The Message Man

Chapter 1

Adelae veered past pedestrians, nearly hitting a few as she zipped by. She didn’t have the time to apologize to the screaming incomprehensible voices behind her; not that it even came to mind to do so. Before her was the great city of Paris, its locals all bustling around with excitement. The World’s Fair was mere days away, and Adelae was eager to be a part of it.

Booths, tents, and exhibits galore were being put up to be filled with countless evidence of human accomplishment and innovation, all strung up with beautiful electric lights. Adelae was in awe, despite it being only half set up. She faced towards her left, seeing her reflection in blurred shop windows, her white lace dress and dark hair blew behind her, as the straw hat pinned to her head flitted in the wind. A smirk grew on her face, a feeling of being quite puffed up spread inside her.

A young woman riding her bicycle down the streets of Paris, experiencing the World’s Fair… Alone…

The only thing that could pry Adelae’s eyes from herself was the Eiffel Tower, which stretched up, peaking over the horizon of rooftops. She was absolutely absorbed by its beauty as it loomed over Paris, almost like it would be watching over the fair itself. She was so taken by it that she had crashed into something, being thrown off her bicycle and onto the hard stone pavement. After she had got her bearings, Adelae had found, with a sigh of relief escaping her, she hadn’t struck a person. Only nearly did. What she did hit, though, was a mail bag, it’s contents of letters and parcels strewn about and trampled on. A more than irritated postman stood hovering above her, face growing redder by the second.

“J-Je desole, monsieur…” she stammered in broken French. “Est-ce que tu vas bien?” Adelae bent down to pick up as much mail as she could to hand it back to him, all while avoiding eye contact. She kept her gaze firm to the ground, eventually noticing that she must have missed one last letter, as she had it under her boot. After the postman had taken the rest of the mail, Adelae bent again to pick the last letter up. She was about to hand it to him when she noticed something. The recipient: it was her. Not to another girl also with the name ‘Adelae’. Even the home address was hers.

But… that’s clear acrost the channel. Back in England! There’s no chance this should have gotten to me here…unless-

Adelae gripped tightly to the letter, wrinkling it in her fist. While preoccupied with the letter, the postman was livid. She hardly noticed. When Adelae didn’t give him any more attention and picked up her bicycle to go, letter still in hand, he stopped her, grabbing onto her handlebars.

“Stop! This is mine!” She shouted in English, trying to pull the handlebars away from him. When that didn’t work, Adelae reached up above her head, pulling out a pin from her hat, and stabbed the postman in his arm, and once he let go, she sped out of the situation.

The Message Man has come for me…

Chapter 2

Adelae raced immediately to where she planned on residing for the fair; a small flat complex sitting at a street corner. Luckily for her, she had a distant aunt who lived in Paris alone ever since her husband died. I wonder if he had gotten a letter from the Message Man? Adelae wondered as she approached the residence. Adelae messaged in advance, wanting to visit for the fair, and was surprised to find that her aunt would be away opening week, but that Adelae was welcome despite her absence.

She didn’t pay much attention to the outside appearance but did take note of the inside once she reached her aunt’s door. She dragged her bicycle along behind, through the halls and was greeted by a glossy paneled door and a brass doorknob. A respectable enough welcome.

Adelae unlocked and opened the door with the spare key her aunt included with her response, meeting a seemingly sad and lonely living space. It was clean for the most part, but just hollow, like a shell of its former self. She could feel it perked up once she walked in, hopeful that it now had a friend. Little did the room know Adelae wouldn’t be much use as a friend. Her life was in mortal danger, and she was a bit preoccupied by that.

She led her bicycle through the door, untethering her travel trunk from the back after propping it up against the wall. The floorboards, covered in a coat of dust creaked under her feet, like the room was pleased to have someone new living inside it again. I won’t be alive for much longer… 

She set her travel trunk on the small cast iron bed, then unpinned the hat from her head. Only one pin? Where’d the other one- She then looked in her other hand, where between her last three fingers and palm were her second hat pin and the crumpled letter. an emerald-colored scarab shell stared back at Adelae, crowning the pin. It was bent out of shape with a streak of dried blood on it. With all the excitement of racing away from the postman, Adelae momentarily forgot she was still clinging onto the pin and letter.

Without a sound, she turned to the small writing desk by the window, laying down the letter. A mangled ‘Adelae’ stared back at her.

