Category: postcards from…

Postcards from strange days

eskaftun
Image of impressionist painting
Dear Laurie,
The fires burned for so long that we prayed for rain. Flooding drowned other countries and states, but here in the west we burned. So despite having lived through the most depressing winter of punishing gray, drizzling and pouring precipitation that stole all color from the world and sapped our will to live, we collectively turned our faces to the heavens to beg for its return.
Did the heavens smile on us? It’s hard to say. The rain is … different from before. At least it’s not gray.
Best,
Lucy
Image of Mette Tronvoll's "Isortoq Unartog nr. 6"
Dear Alma & Stacy:
The locals have myths about spirits that inhabit the swimmin’ holes here, with specific gifts you’re supposed to bring them. Jimmy sought a beautiful sprite who, according to legend, would “make the world seem infinite.”
The sprite didn’t look like we’d imagined, and it regarded Jimmy with disdain. Maybe the candy he brought was the wrong kind. “I’ll grant your wish,” the being said with utter scorn.
Jimmy started shrinking rapidly. His tiny head dipped below the water, and I tried to scoop him out before he drowned, but he shrunk so fast that soon I couldn’t see him. If he’s alive, I’m sure the world seems a lot bigger to him now.
Regards,
Ellen
Image of the inside of a room in Bergen's Bryggen
Dear Claire,
We’ve seen the unimaginably bright flash of ignition, so I only have a few seconds to write you this pointless postcard, which will surely turn to dust even if the time machine’s flux field deflects the nuclear blast around us. So I’ll just say this: they found us. Even the past is not safe from the invaders, and running to it will only further disrupt history. Already I fear we’ve destroyed the Hanseatic League. Stay away from Mohenjo-daro!
Sincerely,
Dr. Brown
King Oscar Sardines label
Dear Darryl,
When I was a kid caught a magic fish. It wasn’t very big; it could only grant small wishes. I wished to be friends with it, and after that I caught it again and again, wishing for things like sandwiches and good weather and luck as a fisherman. As the years passed, technology let us catch millions of tiny fish, but I stopped seeing the magic one. I did, however, once release a magic dolphin from our nets. In return I asked him about my fishy friend. The dolphin said, well… he’s in one of these tins.
Will we know him if we eat him? I’ll keep trying until I find out.
Love,
Eli

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Postcards: Norsk critters

eskaftun
Image of a woman sitting on a pig.
Dear Per,
Once upon a time you said you had ridden a reindeer, and oh, was your mother mad at you! “You’re lying,” she screamed! And you were, I bet.
She’s gone mad. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Just get me a reindeer.” She started to search for one. “Why not ride that pig instead?” I asked her. And on she climbed! “Take my picture,” she said. “Send it to my useless son.” And so I did.
And then the pig took off! And she held on somehow, even without antlers to grab.
And she is gone, Per. Come home and help me find her.
Your neighbor
Image of a cat drawn by Theodor Kittelsen
Dear Paula:
First we heard its ominous footfalls. Remember how Snowball used to STOMP her little kitten feet? That, times 1,000. We knew we were going to die, eaten by a cat the size of a schoolbus. Even if it was friendly, it would still probably kill us, just playing. The cat puffed up its haunches, opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth… and said, “Pleased to meet you; have you got any food?”
We were shocked, but sis managed to produce our matpakkes, and thank god for the herring. The cat was so happy she floomped over purring, and even let us pet her enormous belly.
Always pack a lunch! good advice!
Love,
Nancy
Image of Trolltunga
Dear Turid:
There is a lot of debate, these days, about access to Norway’s “geological formations,” as these modern folks see them. Hordes travel to them, and it’s becoming unsafe. People need rescue. It’s expensive. Some are never seen again.
No longer do we need to make up a song and dance to lure humans to the altars. We just call it a “tourist attraction.” With thousands visiting per year, some are bound to be virgins, pure of heart and body and soul.
The gods have never been better fed.
With devotion,
A humble servant
Image of a boy playing fiddle to a disinterested cat
Deer human frend:
I m riting from total normal vacayshun to say hello. I saw many sites. Did fun things. Ate gud fud.
Met total normal kat hoo challenge me to Fiddal contest. You no I m best at Fiddal, so wun easy and definat lee did not trade boddys with kat. Kant wate to play Fiddal for you wen I get home. Lerned a new song that will make you loos mind.
luv yor human frend

