Page 40 of Only a Monster

Aaron surveyed the man’s watches and phones with clear disdain. ‘Hope you’re not going to spend it here,’ he said to Joan.

‘I’m going to the post office down the street,’ Joan said. ‘I saw the sign—it said they deliver to other times. I’m going to write myself a letter.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘To stop Nick, of course,’ Joan said. ‘To warn myself so I can save my family.’

Aaron barked a laugh, spontaneous and harsh.

‘Why is that funny?’ Joan demanded, even though Aaron hadn’t sounded amused, exactly. If anything, the laugh had sounded pained. She had an uneasy feeling suddenly—like the feeling she’d had when she’d taken time at the Pit.

‘Oh, it’s not funny at all.’ Aaron gestured for Joan to lead the way. ‘By all means, write a letter and save us all from heroes.’

The uneasy feeling increased as Joan went back out into the rain. Aaron followed her in silence. The post office wasn’t far, but by the time they got to it, water was falling from the eaves in sheets, spattering as it hit the ground.

‘Ooh, you two got caught in it,’ the woman at the post office said when Joan pushed open the door. She had a soft northern accent that reminded Joan of Nick. She was sorting what looked like wedding invitations, popping them into different drawers, labelled with fifty-year ranges: 1900–1949; 1950–1999; 2000–2049. She gestured: ‘Postcards over there,’ she said. ‘Lovely one of Steffi Graf winning Wimbledon this year.’

‘Could I send a letter, please?’ Joan said.

‘A letter?’ the woman said. ‘Isn’t that nice? Love a letter. More people should write letters.’ She gestured at a shelf with sheets of paper and envelopes.

Joan could feel Aaron’s eyes on her. The post office was set up like a little living room: there was a love seat and a low coffee table in a pink-painted alcove. Joan sat on the love seat, and, after a moment, Aaron’s weight settled beside her.

Joan breathed out. Dear Joan, she wrote. It felt strange to address herself.

She hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to write out the events of last night. Her hand shook as she told herself how the Olivers had arrived. How she’d sent a message to her family. How the Hunts had come to help her and how they’d died. She told herself about Nick. Aaron’s gaze on her felt like a physical presence as she wrote.

It was going to be okay, she thought to herself. After this letter was delivered, last night wouldn’t have happened. As soon as her past self got the letter, she’d prevent the massacre. She’d warn Gran and her family. They’d all stop Nick together.

‘Do you think I need to say anything else?’ she whispered to Aaron.

He hadn’t spoken since they’d left the market, but he’d been reading over Joan’s shoulder. Now he said heavily, ‘No.’

Joan signed her name. Then she took a deep breath and went back to the counter.

At what point would time reset itself? Would it be when she handed the letter to the woman at the counter? When it was delivered?

The woman took the letter and one of Joan’s strange monster bank notes and handed over some change: more notes and coins.

Now, Joan thought. She’d be back at home with Gran and everyone would be alive again now.

Outside, the rain continued to pelt down. Seconds ticked by. ‘Can I please send a copy to my gran as well?’ Joan said.

The woman showed her how to use the copier. Joan wrote down Gran’s address from last year and a date for last summer. The woman took back some of the coins.

Now, Joan thought. It was all going to be undone now.

The woman put both letters into the 2000–2049 drawer.

‘You’re sure this will be delivered at the right time?’ Joan said.

‘Guaranteed, or your money back,’ the woman said cheerfully.

Now. Now. Now.

Nothing. The clock on the wall ticked off the passage of time. Nothing changed.

‘Can I help you with anything else?’ the woman said.

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