Undelivered

By Erin Lee and Olivia Marie

Going Postal isn't just for the carrier stuck in a snowbank or the mail lady freshly bitten by a nippy dog.

Going Postal is for the old woman dependent on medications in a rural town. It's for the single mom balancing three jobs. Or the alcoholic who can't drive for another year due to a suspended license.

Enter the small town of Rome, where mail delivery has never been something residents could count on. Since the pandemic, a shortage of workers, and a postmaster determined to go fully remote, things have gotten worse. As tensions rise, eviction notices go undelivered, and carriers refuse to answer phones, strange things begin to happen.

People begin to suspect that there's a whole lot more going on than a string of undelivered Christmas cards and gift certificates and begin pointing fingers. The town of Rome takes a sinister turn as residents and carriers alike go postal.

Blocked access, harsh weather conditions, flight delays, power outages, down power lines, stolen mail, lost packages, and unkept drives: 

Never trust the tracking. Because delivery updates? These days, they aren't so reliable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: May 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215842065

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

Going Postal isn’t just for the carrier stuck in a snowbank or the mail lady freshly bitten by a nippy dog.

Going Postal is for the old woman dependent on medications in a rural town. It’s for the single mom balancing three jobs. Or the alcoholic who can’t drive for another year due to a suspended license.

Enter the small town of Rome, where mail delivery has never been something residents could count on. Since the pandemic, a shortage of workers, and a postmaster determined to go fully remote, things have gotten worse. As tensions rise, eviction notices go undelivered, and carriers refuse to answer phones, strange things begin to happen.

People begin to suspect that there’s a whole lot more going on than a string of undelivered Christmas cards and gift certificates and begin pointing fingers. The town of Rome takes a sinister turn as residents and carriers alike go postal.

Blocked access, harsh weather conditions, flight delays, power outages, down power lines, stolen mail, lost packages, and unkept drives:

Never trust the tracking. Because delivery updates?

These days, they aren’t so reliable.

Dedication

Olivia—Good things come to those who wait...unless your mailman holds them hostage because getting out and walking to a mail bin is just too hard. For all the mail people who actually do your job, thank you.

Erin—For my mailman. Thanks for the inspiration.

CHAPTER ONE

Karen

Iwasn’t exactly fat anymore. Hell, for the first time in my adult life, even my BMI had dropped to normal. And it certainly wasn’t because I’d exercised in a gym or that I was dying. A regular exercise routine was for people who thrived on structure and had something I never would—discipline. When people asked me if I had leukemia or was otherwise sick due to the sudden, obvious weight loss, I rolled my eyes, humored them, and assured them I was fine. No one would believe me that I was 3000 percent convinced that there was one, and only one, reason for my weight loss. The reason was him: my lazy, good for nothing, slow as fuck mailman. Soon, the entire town of Rome would look anorexic.

For the fifth time in as many hours, I threw on a head lamp and began my decent down my windy, gravel driveway. Two football fields long and built on a hill at the base of Vermont’s most hiked mountain, I’d never looked into the cost of paving or leveling it. Not only did the twists and turns hidden under hanging maple limbs give off the impression that a hermit lived at the top of my drive, but I liked that the bumps and grooves from runoff and frost made my driveway less enticing as a public turn around. The first home on the very end of an equally twisty dead end, I’d spent years watching the Rome Elementary busses tear out the mouth of the driveway as they pushed toward the other end of the road.

Paying to pave a drive as long as mine would cost well over twenty grand and that just wasn’t going to happen. Still, the half dozen times a day I had to navigate the drive with a head lamp, grippy boots, and three sweatshirts, I was starting to wonder if it might be worth it to bite the bullet and call the asphalt guy—who, ironically lived at the very other end of Swine Drive. Maybe he’d cut me a deal, I mused, never forgetting my loyal Pitbull he’d hit and killed nearly a decade ago in a hurry to make a bid on another lumpy driveway. The fucker owed me. Rascal was a great dog.

Sucking in the crisp evening air, I looked to the inky black sky and promised myself I’d learn enough about astronomy to finally identify the stars I could see so clearly from every angle in my three-acre yard. Pissed off that it was already dark and not even six o’clock, the truth of my anger was that the lazy-assed postman had once again fucked the tracking up. Addicted to ordering shit from Amazon and trying to run a business from home, Christmases I’d learned three Christmas’s ago that ordering for the holidays had to begin well before the leaves fell from the trees and the sales turned on. It was just a cost to living out in the woods away from everyone. These days, I wasn’t sure the perks of rural living were exactly worth it but with nearly twenty years in Rome, I wasn’t about to let the mail guy run me out of town either. I’d leave when I was good and ready but not until my kids were settled. Life was hard and I knew exactly what the next generation had in front of them. I was determined that, should my three sons run into trouble, they still had a place to call home.

Hopping over what was always the most dangerous spot, I smiled as the solar motion detectors followed my footsteps and even got in front of me. Head lamp or not, there was never enough light in the yard after dark. Moving toward the far left edge of the drive, I reminded myself that while I didn’t expect the tracking to be right, there was the slight possibility my new office chair was waiting for me. Piglet pink, I had it on good faith that ordering the $300 gaming chair would be just what my 45-year-old bones and joints needed. For two years, I’d been running a marketing company from the kitchen table and spending ten plus hours a day in Aunt Jill’s hand-me-down wooden chairs. Darlene, who was like a real daughter to me, had told me a million times that my back issues weren’t in my head but instead in poor typing positioning. At this point, and lacking health insurance, I was willing to try anything.