All was silent. Even the creaking floor stopped momentarily. Adelae held her breath, while she believed the room did as well, anxious to know what was inside, peering over her shoulder.

message inside, the letter ‘M’ embossed on it, proving her dreadful assumption that it was in fact from the Message Man.

A pain lurched in her stomach, and she threw the letter back onto the desk, deciding to flop on the bed instead of opening the letter. Haven’t been in Paris for a day and I must deal with this eminent doom? She stared up at the ceiling, complaining to herself, locking eyes with a browning water stain above her head.

For a split second, Adelae’s mother came to mind. Should I let her know I’ve received a letter from the Message Man? She thought silently for a moment, until the thought was interrupted by another. She needs to learn how to manage by herself. I have. 

Chapter 3

Adelae hadn’t been asleep for long when he came to her door.

As a black substance, he slowly oozed through the keyhole like molasses, dripping down to right above the floor, hovering for a moment. His white beady eyes surfacing from within him. He then began to float around the room.

Where would it be!? Where would she have put it? He thought as he zipped around frantically. Then, his white beady eyes locked onto something; the letter he misplaced, crumpled on a writing desk. “Ah!” He exclaimed as he drifted towards it. “Now I just need to take this back then it will be like nothing ever—” He flinched, losing his train of thought as he met his reflection in a mirror that hung above the desk.

He stood still, just staring at himself. “It’s been so long… I’ve nearly forgotten how I look…!” He took in the appearance of his floating black personage, like a spill of writing ink that refused that gravity weigh it down.

He audibly sighed, and lowered himself to the floor, where he morphed into a more human form. He looked at the mirror again, this time, having a greater sense of unrecognition. He had a sheet white complexion, rings framing his perfectly round eyes that housed a pair of widely dilated inky pupils, and on his head was an unruly mop of jet hair. He stepped back slightly, taking note of the clothes he wore; a messenger boy’s uniform all in black, adorned with brass buttons. On top of his hair sat the matching hat, cocked to one side, nearly defying gravity. He had the resemblance of jumping right out of a photograph, forgetting his color behind.

“This form, however, It’s…” He inched closer, gently touching the mirror, focusing on his image. “It can’t possibly be me…”

The boy jumped, forgetting his appearance once again, as a blood curdling scream came from behind him. He instantly turned towards it, meeting face to face with Adelae, who held her bent out of shape hat pin in her hand, pointed right at him.

“Who the Hell are you!?” She shouted. “Get out!”

“Wh- o-oh you’ve awakened… I-I can explain, Miss—”

Adelae noticed the letter in the trespasser’s hand. “You’re not the Message Man, surely…”

The boy stuttered. “Well… I-I am, in fact…”

“ O-Oh…” she eased her aim of the hat pin.

“What? Were you expecting something different?”

“Kind of. Yes? I didn’t expect the author of my death sentence to be a- a boy!”

The boy snickered at Adelae’s remark. “Were you expecting a girl then?”

“No, something more…uhm, monstrous?”

His snickering turned into an all-out laugh. “A monster!?”

“Yes! Who else should I assume my death letter came from?”

“I’m merely the messenger, Adelae.” His eyes darted, expression softening. “My boss is the real monster, though—”

“Boss? You mean to say that the feared and renowned Message Man is not only a child, but that he’s also an errand boy?”

“It’s literally in the name. Message Man.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Who’s your boss, then?” Adelae asked boldly.

The Message Man scoffed. “That’s confidential. And besides, you already know too much as it is!”

“What do you mean? I don’t know anything!”

“You know what I look like. You know I don’t work alone. You know I’m an errand boy.” He looked down at the letter in his hands, then walked past Adelae towards the door. “I see you haven’t opened the letter yet, though. That’s fortunate for you, Adelae. Your time hasn’t come yet.”

“What!? You’re not going to take me?”

“No. Not today, at least.” He waved the letter at her slightly. “I mistakenly delivered it to you this morning. My apologies.” He reached out to open the door.

“Wait! You can’t just leave me after saying that! When will you take me? When will I receive my letter again?”

The Message Man scoffed another laugh. “That is also confidential.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “But now that you know your letter is written, you should be prepared to leave at any time.”

Chapter 4

Finally, a few days had passed since arriving in Paris, and it was the opening day of the World’s Fair: April the fourteenth, 1900. Adelae had woken that morning to raindrops tapping at the glass panes of the window by her head. Looking out towards the Paris cityscape, she was met by a dreary, overcast Parisian day.

