You close your eyes at 3:45 pm like every day…

Like every day at 3:45 pm you hear the whistle of the postman and feel his presence pass by you…

Unlike every single day curiosity gets the best of you and you peak a glance at him just for half a second before closing back your eyes…

The mailmen stops. His whistling cut short…. You can hear it…. You can feel it………….. is face… mere inch from yours just waiting for you to open your eyes…

His face… his twisted inhuman, but human face at the same time… his smile… cut all the way to his hears with the dark fresh bl^od on his teeth and lips… and his eyes abnormally wide fixing you… waiting for any sight of your eyes opening…