I let out a little scream, but I made a point not to touch it. I’m a bit of a germaphobe, and I certainly didn’t want to catch whatever had killed that thing. In my initial panic, I wasn’t yet to the point of wondering how the bird had wound up in the closed mailbox, but more just thinking of ways to get it out. In the end, I just rolled over the outside trashcan and used a stick to rake the poor bird’s body into it.

It was as I was picking through the mail to see if any of it was worth salvaging that I started thinking more about the mechanics of it all. It had to be some kind of dirty practical joke. There’s no way the bird flew in there, closed the door, and then died. The house was out in the country, so neighbors were few and none of them would have done it. My mother didn’t have any real enemies that I knew of, and neither did I. So that left random kids or some nut either delivering the mail or coming by the house on a whim. Either way, I was going to try and make sure nothing like that happened again.

I called the post office, and while I was initially slightly harsh and accusatory, they just kept being reasonable and apologetic, assuring me that when our mail carrier, who had been at it for over twenty years, had delivered the mail about nine that morning, there had been no bird in there.

I then called the police, but they just politely laughed it off. Said to call back if there were any further signs of “disturbance”. I couldn’t necessarily blame them, but I was still frustrated. I really did have to leave soon, and the discovery the day before had just made it easier. But I still loved my mother, and I didn’t want some demented kid, or adult, fucking with her after I was gone.

I debated telling her about the bird as I walked back up to the house, and in the end, I decided against it. It would only make her worry or give her ammunition to try and guilt me into staying longer. I would just keep watch for the next couple of days and see if anything weird popped up. The rest of that day was uneventful, and by the time I went to bed, I had half-forgotten about the bird already.

****

The next morning I couldn’t find my mother. I had searched her room, the bathroom, everywhere I could think. She clearly had gone somewhere, because her walker was gone too. After checking the house thoroughly, I went outside. That’s when I saw her lying next to the mailbox.