She stood there, in her wrap for a few idle moments, trying to make sense of the strange feelings she woke up with.

Adelae was partially eager for the day ahead; for the adventure waiting out there for her in the fair, to see what humans were possible of. However, she also felt a sense of dread that the weather was not helping with.

My fate is written…just sitting, waiting to be delivered to me.

After the Message Man had first come to her room, days prior, she developed an anxiety as he practically dangled her eminent demise right over her head. She hoped it would subside by the time the fair would open, but something that serious is not likely to go away so easily.

She broke from her meditative state, staring out of her window, and got ready to explore the fair.

***

Raindrops pelted Adelae’s body as she cycled from her aunt’s flat to the fair. She would have been more careful about not catching a cold from the rain, but since she was told her death was already written, she decided it didn’t matter.

Adelae once again weaved through people; more than when she first arrived. After locking her bicycle, she started to wander around the fair. Quickly though, she realized that it would be more difficult to enjoy the fair than she thought.

She went to a few booths, and at first, really did take delight in them. All the while, the Eiffel Tower loomed over her. Adelae felt drawn to gaze up at it, an ache churning in her stomach.  After someone had bumped into her, and she nearly tripped over on the street, Adelae started to grow paranoid that something would happen, and she would meet her end right then and there. As she went from booth to booth and exhibit to exhibit, she was distracted by a sense of dread in the back of her mind, spoiling her whole experience.

When will my damned letter come again… she asked herself anxiously in horrid anticipation. Walking along the fairgrounds, she took note of the other partakers, all blissfully unaware of the danger Adelae was in.

She found what was described as a ‘moving sidewalk’ which took her down a street of the fair without requiring her to take a single step. She tried to marvel at it but was still too distracted by the Message Man’s eminent return to fully appreciate the modern miracle. While on the ride, Adelae noticed two people beside her; a scruffy, tired looking man wearing a peculiar looking monocle, and accompanying him; a younger man dressed in a clown suit, with a porcelain white makeup-ed face, and matching red ruffle collars around his neck, wrists, and ankles. Normally, Adelae would have thought the two would have been amusing enough to stop and talk to, but with the Message Man’s enjoyment in torturing me, she wasn’t in the mood.

Adelae walked, or, more like the sidewalk walked for her, and eventually eyed a familiar pale face in the distance. The Message Man was sauntering around on the other side of the street, trailing behind an elderly couple who were captivated by every little thing their wrinkled eyes laid on. The sight amused her slightly, thinking the messenger boy resembled a duckling following its mother. That is until she saw him slip two letters in the old man’s coat pocket. Adelae gasped softly, realizing she just witnessed their own fates being sealed.

“Hey… Hey! Stop! Message Man!” She shouted, trying to get their attention, to no avail. The sidewalk still moved her along until the couple and the Message Man were out of sight. Adelae got off the next chance she got and ran back in hopes of finding the couple, warning them of the Message Man’s tricks.

She couldn’t find the couple, but managed to find the Message Man staring intently at a glass of some sort, watching the rain slowly collect into it. He sat at an outside table of a corner bistro. Message Man! She stopped in her tracks to approach him.

The Message man looked up from his glass. “Adelae!?” He said in a surprised tone, like they were old friends meeting for the first time in years.

We are anything but! Adelae thought as she walked right up to his table, took his drink; a glass of a cloudy soft green liquor, and splashed it into his face.

“Hey, my absinthe! I was enjoying watching the rain louche it! What was that for!?” He coughed, spitting out his drink, face dripping wet. His breath smelled of hard black licorice.

Adelae slammed the glass back onto the iron table he sat at, cracking it, and got in his face, pulling out one of her scarab hat pins. “I can’t take it anymore,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Quit dangling my death over my head and give me my letter, Message Man.” She poked the hat pin to his shoulder.

He just snickered at her, shaking his head from side to side, still dripping with absinthe. “You’re really wanting to argue about this right now, when you don’t even address me by my actual name?”

Adelae scoffed.

“You don’t know my name, do you?” He smirked. “It’s Ink. Or Encre in French.”

“I don’t care. Just give me my letter so I can be prepared.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Mis-sending death letters isn’t how it works either.”

“Touché. But I corrected myself, didn’t I?” Encre got up from his bistro table and began to walk away from the conversation.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

“I have a schedule to keep, Adelae. You took up the last of my break time destroying a perfectly good louche! Bye.”

