A Letter from the Past

Fiction

Photo by Andres Siimon on Unsplash

After consulting with a local architect and receiving a green light, Lars Hanley decided it was time to follow through with the renovation project his wife Monique had been talking about for years.

The first step: demolition.

Lars began to tear down the wall that separated the kitchen and living room on a Saturday morning. He gleefully smashed his sledgehammer through sheetrock and then studs, ripping parts of the mangled mess down with gloved hands and sending it flying with roundhouse kicks.

“Why have I been crunching numbers my whole life?” he asked Monique after he finally sat down to take a short break.  

“Because this is tough work,” Monique replied, wiping her brow. She had been hauling the sheetrock and old studs out to a rented dumpster in front of their home.

“Yeah…I imagine we’ll probably wake up a little sore tomorrow – if we wake up at all.” Lars chuckled at his own joke.

But something else had caught Monique’s attention.

“What is that?” she asked as she stood up and walked over to it. She knelt beside a yellowed piece of paper near a small heap of debris. Lars joined her.

Together, they unfolded the paper to reveal a letter. It read:

November the First, 1939

Friend,

You don’t know me. I have managed to amass a small wealth over the course of my life. Due to unforeseen life circumstances, I must leave at once. Stand before the cherry tree in the backyard and take six strides toward the homestead. Dig. There you will find your fortune – and your future.

Sincerely,

J. K.   

“Holy shit, Lars,” Monique gasped as she turned to face her husband. He was white as a ghost.

“I…I don’t even…” Lars stammered, but he could hardly get any words out.

“Lars!” Monique yelled as she pulled her husband to his feet. “Holy shit, Lars! Do you think this is real? Do you think it’s legit?”

Lars took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then looked at her. “I say we go get the shovels.”

“Yes!” Monique shouted, jumping up and down. Lars joined in with her and the two laughed hysterically at this bizarre discovery, this gift from the past.

The husband and wife scampered outside and ran to the shed in the back corner of their property. Metal shovels in hand, they practically floated toward the old stump in the center of their lawn.

“See, aren’t you glad I hadn’t removed it yet?” Lars asked as they stood before it. Monique punched him on the arm.

“So…six paces toward the house, is that what he said?” Monique asked.

“Six strides toward the homestead,” Lars corrected. Monique punched him again and they both laughed. “Since you found the note, you can have the honors.”

“No. It looked like a man’s handwriting. You should take the steps – your height’s probably closer to his.”

Lars contemplated her thought process, but only for a second. Her reasoning made sense. Before he took his six strides, he kissed her. “To our future.”

Monique smiled. “To our future.”

Lars stepped in front of the stump and turned to face the house. He took six normal strides and stopped. “It should be around here, I guess.”

Without another breath wasted, the two got to digging. They dug and dug, scooping out shovelful after shovelful of dirt. Luckily it wasn’t too rocky – nothing they couldn’t break apart with the pickaxe, which they also had to retrieve from the shed at one point.

Hours passed. Their hole must have been three or four feet deep, at least, and two or three feet wide. Mounds of sod and soil had accumulated around the hole.

“Well damn,” Monique said. “Hopefully this isn’t a total bust.” They were both filthy and covered in dirt and sweat.

“No,” Lars replied as he clambered out of the hole. He stared back at the cherry tree stump as if it held some deeper meaning, some missing clue they hadn’t picked up on. “We just have to be a little persistent. The guy – or whoever it was – wrote the letter for a reason.”

The sun was beginning to set.

“Have we really been out here all day?” Monique asked in astonishment. “Why don’t we give it a rest and come back to it tomorrow?”

Lars took off his gloves. “Sounds good to me.”

The next morning, Lars and Monique rolled out of bed aching and groaning. They felt like they had aged twenty years.

But after a quick, hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, they walked back outside to the cherry tree stump.

“I think we should dig back here,” Lars said, pointing a few feet closer to the stump. “I have a feeling my strides were too long.”

“And, not for nothing, but people were a bit shorter back then.”

“There’s a reason I married you,” Lars quipped.

After a quick recalculation, they started to dig again. Not two hours later – and two or three feet deep into the earth – Monique struck something solid.

They both stopped and looked at one another, mouths open.

“What was that?” Lars asked, his voice a breath above a whisper.

Monique thrust the blade of her shovel downward again. A dull thud.

Together, the two worked as machines, shoveling dirt faster and faster as seconds raced by. A piece of wood began to materialize. As they swept dirt aside, they realized it was the top of an old chest. It was strong, sturdy wood – cedar, perhaps.

Before long, they had an outline of the chest. It seemed like it had held up satisfactorily over the course of all those years – no real signs of decay. Now it was simply a matter of carving around the chest wide enough so they could break up the dirt and haul it out of the ground.

The more dirt they scooped out, the looser the chest became until Lars pulled one of the handles and it inched upward.

“Oh my gosh!” Monique said, voice dry and hoarse.

“Here, help me.” Lars motioned her over. Together, they both gripped the same handle and pulled. The chest slid up out of the ground slowly and steadily until it rested before them. It was plain and sturdy – nothing flashy or fancy about it.

Lars faced Monique. “Ready?” he asked. She nodded. Together, with some effort, they unlatched the chest and opened it.

To their dismay, it was empty – except for a small, wooden box.

Monique fell onto her backside in shock and then rested her forehead on her knees.

Lars felt an immense weight in the pit of his stomach as he picked up the box. When he opened it, there was another slip of paper – another note. Only two words were written.

Just kidding!

He felt sick to his stomach. He read the note again and then handed it to his wife. “That son of a bitch!” Lars yelled as he slammed the box into the chest.

Monique’s shoulders bounced up and down. It sounded like she was crying.

“Lars…” She pulled out the original note from her pocket and handed it over to him. “Look at his signature.”

“J.K.” It took him a second. “Oh, funny. I can’t believe this con artist. What a madman, what a lunatic – who would do such a thing?”

Lars kicked the chest and walked away cursing as Monique rolled onto her back, laughing – tears rolling down her dusty, dirty cheeks.

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Thanks so much for reading “A Note from the Past” — I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please let me know below, or consider sharing it with a friend.

Have a great week, everyone!

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