Member-only story
Return to Sender
Some secrets aren’t buried; they're waiting to be remembered. (Stitch #5 The Letter)
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“Do you remember me?”
Eleanor read the sentence once. Then again. A third time, slower.
“No,” she whispered. “I most certainly do not.”
She turned the envelope over. Black Hollow, Maine. The name meant nothing. She had never been there. No signature. Just a second sentence in pale blue ink on the edge of the paper.
You promised you’d come back for me. A chill ran down her spine.
Outside, chuckling drifted in from the pavement. Trick-or-treaters rushed past. She closed the window. Something was wrong.
The envelope carried a faint trace of smoke. Not cigarettes. Wood smoke. Beneath it, something sweet lingered.
Charred marshmallows.
A flash behind her eyes: a little girl by a campfire, yellow raincoat, a plush rabbit dangling from one ear. Eleanor blinked. The image disappeared.
She hadn’t thought about that rabbit in sixty years. Wait. What rabbit?
Her phone rang. Unknown caller. She let it ring. A voicemail appeared. Eleanor pressed play.
