was a postal mailing envelope, no return address, addressed to me with a stamp of the province of La Pampa.
The letter piqued my curiosity because I knew no one in La Pampa. I tore the envelope top and extracted a grid sheet pulled carelessly back from a spiral notebook, written in a cursive disorderly school.
Top and center, a word unknown, at least it was for my text-headed. Following that word read:
"You should not pronounce this word. You can read it, but you should never say it. Just copy the letter seven times and send it by mail to seven destinations known. You must copy it by hand in cursive, and send copies within seven days from today. "
"There is no person who has uttered the word or has not sent back in time"
I had not received these strings. Once used to be more frequent. Never had answered and would not now, of course.
few moments I was trying to understand the full meaning of the last sentence. I gave up, pulled away the sheet and continue with the next post. Soon came
Rosa for cleaning. "Stay
Don Julio, which I do not mind.
"You always say that, but we know that bother, Rosa," I said sitting up with the newspaper open and without taking his eyes from reading. All this may throw, it's rubbish, "I said pointing to the pile of torn envelopes and mail advertising. Rosa
up the handwritten letter, read the word aloud and asked
- What do you mean? Rosa
I do not know but read what follows, you will see who has committed a grave error.
She continued reading aloud with some difficulty. The first sentence was enough to understand the joke.
"Look, if something happens to me I'm going to claim as a work accident huh? Said closing the charade. Both laughed and each went on with it.
Around midnight the phone rang. Attended Marcela, who was still up. Half asleep I heard someone refer to should be Rosa.
"From here he went to the same time as always. Yes, in the evening, around seven, yes. No, no not really told us anything. Well, anything keep me informed.
When he lay down, I gave the obvious details.
"It seems that Rosa did not return home. Are concerned. He called the eldest daughter.
"He will have gone from the fat fuck," I replied in the language of marriages that trust usually coarsen.
But the fat had not gone to fuck. We knew the next day. He left home that evening and the two blocks was hit by a bus. He died instantly. We returned the wake
at eleven. I warned at work that afternoon and would I stayed for lunch at home. I entered the studio to get some papers. I never find the papers that I always end up looking and reviewing the trash. Then, in a very open bun turned to see the letter from La Pampa.
picked it up carefully, the iron, palm on the desk and re-read slowly, pausing threatening in that last sentence: "There is no person who has uttered the word or has not sent the copies on time." Case acquainted with the death of Rosa, who had pronounced the word, and I must say that bothers me a bit. There was no way of knowing whether there was a connection and logic indicated that no, but ...
Right there I decided to send copies. Just in case, I chose seven recipients who did not endear me. Clothing seven copies handwritten and sent everything by mail, without sender.
The next week, concerns turned into panic. Day after day the news arrived of the death of one of the recipients. In total killed six: three suppliers of the business, a financier, the plumber, an aunt of my wife and her parrot. Only survived the neighbor of the fund, if any ignorant woman, who probably was shocked and forwarded copies fatal.
So it was that after ten days, all people who had pronounced the word or had not sent the copies were dead and buried while fulfilling the mandate of the letter.
Now I do not know what to do. I can not formalize a complaint because I have no evidence verifiable and because I feel guilty. And I can not trace back the origin of my letter in La Pampa. I can only
Share this story for others to be alert and looking for telltale elements. To do this, I will share with readers the missing data in the plot. Each will be responsible for your use of them. The word is
Orpekam , which is the real name of this story, failed to start with simple precautions. And maybe the story is fiction, but just in case, I have not checked.
The letter piqued my curiosity because I knew no one in La Pampa. I tore the envelope top and extracted a grid sheet pulled carelessly back from a spiral notebook, written in a cursive disorderly school.
Top and center, a word unknown, at least it was for my text-headed. Following that word read:
"You should not pronounce this word. You can read it, but you should never say it. Just copy the letter seven times and send it by mail to seven destinations known. You must copy it by hand in cursive, and send copies within seven days from today. "
"There is no person who has uttered the word or has not sent back in time"
I had not received these strings. Once used to be more frequent. Never had answered and would not now, of course.
few moments I was trying to understand the full meaning of the last sentence. I gave up, pulled away the sheet and continue with the next post. Soon came
Rosa for cleaning. "Stay
Don Julio, which I do not mind.
"You always say that, but we know that bother, Rosa," I said sitting up with the newspaper open and without taking his eyes from reading. All this may throw, it's rubbish, "I said pointing to the pile of torn envelopes and mail advertising. Rosa
up the handwritten letter, read the word aloud and asked
- What do you mean? Rosa
I do not know but read what follows, you will see who has committed a grave error.
She continued reading aloud with some difficulty. The first sentence was enough to understand the joke.
"Look, if something happens to me I'm going to claim as a work accident huh? Said closing the charade. Both laughed and each went on with it.
Around midnight the phone rang. Attended Marcela, who was still up. Half asleep I heard someone refer to should be Rosa.
"From here he went to the same time as always. Yes, in the evening, around seven, yes. No, no not really told us anything. Well, anything keep me informed.
When he lay down, I gave the obvious details.
"It seems that Rosa did not return home. Are concerned. He called the eldest daughter.
"He will have gone from the fat fuck," I replied in the language of marriages that trust usually coarsen.
But the fat had not gone to fuck. We knew the next day. He left home that evening and the two blocks was hit by a bus. He died instantly. We returned the wake
at eleven. I warned at work that afternoon and would I stayed for lunch at home. I entered the studio to get some papers. I never find the papers that I always end up looking and reviewing the trash. Then, in a very open bun turned to see the letter from La Pampa.
picked it up carefully, the iron, palm on the desk and re-read slowly, pausing threatening in that last sentence: "There is no person who has uttered the word or has not sent the copies on time." Case acquainted with the death of Rosa, who had pronounced the word, and I must say that bothers me a bit. There was no way of knowing whether there was a connection and logic indicated that no, but ...
Right there I decided to send copies. Just in case, I chose seven recipients who did not endear me. Clothing seven copies handwritten and sent everything by mail, without sender.
The next week, concerns turned into panic. Day after day the news arrived of the death of one of the recipients. In total killed six: three suppliers of the business, a financier, the plumber, an aunt of my wife and her parrot. Only survived the neighbor of the fund, if any ignorant woman, who probably was shocked and forwarded copies fatal.
So it was that after ten days, all people who had pronounced the word or had not sent the copies were dead and buried while fulfilling the mandate of the letter.
Now I do not know what to do. I can not formalize a complaint because I have no evidence verifiable and because I feel guilty. And I can not trace back the origin of my letter in La Pampa. I can only
Share this story for others to be alert and looking for telltale elements. To do this, I will share with readers the missing data in the plot. Each will be responsible for your use of them. The word is
Orpekam , which is the real name of this story, failed to start with simple precautions. And maybe the story is fiction, but just in case, I have not checked.
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