly become strange and worrisome. No longer comfortably running on automatic, it itched and tickled, and demanded his attention. He didn't believe in worrying about things that you couldn't do anything about, but every day, he became a little more convinced that something was seriously wrong. Was the problem in him or somewhere out in the world? Why did he always feel that cold cloak around him? Why couldn't he remember the last time he had received a letter and why was he so irrationally certain that one would arrive soon?

One Saturday morning, he opened his front door, stepped out onto the porch and reached into the mailbox. There wasn't much - the usual advertisements, one bill, and - a letter. He knew instantly that it wasn't an ad. There were real stamps on the envelope, and his name and address were hand written.

He resisted the impulse to tear it open, and started back into the house. But something made him pause, and he turned back around. It was a beautiful day, he realized. The sky was a brilliant cloudless blue. A gentle breeze touched him and the smell of freshly cut grass floated on the air.

I really should get out more, he thought, idly wondering how long it had been since he'd taken a leisurely stroll. He went inside, closed the door, and laid the mail on his desk, the letter on top. Pleasant anticipation filled him, a rare feeling that he decided to savor. Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, he played a little game with himself. What might be in the envelope? An invitation to a party? The announcement of an inheritance? Maybe it was from a long-lost friend. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't remember any long-lost friends.

Finally, deciding that he'd exercised enough self-restraint, he went over to the desk, opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of stationary.

"Dear Sir, We are writing to inform you that your account has been under review for some time."

He felt a twinge of alarm. What account were they talking about? All his bills were paid in full and, as usual, well ahead of the monthly due dates.

"We have been more than patient, allowing you some forty years in which to make full use of your account. But most of its features have remained untouched, and you have made minimal use of the rest. The resources we alloted to you have, in our judgement, been wasted. Therefore, it is with some regret that we have decided to close your account and transfer its resources to a new account, which will be opened as soon as the books have been balanced and verified.

"When you have completed your reading of this letter, your account will be officially cancelled.

"Sincerely,

The Company"

As panic overwhelmed him, the chill that had surrounded him for so long slipped away and gathered into a misty cloud. Then it began to revolve, becoming a glittering, sharp-pointed corkscrew aimed directly at his chest. He screamed in agony and slumped to the floor as the point pierced his heart, stopping it instantly. The letter, which had come to rest by his hand, slowly became a cold vapor that vanished without a trace, into the air.