Short Story - The Package Master

So today I had intended to continue my WoW series, but I was thinking about this story that I had in my head, and it really just started coming together, so I decided to get it down while it is still fresh in my mind. Will most likely do my next WoW post tomorrow.

So this story actually came to me a while ago, while I was waiting for a package to arrive from the US. It seemed to be taking forever for something that was just coming from one country over, and I thought, what could be taking it so long?

The Package Master

It was a normal day at the Post Office. Mail came in, mail got sorted, and mail went out. The employees happily went about their day, having friendly chats with each other as they worked. The air about the place was busy but cheerful, the combination of voices and machines creating a symphony of industry and progress.

Suddenly, the air changed. All the employees froze for a second in unison, then quickly got back to work, though they stopped chatting. They all sensed it, the stirring from behind The Door. A faint rumbling was heard, and they knew He was coming. As the shadow in the frosted glass of the Door grew, the employees steeled themselves, praying that they would not come under His attention.

The Door swung open with an unearthly creak, and one could swear that ethereal spirits could be seen snaking their way out, shrieking silently as they disappeared into the rafters. Then the figure stepped out, and a shiver swept over the entire room. He was a portly man, the kind that wore short-sleeved shirts in any weather, but still managed to be constantly sweaty. His greasy black hair was carefully swept over the bald top of his head in an obvious combover, and his large-seated pants were held up by strained suspenders.

His position of seniority had been gained from many, many years working at the Post Office. In fact, no one at the company could even remember a time before He worked there. He was a bit rough around the edges, but by god did He know mail. Today, though, He stepped out of His office, and stopped.

He stroked his thin black moustache as he let out a low grumble, and surveyed the room. Each employee appeared as if frozen in ice until His gaze passed them by. After several harrowing moments, something seemed to catch His eye. With surprising speed for a man his size, He raced over to a pile of recently-scanned packages, and picked one up.

"WHAT IS THIS?" He bellowed in a thick Eastern European accent.

Jenkins looked around and saw the other employees near him slink back into the shadows. He knew it would have to be him.

"Well, Package Master, sir," he ventured, leaning over to inspect the sticker on the box. "It appears to be an action figure."

"An ACTION......figure?" Package Master queried, seemingly to the package itself. He brought the box closer to his face, inspecting the cardboard with a bizarre intensity.

Jenkins swallowed uncomfortably and thought of his family. He glanced at the clock on the wall, whose second hand appeared to have stopped ticking.

"Where is it going?" Package Master asked quietly, still with the box directly in his face.

Realizing that seeing the sticker on the box would be impossible, Jenkins checked the scanning machine.

"It's going to Toronto, Ontario, sir" he announced. He hoped he Package Master hadn't expected him to be more specific.

"But why..." Package Master wondered aloud "would such a thing......be sent......to such a place?"

"Well, sir, it doesn't-" but Jenkins stopped, realizing that Package Master wasn't listening to him.

Package Master had entered a trance-like state. Reflected within his eyes were the depths of the infinite cosmos, and coming from his slightly-open mouth was a sound that couldn't quite be heard, but all knew it was there.

After far too long for anyone's comfort, Package Master snapped out of his trance.

"STOP EVERYTHING!" He cried. "I must meditate on this. Until I return, nothing shall be sent out."

Package Master returned to his office. As the door closed with that hideous cry, there was a collective sigh of relief. They knew he wouldn't be back for a number of days, possibly even a week.

Elsewhere, venetian blinds parted, and a set of eyes peered through at the empty porch. Maybe tomorrow.