If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.
My dearest Marilyn, Meeting you was the highlight of my life. That a humble musician could play his way into the heart of such a beautiful traveler as your! When I played for you it was as if the gods above channeled their divine harmonies through my unworthy fingers. It breaks my heart that you had to leave so soon. But I was cheered by your promise to come back for me once you prepare your home for our life together. I cannot wait. Yet I shall wait, until the sky crumbles if need be, for love such as yours. Until you return, I will play my vihuela. Yours eternally, DanielAttn: High Command
First Contact isn’t going well. We were prepared for the planet’s sapients to fear us. Since we can’t vocalize their speech or contort our digits into their non-verbal languages, we printed signs: “We come in peace,” etc. But we misjudged our relative sizes—although we’re huge compared to creatures like us on their planet, we’re not big enough to be seen as monsters. They see us as food. They captured all 8 members of the initial landing party and never even saw our (to them) tiny signs. What are your orders? Attempt peaceful contact again, or skip to the contingency plan?
Hopper Team Upsilon-Nine
If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.
Dear Tara, The puppies are growing up fast! Especially Bjørn; he’s MUCH bigger than his siblings and causes more mischief. I’m pleased at least one is thriving; I still don’t know what killed their poor mama. Today I let them out to romp in the fresh snow, and boy did Bjørn get into something messy! I’d be mad if his self-satisfied smile wasn’t so stinking cute. I was so busy cleaning him up I barely noticed that the other puppies weren’t underfoot. They never came home! Tomorrow I’ll look for them, but for now at least I have my Bjørn to cuddle with. He’s a little bitey, but we’re working on it. Love, Ellie Dear Sophia,
We were fighting in the car, as usual, when he pulled over for this hitchhiker that looked like a time traveler from an old-timey pinup magazine. Leans right over me, asks where she’s going. Ogles her legs. “Get in the back,” he tells me. He had that look on his face, that wild look, so I did.
Not two miles later he reached over and grabbed her thigh. Instantly he screamed and writhed in agony. The woman parked our car and then she … opened … like a hole in the universe. She ate him whole. And then she was a woman again, winking at me as she left.
It’s been a few days now. The shock is fading and I still don’t miss him. Thanks, hitchhiking monster lady!
Dear Marta, The ones who emerged looked enough like those who’d gone down that when they walked up out of the mine, grieving women fell into their arms. “Incredible that you’ve survived so long since the collapse!” they said, and didn’t ask how. It was only later that the oddness became apparent. How they stood a shade too upright. Spoke too precisely. Never seemed to blink. Their children were grown by then. The ones whose weird eyes didn’t blink quite enough. They’re in control now. Mayor, city council, all of it. It’s fair enough, we suppose. They’ve never said so, but it’s clear they’ve been in this land far longer than we have. Best, LisbetDear Earthlings, The transmission will reach you in several thousand “years,” as it must travel at the speed of light. Assuming my people aim correctly, this beam will traverse a straight line across the universe until it lands in the middle of your receiving ring, forming the connection that will allow us to visit your delicious planet. This message contains the instructions for constructing the ring. Make sure to build it to spec, because we very much look forward to m/eating you. Your devouringted friends, The “Aliens”
Exciting postcard news: I have a patreon for these now! That is where you can see every postcard story that I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all. If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.