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Postcards: Travel woes

eskaftun
Image of skeletons making love

Dear mom:
“Get a room” doesn’t begin to cover my roommates on this trip. They made out in churches, during hikes, on busses. They snuck behind statues and museum exhibits, and were constantly taking “bathroom breaks” together. And every night. I was only one bed over, but did that stop them?
We visited a temple that’s supposed to grant wishes. I didn’t believe it, and anyway what I said wasn’t exactly a wish. All I said (channeling your parenting!) was “If you keep doing that you’re going to get stuck that way.”
The doctors say there’s nothing they can do. Their mouths are stuck so they can’t eat (or even scream), but they do look happy, for now.
Love,
Sara
Image of swirly green northern lights over a fjord.
Dear Dani:
They lay in wait for eons. Silent, eerie, beautiful. Science said they were just some ionized something or other, harmless. But ancient people knew better. They knew they weren’t always silent. The noise is unbearable & alien, & though I do not know the language, the malice behind it is clear.
Nordlys observers in the mountains were the first to go. When it touched them they just dissolved. We saw it on their webcams.
It’s getting lower. Soon it will meet the sea and there will be no escape. Already I dare not fly home. You were right. Should have gone on a tropical vacation!
With regrets,
John
Image of an impressionist painting of a nude
Dear mom:
It started innocently: we took some LSD. Don’t pretend you never tried it; I’ve seen pics of you from the 70s. But maybe it was safer back then?
We had a great time! Everything turned surrealist, then impressionist. We finally understood the appeal of lava lamps and blacklight posters and “Revolution 9.”
When I woke and saw Ed he still looked all crazy. We thought we were still high, but the walls and the windows and the world outside were normal. It was only Ed—and my reflection—that remained psychedelic. You’ll see when we get home. Try not to have a flashback!
Your daughter
Image of crazy orange northern lights.
Dear crew:
I appreciate what you’ve done. You used my own vanity against me: I did think I deserved to be the first human to step foot on this new planet. A giant leap for me and who cares about the steps of mankind.
So I got what I wanted. Thanks!
I thought you’d be right behind me. I didn’t hear the hatch slam shut—sound travels differently here. But I saw it. I saw your faces through the portholes. And I saw the ion blast of the engines tear red wounds across the sky as you left.
Good joke. Very funny.
Come back any time now.
Your captain

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Postcards: Mostly monsters

eskaftun
Image of a rather flat & linear volcano
Dear… London?
We aren’t sure where to send this, actually.
We thought it was just another volcanic eruption. A mound rose and cracked open with fire. Point after point of fire, a ridge of it.
But then it got strange—the whole ridge reared up, shook, pushed itself up on giant fiery limbs. The points of flame now stretched vertically, a titanic spine.
We feared the creature would ravage our cities, but it strode right over Reykjavik and into the sea. It sniffed the air with a crackling black maw, and headed southeast into the ocean, water boiling behind it.
So beware, cities of Europe. The creature hungers for more than we could provide.
Love,
Iceland
Image of geometric rock formations
Dear Pokemonsters,
I see you everywhere. With your orange feet, your black tail feathers, your tiny, tiny wings, and beak full of silvery fish.
No one told me you’d be so hard to catch! I asked Mario, in his woollen hat. He shook his head and pointed this way, and all the furry Pac-Men he was herding only baaed at me the way they do.
So I kept walking, and I came to this final level. I’ve tried, but the rules keep changing! Tetris now? It seems I must climb to reach you in your sea-side rookeries. But the blocks won’t stop moving!
What do you mean I need a phone to play this game? What game?
Love,
Sybill
Image of waves rushing through an arch of rock
Dear Heidi,
There are trolls in the rocks, we were told. Take care not to anger them. But your husband scoffed when our guide said there was a spirit in the archway.
It was a beautiful day, but suddenly clouds blew in from nowhere. The sky darkened and the ocean roiled. The archway started to look like the maw of a beast, and the rocks above like squinty evil eyes. We all took a step back.
All but your husband.
I’ve never seen the ocean move the way it did. The tide rushed through the arch like it had been sucked. Your husband went through too, but we never did see him come out the other side. There was a small search effort, but once the locals learned he’d angered a troll the case was closed. You will never see him again. With condolences,
Roy
Postcard of Beit Shean, Roman amphitheater in Israel
Dear Morty:
I’m not sure when we are, because the gauge snapped off the time machine along with the reverse gear. Thankfully, we were in the past at the time. We’d wanted to see Jesus preach, but by the time we stopped it was all bird-headed men, and slaves were constructing the amphitheatre. Did you know the gods of ancient Egypt were real?
Real and really terrifying. We jammed the lever into fast-forward, heading home. When we stopped, the ancient city was a ruin. As it was in our time. But the parking lot was a ruin too. Our home was gone, and the college, and the only humans we saw were slaves again.
I think we overshot. Too bad about reverse gear, huh? Here’s hoping time is a circle!
Missing you,
Eli