It took the usual four minutes to maneuver down the driveway. From the three-foot plastic bin reserved for UPS I had a clear view of my mailbox. Waving my hands to trigger the light and using my head lamp the same way I’d done a million times, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream that the flag was still up. There was no possibility of the chair fitting in the bin, no sign that the lazy fuck had even bothered to pick up the mortgage payment from four days ago and due in three, and even the few inches of snow showed no signs of anyone using my driveway as a turnaround, let alone visiting me or doing there, well, goddammed job.

For the duration of the pandemic, I’d made excuses for the post man. And then the mail lady. The one after her and the two substitutes. For two years, I’d waited patiently, making excuses and trying to remember that most people weren’t even working – telling myself I should feel lucky and blessed if they even bothered to deliver to me once a week. But this was 2023 and vaccinated or not the entire world was done with the pandemic; including it’s novelties of slow work days, job vacancies, and more. Hell, we were heading into a recession and it made no sense why Rome could not find a single mail person interested in doing their job.

I didn’t need to bother going back to Amazon. There was no point. My orders list would still be marked ‘delivered.’ It was more hopeful than ‘lack of mailbox or drive access,’ ‘undeliverable,’ ‘dogs,’ or any of the other messages I’d received as an excuse as to why my Prime orders were running three and four weeks behind. Usually, it was a day or two after the account showed delivered that I could count on the mail guy gracing me with his half-assed presence. One of these days, I’d follow him and see if he did what I suspected: simply went home at lunch and dropped the remaining mail into a local pond. He sure as hell would not be the first. And I would know. In my empty home, the news was always on.  

CHAPTER TWO

Sadie

Ihad half a mind to go downtown myself and wait for the laziest person in Rome to show up for work. Order your stuff early and it will get there in time for the holidays, they’d promised. That worked for everyone but us.

In my rage, I forgot about the one piece of tree limb that stuck out from the corner of the driveway just before the second turn. I was so mad that nothing was there that I wasn’t watching where I was going. With the glow of the flashlight pointing wildly as I swung it side to side, my foot caught.

Thud

Shit.

Not only had I found the ground with the palms of my hands and knees, but the flashlight hit the frozen dirt with so much force, the light flickered and went off before I could see where it came to a stop. Even though I knew I was the only one out there, I still looked around to make sure nobody saw the least graceful person in Rome fall... again. When I was sure I was alone, I let my temper go. Cussing under my breath, I took off my gloves and tried to feel if I had cut my hands. They were sore, but I was sure that was all that happened to them, more bruising. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I tried to stand and ignore the pain that was shooting through my right kneecap.

If only you did your job like you’re paid to do. How hard could it be to put mail in a box? And why did the dumb light have to hit the one spot that isn’t covered in snow?

After looking around in the dark for the flashlight and coming up empty, I decided to leave it there for the night. I could go back in the morning and try to see where it rolled.

The package would probably show up the next day like usual, and I would make the trip back down the driveway more than once to check. I wouldn’t have cared so much, but among other things, I was waiting for a gift from my favorite aunt, Linda, and it said it was there. Against my better judgement, I’d checked the tracking for two days to make sure. I knew better, but she sent it to me from her hospital bed and she was waiting to see what I thought of her gift.

Tracking:

8:07am Package left distribution center

11:53am Package label was created. Awaiting currier pickup

8:06pm Package picked up by currier

2:17am Package arrived at destination facility

9:11am Package out for delivery Rome, Vt

That was two days ago already and still nothing. The first day I got the lovely message that it couldn’t be delivered because mailbox or driveway were inaccessible.

Bullshit.

I spent over five hours out there the day before cleaning the path for the loser who delivered our mail. There was no excuse for me to still be waiting.

Today, it was marked delivered but I was still package-less.

I knew what would happen. Linda would be calling me in less than an hour because she also tracked the package from her hospital bed. If only she told me what it was she sent, I could lie and tell her I loved it and then wait in peace for the thing to actually show up. But she didn’t and I was clueless. I would have to tell her it wasn’t there and then listen to the disappointment in her voice. She knew there was nothing I could do about it, but I also knew how sick she was.

This was her third round of cancer and the one that would take her. It was our last holiday together and she wanted it to be special. It was also why she was sending my gift to me at the end of October instead of closer to Christmas. It was also the first year in over five that we had gotten over a foot of snow before Halloween.

The rate my postman went, I still wasn’t sure if I would get it before I lost her.

Stumbling back to the house, I heard the sound of my phone before I opened the door. I didn’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Stomping my feet of on the worn out rug that laid by the front door, I tried to hurry while limping to the phone.

Hello, Aunt Linda, I said.

Hi, Honey. Did you get it?

She sounded hopeful and happy but I could hear how worn out she was.

No. I just walked down there and nothing.

But it says...

"I know. I’m sure it will be here tomorrow. He doesn’t usually keep our stuff hostage for more