Dear Liam, For one moment, I knew the meaning of life. I learned it in a crypt. I went as a tourist: go see the ancient bones, weird art made by monks in god’s name. But then the lights went out. Sort of. I could still see. But the other tourists were gone, along with everything modern. It was the kind of quiet that’s loud, the only sound the creak of a skeleton turning his skull to me. He told me the secret that only bones can know. I carry it inside me now, deep inside, but I’ll only know it again once my flesh rots away. Isn’t that oddly comforting? Yours eternally, ColeDear Elizabeth, Evolution is fascinating! Prize stags’ racks get smaller. Elephants are born without tusks. Same with unicorns. Today, at the Queen’s Bestiary, we met the oldest living unicorn. 700 years old and horn at least 4 feet long! The younger ones, captured in the last few centuries, just have dainty twee little horns. Today we learned—fun fact—unicorns simply refuse to breed in captivity. Yet they live forever. Poor things. One wonders what would happen if they mated in the wild. Over generations, would their horns grow long again? Or are those genes lost for good? Wouldn’t it be interesting if a visitor left a pen unlatched, and some horny unicorns escaped into the nearby horse pastures? For science? —A Scientist
Dear Nikki, I really like my new job at the volcano. My coworkers seemed cold at first, but they warmed up after that busload of kids went into the cauldron. It was like something from a cartoon: a sign pointed straight off the rim instead of to the parking lot. Every year, it seems, there’s a bonkers accident and people fall in. Awful, right? Still, I can’t shake the feeling that locals are relieved it happened. Like they were edgy before and now they’re more relaxed. Anyway, hope you can visit next year. Bring the kids! We’re planning an amazing, up-close tour. Love, Tobey
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Dear Allison, The giant seabirds of the Arctic are truly phenomenal. Early in our study, we woke to a thump that shook the whole boat. When we got on deck, instead of an eagle or an albatross, or even a walrus, we found a stunned, nearly naked man. He wouldn’t tell us how he came to be on our boat; he just demanded fish (we gave him a can of tuna) and hit on Bella for a while. Then he said “ciao” and leaped off the stern. We all gasped, thinking of the icy water below. But feathers sprouted from the man’s arms and torso and he soared, disappearing into the white of the sky. That’s just one of the magnificent new species we’ve catalogued. Wish you were here! Dr. Pauline Frost, OrnithologistDear Hattie, We followed a new Sphinx legend to a northern land—found it, but it’s quite mad. It grinned with this manic set of un-catlike teeth. It asked Pete to solve a riddle, but we weren’t clear on the stakes—this Sphinx wasn’t guarding anything, and we weren’t questing. The riddle was nonsense, stuff about slithy toves and manxome foes, so of course Pete got it “wrong.” Can there even be a right answer to utter rubbish? The Sphinx bared her human again, and took her prize—Pete’s right hand. She rubbed it greedily against her left paw, muttering “14 more suckers to go.” On the plus side, Pete has a cat’s paw now and it’s pretty darn cute. See you soon! Alice
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
As surfers, we recognized the ice for what it was right away: a frozen wave. Deep within, two shapes resolved. One looked like a fur-clad man, tumbling. The other was a fearsome shape, giant and toothy, the largest shark we’d ever seen. I rubbed my eyes to clear the hallucination. The ice played tricks, we’d been told.
But Chad, transfixed, put his bare hand to the ice wall… and stuck. I laughed, at first: “Why not lick it, like a flagpole?” But before the heat of his hand could melt him free, the ice reeled him in. His hand disappeared into the wave, then his arm, and then his screaming face. The ice took him.
Inside that wave, the two figures of my hallucination remained. Only now the massive shark was nearer its prey. And the prey wore Chad’s red hiking jacket.
Love, Your favorite surfer (at least now!)Dear Al,
The rapture came, I think. It wasn’t what we thought. We all ascended—I was shocked! As we rose, we… changed, and not into angels. No halos, no wings, except this one chick who turned into a penguin. Another guy pudged out into this, like, turquoise teddy bear? Several resembled sea creatures. Me? My head became a dang jester hat. Yeah, worst of all of them. When the wind shifted, we fell back to earth. Now I’m all deflated and stuck out here. Is this hell? IDK. Anyway, if you’re still ambulatory please come help.
Love, Joe
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Dear Council,
I’m writing about the recently installed Leprechaun Crossing. Yes, it has reduced the number of wee corpses local residents have to scrape off the tarmac, but it comes at a cost. The water’s gone green in the houses within 500 meters of the crossing. Food goes moldy in the refrigerators. Garden gnomes are found in compromising positions. And there’s been a sharp uptick in green turds. From time to time a golden coin is found, perhaps left in recompense for this mischief. But when we take those coins to the pub they turn to dust.
Please consider moving the Leprechaun Crossing to a less populated area.
Sincerely,
Mrs. MurphyDear Bernadette,
This has gone too far. I humored you saying you were a wizard and your school letter was coming. I took you to the theme park and paid for a plastic wand you pretended was made of unicorn hair and gnome toenails (or whatever), but I thought you understood you weren’t taking any magic train to school—just the same orange bus. You waved your plastic wand at me and said some fake-Latin gibberish, and I was rolling my eyes when my whole head rolled backward and I saw my own feathery(!) butt.
You turned me into an owl? Not cool. Put me back.
Yours,
Dad
p.s. You are SO not going to magic school.To Whom It May Concern:
I wonder if you’ve found a person I lost. It’s been a while. A few decades, perhaps. In my defense, I thought the person would find her own way home. I didn’t account for the short in the compass in her left breast. How could I have predicted she’d attempt to feed a lost baby person? That wasn’t in her programming.
Please respond quickly, and I don’t want to hear you only keep found persons for 90 days or somesuch, nor do I care to quibble about the personhood of robots. I do not expect to be judged about the length of time elapsed. Not all experiments succeed and let’s just say that time travel devices short out easier than boob compasses.
