“Thank God, they have a decent TV” - Dean exclaimed, as we stepped through the door.
We’ve just arrived at the dormitory for seasonal workers where, according to plan, we’d spend couple of months putting our heads to rest for the night after gathering fruits on local farms, hitting for pretty chicks and soaking up in booze, no particular order.
My friend Dean and myself just graduated from community college, being young, broke and full of life. So even though seasonal work sounded hard and demanding - nothing could stop us from getting easy bucks and flirting with countryside ladies.
As we checked the room wandering around - the commandant, who showed us around was following his mantra, seeming absolutely uninterested in our personas: “…no loud music, or noises whatsoever. Make sure you turn off all electrical devices when you leave the room. Oh, and gentlemen…” - he made a pause to make sure that he caught our attention. So both of us stopped our investigation and stared back at him.
“One more thing I must tell you in advance. Even though you are free to go in and out at any time of the day, as you have your own set of keys - I would definitely recommend to be back to your room before 10 o’clock in the evening. Again, it’s not the law, but a strict recommendation. I have no intention of scaring you, but the crime rate went really high these days. It’s better be safe than sorry.”
I tried my best not to laugh. That guy was so serious. I had the irresistible urge of spitting out something like: “Thanks, Mom!”.
So when he finally left, we couldn’t but let a couple of silly jokes slide that way. You see, the reason for this was that both of us were quite big dudes who hit the gym regularly. Besides, I was in the wrestling team in college and Dean, well… He was just not the guy you would want to mess with.
And the town itself (as we have seen it so far) - was not falling under that description. We’ve walked through couple of quiet streets and not a single angry face showed up. This was a peaceful place with several family restaurants, a tiny shopping mall, few gas stations and that was pretty much it.
That evening we’ve decided to celebrate the start of the working season and went for the only bar in town. Since the wake hour was scheduled for 5:00 in the morning - we went early. No surprise the place was almost dead. Just a bartender in a leather vest behind the counter and a couple of locals, sipping on their after-work-don’t-tell-my-wife whiskeys.
We’ve grabbed our drinks, and landed on the counter, discussing the plans, the surroundings and all the important parts like football teams, games and girls. Was it a fresh country air or the volume of alcohol, but soon enough we were discussing our thoughts with the bartender himself.
We asked where does youth usually hang out here and what to do apart of drinking in this town.
Somehow we switched to discussing our dormitory and its stupid rules. Probably the guy asked us where were we staying, or something.
“…and then…And then he says: ”You’d better come back before ten, or else. The guy probably thinks we’re yet some innocent kids, who go to church each Sunday, eh?“ - Dean wouldn’t shut up.
Bartender, whose name was Brad, apparently, or Bob - I can’t recall. Anyways, that guy finished polishing another wine glass, put it to the rack and said: “Well, guys, I’ll speak frank - that actually makes sense.”
Both of us stared back at him. Was this tattoo covered meat machine telling us to go to bed early too? Due to what? Somebody stole a chicken here, or?
“This town has some rules and they have them for a reason. I don’t intend to scare the shit out of you, but mark my words - what I’m going to say now… It sounds somewhat lame, though you really don’t want to make sure it’s not true.” - he said.
“Dude, are you messing with us? Are you…” - Dean leaned towards, grinning.
“Man, shut up. You’re interrupting” - I’ve put a palm on his shoulder.
“So, thing is - You want to be at home by ten, because twenty two minutes later you might, or might not hear a knock to your door. If you do - don’t you dare to open it. Don’t you dare to ask ”Who’s there?“ or something like that. Your only option is to say ”Everybody’s home already“ in reply. Just this and nothing else. Again, boys, I have no intention of fooling around or picking on you. Just trust me, it’s for your own good” - Brad (or Bob) said in calm voice.
“Nah, I’m not buying that. But, OK. If I’m there and I hear a knock at my door and I don’t reply, but just rush outside and beat the shit out of that mysterious visitor, could you credit me in your spooky story next time” - Dean laughed sipping from his glass occasionally.
“Well, if you’re so tough - why don’t you check for yourself” - bartender replied - “nobody’s here to tell the tale after they’ve opened the door. The rumors say those brave ones just put on their shoes and vanished into the night. No one has ever seen them again. That’s all”.
“Dude, you’re like fooling with us right? That’s some hard to believe shit, you know. Are you saying you have a boogieman knocking on doors here, or what?” - I’ve input my 5 cents.
“I’m just serving drinks and sharing the stories here, mate. You’re free to believe me or not. That’s all” - he said staring me in the eye.
“Ok, but what happens next? Why are you sure it’s not just a lunatic pranking around? ”- I’ve asked.
“Well, if you stay silent after the knocking, or if you’re unable to come to the door - there will be an envelope. It will be pushed under your door, through your mail hole or left on your porch. By any means - don’t open it and just burn it on sight.” - he continued. I’ve noticed that his facial expression changed - now the man looked dead serious.
