Four doors down (standard:horror, 2229 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Apr 29 2009	Views/Reads: 3090/2053	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An angry postman starts opening the mail, and finds the location of vast wealth. Should he go and retrieve it? or leave it well alone?

The letter-box slammed shut, the sound reverberating throughout the
road, and inside the houses in the vicinity. Geoff Howell turned and 
stalked back along the path to the gate, not bothering to close it 
behind him. He walked to the next house, angrily posting their mail, 
and rummaging in his bag for more. He was 46 years old, lived alone in 
a third floor flat, was five feet six inches tall, and sported jet 
black wavy hair that styled itself no matter how many times he would 
comb it. He constantly sported a stubble which was not of the designer 
style, but the reluctance to use a razor approach, because he could 
shave in the morning, but by the night-time have visible hair, so he 
hardly bothered, and especially lately, because his job was under 
serious threat. As an ordinary postman, sent to the governmental 
company by an agency, which was merging with another organisation, his 
work was virtually over. His superiors had requested that he and 
several other postal workers go to a meeting organised for 3pm in the 
afternoon. He knew it was to let him go. His bosses at the agency would 
be there, as would those from the mail company. He had been in the job 
for four months, and was settling into the routine, and found that the 
job was fairly decent. It was part-time, and minimum wage, but he was 
almost enjoying it. Now they were casting him aside. 

He was not alone in his concern. The merger had been on the cards for a
while, and the staff new about it, perhaps hoping it wouldn't happen, 
but not really voicing any concerns about it, except for a select few, 
of which Geoff was one who was all for strike action. What union the 
workers had, had slowly been eroded over the years. Workers came and 
went, had other ideas, formed separate factions of three or four that 
lasted barely a week, and generally accepted the way things were. Geoff 
wondered if he could take this to court, because his employers had not 
consulted his trade union. His union of four which was two weeks old. 
He knew they did not recognise it as genuine, so did not consider it 
worthy of notice, but I'll make them sit up and notice us, he thought. 
Think they can just sweep us aside as though we are nothing. No chance. 
I'm not putting up with this. Who's going to post the mail? he asked 
himself. No doubt they'll get someone on the cheap like some spotty 
little student or community service convicts. That'd be just typical, 
he thought. Anything to save money. Anything. 

With a collection of letters in one hand, he stuffed and crushed them
though a letter-box, and turned and stalked again around to the next 
house. Once again, there was another pointless circular addressed to 
this house. This house which had long been abandoned, whose windows 
were thick with grime and dirt, the front door of which was ajar with 
him previously posting. He walked along the weed-strewn path and looked 
in at the hallway, where his other letters lay. Then it dawned on him. 
This impending court battle he was facing with his other trade union 
workers, whom he knew, weren't all that committed, could cost him 
dearly. Offered a big enough incentive or pay-off, then they would 
leave in a heartbeat. Yet, if he lost his case, he was facing costs 
that he was unsure he could pay, and he would be left alone, while his 
co-workers probably found other agencies and got similar work. What 
will I do? he asked himself, then smiled. I'll not give them the 
opportunity to make me redundant. I'll resign. I'll resign, right here, 
right now. He looked down at his large red bag, a large selection of 
mail left to deliver, then at the flaking front door of the house. A 
large, overgrown privet hedge shielded him from nosy eyes, and he 
entered the house, closing the door behind him. Walking into the empty 
front room, he threw the letter intended for this house to the side and 
saw that despite the filth on the windows, daylight easily penetrated, 
but the privet hedge meant that nobody except several crawling insects 
could see him.  Against the window was a cheap dining table with four 
chairs. He was surprised they hadn't long since been looted. He tipped 
the contents of the bag onto the table, dislodging plumes of dust, some 
of the letters falling to the floor. Sitting down, he sifted through 
the obvious ones, the circulars, the bills, the junk mail, and threw 
them all on the floor. He tore open one envelope and found it was 
simply a ‘Get well soon' card which he threw to the side. Opening 
another one he found a cheque for £84 from the ‘Country valley parks 
association'. He put that in his pocket. A package, he found to contain 
a DVD of a costume drama. ‘Beloved Cavaliers', which he threw to the 
side. Another envelope he tore open to reveal a set of photographs and 
a long letter in barely legible handwriting, so he didn't bother with 
that, and screwed it up and threw it aside. The photographs were of 
people in what looked to be an office party, all in ridiculous poses, 
with drinks in hand, grinning at the camera. He got halfway through 


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