Prologue
My first day at the Dead Letter Office felt surreal. I had expected something more... conventional. But there was nothing ordinary about the place. The office was a maze of narrow halls, cluttered rooms, and towering shelves stuffed with letters — so many letters, all waiting for a destination that would never come.
The air smelled stale, like old paper and dust. I could feel the weight of forgotten things hanging in the corners of the room, their stories frozen in time.
I was at my desk, sorting through a stack of undelivered letters, when the memory of my interview came rushing back. It hadn’t seemed strange at the time, but now I realized how much of it was... off.
I sat across from the woman in charge of hiring, her sharp glasses reflecting the dull light in the room. Her office was small, cramped, with no windows — just a low hum from the fluorescent lights above. I tried to focus, but there was an odd fog clouding my thoughts. Everything felt distant.
“Eleanor,” she began, her voice cold but polite, “tell me about yourself. What brought you to apply for this job?”
I opened my mouth, ready to speak, but the words didn’t come immediately. What did I know about myself? I could remember my name, that was a start. But the rest? A blur.
I cleared my throat, giving a smooth smile. “I’ve always been interested in administrative work. I like organization, details... keeping things in order.”
I could feel her eyes on me, sharp and calculating, as if she was searching for something in my expression. “And, uh, what about your personal life? Any hobbies or experiences that shape who you are?”
I froze, my heart suddenly pounding. Why couldn’t I remember anything? Nothing came to mind, not a single detail about my life before this moment. It was as though my past had been wiped clean.
But I couldn’t just sit there in silence. I had to answer. I had to sound like I knew who I was.
“I... enjoy reading,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I guess I’ve always been a bookish type. I’m into... history, I think.”
I could feel the lie hanging in the air, thick and awkward. But the interviewer didn’t seem to notice. She nodded, scribbling something down on her notepad.
“And where are you from?” she asked, almost absent-mindedly, her gaze dropping to the paper in front of her.
I paused again, the weight of the question pressing against me. Where am I from? I couldn’t remember. I had no recollection of any specific place, no image of a home. It was as though my entire history had evaporated, leaving me with nothing but an empty shell.
“I’m from... near here,” I said, the words slipping out with an ease that surprised me. I wasn’t sure where “here” was, but I just had to say something.
The woman looked up from her notepad, giving me a small smile. “Sounds like you’re a good fit for the job.”
I nodded, relieved, though the unease in my chest never quite went away.
I snapped back to the present with a jolt. The hum of the overhead lights filled the silence. I hadn’t realized I was still holding the letter in my hands — the first one, the strange one that had been addressed to me.
The words on the page stared back at me, “Alice.” The name seemed foreign. I didn’t know an Alice.
I frowned, setting it aside. I needed to focus. But even as I moved on to the next letter, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. My mind kept circling back to the interview.
There were more letters to sift through. I had no choice but to push my thoughts aside. The job had to come first, right? It was just paperwork. I was here to work.
But the more I sorted through the letters, the more they began to feel like messages meant for me. There was a pattern. They came in waves, cryptic, foreboding — each one more unsettling than the last.
I had dismissed the oddness of it all at first, but now I couldn’t deny it. These letters... they were pulling me deeper, like a magnet tugging at my chest.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone — or something — was watching me.