“So far, I saw two people read what was in envelope. I’ve never saw those people again. But on the brighter side, if you get one - it’s not the end of the world, see?” - he pointed to the wall behind him, where a framed envelope of pale blue paper hung on the wall under some thick glass.
“But as you do” - he continued - “you would definitely want to be at home by the time, to make sure you won’t get the second one. I never did and I hope I will never do. People say, that third one is final, but don’t quote on me here. I’ve never met anyone around who would say that they got the third envelope and made it on their two before me to tell about it. Point is - you don’t want to check that either.”.
Me and Dean looked back at each other - his shoulders were trembled with laughter.
“Cool story, man. Pretty good one. Shiit. This booze hits hard. I’m all drowsy, alright. See you around, Brad and have a gooood (he mimicked the ghost sound, making the hands) night. Tim, are you with me?” - my friend asked.
I’ve finished my glass and said: “Yeah, sure, let’s hit it. Thanks, Brad. See you next time”.
We’ve talked about the story all the way back to our crib, discussing how, probably, our lovely bartender retells this story to every new face in town and has his laugh with the locals later. It’s 2022, not Dark Ages.
Thus, we were back at our place, watching some shitty sitcom on TV as we had nothing better to do, up to a point where I fell asleep on the couch.
“God damn it, shut up already” - was what I’ve heard next, as Dean cursed at the alarm clock - “Fuck, it’s early.”
Nothing happened that night - even if somebody knocked on our door we were too deep into slumber to hear it. And surprise - no envelope to be seen.
So we worked our 12 hour shift, breaking off just to grab some lunch, got acquainted with some co-workers.
Luckily for us - there were some pretty ladies too, and man, they were looking for some fun, if you know what I mean. So after taking a quick shower and putting on some cologne and fresh clothes - we picked up our new friends and went to get wasted.
This time the bar was stocked - as if everybody had a rest yesterday before drinking themselves to death tonight.
Brad greeted us with a nod as we walked in and pointed to a free table in the back. He was too busy that eve with all his bar shenanigans, so were we - with our ladies: Jill, Sam and Amie. Soon enough, probably due to hard working in the field - gathering all those grapes and peaches - we got drunk. So drunk, I’m embarrassed to say that I had hard time walking straight.
With God’s help and leaning on Jill’s shoulder - I’ve made it back to my room, but our rendezvous ended on that un-romantic note, as she giggled, kissed me on forehead and promised to hang out the other day. I remember throwing up in the bathroom and falling asleep without even bothering to take my clothes off.
Nothing happened that night. Dean managed to get a score with Amie, though returned before 22:00, as yet again 5 o’clock in the morning was our waking hour.
The bartender’s tale started to fade away, besides being so exhausted physically itself made us wind up in our beds prior to 22:00 every day.
We worked through the day and had fun in the evening with our so-called girlfriends.
Up to a Tuesday that followed. That day our truck broke down in the middle of vineyard and we had no better option than to carry those grape filled baskets on our shoulders. Why? Because our payment depended on how many baskets we deliver per day and the service truck would arrive only after shift hours.
So that night we were extremely exhausted. We grabbed some frozen pizza and six-packs in the local mart and called it a day. And as the clock stroke 22:00 we were on the couch, eating leftovers and finishing beers, watching some true-crime documentaries.
Sudden knock on the door interrupted our comfort and I’ve instinctively checked the clock - it was 22:22.
Dean was in bathroom at the moment and I couldn’t think of anything smarter than just staying silent.
Soon the flushing of the water signaled that he’s done with his business, but before the bathroom door opened with a creak - I’ve heard another sound. A rustle of a paper, as if someone threw a cardboard sheet over the floor. Or an envelope.
Dean walked out saying something to me, until he noticed I’m staring at our door.
“Hey dude, what’s with the face” - he asked.
“I think we got an envelope, Dean. I’ve heard the sound” - I’ve replied.
So my friend walked to the door, checked the surroundings and then suddenly - opened the door. He walked out and checked left and right, came back and picked up the package.
It, indeed, was an envelope of a pale blue color, just like the one Brad had hanging on the wall.
Dean twisted it in his hands, said something about it not having any writing on the outside and before I could say anything - ripped it open.
Next few moments stretched into eternity in my perception: I saw him taking out the folded sheet of paper, straightening it up and running through it with his eyes - left to right. All of sudden his face twisted into a grimace, the pupils of his eyes shrunk into two pinhead dots and without saying a single word - Dean started to tear off stripes from the letter and put them in his mouth, chewing.
This whole macabre scene took 30 seconds most, until he was done.
“Are you okay, bro? You’re frigging me out” - was all I could say.
He didn’t answer. He just picked his jacket from the hanger, put it on and walked out through the door as he was - barefooted and no pants.
I’ve sat in silence for a moment, realizing what the hell just happened.
“It’s not funny, shithead. Is this your way of doing my life more interesting? I’m not buying that” - I’ve said walking to the door, being sure, that my friend is just standing in the hall, dying of silent laughter.
“Did you ask Amie to drop the envelope? Well, you didn’t get me, not even close, assface!” - I’ve said checking the hall. But he wasn’t there.
