The Peculiar Post
Short Story | 7 Minute Read
This story was written when I was tasked with writing a fairy tale for NYC Midnight. The prompt said that I needed to include a “postwoman,” but I do not remember the other two things I needed to include. I got mixed feedback on this one, so please make sure you let me know what you think of the story in the comments!
This is a 7 minute read.
THE PECULIAR POST
Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in the forest who loved his land and the animals who lived there, but was still incredibly lonely.
The man had never intended to live alone. He had been taught that to find a woman, he’d need to prove his worth – get land, build a home, and prove that he could provide. That is why he had set out on his own to do these things by chopping wood, building a log cabin, and tending to the earth surrounding it.
One day, he found a peculiar log shaped like the torso of a woman. He wedged the log into the earth to use it as a reminder of what he was building this new life for.
Whenever he grew weary from labor, he looked over to this ‘postwoman’ of his, and it helped make the work easier. At other times he’d walk over to her to ask her opinion on his progress. He made sure one window in his home looked out toward his postwoman who, by then, had wild grasses growing at her base that looked like a swaying dress in the wind.
After some time, an owl perched on top of the post at night. The first time the young man saw the owl under the light of the moon he was caught by surprise. When the owl turned her head, the man had thought his postwoman had come to life, like she was some nocturnal nymph who came to cure his loneliness under starlight.
He ran out to greet her and startled the owl into flight. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around the post and wept. That was when he knew he had fallen in love with his postwoman.
The man tried to go back to his routine. He woke before the sun to feed the animals on his land and walk the surrounding forest to ensure all was well. He carried corn in one pocket, carrots in another, and, because the season allowed, a pouch of fresh berries. He left trails of treats for the animals as he walked. The animals soon learned that his scent meant kindness, and, as a result, a fawn, a young rabbit, and the owl from the postwoman, became his daily companions.
The man wished it could be enough. “I know I shouldn’t be lonely when I have such a wildly wonderful group of friends like you, but I can‘t seem to help myself. I’d very much like to talk with someone who could return my love in kind.”
The rabbit, who loved the one who smelt of blackberries, hopped toward a tree she knew the great owl liked to perch in during the day, “Wise one, does the blackberry man not know we love him?”
The owl looked down on the gentle one with kindness, “Darling, your love is not the kind the man wants.”“Then why does he bring me blackberries?”
The owl laughed, “He gives out of pure love, not in payment. Doesn’t he deserve someone to give him love just as unconditionally?”The rabbit didn’t answer, because the man dropped a berry that she hopped to catch. The man crouched down to scratch behind her ear. She closed her eyes, tasting the sweet berry and feeling the man’s warm touch. She wished the love she felt for him was big enough to be what he deserved.
They walked on until the man stopped at the postwoman. He caressed the side of the post in a strange and gentle way. “I’ll see you in the moonlight again, my love.” He wiped another tear from his cheek, then turned to the animals surrounding him. He held the fawn’s head gently in his hands when he said, “Goodnight, my friends. Tonight, I’ll ask the witch for my impossible love.” He threw the remaining treats into the forest and turned to prepare his horse for the trip.
The fawn, the rabbit, and the owl chose not to chase after the scattered treats.
The fawn blinked her large black eyes to hold back tears. “He sees me like no other. I wish he could feel my love as I feel his.”
“Can the witch help?” the rabbit asked the owl, who found herself daydreaming about stolen glances under the moonlight.
“The witch can not be trusted.” She turned her head all the way around looking deep in the forest toward the cottage all living things knew to steer clear of. “He won’t go alone.” She flew to the post, perched atop it, and watched the man. It was then, as the owl worried for him and his safety, as he stole glances back toward her – seeing his postwoman coming to life in the dreamy dimming light of dusk – that the owl knew that she could love the man the way he deserved.The man arrived at the witch’s cottage at midnight. The trees and groundcover had crept back from all sides of the building and the surrounding woods were silent and desolate. This space was no friend to nature.
As the man approached the cottage door, he unwittingly brought life and love with him. The owl had flown above him for the entire trip, but she was not alone. The fawn and the rabbit had come along as well. They gathered to speak in whispers about their worries. The witch, hearing the sounds of animals long since absent on her land, swung her door open with a toothy grin and menacing glare. She said, “How may I assist you?” Her eyes scanned the surrounding forest landing on every living thing that had come within her reach.
The man turned, surprised to see his friends by the side of his horse. “Oh my dear friends, I didn’t fill my pockets tonight.” He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t prepared.
