The Message - Volume II

It all started when I began finding the envelopes. They would appear randomly in my mailbox, tucked into my backpack, or even under my pillow while I slept. Plain white envelopes with my name neatly handwritten on the front.

At first, I was disturbed by the unexplained letters popping up everywhere unbidden. But curiosity won out and I cautiously opened them. Each envelope contained a single index card with a random word or phrase typed in the center.

Some messages were perplexing but innocuous: “flower”, “horizon”, “reflection”. Others vaguely ominous: “no going back”, “beware false faces”, “the end is near”. I told myself it must be some eccentric neighbor's strange idea of a prank.

Yet I felt compelled to keep the index cards, puzzled by their possible meaning. Their arrival became more frequent, with up to three or four appearing in a day. I tried setting up cameras to catch the mystery deliverer but somehow, they evaded detection each time.

One night I awoke to find hundreds of new index cards piled on my bedroom floor. As I read anxiously through them by flashlight, they spelled out disjointed ramblings about “they” coming for me soon and the need to “open your eyes before it's too late.” I was rattled, but what could I do?

In the following weeks, the messages grew darker and more dire, warning of unseen dangers. They cautioned against trusting anyone and alluded to some monstrous evil presence lurking behind the fabric of reality.

I stopped trying to explain away the inexplicable messages. Someone or something sinister had fixated on me for unknown reasons. I took precautions like changing my locks and routines to become less predictable. But the envelopes still found their way to me every day.

Soon I could barely force myself to open them, fearing the latest terrifying missive they would contain and the malevolence plaguing my reality that I could neither name nor comprehend. I felt like I was losing my grip on what was real and imagined.

But one night I stared in disbelief at three words typed starkly on the latest index card: “It's here now.” My blood ran cold. I sensed immediately a horrible presence in the room though I seemed to still be alone.

My fight or flight response kicked into overdrive. I grabbed only my keys and phone and fled the house in a panic. I drove for hours with no destination in mind, feeling my dread and paranoia intensify. Was there no escaping this sinister force?

Exhausted both mentally and physically, I finally pulled into a rest stop to try to regain some composure. I turned on my phone to check for messages. But instead, I saw an unread email that I hadn't opened appear as if by magic on my screen.

With trembling hands, I slowly clicked the message, knowing with certainty what I would find inside. A single index card, blank but for three last haunting words:

"We see you."

"The Message" by Oscar Mendieta Bravo