5. Kennedy
Kennedy
As I finally left Dec’s house, I spotted a large yellow envelope tucked under my windscreen wiper. I rolled my eyes, instantly knowing who’d left it there.
Deirdre.
She lived directly across the street from my mom and Ethan’s place, and she was a grumpy, territorial, full-time Karen who had a habit of leaving aggressive notes on any car she didn’t recognize, as if she personally owned the curb.
Legally, anyone could park on the street, but she didn’t seem to care about the law. Only her personal feelings.
Last time she was annoyed with me, she left me a large envelope filled with grass clippings, dirt, and even a dried-up slug from all the gardening she’d done that day.
Enclosed with that was a note telling me that my ‘old eyesore’ car was unwelcome on ‘her street’, and next time she’d call a towing service to have it removed.
Wondering what lovely gift she’d left for me today, I plucked the envelope from the windshield and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
I planned to read it to Freya when I called her back later.
She’d been on the receiving end of Deirdre’s wrath before too, so she’d probably laugh her ass off when she heard this one.
When I got home, I grabbed the mail on my way in and added it to the envelope from the car, both tucked under one arm as I kicked the door shut behind me.
Inside, I tossed everything on the kitchen counter and finally called Freya back.
“Hey, sorry I took so long to call you! I’ve been helping Dec move all day,” I said when she picked up.
“Yeah, he told me. It’s all good,” she replied, voice light and breezy. “I just wanted to see if you’d read that contract from Konnekt yet.”
“Yup. I think you’re right. It looks pretty solid. But it would probably be a good idea to get a lawyer to look over it, right? Just to be safe.”
“Already done. My cousin’s boyfriend is a lawyer, remember?”
I let out a light laugh. “I keep forgetting how many connections you have.”
“Too many to keep up with, honestly. But yeah, he read it, and he said it looks good.”
“Cool. Oh, and speaking of reading things… Deirdre’s at it again.”
Freya groaned. “Oh god, what now? Did she leave another envelope full of lawn trimmings?”
“She’s definitely left something ,” I said, eyeing the sealed flap. “Wanna place bets? Snails? A hairball from her cat?”
“Five bucks says it’s moldy bread this time. She's feeling creative.”
I laughed and reached for the envelope. “I’m opening it now. My money’s on the hairball.”
“Oh, wait a sec!” Freya said hurriedly. “While we’re on the topic of crazy letters, there’s something I’ve been meaning to run by you.”
I dropped my hand, brows rising. “What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking… since the podcast’s doing so well, maybe we should start planning some extra episodes,” she said. “One of the first topics that came to mind is all the trolling that the Carver victims’ families have had to deal with. Yours included.”
My lips pressed into a thin line at the reminder. For years after the Carver murders, the families of the victims were hounded by crank calls and sick, taunting letters from assholes who thought it was funny to mess with grieving people.
For example, Silas Boone’s wife had received dozens of phone calls from someone claiming to be the Carver, describing in grotesque detail how they’d ‘sliced and diced’ her husband.
She’d collapsed the first time it happened.
Thought it was real. But when the calls were eventually traced, they led back to a group of high schoolers who thought it was just a hilarious prank.
My family wasn’t spared from the trolling either.
We got it for years. Calls in the middle of the night from blocked numbers, with someone breathing heavily on the line or whispering things like, ‘ I know where his bones are buried’.
We had to change our number to an unlisted one in the end. But even then, the letters didn’t stop.
They came in all forms. Some typed, some neatly handwritten, some scrawled in childlike lettering.
Most of them pretended to be the Carver, saying stuff like, ‘ Miss me?’ , ‘ I remember how your father screamed’ or ‘ I’m still watching’.
Some of them also tried to emulate him by including riddles or codes.
The police told us the same thing they told all the families: that this kind of harassment happened all the damn time with high-profile cases. That there were always going to be people out there who got their kicks from inserting themselves into tragedy. It was just a sad, shitty fact of life.
“I think it could be a good way to show how deeply the families were affected,” Freya said, her tone softer now. “Like, it wasn’t just the loss of their beloved family member. They also had to deal with strangers turning their grief into a game. That’s something most people never hear about.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I actually still get crazy Carver-related letters and postcards sometimes. And I’ve heard some of the other families get them too, along with crank calls.”
“Do you still have any of the letters?”
“Yeah, I keep them all in a drawer somewhere,” I said. “The cops said we should hold onto them just in case one of the trolls ever decided to escalate. Like, started threatening us, or whatever.”
“Oh, right.” Freya paused for a beat. “So… what do you think about dedicating an episode to that kind of harassment? Shine a light on the dark side of public obsession?”