The witch grabbed his arm and said, “Silly man, they can’t understand you. Tell me why you are here.”
The man didn’t like the smell of the witch’s home, but he knew his particular dream required magic. “I’m sorry to disrupt you at such an hour, but I feared that courage might fail me in the light of the sun.”
The witch walked over to a table and pulled a chair out for the man. “You’re just in time, tell me your desire.” Her voice was thick and oily. The man couldn’t help but feel she already knew what he wanted.
“As you are a woman of magics and,” he looked around the cottage, “a woman of solitude, I hope that the strangeness of my tale will not surprise you, but I seek the companionship of a woman in the woods that fills my heart with joy, walks with me in my dreams and stands by me every day.”
“Nothing you have said thus far is strange, my boy.” The witch walked back and forth behind him, dragging her long fingers across his shoulders as she looked out her window.
He cleared his throat, thinking of his postwoman, wondering how to go on. “The woman I dream of began but a log in the woods that shared the shape of a bodice, but comes alive in the night like a nocturnal nymph to answer to my deepest desires. She steals my heart and mind away from seeking any other. The love I long for most is of the postwoman who turns her head toward me in the dark when the owl perches atop a log under the moon.” He could not hold back his tears. His love had grown even stronger than he had realized.
“Hmm,” the witch hummed with a tight-lipped smile, feeling the warmth of the life, love, and longing under her roof and right outside her door. She felt a longing of her own – for the power it all promised. “Everything has a price. You must be willing to pay for what you seek.”
The young man thought about how he made a home and tended to the land, to make a space a woman would love. However, he had been alone in the forest for so long since, he wondered what else the witch might be speaking of. “I am a man of small means. I don’t know what I can offer.”
“You have the animals, the earth, your home. Your connection to life is very valuable.”
The man’s skin prickled with something that was part fear and part anger. “Those things you speak of are not mine to give,” the man said.
“Those things are your only path to the love you seek. You either give them up and find your love, or you live with them, alone forever.”
The man stood abruptly. “Are you a trickster, Madam? I have come to you with my heart exposed, seeking genuine help, and you offer me riddles and selfish theft of life?”
The witch cackled. “Love is pain and sacrifice as much as it is warmth and companionship. You chose a nocturnal postwoman who has no will to choose you back. The price is set. You have until sunrise to spill the blood on the postwoman, or the wood will burn as an effigy of your weakness.”
Tears burned in the man’s eyes as he stormed to the door. “You ask too much.”
The witch muttered, “And you ask for love.”
The man pushed his horse harder than he ever had done before. He shouted into the night sky releasing fury and heartache he could no longer contain. He needed to get back to his postwoman to say goodbye. The owl, fawn, and the rabbit raced ahead of him.
The group met at the post as the night sky began to lighten. The owl perched on top, moving wildly chanting over and over again, “I give my blood for my love.”
The fawn came closer and saw that the owl had cut her wing on the post and was bleeding. The fawn then took a small bite out of her leg until she bled, and let the blood drip on the post as well, following the owl’s lead, “I give my blood for my love.” The rabbit bit her own ear. They all chanted together, but nothing happened until the owl hooted and changed the chant to, “We give our blood for our love.”
Then, just before the sun reached the horizon, the postwoman came into being, wood turning into flesh, grasses growing into cloth, eyes as black as the fawn’s, and, within, a heart as gentle and excited as the rabbit’s, and a wisdom as deep as the owl’s.
The horse panted and the man’s cries silenced as he approached his land, seeing the sun crest the horizon, shining a blazing light giving him one final glance at the familiar silhouette of his postwoman just as she turned her head to see him arrive. He ran to save what he thought was the owl perched atop the post, before the magic fire could take her whole. He felt gutted for his imminent loss, not knowing how he would mend his grief, or watch the effigy burn when, instead of flames, he saw the owl on the ground curled up with the fawn and the rabbit.
“No!” he cried, falling to his knees and missing the miracle standing beside him.
“What is this?” The beautiful woman knelt beside him, scratching him gently behind his ear to get his attention. His guilt danced with love and sorrow until she spoke.
“My love,” her hands then cradled his head as she looked deeply into his eyes. “They are only sleeping. We will see them in the night. The witch told you only about the magic that takes love. Love that is given freely has magic and power all its own.”
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When I was asked to write a fairy tale, I immediately thrust my imagination into the old fashioned fairy tales I grew up with. I think the judges were looking for a more modern twist, based on their feedback. What are your thoughts about this story?
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