Notes from the Future: Dead Letter Office II

[The following is selected from within its own securely-locked drawer in the Long-Term section of the USPS Dead Letter Office. "Long-Term" is a rather vague euphemism for files which cannot be otherwise resolved. The container for this letter -- a sealed glass jar -- sits in the precise center of an otherwise empty third drawer down in a wooden file cabinet. Four Y-shaped sticks of Rowanwood wedged between the jar and the corners of the drawer hold it in place, and four copper crosses topped with silver dimes sitting on squares of menthol are fastened to the bottom of the drawer, long end pointing toward the jar, in each quarter formed by the Rowanwood sticks. A dried herb, tobacco from the smell of it, has been sprinkled over all. Peruse at your leisure, dear reader, and consider the consequences of time wasted elsewhere.]

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Item: Letter
Lost: Date unknown
Found: Inside a hollow oak tree in Morgan's Territory, north of Livermore.
Date Found: October 21, 1867
Condition: Perfectly preserved in a sealed glass jar, wrapped in spider webs and surrounded by dead flies and other, strange and unfamiliar "insects" [?]. Envelope and letter both onionskin paper, unsealed; handwritten, rust-brown ink (possibly blood, though this is deemed a touch dramatic and therefore unlikely); handwriting shows elements of Cyrillic and unknown runic or glyphic influences. Suggest handling with gloves and burning gloves afterward; peculiar skin condition results from direct contact.

Text:

E[smudge]d Hig[smudge]
270 Livermore Road
Trevarno, CA 94554-9180

October 21, 1868

Dear Failure,

Not for you. Lost to finding. Wrangled off in Spider's Binding. She is wrapp'd and snuggled tight, lost in timeless darkling night. Thus your plans in disarray: winding out in brightest day, smuggled off at profane angles, angels weep to see such tangles. Thus your search must bear no fruit, perch your hope in Raven suit, crow your howl to waning moon that blinds the noontime sun balloon.

How I laugh. How I chuckle. How I force her now to suckle. Eggs beneath her skin hatch out, infesting deeper in, devout. Needful, greedy, digging deeper, eight-legg'd minions wrapping creeper, capping off her grave with stone, sounding human trumpet bone: come and find her if you can. Come and save her, be her man. Prove her fears are empty shell'd see her nightmares all dispell'd. 

Jack-O-Lanterns cannot light you, candles snuff'd as batwings blight you. Black cats crossing ev'ry path, scorpions within your bath. Biting things and lurking dreadfuls, bread like ash and aching headfuls: thus your days stretch on in waste, your hasty exits stick like paste to scorch and burn the thoughts of those with whom you travel, stub their toes.

As this paper burns your fingers, so it spreads to taint your skin; thus corruption paints and lingers deeper than without, within. Faults that slip and shift break open, thus the Ancient Mother roars; weeping red to burn all hope and each and every fault is yours.

Vengeful Serpents Lay Eggs In Your Heart,

The One You Forgot
 

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Analysis: As there is no extant local or regional record of any person whose name bears any resemblance to the smudged addressee, we recognize that this letter will in all probability never be claimed. It is preserved, nonetheless, for its peculiarity: as a folkloric curio, it may be of some anthropological value at a later time. The discrepancy in dates [it is dated a year to the day later than the day it was found] lends further uncertainty to this already unusual piece of mail. Let it also be noted that there is, as yet, no Livermore Road in the township of Trevarno, and that no plans currently exist to rename any existing thoroughfare or to create such a road.

 --  Peter K. Slough, Postmaster, Altamont Station
October 30, 1867