Return To Sender

by Post Script

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Human, Sad
Length: 2963

A human is sent a mysterious Pinkie Pie doll, but soon discovers not all is as it seems.

Return To Sender is a short horror story about James Crossdale, a reclusive man who lives a lonely existence in an apartment block. He is sent a Pinkie Pie doll seemingly at random, but what is the doll's purpose, and what dark secrets will it unravel about his past?

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-02 09:25:42 UTC

Special Delivery

Return To Sender

I should never have opened you.

It all began one cold December morning. I had recently ordered a number of Christmas gifts for my family; a cheerful but slightly cheesy mug for my father, a set of elaborate candles for mother, and so on. However, all I received that day was a small red slip indicating that I had missed a parcel. My thoughts being elsewhere, I thought nothing of the strange description of the object that had been given.

“I left her in the rubbish skip, there was nowhere else.”

The skip struck me as a strange place to leave a missed package, but whatever. The whole place was covered in snow from the storm from a few days ago, the worst in recent memory. None of the other residents were in and it was ridiculously cold out, so putting it somewhere no thief would ever look made sense if the deliveryman just wanted to get out of there.

As I pushed the elevator button I saw Jarvis, the apartment Janitor taking a smoke break. He and I had been friends since he help save my parrot Grump from a small housefire back when I had just moved in. I waved, but he didn’t see me.

I had never liked the alley beside the apartment block; it smelled of stale fast food and urine, but today I smelt something else too, a ghastly stench I couldn't identify. I only wish the skip wasn't there.

I retrieved the parcel; it was small and light; probably the candles.As I walked up the stairs (I always walk the stairs when going back to my apartment, I need all the exercise I can get) I considered how strange the description of the object was. How did the deliveryman know it was a “Her?”

Even weirder, I could hear a laughter coming from the box. It didn't seem happy, but the sort of laughter you hear from the sad and the desperate.

Well, it's definitely not the candles then.

“Hey Dan, you got a parcel?”

Jarvis’ wrinkled old face was the kind of broad, sincere gesture of kindness you rarely see anymore.

“Yeah, I hope it’s the mug I’ve ordered, Amazon said it could take weeks otherwise.”

“You mind if I get a feel for it? You know how I am with these things.”

It sounds strange, but Jarvis is a superstitious soul, and I swear he can tell all sorts of things about an object just by holding it. He once guessed the number of jelly beans in a tin at a fairground to the exact number, and told me to get rid of radiator days before it electrocuted it’s next unlucky owner.

The second I handed him the parcel the smile dropped off his face, and I saw a fear in his eyes like no other. He managed only a few words before collapsing in a heap.

“Send it back.”

I did everything I could, but by the time the paramedics arrived he was already long gone.The police asked me a few questions, but they soon realized I was as clueless as they were. They later declared on television that they "were not treating the death as suspicious".

I didn't tell them about the parcel.

Jarvis... I can't believe it. He was my friend, and now I was left with this mysterious parcel and no idea what to do.

My head still reeling from the shock of Jarvis' sudden death, I took the parcel to my room and, talking a large knife from my dressing room cupboard, opened the box.

A… pink pony plush toy?

My Little Pandora

As I stared at the pony I felt a slight sense of unease. It was nothing to do with it's appearance, but rather a vague feeling that something just wasn't right about it. The main question on my mind was "what should I do with it?"

The answer, of course, was obvious, but I was hardly thinking rationally at that moment. My only friend in the entire apartment building was gone, and for yet some strange reason I was focusing on a plush toy.

Way to prioritse, James. Your best friend's dead and this thing is what you're bothered about. Some friend you were.

Grump, my African Grey parrot, had been unusually silent, regarding the toy with a solemn curiosity.

The toy itself had a shock of neon pink hair- which was fluffy like candy floss- and a joyful smile. It was easily the most endearing plush toy I had ever seen.I placed her near Grump's cage, and he took an immediete dislike to the pony. He had always been suspicious of new things and this was no exception.

“Grump, this is Pinkie. Talk to her, chew her, whatever you do don’t make her laugh, ok big guy?”

The humour was lost on the bird, who turned up his beak in disapproval.

I suppose it was the shock of it all that made me keep it, I could use the comfort after everything that had happened.

That would… should have been the end of it, but that night something strange happened.

I was lying awake, staring at the picture of Alice, my one true love from long ago, when I heard some strange noises coming from the box. The voice was saccharine sweet but adorable.

“Hey there, I’m Pinkie Pie! I just know we’re gonna be best friends.”