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Postcards: Family & foes

eskaftun
Image of three burnt-out and snow-covered houses
Dear Ms. Goose,

The story you’ve been telling about us isn’t true. “House of straw?” How dumb do you think we are? We had three little houses. All made of brick and fully wolf-proof. The wolf loped off with his tail between his legs. We thought for many happy years that was the end of it.

But the wolf returned with a champion, a flying reptilian beast. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” the beast said. We didn’t believe her—her fiery breath took us by surprise. I barely got out in time. My brothers crisped like pan-fried bacon.

Moral? There isn’t one. Build your house of anything you like, it won’t save you from a dragon.

Love,

One Little Pig
Postcard of sculpture of St. Michael slaying the dragon at Nidaros cathedral
Dear Michael,

I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m a big fan of your work. I mean, really. You’re like the king of the angels! I was coming over to tell you so, and you got all aggressive with me. The swords! The holy rage! But I think now I see the problem. See, all of us serpent types have kind of a bad reputation, but it’s really a broad overgeneralization. I’m just a fancy snake.

Please don’t slay me.

Yours,
the “dragon”
Postcard of kjeragbolten, famous rock wedged between cliffs in Norway
Dear Bugs,

I need some advice. I have tried everything to catch this little pest, but boy is he fast—and lucky! He evades all my traps, no matter what I do. He’s led me from the desert all the way around the world. Seriously, there’s snow here!

Anyway, you seem like the same kind of lucky as this little bugger. So how can I catch him? Right now, I’m thinking that I can dislodge a boulder from some of these cliffs when he runs under. Seems like a pretty solid plan, right? Nothing could go wrong, right?

Your pal,
Wile E. Coyote
image of Cuban flag hanging in from of the capitol
Dear voters,
End the embargo, they said. What could go wrong, they said.
There is a remarkable resourcefulness to a little island country that’s been starved for years, forced to make due. Cubans make MacGyver look like a useless dilettante. We let them have access to the internet and new cars. Seemed so simple.
Now the Cuban flag hangs in Washington, DC. Tomorrow we learn how to roll cigars.
Regretfully,
Hillary
Image of an old man looking out a very snowbound window
Dear little brother,
Do you remember Bestefar? He loved us with all his icy heart, before he died.
It snowed last night and this morning I felt compelled to trudge through the knee-deep wonderland to visit him. The snow covered the tombstones, but I still knew where Bestefar’s was. I dug down. Instead of the familiar plaque my mittens brushed a pane of glass. A window.
And there he was, standing behind it. He slid it open, and the snow didn’t fall in, it fell down. The world was sideways, and I had to climb up to get through the opening.
We are waiting for you, and the next snowstorm.
Big sis

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Postcards: Northern perils

eskaftun
Postcard of strange rock formations on Norway's coast
Dear Claudia,

Day 10 of my surf Norway trip, and we came upon a coastline with strange rock formations. Theorizing that they were caused by intense tides, we got ready to shred some surf. The water was calm, but we waited. We paddled out and enjoyed the area’s placid, bewitching beauty.

