The Unopened Letter
A soft thud echoed from the hallway. Marie looked up from her computer screen, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. The mail had arrived. She sighed and went to the front door. Bills, advertisements, a postcard from some real estate agent—nothing unusual.
But there was one letter that caught her eye.
It was different. No return address, no postage stamp. Just her name scrawled in a familiar hand. Her hand. Marie’s breath hitched in her throat. She turned the envelope over, but it was sealed shut with an embossed wax stamp. Her intuition told her this wasn’t some prank. She had written the letter. But how? When?
She stepped back inside, the world outside the door suddenly too sharp, too loud. Sitting at her kitchen table, she stared at the envelope, her fingers tracing the edges of the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable. The way her “r” curled slightly, the way she looped her “e”—it was her own. But she hadn’t written a letter to herself, had she?
Marie’s heart quickened. The edges of the world seemed to blur, like reality had bent just slightly. The envelope weighed heavier in her hand than any ordinary letter should.
The air in the kitchen felt stifling. Her fingers twitched, wanting to tear it open and read the words. Yet, something held her back. Fear. What could it say? Was this some kind of cruel joke, was her intuition deceiving her, or was it… something more?
She shook her head. This was ridiculous. Letters didn’t just appear out of nowhere. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe she’d written it and forgotten, right? But then how did it get delivered?
Her phone rang, her boss demanded a report be submitted by the end of the workday. Marie knew it was due, and she had already done much of the work, so she quickly hung up and went into her home office.
The end of the day was approaching when Marie got another call. The main office needed numerous items added to the report. She took a deep breath and worked late into the night.
The following morning, Marie was awakened by her phone. A text message from Greg:
Hey, are we still on for dinner tonight?
A normal text. Everyday life, pulling her back into routine. She swallowed, glancing between her phone and the letter on her nightstand.
Yeah, she typed back, 7 p.m. at Luca’s, right?
Right.
She felt relieved by the prospect of a night out. She picked up the envelope and brought it into the kitchen. She picked up a butterknife to use as a letter opener but quickly put it back. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the envelope once more before she tucked the letter into a drawer. Later. She would deal with it later. She wasn’t ready now. It can wait.
But Marie couldn’t forget the letter.
Back at work, she found herself distracted, staring at her computer screen but seeing only the envelope. During her lunch break, she examined her desk, half-expecting the letter to have magically appeared. She had to consciously stop herself from running into the kitchen, tearing it open, and confronting whatever lay inside.
The anxiety clawed at her all afternoon. What could the letter say? How did it end up at her door? The thought gnawed at her, and by the time she had finished the day’s tasks, it was all she could think about.
When she turned off her computer, the first thing she did was head to the kitchen drawer. She stood there, staring at it for a long time, her hand resting on the handle. Slowly, she opened the drawer and pulled out the envelope. Her heart hammered in her chest as she sat down with it again.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Okay.”
Her thumb slid under the flap of the envelope, and—
A knock at the door startled her so badly that she dropped the letter.
Marie stared at the door, her pulse racing. She wasn’t expecting anyone, was she?
Another knock, this one more insistent. The letter lay on the floor, unopened.
She left it there and crossed the room cautiously. When she opened the door, Greg was standing on the porch, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. His smile wavered as he took in her frazzled expression.
“Hey, you okay? You didn’t respond to my last text. I thought I’d just come by and make sure we were still good for dinner.”
Marie blinked, her mind whirling. She had completely forgotten.
“Yeah, dinner. Right.” She glanced over her shoulder at the letter on the floor, still sealed. “I… uh… just lost track of time.”
Greg raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, rubbing her arms. “Just… distracted.”
His eyes followed hers to the envelope on the floor, but he didn’t comment. “Okay, well, if you need to reschedule…”
“No,” she interrupted, forcing a smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let me just grab my coat.”
Throughout dinner, Marie tried to push the letter from her mind, but it was impossible. Greg’s voice became background noise as she ran through every possible scenario. If she had sent herself a letter, it had to be important. Urgent. But what if opening it changed everything? What if reading the letter caused something terrible to happen?
“Marie?”
She blinked, suddenly aware that Greg had been talking to her. “Sorry, what?”
He frowned. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
“I’m sorry, I just—” She paused, lowering her fork. “Something weird happened yesterday.”
Greg leaned forward. “Weird, how?”
“I got a letter. From me.”
His brow furrowed. “From you?”
“Yeah, like… it was in my handwriting. My name, no return address. It just showed up, and I have no idea how.”
Greg sat back, his face a mix of confusion and mild amusement. “Maybe it’s some kind of prank?”
“I thought of that, but… I don’t know. It felt too real.” She shook her head. “I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because… because what if it’s something I’m not ready to know? What if it’s a warning or…” Her voice trailed off, her chest tightening.
Greg was silent for a long moment. “Marie, if you wrote this letter to yourself, there’s a reason. Maybe it’s something you need to hear.”
She stared down at her plate, her appetite gone. “I’m scared.”
“I get that,” Greg said softly. “But maybe the fact that you’re scared means you need to read it.”
That night, Marie sat on her bed, the letter resting in her lap. The edges of the envelope were soft now from all the times she’d handled it, but it was still sealed. Still waiting.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Her hands trembled as she finally slid her finger under the flap and tore it open. A faint yellow glow surrounded her hands as she removed the sheet of paper.
The letter inside was short, only a few lines. Her heart pounded as she unfolded the paper and began to read.
In her own handwriting, the message was simple:
Don’t open the door tomorrow.
The words blurred before her eyes as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
Tomorrow.
