SMR 4

HOHOHO Strange Mail Room 4! Actually, I am just bored..and feel like writing too, so I take this chance to pick it up. Continue as and when you like to, or if not, I’ll add a few more paragraphs later if I could. =D thoughts?

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For the rest of the afternoon, Raymond King sat musing at the French window. No one came. The autumn rains are nearing their end, and the first northern winds had duly announced the impending arrival of another winter. Down the length of the garden, the rose beds were a shameful scene of neglect. Wild daffodils had grown in abandon through the past summer, and now they danced that occasional, sad little shivering repertoire in the whimpering wind, sighing their resignation at another summer gone by. The only lively and in fact the single noticeable thing in the garden, was a small patch of chrysanthemums, angrily flaming near the French window. Raymond had been gazing at the ephemeral white and yellow mass for very long now, his thoughts drifting to a woman, Catherine…Catherine K., the single most lovely woman in this world, whose short appearances in his life seemed to both intensify and drown out all things in his life since…it’s been very long now…now…

Just as he was about to direct his thoughts out of the immense complex that was Catherine, the door bell suddenly buzzed in the dead silence. Caught all too surprised, Raymond rushed to his feet, not realizing he was still holding the small letter in his left hand—it had been caught in a crack in the oak armrest, and upon the abrupt pull it was ripped open—a red form fell out—so it was a telegram then, and an urgent one at that! But there was the door to answer first—the bell buzzed a second time, hesitantly, as if the ringer was not sure of the address. Raymond righted his bow tie and brushed a hand over his already impeccable hair, and opened the door—only to find the new post office boy shuffling his feet on the door mat, a little red in the face and whizzed a bit. When did he come through the main gate? “—sir, I pressed the bell at the gate but ain’t no one was answering me, so I’d thought I’d better come in drop the mail at your door, I was wondering—“ “Yes, yes, I am sorry I did not hear the bell ring, I’ll take them here, thank you very much.” Raymond didn’t let the boy have another chance slipping curious peeks past his broad build; he took the moderate bundle of mail and politely but firmly shut the door.

Chapter 3

Diary, 11 November

“I went to the strange mansion again! I was supposed to take the Lake district mail today, but I swore to boss that I had to pick up an important parcel down at Queen’s and hopped on my bike, heart pounding and heading straight to Mansion. I hopped off the bike far from reaching—don’t want to alert the mystery man if I can help it!—and walked up to the house with the mail bundle. I’d be damned—when I arrived at the gate, it was slightly ajar! Someone must have been careless and forgot to lock it. My finger hovered over the bell button for a few seconds, and then, from the corner of my eyes, I saw a broad figure leaning over one of the bigger windows, seems to be lost in those strange yellow flowers. He’s not facing my direction now…if I’d just try this…I dunno how I reasoned with myself, but fifteen seconds later I’ve crossed the desolate garden path and now standing at the front porch, no one seemed to be any wiser..

Now, I could do two things: knock on the door and deliver the mail, before anyone comes back, OR, have a look around first. Since I've got this far…But I was disappointed. The front porch is a spacious structure, still has the suggestions of the grandeur of decoration and lush vines it used to boast, but now it’s just a barren, dusty porch, rundown from disuse and lack of care. The white marble floor has grown an ungracious grey, and the rich crimson carpet has worn a bit threadbare...wait, door mat. There would always be something under a door mat—a key, a letter, a note, anything. Excited by the idea, I swallowed hard to contain my nervousness, and lifted a corner of the carpet, quickly and quietly as I could manage. Nothing, just the same plain marble, a tad whiter than the uncovered part. I lifted the opposite corner—nothing. The third corner and I laid down the heavy fabric laughing at my simplemindedness. The last corner didn’t give up any note either, and I yanked my arm out of frustration. And there and then, I saw a faint corner of an engraving, covered under the center of the big carpet. Damn! I carefully rolled the carpet to one side, not caring if anyone would suddenly open the door on me now. There it was, in classical style, an elegant engraving that read,

The Cypress.

Property of King and Kerr.

1712.

I was totally blown away. I knew this was an old house, but I didn’t expect it to be this old. And King? Isn’t the mystery man also a Mr. King? But he seems more like a caretaker than the owner of the house! Of course Kings abound just like Smiths and Jacksons, but this remains an interesting point to investigate…hmmm…but I couldn’t squat there feeling up the old engravings forever. I gave it a deep last look and rolled back the carpet, shuffling my feet on it to make it even again—and clumsy me, I tripped! Falling forward, my right arm inadvertently pressed on the bell, making a rather shrill sound in the stillness. I hurriedly picked up the mail bundle from the floor and kept smoothing the carpet under my feet. Odd that no one answered the door sooner. I couldn’t hear a thing moving beyond the thick oak door, so I pressed a second time, not sure if I was discovered, but did not wish to run away and look guilty either.

The door opened on me as abruptly as his last appearance; I almost jumped. Stammering a bit I said the words I just made up ten seconds ago, and before I even managed to probe if he knew a Mr Kerr in the neighborhood, he cut me short, obviously perturbed by my less-than-discreet peeks past him, and definitely also something else. Promptly thanked me and without another word, I found myself empty-handed and facing a shut door again.

But the few seconds I got to steal a look was…amazing! Despite the decrepit looks on the outside, I am sure the inside of mansion is as immaculate as it was three centuries ago. Old, oaken furniture, a huge library spanning the walls, old paintings and portraits, oriental carpets—it was something I’d only seen in period dramas—except one thing: the old-world harmony of the place is also disrupted by the cramming of a lot of idiosyncratic, out-of-place boxes. I saw a set of quaint Chinese medicine cabinet-like chest of drawers at the far end of the hall, and right beside it was a bronze set, and then a wooden one and a stainless steel one, each with one to a few drawers or slots, and all with locks. Unless I am very much mistaken, they must be used for mailboxes—you just can’t name another use for them weird little chests of drawers! And they very well explain the tiny numbers on those mail..well, not quite explain it, but now I have an inkling of what they are for…they are indexes.