“No, wait!” Adelae caught up to him, pinning him to the side wall of the bistro. “I am in hysterics, waiting in fear for when you will strike. Don’t you think that cruel? What about that sweet old couple you just sentenced to death!?”

“You saw that?” Encre shook his head. “Adelae, I’ve told you already. I deliver everyone’s letters eventually, including yours and that old couples’. That is no surprise. But it’s on you to be prepared for when I do deliver. I can’t do everything for you—hey! What the Hell are you doing!”

As he talked, she sprang for his black leather messenger bag, managing to run off with it down an alley way. As soon as she thought she lost him, he appeared right in front of her, and they collided. Letters spilled out of his bag, scattering all around the street surrounding them. Adelae instantly crawled on her hands and knees, looking at every letter she came across, trying to find the crumpled one addressed to her.

Finally, she found it, but just as she picked it up, Encre snatched up the other end.

“Give it here, Adelae!”

“No! It’s addressed to me!”

They both tugged at the letter until it ripped in half, throwing Adelae backwards on her butt. Encre stood, looming over her, taking her half of the letter, and ripping both parts up in front of her face.

“There. The letter is void now. You don’t have to be in hysterics anymore. Now, can you leave me be so I can do my job?”

Adelae looked up at the Message Man sternly. “Very well.”

*** 

Adelae walked back to her aunt’s flat, and only when she reached the front door, she realized that she left her bicycle at the fair. It was still rainy, so she was eager to get in and dry herself.

As she opened the door, Adelae found a letter on the floor, being dropped in the mail slot. Flipping it over, she was met with the same black wax seal, and same engraved M. Her hands were trembling as she lifted it up, breaking the seal. She could barely keep it still enough to read it. It read:

              Dear Adelae,

              I’m sorry that we left off on a bad note. I haven’t been on ‘your side of the river’ in… quite a while, but I understand your skittishness regarding your letter. I hope you can understand where I am coming from in return. None of this is personal. It is merely my job.

              Would you do me the favor of meeting me at the top of the Eiffel Tower tomorrow evening to make up?

-             Encre, the Message Man

A long, frustrated sigh escaped her mouth when she finished reading the new letter. “The little snake…!”

Chapter 5

Adelae had been waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour when it happened.

She stood up high, gripping tightly onto cast iron guard rails. The wind blew strands of her hair in her face, and the brim of her hat waved down to all of glowing Paris below. They were enjoying the fair, while she was high above them, dealing with the Message Man. Finally, she had reached the top of the Eiffel Tower, just as he told her to do in the letter, which she held in her hand.

As Adelae leaned on the guard rail, looking down, a figure creeped out from the night’s shadows. She didn’t notice until the figure was upon her, grasping her forearms and pinning her to the rail. Almost as quick as he did that, the figure managed to whisper, “You’ll thank me later, Adelae,” and threw her over.

She only managed to get a glimpse of a pale white face as her view tilted from the figure to the glowing lights of the World’s Fair hundreds of meters below. They began to grow larger.

Encre! Encre just pushed me off!? That was the most Adelae could register before her body began to spin in free fall.

My bicycle… It took Adelae by surprise that she would think of such a thing as she neared death. Maybe that bicycle meant more than what she originally thought.

Adelae’s mother hated the idea of her riding a bicycle; said It was ‘unladylike’, not to mention her lingering anxieties of her daughter not being right by her side at all hours of the day.

The poor woman.

Her father, however, was more liberal with the concept, and helped Adelae to buy her own behind her mother’s back. I don’t think she ever fully forgave him for that.

After she managed to get her hands on one, and learned how to ride it, Adelae was gone. She was not sure why she chose to leave exactly. Perhaps because she overheard that the World’s Fair was to be held in Paris that year, and simply made up her mind that she was going. No one was going get in my way of experiencing something that grand! Either way, all Adelae knew was that once she could ride without falling over or crashing into anyone, she was going to pack what little she could bring along and would make her way to Paris.

Stupid!

The fair was closer the next time Adelae looked. Still, no one noticed she would soon quite literally crash the party. She could feel the hem of her white lace dress flair wildly around her ankles, as the wind whipped through her.  Why can’t my skirts act like a parachute?

Her hat was ripped from her hair and soared out of sight.

That lace dress, too, was something she wasn’t expecting to run across her thoughts.

It was Adelae’s favorite. She believed she looked so mature and grown up in it. A real sophisticated woman. One that rode a bicycle as she wore such an unfit dress.

