Mrs. Hapschatt pounded on the door with her foot impatiently. "Get up!" she screeched. "Hurry!"
Harry groaned and slowly got out of the crawlspace, heading to the kitchen. He did all of the household chores at the Hapschatt house... he felt more like a handyman there than anything else. He wasn't family... and he certainly didn't look it. Unlike the spoiled and fat Buddy, Harry was a normal sized boy with black, curly hair. The only thing he really liked about himself was the rather unique scar on his forehead.
Today was Buddy's Birthday. They always had special days for Buddy on his birthday, not to mention piles of presents each year. They never even celebrated Harry's birthday at all.
Harry wondered as he cooked breakfast what it must be like to have birthdays... he didn't remember his parents, and all that Mrs. Hapschatt had said was that they had died in a house fire... and he had gotten his scar from there. He supposed the red rays he often saw in his dreams was the fire.
Mr. Hapschatt came downstairs first, and barked at Harry. "get your hair cut. You look like a french poodle." This was his way of greeting Harry. He sat at the table and began to read the paper.
Buddy came down a minute later, and began to count all the presents on the table.
Harry began to lay out the food on the table.
"Get the mail" said Mr. Hapschatt as he munched on a piece of bacon.
"Make Buddy get it." said Harry sullenly, pouring coffee.
"Buddy... show Harry what we learned last night on that wrestling show." Mr. Hapschatt said idly, reaching for his coffee.
Buddy lumbered over to get Harry in a headhold, but Harry slipped away quickly to the door. He grabbed the mail from the box and looked it over. There was a postcard from Mr. Hapschatt's sister, who was vacationing in England, several bills... and a letter for Harry. He turned it over in his hands several times to get a good look at it. On the deep black envelope was bright red ink that read:
Mr. Harry Majors
The Crawlspace beneath the Living Room
Number 69 Privates Drive
Denton, USA 04711
The back of the envelope seemed to be sealed with a set of red lips. Harry returned to the kitchen, setting the mail in front of Mr. Hapschatt and moving to his seat.
"Gloria's doing well in England..." Said Mr. Hapschatt, reading the postcard.
"Dad! Harry's got a letter!" Buddy screamed in between opening a pair of boxing gloves and a football. Mr. Hapschatt spun his head in Harry's direction. Buddy had hopped up and gone to snatch the letter from his hands. "I want to read it!"
"Give it here!" demanded Mr. Hapschatt as he tore it from Harry's hands.
"I want to read it! It's addressed to me!" he protested, making a failed grab for the envelope.
Mr. Hapschatt's face went pale as he opened the letter and read it. He looked ominously to his wife, who was standing still as stone. "Out!" he said sharply to the boys. "Both of you!"
"I want to read it!" screamed Buddy
"I said OUT!" and he shoved them both out the door to the living room, shutting it closed.
They both wrestled to get at the keyhole, and in the end, Harry had just managed to squeeze in enough to hear.
"The sickos..." Mr. Hapschatt began. "Probably watching us now."
"Right now, Ralph? Do you really think so?" She held her robe closed and looked around fearfully.
"They know where he is... exactly where he is. They must be watching." the two looked to one another for some time.
Hours later, Buddy had been able to get back into the kitchen to finish opening his presents... all of which he had used to torture Harry in some form or another. He was just about to get ready to go to bed in his crawlspace when Mr. Hapschatt took him to the side. He was smiling, or trying to anyway... and it looked painful.
"Harry... Mrs. Hapschatt and I have been thinking that maybe it's time you had your own room."
"Who wrote to me?"
"It was a mistake. We've ripped it up. No more questions....just go!" and he pushed him as he headed to the TV.
It didn't take Harry long to move upstairs... but he would much rather be in the crawlspace with his letter, than here without it. Maybe they would write him again. But he would have to be sure that he could get the letter quick enough to be able to open and read it. He lay awake in bed, staring at the sky out of the window. He often watched the sky... it seemed somehow familiar to him. He rolled over and set his alarm. He would just have to get to the mail before Mr. Hapschatt did.
Harry woke to the sound of the alarm and quickly shut it off. He crept down the stairs carefully, gracefully avoiding the one step that creaked. Tip-toeing across the floor, he reached for the mail slot and heard a howl of pain as he stepped on something squishy.
He jumped back as Mr. Hapschatt got up, holding his crotch. "You little...." he began, gritting his teeth. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who had the idea of waiting for the mail... and it came just then. Mr. Hapschatt scooped it up and promptly tore up the letter for Harry, which he could just read the address on.
Mr. Harry Majors
The Tiniest Bedroom
Number 69 Privates Drive
Denton, USA 04711
How did they know he'd changed rooms? And why was he being denied a letter from people who actually seemed to care about him?
Harry wasn't in much of a mood to cook that morning, but he did... to the sound of Mr. Hapschatt chopping down the mailbox outside their door.
"No mailbox....no mail." he said tiumphantly as he set the axe to the side, coming in for coffee. "Simple as that."
Nonetheless, Mrs. Hapschatt occasionally glanced to her husband as she sipped her coffee through pursed lips. Harry sulked through his breakfast. It seemed logical enough that if they had no mailbox, they'd get no mail. He went to bed quietly, laying awake again for most of the night before falling into an uneasy sleep. At least soon he'd be at school, and he could be away from the Hapschatts.... if only for a few hours each day. That was something.
The next morning, Mr. Hapschatt was in a very good mood. "A very good day today. Does anyone know why?" he asked, surveying them all with a smile over breakfast.
"Memorial day?" Buddy asked.
"Exactly! And NO MAIL on Memorial Day, is there Harry?" he looked at Harry with a self-satisfied smirk.
Harry poked at his sausage and looked down. Whoever had written to him would be giving up, if they hadn't already.
Mr. Hapschatt whistled as he went to get the paper. There was an odd sort of rumbling noise. He shouted suddenly, arms waving as he ran back to the kitchen. "Both of you! Upstairs! Now!"
Harry bolted into the living room to see letters... thousand of them... shoving themselves through the doors, the crack in the window, the fireplace... any place they could slip through. He ran to grab one, and was tackled by Mr. Hapschatt and shoved toward the staircase.
"But they're MY letters!!!" Harry protested as he was dragged up by Mrs. Hapschatt... who had her job cut out for her, also dragging a screaming and kicking Buddy who was used to having his own way.
It was nearly an hour before Mr. Hapschatt came upstairs. "Get some things ready. We're leaving." His eye twitched as he spoke.
A half hour later, they were in the car. They drove for hours, Mr. Hapschatt occasionally making irrational and repeated changes of direction... muttering things about "shaking them off". Buddy stared fearfully from the back seat, convinced his father had gone insane. Harry didn't care one way or the other, he just wanted his letter.
After several hours of driving, they finally stopped in the parking lot for Denton Television. "Come on!" said Mr. Hapschatt irritably, grabbing a package from the back seat. "Inside!" He herded everyone into the doors of the studios, nodding to a few employees before entering an empty office. "We're staying here the night. We've got food...."
The food turned out to be two Farley Flavors frozen dinners, which they had to share among them.
"Heh. See if they can find you HERE, Harry." He grinned and took Mrs. Hapschatt to the next office over.
He was right of course... how would they think of looking for him here? They were deep in the television studio... and even if they did get mail, there was little or no chance of Harry having any way of getting to it. He sighed deeply and looked to the clock. He would be 11 years old in less than a minute.
30 seconds to go... twenty... ten... five... he thought of waking Buddy up... two... one...
VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! CRASH!
Harry bolted upright-someone was coming through the main doors.