Best,
Mr. William MeierDear Eldritch Horror of the Deep,
They used to say the earth had seven seas, all of them our domain. But they are all connected so why haven’t I found you in my millennium of searching? Alas, I must resort to the old way, using part of my precious one day on land to dry my hands, write these words to you, and stuff them into a bottle to toss into the waves. When waves return. It is peaceful now, the sky awash in blood. What a day! I only wish they were yours, these thousand pulsating eggs I’ve lain upon this unsuspecting shore.
With ineffable madness,
Your Eternal Monster Queen
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Dear kids,
It’s so cliché to go out for groceries and…
So I’m walking to the store and I kick a Pepsi can, and it goes “Hey!” I pick it up and this genie puffs out and says “Thanks, bro. You get one wish.” One? Cheap-ass genie. But okay. So I wish for riches, jewels & stuff. The genie fucks off, and I trash the Pepsi can and go shopping. I pick up some cereal; it turns to jewels. Ice cream; jewels. Oh, shit, I think. I heard about this Midas shit before. I go back to the trash & look inside all the empties until people point and stare. No luck, except all the freaking trash turns to priceless bejeweled artifacts. So…
Hug your ma and stay human. I’ll miss you!
Love,
DaddyDear Tina,
You’ll be the most popular woman in Dublin, they said. Never really wanted that, but they also said my wee ones’d never want again. So I let them dress me in up in giant fluffy sleeves that are forever in the way yet fail to cover the twins? Really?
Statuification starts at the feet, so when the bloody sleeve falls down again my hands have already brassified. I can only glare, and of course then my face sticks like “Really?” And the worst part: while my own children and theirs knew who I was, these newer ones don’t—so their grubby fingers polish the very tits that fed their ancestors. Really?
With eternal irritation,
MollyDear Jody,
My mild-mannered alter-ego was on vacation when a giant started attacking London. Stomping through the Thames, kicking bridges, climbing Big Ben like King Kong. Really boring stuff, honestly. Still, a job’s a job.
I couldn’t believe my luck, finding a whole row of phone booths in this age of mobile phones. But while I was changing into my superhero costume, the giant decided to play dominos, and I found myself in a tipped-over phone booth with the door stuck shut! No problem, right? I should be able to burst out of here easy using my super strength.
Well, it didn’t work, okay? Send help.
A not-so-super hero
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
Dear Janka,
Multi-headed dinosaurs, titanic snails, plodding yet hungry cave bears, and giant humanoids used to maraud into our village, stomping homes and eating whoever they came across. No one knew where they were coming from, until one day a group of us stumbled upon a rock face and saw the monsters in the rocks going about their slow lives. As we watched, a hungry head on a long neck emerged from the wall and swallowed up George in one crunchy bite.
Now we send animals out toward the rock face to graze. Some return, and some do not, but the attacks have stopped. It’s a good trade.
Visit soon! It’s safe now!
PaulaDear one,
I’ve returned home, to Narnia, to our little burrow, at your request. I hope you’re enjoying the rest of the vacation we saved and scrimped for all our lives. It does not bother me that you sent me home so early. After all, you did tell me to check one last time that I hadn’t left the gas on. “I’ll worry the whole trip,” you said, and I laughed at your silliness and hurried you into the cab to the airport.
What bothers me is that you were right to worry. Stay in Austria. Of our burrow, only ashes remain.
Love,
Your loving husbandDear Klaus,
I’m writing in regards to our community’s alphorn blower: please send a new one. I’m aware this is the 7th such request we’ve made in two years, but it’s not our fault that two of the fellows you sent were drunks, another took a nasty tumble getting up to his station, one fell ill, one rushed off to care for an ailing relative, and the last simply abandoned his post. There is no truth to the rumor that we have a yeti problem around here. But send a replacement post-haste, because only music can calm the
Viele Grüße,
EmilDear Vicki,
Hiking in the Alps, I come across a fox, a pheasant, and a deer smoking from a glass pipe. Naturally, I joined them. The smoke was strong, and soon the clearing spun. I woke some time later with an itch in my wings, flapped them, and with horror realized they would no longer bear my weight. For I had clear memories of flight. And of digging deep into burrows my antlers would now prevent me from entering. And what would the owners of the hostel think of me? I wondered. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. Fortunately, though my woodland companions were nowhere in sight, the pipe remained.
Peace!
Want your very own postcard story? You can buy one here. Wondering WTF this is? Start here.
