That voice…

Immediately I feel my body temperature rise; all of my arm hairs stand on end.

After another survey of my house (just to be sure I was alone), my heartbeat slowed back to normal levels. My gaze moves to the book -the source of every strange happening in my life. Let’s not go back down that rabbithole. My hand reluctantly closes the cover as I back away from my table.

How in the world do I deal with this? My situation isn’t exactly believable.

There has to be a way for me to reach my gifter. Whatever is going on has definitely put me on edge. I think I need to rest before I can make any sort of sound decision.

***

Enough time passes without sleep that I start to think the only way past this problem is through.

I find myself once again staring down a seemingly innocuous journal.

Just start writing with intent, Nick, you can do it.

I struggle this time around to write about my thoughts, looking up every few seconds to see if anything’s changed. Maybe that’s not how this works.

Okay, maybe it’s like dreaming, you can’t force yourself to fall asleep or it’ll take you longer. Just relax and don’t overthink it. Let’s see…

I set the pen to paper once again. This time, I think of the vaudevillian magician that gave me these blackout inducing items. Who was he, why did he pick me in particular? It’s not like my life has taken me places that dazzle the senses. I haven’t had any wild and crazy weekends in college either, just kept my head down and did the work; in fact, has anything remarkable ever happened at all?

“Well of course it has.” Said a vaguely familiar voice. I snapped to attention. Sure enough, it was none other than the very man I was looking for. Dressed the same way as I remembered him.

“I trust you have questions?” The Magician wore a smile that was anything but sinister -moderately unsettling nonetheless, but not sinister.

“I-I uh, yes, um I do.” I take in my surroundings. The scenery was comfortable, but foreign. We sat across one another at a small table, right in the center of the room. It was a study, a small library of sorts. Each of the four walls adorned with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A variety of colorful books lined those shelves, packed end to end. As I absorbed the layout, I had to do a double-take. There was no door. Four walls, stuffed with books. No door. Natural lighting and a temperate atmosphere, but no door. Not even a window!

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Something the matter?” He asked me.

“What? Oh, sorry, I uh- I have several questions actually.” All of my gawking short circuited my brain to mouth connection.

“It would seem you only really have one real question burning in your chest,” He said “About the envelope.” his smile lessened a bit at that.

“Yes, I was wondering, what is it for? At first, I thought it’d be nice to pay a bill without paying for an extra stamp, but these things,” I gestured to the book and envelope with pen in hand, “aren’t normal are they? I mean, I’ve never been one to lose large chunks of time. Definitely not one to hear voices.

“Nick, I trust that you have heard it said, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?’ the less detailed I get about what has been given you, the better chance you have of making it work for you. I will, however, grant you this much: that envelope you have there, when you’re ready, write the name. There is no need for an address. Simply write the name and drop it in any postage slot.”

“Y-You’re serious?” I stammered.

“I no longer deal in half-truths. The whimsy of my work is sufficient enough to sate that craving.” The honest smile playing out again on his face.

“So that’s it, I write my letter and sign the name of the recipient?” I said. But my attendant did not answer me. He hid his teeth while retaining his jovial mystique. I look down at the envelope in my hands, the smooth, powder blue of it making me question how anyone could think it was special in any sort of way.

“Suppose I-” there was no need to continue. I cut myself short as I looked back up only to realize I was, once again, alone. Alone and returned to my home. To my table. To my sink full of yesterday’s dishes. My many questions were not answered, but he was right, I really only needed one of them answered.

I removed a few pieces of paper from my book to be the contents of my letter.

After what seemed like two hours (this time without blackouts) I sealed the envelope.

***

Three days pass.

The mail arrives. There’s a powder blue letter. No stamp, no return address, just the name “Little Nick” written in that unmistakable style.

The contents of this letter are from one heart full of love to another that still needs filling. Because of this, I have decided to keep the contents to myself.

Though, I think I ought to share this much with you:

“On the outside, that little envelope may not seem like anything special.

Nick, my bright ray of sunshine; what you see in that envelope is the same way you never thought yourself special. I want you to understand that just like this letter, your stories can parse the very fibers of time to touch someone. You will change a life. You will change the world. One story at a time.”

Ever since I read those words, I haven’t stopped writing. Each day I write a little more, here and there.

My story may be one sprinkled with magic, but until I started writing again, I was just like you. Maybe you don’t need a visit from a secret somebody to start putting pen to paper. That same awe-inspiring storytelling is in you somewhere, all you need to do is give yourself permission.

So please, never stop yourself from sharing your stories, your magic, with the world.

-Nick