A woman who’ll soon be gone away.

Unlike most aspects of herself, Adelae’s mother did, in fact approved of how she dressed. Elegante and simple. Little did she know she only liked that particular fashion because it made her appear older. If she knew that was Adelae’s reasoning, she had no doubt her mother would have taken back her approval of such a garment.

Her mind paused, keeping silent for a fraction of a second. In that time, Adelae came to a realization. I’m never going to see them again… For the first time since leaving home, she thought about how doing this would affect her mother and father.

She just wanted to keep me little. Was that so bad? A pit of guilt filled Adelae’s stomach, right next to the one of petrified fear from hurdling towards the streets of Paris.

What are they doing right at this moment? When I’m about to splatter out of existence? She pictured her mother and father alone at the dining room table, her seat empty, along with a steaming plate, in hopes she would return. They would soon come to the realization that their only child would not be coming back home.

I should have written to them… Adelae confessed instantaneously. I should have let them in on me receiving my letter, and meeting the Message Man. Not everyone who receives their letter gets that opportunity. And I didn’t take mine. Her letter then slipped out of her hand, taken by the wind rushing past her.

“Are you ready, Adelae?” She heard a familiar voice call near her ear. Encre, the Message Man in his inky blob form, held onto her shoulder, staining her dress.

She wore a confused expression on her face, driving Encre to explain himself further. “Here it comes!” he shouted, pointing with a little inky stub towards the fast-approaching ground.

That is when Adelae finally uttered any kind of sound since being thrown from the guard rails. She screamed, and the closer the ground came, the louder and higher her voice went. She tensed her body, curling up in a ball, clamping her eyes shut, and grabbing onto Encre, as if he of all things would be of any help.

There was a split second where she could hear the faint whispers of the fair enjoyers behind her own screams. Then, she heard nothing. She saw nothing. She felt nothing.

*** 

The next thing Adelae remembered was waking up in a black void. She picked herself up and noticed she had her hat back. But this time instead of the original beige straw, it was black! Same went for her hair. Her dress had stayed the same white, though. Almost too white.

In the distance, Adelae heard a soft ringing sound. As she walked closer, she found that it had come from a bicycle. As she examined it further, however, she found out it was her bicycle!

“But how!?” she asked absent-mindedly, reaching out a hand to touch it. Seeing her hand, she found it stark white, and took a startled step back.

“Ah! Here we are!”

Adelae turned around. “Encre!”

Chapter 6

“Lookin’ good, Adelae!” Encre said with a laugh, clearly noticing she was looking herself up.

“Wh- How-- I… Wh-where are we?” Adelae stammered, confusion running through her head as she looked up her newly pale arms and changed dress. “Take me back to the fair!” she demanded.

“On the other side of the river, Adelae! So, to speak, that is. There is no fair here.” He started to laugh hysterically.

“Huh? What’s so funny?”

“I’m free, Adelae. I’m free! Oh, lordy I barely remember anything from my life, but I get to go back now! I get to go back! I have a faint memory of playing the violin… maybe I’m a famous composer! Wouldn’t that be neat! Even if I’m not, I don’t care. Whatever my old life holds is certainly better than this –”

“What are you talking about?” she threw her voice, interrupting Encre’s sporadic monologue.

“Oh, right. I got a bit carried away. My apologies.” Encre removed the messenger bag from his shoulder and shoved it into Adelae’s chest. “You are the new message woman, now!”

“What!? Y-you can’t be serious.” She shot a glance down at the bag. “Aren’t I dead?”

Encre stopped his gay frolicking momentarily to stare blankly at her, like she was stupid. “Of course you’re dead, Adelae. You fell off the Eiffel Tower, remember?”

“Fell,” she shouted. “You pushed me!”

“But then you fell.” He smiled slyly.

“You’re exhausting…” she sighed. “I’m not going to be the message woman.” She pushed the bag back to him, returning to the topic at hand.

“Oh yes you are!” He insisted, pushing it back to her.

“Who says?”

“My boss,” Encre exclaimed. “Or now I guess your boss! You know, the real monster; Badum.”

“B-but I don’t have any desire to do this! Besides, I doubt I have any merit in doing so either!”

Encre scoffed. “You’ll get the hang of it.” His face slowly scrunched into a confused expression after speaking.

“What’s the matter now?”

“Merit…” Encre uttered. “Why does that sound strangely familiar?”

THE END