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Letters

Letters

A Story by Rachel
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Ingrid and Rebecca always communicated in letters.

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Letters

For as long as I can remember, my best friend Rebecca and I communicated using letters. We sent text messages now and then, but not as often. We lived next door to each other since I was a ten, so every night after school I would run home, drop her bag, grab a pen and write her a letter, sticking it hastily into a pink envelope and under the front door of her mom’s house. She would write back instantly and run over to stick it under my parent’s door in the same envelope. The letters didn't say anything particularly important. When we were kids, it said “come over to my house, I got a cool new toy,” or “movie later?” We always wrote the day’s date neatly on top along with a small smiley face. My mom and dad had thought this adorable at first, but eventually it started to annoy them. However, it was a tradition between Rebecca and I, so we continued it. 
This went on even when we were older and got cell phones. My mom and dad bought me a brand new iPhone, and it was great for texting my other friends or my boyfriend but for Rebecca it was still letters. Then, out of nowhere, tragedy struck. I was sixteen. I had just come home from school, when I realized that the letter that usually waited on the other side of the door wasn't there. I patiently waited for an hour, willing the swooshing sound that usually accompanied the letter under the door to come. It didn’t. The next day, we got a  call from Mrs. Tracy, Rebecca’s mom. Rebecca was missing. I took drastic measures and texted her a frantic where are u?? Nothing. I called her. Her phone was off. 
The days passed in a blur. Rebecca was still missing. I couldn't sleep. When I did, I was plagued by dreams of my best friend, her dark eyes pleading, her face hollow. Dark bruises around her neck. Please, help me, Ingrid. I was nothing without my best friend. My parents did everything they could to help Mrs. Tracy. There was still no sign of Rebecca, and the police got involved. I wrote letters to Rebecca still, even though I knew she wouldn't get them. I kept them in my desk drawer. The pages were stained wet with tears. 
One night, I was lying in bed, not sleeping, staring at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling when my door crashed open. “Mom? Dad?” My mother sat on the edge of my bed, tears in her eyes. My father held my hand tightly. He told me that a body had been found in the woods, strangled to death. It was Rebecca. 
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The funeral was over. It had of course been a closed casket funeral. For that I was grateful, although I would do anything to see my friends face one last time. My eyes were red and puffy from crying. I still couldn't believe it. That my best friend wasn't coming back. She had died so young. The police revealed that her death was a homicide. She was found strangled on the dirt floor of the woods. No one knows who did it yet. I drove home in silence, I had used up all my tears. My parents had taken their own car, as I had come straight from school. When I opened the door and walked into the house, it was silent. My parents were not home yet. I gasped as I nearly slipped on something in the front hallway. I looked down to see what it was and my heart stopped. A neat, pink envelope sat innocently on the floor. I glanced around. Was someone messing with me? Who would do something so cruel so soon after her death? 
I reached down and picked up the envelope with shaky hands. Opened it. Inside was a familiar piece of white paper. As I read it, tears streamed down my face. The letter was dated from two days after Rebecca disappeared. I knew then that I was to blame for Rebecca’s death. In our stress, we hadn't noticed the envelope that had been here all along, sitting unread in our foyer. If we had, it would have changed everything. Maybe we could have tracked down Rebecca. I didn't know how she managed to get me this. Now it was too late. I dropped the letter and watched as it drifted to the wooden floor. On it were two simple words, written shakily in Rebecca’s handwriting: Find me

© 2015 Rachel



Author's Note

Rachel
Full of cliches, I know.

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Reviews

I really enjoyed reading this. It wasn't long but I became worried for Rachel and I really felt for Ingrid. You have a nice way of putting words together and I believe with more practice, you could go somewhere with writing. Keep up the good work!

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Rachel

1 Year Ago

Thank you so much for the kind review!

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1 Review
Added on December 23, 2015
Last Updated on December 23, 2015
Tags: Horror, Story, Creepy

Author

Rachel
Rachel

New York , NY



Writing
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