“Oh I don’t know about that Pinkie, I’m pretty sure you got the wrong address” I replied, smiling.

Deciding I was tired of knowing nothing about her, I decided to search the internet for information. Apparently she was a character from “My Little Pony”.

Huh, so that show’s still on the air? It looks a lot better than the stuff I saw my sister watch as a kid.

I watched a few episodes and then decided that, though it was good, Pinkie would make a better gift for someone else.

As I began to put her back in her box she started to laugh, her entire frame shaking violently as she did. The laughter started sweet, then gradually grew less and less pleasant, far worse than the laughter it had made before. Grump was horrified, screeching and squawking, and I was afraid the commotion would wake the neighbours. Desperate to end the madness, I threw the doll out of my open window. I watched as it plummeted into the same rubbish skip I had fished her out of before. I could still hear her screams as she fell.

Full circle, how ironic.

I thought it was over. I thought wrong.

Endings and Beginnings

I received a package the next morning. This time it was placed outside of my room, strange considering we were always told our parcels were left downstairs at the reception. A few seconds later there was a sudden jolt in my stomach as I realized the box was the same one that had contained her.

With fingers trembling I peeled back the box and saw her. It was as if she had been risen from the dead, but had come back wrong somehow.

Her once-soft mane had become flat and silken, her smile a grimace frozen to her face. Even her eyes seemed different. As ridiculous as it sounded, she looked unhinged. There was even some brownish-red substance clinging to her. She was a mess.

For no apparent reason I decided my first priority should be to wash her, to clean off the blood and to make her look less neglected. As I ran her under the tap she giggled

“Heehee, that tickles!”

It’s amazing what kind of fancy sensors they put into these things today, I thought.

Once I was done she looked a lot better, but the manic glint of madness would not leave her eyes.

James, what are you doing? You should throw her out, not clean her up!

At that moment the phone rang.

“Hello, is this James Westhouse? This is Michelle, Jarvis’ wife. I know you two were close and was wondering if you would come to his funeral? He always spoke fondly of you. It’s today at 3:00, a low key event.”

“Yes Mrs.Petersburg. Thank you, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and… this is such an odd request but… can you wear your bowling shirt? He made his Will very clear that he wanted his bowling buddies there wearing the team shirts.”

Classic Jarvis.

“Alright Mrs.Petersburg. Thank you, goodbye- oh, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

I can’t believe I almost forgot to mention that part.

I flopped on the couch, which was painful as the years had worn away at the seat so the stuffing no longer absorbed most of the shock. I carelessly placed Pinkie next to Grump’s cage. He hissed at the mere sight of her, and backed away when I brought her closer.

Deciding the best thing to do was to was put her where she couldn't cause any damage, I placed her in my cupboard.

... Where she can't do any damage? Am I going nuts?

Tears and Laughter

The funeral was short. I had never been to one before, but it was only an hour and felt thoroughly inappropriate. Reggae music played gently in the background and the other members of the “Bowling Stones” all looked as uncomfortable as I did. Sad as the situation was, this was not a day to wear a thin shirt, especially once the rain started.

“Mr.Crossdale? You’re Jarvis’ friend, right?”

The woman in front of me was one of those wonderful sorts that could be any age between fifty and eighty- some people aged with grace, but she had aged with style.

“I’m Scarlett, Jarvis’ sister. I don’t suppose he… ever…”

She looked like she was trying to find the right words.

“Jarvis had a gift. He could sense the properties of an object, like a type of psychic power I suppose. I don’t imagine he ever-?”

“Several times. To be honest Scarlett I thought it was all a parlor trick until recently. You see, he- just before he died-“

Now I was struggling with what to say. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued.

“I handed him a parcel, and he collapsed immediately afterwards. You don’t think I killed him, did you?”

A wave of differing emotions danced across her eyes. For a second it seemed as though I was going to get a slap, but then that blazing anger turned to sadness.

“No… no. I don’t think it was your fault Mr.Westhouse. I’ve been looking through his diaries, to learn more about how his powers worked and I think I’m starting to understand all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you a call when I know everything. Oh, and Mr. Crossdale?”

“Yes?”

“That parcel, if you still have it… don’t open it.”

When I got home everything was deadly silent. Opening my front door seemed to take an eternity, and when I did I instantly regretted doing so.

On the floor was Pinkie, standing in the middle of a pool of blood shaped into a heart,

and a handful of feathers.

“Gee, that was fun!” she squealed.

I had been feeling more stressed than ever up to this point, but it was this that made me snap. I didn't know whether the doll was evil, or even alive somehow, but I could taken no more. My anger needed a release, and I directed it all at the plush toy.