One wave swelled in the middle of the bay.
An odd wave, pushed from below. “Whale!” I shouted, for I’d seen that before. This I had not.

The creature was longer than a whale, sinuous like a snake. It tore through our group and right up onto the shore, slicing through rocks like a hot knife through “smør” (as the locals say). When it had eaten its fill of us it disappeared back into the glassy water, never to be seen again. Only I survived, and only by luck.

I will be returning home soon. The ocean no longer seems inviting.

Sincerely,
Robert
Postcard of the Fram stuck in ice
Dear Huw,

I guess the mission was a success. Save the arctic, right? Sea ice, polar bears, all that good stuff. The tech was experimental but it had worked in test applications from Coast Guard icebreakers. Icespreaders, they now were.

Maybe it was something to do with the wooden hull of this old relic that caused the reaction to go all Ice-9 on us.

Polar bears love it. We hear them stalking around on the frozen expanse. Good stuff.

I hope the Coast Guard icespreaders can still break when they need to. Otherwise it will be a long winter.

Sincerely,
Roald
Postcard of a stone monkey holding its weiner
Dear Gillian,
You’ve seen my 3 brothers: they pose eternally, bewitched by the same sprite that cursed me. You see, one day they saw a bear chasing a monkey. My first brother gawked, enjoying the spectacle. The second couldn’t stop blabbering long enough to hear the monkey’s screams, while the third egged the bear on (the monkey owed him money). The bear ate the monkey, and the sprite wept (they’d had a thing). She blamed my brothers. All of us, really. See, I would’ve been there, and I would’ve helped, but … something distracted me. So now they don’t see, don’t speak, don’t hear. And I? Well, I got the best of the bewitching.
Sincerely,
A monkey whose relationship to evil shall remain undefined
Postcard with illustration of trolls in mountains
Dear Molly,

My family came over from Norway some 100 years ago. I don’t remember that. I live in the U.S., and the time before is only a story told so many times I now believe it.

So back I went to find my family. They weren’t what I expected. Norwegians on TV are always beautiful, sleek and smiling. These… weren’t. They laughed at me: “What has America done to you?” But what were they—or I—to do? Family is family. So we go over the hills to meet the rest. Or so they say. I can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss.

With mild trepidation,
Nils Anders Wik
Postcard of very high snowbanks with a road cut through
Dear Ginny,

This is the last known photo of the skiers. They’d lived in Norway all their lives, but even they could see that the snow was deeper than usual, piled sky-high along the sides of the road, turning the road itself into a mere pathway in an ant farm.

Have you ever seen what happens when you shake an ant farm?

The avalanche that buried the road was ruled a natural occurrence. But no one has ever satisfactorily explained what happened to the skiers’ bodies. Or what made those large prints in the snow—bigger than a man, bigger than a bear!

I will always wonder what sort of creature is toying with us insects.

Sincerely,
Susan

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Postcards: Wish you were now

eskaftun
image of an old car in Havana
My Dear Love,
Writing this is pointless, as you will never read it. If you had lived long enough to receive it, I’m sure I would have seen you already. The car stalled. I am marooned in what must be a dystopic future. This apparently once-great city is crumbling, as though this were not the future. The locals are familiar with automobiles of the sort the time machine is built into, but they cannot help me repair it. I will keep trying, but time being what it is I know that I have already failed. If I had not, surely my breakthrough—time travel works!—would have changed the world for the better. Surely, it could not have produced this world.
Yours in time,
Emmett
Postcard of bunks in Bergen's old bryggen
Dear Time Travel Tours,
I tried calling your toll-free number, but my cell phone just wouldn’t connect. I must have the wrong type of sim card. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I am not a happy camper. Sure, Bergen’s Bryggen is impressive this way, bustling with traders instead of troll figurines and moose underwear. But the accommodations leave much to be desired, and the tourist activities are tedious and repetitive. Back breaking, one might even say.
I know it may take you centuries to get this postcard, but when you do, please send for me right away.
Ready to go home,
A dissatisfied customer
Postcard of a stave church in fall
Dear Tom,
My time travel adventure is going very well. I’ve watched pyramids being built and Stonehenge assembled. Following the builders has been tricky—wouldn’t have managed it in the old DeLorean time machine, even with hover conversion, so thank you for souping this baby up.
The builders are about to move on from this site. I overheard one of them tell the locals they were heading to China to build some more of these churches, and maybe a big wall. At least I think that’s what they said. It was hard to hear over the whirring of their warp drive.
Sincerely,
Doc Brown