I chewed on my bottom lip as I mulled it over. “I think it’s a good idea,” I finally said. “Like you said before, a lot of people don’t realize how far that stuff goes.”
“I really just want to know why these trolls do it. Like, what the hell is going through their heads when they decide to do something so shitty?” she replied. “They need serious therapy.”
I snorted. “No shit.”
“Actually, there’s another idea,” she said. “We could try to get a psychologist as a guest speaker for that episode. They can give their expert opinion about the psychology behind the behavior.”
“Do you happen to have a psychologist cousin?” I asked, arching a brow.
“Ha. Very funny.” Freya paused for a beat. “Ooh, I know. Are you still seeing that hot therapist from college? Could you ask him if he’s interested?”
“My free sessions ended, so no, I’m not seeing him anymore,” I said. “But…”
I trailed off, and Freya instantly pounced on the loaded silence. “But what ? Did something happen between you two?”
“No! Of course not,” I said indignantly. “But in my last session with him, he offered to meet up with me if I needed to talk. Outside the office.”
“Oh my god. He totally wants to smash your gash.”
I cringed. “Urgh, do you have to say it like that?”
“I’ll rephrase, Little Miss Prude,” she said, voice dripping with amusement. “The handsome therapist wants to gently peel your clothing off in a tasteful manner and make sweet, tender, emotionally-intelligent love to you.”
I snorted with laughter. “Somehow that’s even worse.”
“Could you ask him if he’ll be our guest speaker? Preferably for free?”
“I can try,” I said. “I’ll send him an email later.”
“Don’t email. Call. If he hears your voice, he’ll be more likely to say yes.”
“All right, all right. I’ll call him on Monday.” My gaze drifted toward the envelope on the counter. “Anyway, are you ready to hear Deirdre’s crazy letter now?”
“I’m salivating with excitement.”
I set the phone on the counter and switched the call to loudspeaker. Then I sliced open the side of the yellow envelope with a fingernail and fished out the folded letter from within. Tucked beneath it was a small, foil-wrapped package.
“There’s definitely something in here apart from the letter,” I said. “It’s wrapped in foil.”
“Ooh, maybe it’s weed instead of weeds.”
I laughed. “I seriously doubt Deirdre is growing weed in her garden, let alone handing out free samples to people who piss her off.”
“True.” Freya sighed. “Dried dog shit, I bet.”
My nose wrinkled. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell great, so you might be right.”
I unfolded the letter and quickly skimmed it. As I registered the words, my skin began to crawl. This wasn’t Deirdre.
Dear Kennedy,
It’s strange, isn’t it, how often we pass by the people meant to change us without ever realizing it?
I’ve watched you for so long from the quiet corners of your world, and I see everything.
The desk at the back of the library you think no one uses…
the lipstick you wipe off before you leave the house because you still don’t feel confident enough to wear it…
the way you always pause on your way home in front of Satchmo Café, pretending to check your phone but really just glancing inside to see if they’ve put out the cheap afternoon specials yet.
You didn’t notice me watching you in those moments. But you feel it now, don’t you? That tug in your ribs. That prickle on the back of your neck. That’s your instinct waking up. Your body telling you I’m near.
Soon, I’ll need something from you. You won’t want to give it to me, but we both know you won’t refuse me in the end.
For now, let’s play a game. If you can solve this little riddle, you’ll find something I’ve left for you in the woods outside Corwin Bay.
Where whispers crawl beneath the boughs,
A fallen god sleeps on moss and stone,
His secrets buried, but not alone.
Find the mark where the antlers meet,
Beneath the roots, your prize will greet.
—K
PS. I’ve enclosed a small gift for you. It won’t help you see me, but it might help you listen…
For a moment, I just stood there, staring down at the letter. My fingers had gone numb, and the air suddenly felt too thin.
I read it again, slower this time, and each word seemed to crawl off the page and wrap around my spine like icy tendrils. Whoever wrote this… they knew things about me. Things no one could know unless they’d really been watching me.
My gaze darted toward the window. Then toward the front door. I wasn’t alone. I could feel it. Just like the letter said.
“Kennedy?” Freya’s voice echoed down the line. “Hello? What does the note say?”
My lips parted, but no sound came out. With trembling hands, I set the letter down and reached for the foil-wrapped bundle.
I didn’t want to open it, but I had to.
The foil crackled as I peeled it apart. First one fold. Then the next. My stomach twisted before my eyes even landed on the contents, a dark part of me somehow already knowing what awaited.
Two severed human ears stared up at me.