The Mailbox Stalker

Dear Grace,

I am glad your Halloween was more eventful than ours. We had maybe five trick-or-treaters, and Abe basically had to pry the bowl of surplus candy out of my fingers because I bought all the best stuff. You know, for the trick-or-treaters . . .
About a week before Halloween though, things were getting creepy out here at the Dutchman House. And I am not talking about this terrifying clown Abe bought as a creepy-halloween-hanging-clown-skeleton-prop-new-with-_57decoration for our front door (maybe that’s why we didn’t get many trick-or-treaters).

I had volunteered to chaperone at the high school’s Homecoming dance. No, that’s not the scary part–although I did want to send most of the girls home to put on a dress over the lingerie they were wearing. No, the scary part happened before the dance. I was in the bathroom getting ready to go to the school and Abe had hobbled off to check the mail. When Abe returned home to Dutchman House, he yelled at me, “Babe, are you having an affair with the mailman???” Of course this baffled me for many reasons. Then Abe crutched his way into the bathroom holding a book. “This was in the mail,” he said, “without any postage marks at all.” The book was a picture book version of our beloved Willie Shakes’ The Tempest. Inside the book was a hastily written note on a scrap of paper, “I got this and thought maybe you would like it.” The note had no salutation nor signature.

img_1309Dutchman House is part of a hideous, Southwestern subdivision therefore our mailbox is part of a community of mailboxes. The only people who could put anything in our mailbox would be either Abe or myself or the mailman (hence Abe’s affair accusation). To this day, we have no idea who the book is from or how it got into our mailbox.

Sadly, the book isn’t worth reading. A picture book version of Shakespeare is no good if it doesn’t actually use Shakespeare’s words. I have high expectations for my stalkers.

Love Always,



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