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Postcards from Cuba

eskaftun
Postcard of huge waves breaking at the Maricon
Dear Mr. Powers,

We’ve had high seas this week, obscuring the line between land and water along the Maricon to the point that, if not for the lamp posts I might have driven right into the ocean. The lamp posts, and the fearsome waves. And . . . something else. At first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing; the spray seemed to detach, as though animated. I came to believe they were ghosts. One of the spray-ghosts drifted to the roadway and enveloped a car, which then veered right off the road into the surf. The ghosts had gotten a taste for blood.

If this keeps up, the waterfront will become a ghost town—literally. I’ve read your books, and I feel you may know how to face this menace.

Yours truly,
a fan in need
Postcard of cigar rollers
Dear mom,

Today they took us on a “tour” of a cigar factory. They promised it would be fun, and educational, and we’d leave with a free, freshly-rolled cigar. But then we heard squealing tires as the bus pulled away, and a heavy slam as the door was bolted shut. We were told that we live here now. Fortunately I had bought this postcard in the giftshop on the way in. I’ve rolled it into the leaves, and I can only hope that whoever buys this cigar will notice the flawed texture before lighting it on fire, and furthermore that that kind soul bothers to pay for postage.

If you’re reading this, please send help.

Yours desperately,
Vicki
Image of a couple kissing in front of an idyllic blue sea
Darling,

I love you. This time apart has proven to me the lengths to which I’m willing to go to keep you in my life. It’s true that I came here on a dalliance. Nevermind what I told you about traveling for work; I had a lover. We spent a few days kissing and rolling on the white Caribbean sand. But I soon grew tired of her. When she “suggested” that we do away with you, it pulled at my heart strings. I told her that of course we would, and I embraced her as tightly as I ever had. And then I dashed her head against a low stone wall and pitched her into the waves.

Now nothing will keep me away from you.

Love,
Your Devoted Husband
Postcard of canons
Dear Senora Nunez,

You said I was crazy! But I always maintained that the minute you stop having canons ready, that’s when the hordes will invade. Just look what happened when the earthquake knocked down a section of the Great Wall of China: Mongols everywhere. So what if it’s been 200 years since we last saw the invaders? So what if most of the townspeople have moved away and there’s little left to defend?

Recently I announced that I was decommissioning the canons, and within a week the place was swarming with attackers. Good thing I’d lied.

Please come home. It’s safe now that our enemies have been defeated.

Yours,
Colonel Nunez
Postcard of a cyclist in front of a big Cuba sign
Dear children,

Has it happened where you are? I woke up the other day in black and white. Everything was in black and white, I thought: my house, my clothes, my bicycle. Out on the street it was the same. The old cars and the once-bright buildings were stark as an old photograph. The only thing still in color was the flag—everywhere a flag hangs, the red white and blue remain vibrant. Is it the same in America? Are you left with only the primary colors of patriotism?

If not, this month instead of money, please send some colors home.

Sincerely,
Your loving father

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Postcards from the Yucatan

eskaftun
Postcard of Chichen Itza
Dear Touristos,
I am watching you. I’ve looked over this vista for centuries, and you may think me immovable, inert. Today my children hawk wares under plastic tarps; masks and blankets and noise-makers mimicking primal screams. Hear the calls of the jaguar issuing from the jungle? You jump at first, then become inured.
The sun sets behind my pyramid, and when it does my children change. I watch you dawdle, imagining a young man’s heart pulled beating from his chest, blood wearing grooves down the many stairs. You think modern life dull in comparison. You thought the jaguar’s screams were false. But you were wrong.
When the sun sets, you will see.
Image of a cenote
Dear Mrs B.