“Fine. You may think you’re funny as long as you like. I’m going to sleep” - I concluded slamming the door.
I was pretty sure that he had a pair of keys in that jacket, and if not - well, it was his problem.
I’ve slept like a baby. Next morning I didn’t even check on him - male pride, or whatever. Call it what you want.
But to my surprise, when I arrived at the farm - Dean wasn’t there. I confronted Amie, asking her if she was into that prank of his, but she just stared back at me, having no idea whatsoever.
Dean had some history of going all in when it came to something - would it be getting a certain girl, obtaining some particular thing or pulling a prank. So I didn’t panic, as Amie could be a talented actress and this whole thing could be continuous joke of “disappearing” friend.
He wasn’t back at our place when I came back. “Probably chilling with his girlfriend, laughing at me” - I thought.
Though, believe it or not - I’ve felt insecure at some point. Or unease, perhaps.
So I crushed at Jill’s place for the night, we had some good time and I’ve shared all the bullshit with her.
She nodded and agreed with me on all of this being just a prank, until once again - exhausted by the physical work I’ve shut down on her bed.
Suddenly I’ve opened my eyes. It was dark. Something woke me up. Right, the light sneaking through the door gap. I’ve focused my vision to discover that Jill was standing by the front door, wearing nothing but her undies, as if waiting for something. Few moments later she just hit the lights off and sneaked back to bed.
I’ve pretended I was still asleep. Was she a part of one big colossal trick set up by Dean? Or am I just going paranoid?
Next morning we woke up, had some breakfast and went to work - no questions asked. I just didn’t want to fuel my incoming humiliation when all cards would be played.
Yet again - Dean didn’t show up. Our supervisor asked if he was okay, and I couldn’t come back with anything smarter, than: “Yeah, probably. You’d better ask his girlfriend”.
I had some bad vibes going down on me. Didn’t want to talk to anyone, so just went home straight after my shift was over.
Later that night, as I had my night cravings for something sweet and as I was standing by the fridge, munching some ice cream - you’ve guessed it - somebody knocked on my door. The microwave clock showed exactly 22:22.
Them again. Well, at least someone was having fun. I’ve decided to play along and recalled the talk with bartender in my memory.
“Everybody’s home already” - I’ve said with the most sturdy voice I could come up with.
Then there were just a couple moments of silence, until…
“Dude, it’s me. Open up” - Dean said from behind the door.
“Ha! The prank failed, so who’s laughing now. Or wait. Did I imagine the whole thing” - I thought, as my hand reached for door handle in familiar motion. But I was heated up already and wanted the spectacle to last a bit longer: “But dude, how do I know it’s you?”.
No answer.
“Dean? When is my birthday?”- I’ve played further.
No answer.
“Man, drop it already. It’s not even funny anymore” - I’ve tried again.
Still no answer.
“Ok. If you’re still on it - I remember you had the keys in your jacket. Why don’t you use them? And I’m going to bed” - I summed it up.
No answer. Silence. And then multiple sudden hits on the door, just as if somebody outside was punching it. It lasted for seconds and stopped in a blink of an eye.
“What a prick!” - I thought to myself, as the head hit the pillow.
I’ll cut to the point. He still didn’t show up at the farm. I finished my work and was prepared for his next attempt at ruining his own joke.
So as 22:22 came and somebody knocked on my door - I was there. Prepared. Prepared to ignore the attempt of my stubborn friend to finish his stupid prank. I didn’t reply. Just stood there silently.
Next thing happened - the rustling of the paper and a blue envelope appeared before my feet.
“You’d better open it up, boy” - bartender’s voice proclaimed from behind the door.
“What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”- I thought.
“Fuck this. I’m done with this town. We’re not in the high school anymore where it’s common to pick on people. I hope that asshole would realize how stupid and pathetic his actions were and appears before me with some proper excuses, next time I see his dumb face.” - followed after. I threw the letter to the trash bin without opening it.
So, yeah, I’ve moved back to our old place the next day, without saying anything to anyone in town. No more sweating, no more dumb asses with their fairy tales, or whatsoever.
I grabbed couple of old college friends and we went out for drinks. It was a good evening, and by the end of it - I’ve almost erased all the silly stuff that happened, or was it alcohol in my veins?
But I quickly got sober when I’ve walked through the door of my own apartment, as a square of a pale blue paper was residing on the floor right before me. I’ve checked the time - it was 00:37.
I really doubt that the joke went that far - I didn’t even tell anybody I was leaving.
My god… Is Dean actually ok? What if all this was not a prank? Then what? Should I call the police and file a missing person?
But what bothers me most - should I consider this to be a second or a third envelope, as Dean ate the first letter? What do I do?
Couple of days passed since then. I’m always at home before 21:00. Just to be extra sure. So far - nothing happened yet, but again - it was just a couple of days. I don’t know what’s worse - a bitter truth, or constant expectation of something morbid to happen. I am feeling trapped. If nothing develops by the end of the week - I’m opening that letter. Life can’t go on like this.