Postman Pat Creepypasta
It is said that mail was not invented merely as a means of communication. It is said that the first postman, the one who invented mail and first offered its service to others, built in a loophole of some sort in the system, some kind of back door... This man, Pat, intended to become the Big Brother of the entire world. He was discovered and executed. This story is told around campfires by postmen everywhere. I don't know if it's actually true. It sounds kind of dumb to me. Last year, my school chamber choir took a trip to another state for a heritage festival, or more specifically for the affiliated musical competition. Actually, I'm not even sure if the musical competition actually was the festival, or if it was just related to it. In any case, it was a wonderful festival, with a fun performance—we did my favorite pieces—followed by delicious Indian cuisine and a moving video regarding the origins of certain corners of humanity.
We rode a boat to and from the festival; it was, after all, on an island. On the ride back, I stood at the back of the boat and looked out upon the ocean. The sun had already fallen far below the horizon, so no interesting sunset presented itself, but I was quite sated, finding the stars, the moon, and the miniature waves produced by the boat's motion more than sufficiently interesting. The frigid air tickled my nerves. I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my coat.
"Hey."
I turned around to see a young woman emerging from the doorway behind me. She looked a bit younger than me, bore a kindly face, and was dressed quite plainly. I turned my back. Clearly she must have been talking to someone else.
It occurred to me that we were the only two people on the exterior of the boat.
"Hi," I responded, without turning back around to face her. "How are you?"
She stepped beside me and leaned her back against the edge of the boat. "Alright, thanks. Yourself?"
"Alright, thanks," I responded similarly, fidgeting.
"What's your name?" she asked me. I paused my fidgeting and froze for a moment. People did not frequently ask me my name. In fact, people often did not instigate any aspect of a conversation with me.
So I told her my name, and she told me hers, and we remained there, looking out over the sea, for the remainder of the ride. We conversed extensively, delving into many philosophical topics, such as the meaning of life, friendship, and relativity, as well as many mundane topics, such as what we like to do on our spare time. I discovered that my new friend, no older than 13, had already written a book and was working on the second in the series. Her parents were not exactly rich, but they were apparently better off than mine. She loved singing, but was subjected to verbal bullying and unwarranted hatred at school for reasons related to it. We found that we shared many interests, but perhaps the strangest of our shared interests was that either one of us felt that the other was the first person to truly recognize the one.
We exchanged email addresses before parting ways. I didn't hear from her again for months. Long after I'd assumed our friendship to be forgotten and therefore void, I received an email from her.
"Hi [censored],
This is [censored], from [censored]. Sorry I haven't been able to e-mail you right away, but I was grounded for a really long time, and, to be perfectly honest, I was going through a lot."
Ecstatic, I replied immediately. Our conversation carried on for 52 messages over the course of several months, possibly more than a year. I discovered that my friend's parents gave away her pet, that she visited various popular websites, and that she had eccentric friends. I discovered her life.
One day, I found an interesting tool on the internet that would allow me to track people's IP addresses. I informed her of this tool. She never responded, nor did she respond to any message thereafter.
I tried applying it to her emails to test it, to see if it would produce a result indicating her home state. It did not. The IP address was entirely unexpected; it indicated that the user lived somewhere in Antarctica.
I tried applying the tool to various other emails I had received, mostly from colleges and teachers. They all produced the same result, that same anonymous IP address in Antarctica. Come to think of it, when I saw teachers in person, they never seemed to remember anything I had emailed them.
From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a blob of something move behind me. I realized that I had told my friend where I live.
Credited to Carousel Gizmologist
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