Today we swam in a cenote, a type of sinkhole related to the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs, found only in the Yucatan. Amy didn’t want to go, afraid of the monsters that might lurk in those inky depths, but we convinced her.

I’m so sorry.

An enormous tentacle reached up and grabbed her before we knew what was happening, then disappeared with a splash and wave that nearly dashed us against the side. We tried to save her, but as deep as we dove, we saw no trace. Divers went in, but found no sign of Amy, the monster, or, weirdly, the bottom of the cenote. It’s a huge discovery for science, or so we say to console ourselves.

Best,
Emily
Trippy image of Chichen Itza
Dear Mom,

This postcard is the only proof I have.

I was there on December 21st 2012, and as the Baktun ended, the sky started to tear apart. Stone figures moved ominously. And my friends and I understood that the world was really going to end this time, unless those crazy old gods got what they wanted. And we’d read enough plaques at ancient sites to guess that what they wanted was blood. So we grabbed some stray dogs and ran to the top, and threw them off into the widening rift.

I swear the sky belched, and then things shuddered, and we found ourselves back on the ground. Apocalypse averted.

And you said I’d never accomplish anything.

Love,
your son

Postcards from the North

eskaftun
Postcard of Hell, Norway, with red sunset
Dear Yahweh,

I’ve been meaning to write for eternity. I’m well established now in my new home. Things get more interesting with each trainload of new residents. I confess I’m surprised by the variety of souls who end up here—musicians, dancers, & writers keep the place lively (why don’t you want them?). People seem basically good. Mostly they’re sorry for their mistakes.

How are things with you? Forgive me for saying it sounds awfully dull there, with only bible-thumpers around. If you get bored you can come visit me. I can barely remember what we used to fight about. Surely it no longer matters.

Say “hi” to the other angels for me,
Lucifer
Postcard of strange icebergs in Jokulsarlon
Dear Professor,

At first we thought it was just a rock. It glowed a little, but in the midnight sun no one noticed. The rock was odd, pointy & rough. So we studied it, & that’s when the suicides began. First Jones, who dug the thing out of the ice. He sliced his own throat. Then the doctor ODed. Then Caldwell. You don’t want to know. I know they’ll send you to investigate when we’re all gone, but don’t come! I have the thing now & I am finding my pistol hard to resist. I want to get rid of the rock, bu— All is well. This is funny joke, HA HA.

From your friend
Postcard of Holmenkollen ski jump outside Oslo
Dear Dominica,

I stand here apprehensive, looking up at the alien structure towering over this snowy land. Logic tells me to trust them. They’ve come all this way, after all, so their launcher must work. The human scientists assure me it will work. The math is like none they’ve seen before, but it’s solid. And of course my sense of wonder urges me onward. To go where no human has ventured before. But perhaps not boldly. Among other things—a whole planet full of things!—I’ll miss you. Thank you for all your support. I fear I won’t be back.

Yours,
Ambassador to the galaxy
Postcard of a skinny dipping woman and a moose
Dear Liz,

I’m worried about Dorothy. Ever since we got free of the Nome King she’s gone a little crazy. She keeps talking about these red shoes she used to have, & yelling for someone called Auntie Em. She thinks she’s from another world, and that in that world someone was trying to zap memories out of her with electricity, which I guess is some kind of magic. So lately I’ve been trying to keep an eye on her. Today I was looking after her as she bathed in a lake. When she saw me she screamed and tried to run and slipped under the water. She hasn’t come up yet.

So anyway, I’m worried.

Best,
The Gump

p.s. Why do women run from me? I’m a nice guy!
Postcard of zeppelin at a hangar in Svalbard
Dear Andy,

I shouldn’t be writing this. We’ve all been sworn to secrecy about the zeppelin assault; Hitler has ears everywhere. In this frozen wasteland, it’s easy to believe. You can hear a rock falling miles away. Or a gunshot. Our squad is down to a handful, barely enough to crew this beast. Worse, most of our munitions are “missing.” But I am determined to carry this bag of hydrogen onward to victory. The Nazis may delight in their unsinkable helium Hindenburg, but we’ll give them something spectacular. Even if it kills us.

Cheers,
Captain Kollen,
1st Zeppelin Div.
Svalbard

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