In my madness I grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard. She was just a doll, a bit of fluff and stuffing, but the act was cathartic regardless. I wanted her to suffer, like Jarvis had suffered, like Grump had suffered. I had no idea how she was responsible for their deaths, but she had brought nothing but ruin into my life.I threw her across the room, barely even noticing Grump’s body in the kitchen sink as I tore the damn doll to pieces. For some reason however, I felt the deepest sadness I had ever experienced as I laid into the thing, and realized I couldn’t destroy it.

Nor could I throw her away, I realized that now. She was a curse, and she would keep coming back. I decided that, perhaps if I could find the sender I could send her back. Maybe then the insanity would be over.

I found the support hotline for the doll and, after waiting for 45 minutes, received a response.

“Hello, Hasbro support hotline, how may I help you?”

“Hi, I’ve been sent a product of yours by accident and would like to return it.”

“What is the name of the product?”

“It just says “Pinkie Pie”. It’s a doll.”

“Oh, oh my God.”

“What?”

“I am so, so sorry.”

*click*

What the hell just happened?

I tried to redial the number, but the response sent a shiver down my spine.

“The number you have dialed has not been recognized.”

“You don’t remember, do you?” Pinkie said suddenly. Her voice sounded sad, completely unlike before. In fact, it wasn't her voice at all.

It was Alice's.

Best Friends Forever

Everything came to me at once. During the storm from a few days ago, Alice came over to collect her things. I had had far more to drink than ever before, and had worked myself into a frothing rage. She and I had an argument, and I had stabbed her with a kitchen knife, which I then concealed in my dresser. She fell out of the window into the skip, and the raging storm had muffled the sounds of the fight.

In an effort to sever all bonds to her I chucked away the gift I cherished the most, the plush toy she had made me for my Birthday. I had intended to give it to charity before, which is why it was sealed up.

When I looked at the missed delivery note from before I recognized my own handwriting. There had never been a delivery, my own subconscious had conspired to make me see the truth, and Jarvis had died of shock when his powers had shown him what I had done.

As for Grump, I must have killed him during the fight with Alice.

Reality and fantasy floated around my mind, and I could no longer tell them apart.

Was the doll a reminder of my sins, or a punishment for them? Did it possess any powers, or was it all in my head? As I stumbled woozily across my room I pondered the window.

“She’s not coming back, tee hee! Might as well join her...” said the doll, who I now knew for certain could never speak at all.

As I prepared to jump I considered that, if I had never opened the box, if I had done as Jarvis has said, I would never have been in this situation. Granted the authorities would have realized sooner or later, and I would have spent the rest of my life behind bars, but that nightmare seemed preferable to… this. In the end, as I fell I only had time to think a single sentence.

I should never have opened you.

The End

Alice

That night I used what little money I had to sleep in a hotel. I couldn’t sleep at a friend’s house, I would have to explain the situation and I didn’t feel like talking about anything, not even just a simple lie to stop them asking questions.

I couldn’t even look at my apartment anymore. Everything that mattered to me was being taken away by a mysterious force I didn’t understand. My phone went off in the middle of the night, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

“Mr. Westhouse, it’s Scarlett. I think I know what killed my brother.”

She explained to me that the doll was an Artifact, a “reminder from a deceased loved one” of something I was trying to forget,something important. I had no idea what any of it meant, but she said I should think it over, look through my old things to see if anything of significance turned up.

That night I returned to my apartment and turned it inside out looking for something, anything of value. I felt like a burglar, but I needed to get to the bottom of this.

One thing that surprised me was that there were boxes of things from my time with Alice. I was the organied sort but these had been meticulously sorted in a way that bordered on obsession. There was an entire box full of letters, and countless secret romantic little trinkets from our dates together. However, one letter was unopened, and appeared recent.

Dear James,

Do you remember when we met? You were the little boy that laughed when my ice cream cone toppled over, and I was the little girl that tied the shoelaces together on your sneakers before the big race so you’d finish last.

Who would have guessed we would end up where we were? I was so happy.

But I think we both know that it’s over. You changed after you were fired, you drank and drank and pushed everyone away, even me.

I loved the man you were, but that man is gone. I realize that now.

I’m coming for my things on Monday. I know you want to throw it all away but please keep Pinkie Pie.

With more regret than you may ever know,

Alice.

I turned towards the battered doll. I realized now that it wasn’t an official doll at all, but hand crafted. She had made it for me.

Then I remembered.