A Package Marked “Do Not Open” Arrived In The Mail Today

My wife and I moved into our first house last month, and to celebrate, my mom decided to send us a care package. She’s always been the sentimental type so I was expecting it to be photos of family and stuff like that.<br><br>But when the doorbell rang this morning, I was expecting the cable guy, not the mailman. The cable guy was scheduled to come today and install the cable so I could play video games on the big TV. So when I opened the door and saw the mailman standing there, I felt an immediate pang of disappointment. But he just smiled when he saw me, took a package from his mailbag, and handed it to me.<br><br>It was a small package marked “do not open” in black permanent marker. On the return address there was a note that said “Call me when you get this” in familiar cursive.<br><br>“You must be the Smiths,” the mailman said as he handed me the package, his smile growing bigger. “I’m supposed to tell you hello from your mom. Nice lady, huh?”<br><br>I told him she was and slammed the door. Then I called her.<br><br>“Hey, baby boy! Did you get my package?”<br><br>“Yeah, I did,” I said, holding the phone with one hand and staring at the package with the other. “Why did the mail guy say hi to? Did you guys work something out?”<br><br>“Yes, sweetie,” she said. “Everything’s fine. So what did you think of the package?”<br><br>“It’s…fine,” I said. “The photos are nice. Thanks, mom.”<br><br>“Oh, I thought you’d like that,” she said. “You’re so sentimental, just like your father. Remember how much he loved stuff like that?”<br><br>I did. My father was a lot of things but sentimental wasn’t one of them. I wanted to remind her of that but I didn’t. I told her I missed her instead.<br><br>“I miss you too, dear,” she said. “I’m going to come visit you someday soon.”<br><br>“I’d like that.”<br><br>“You should call your sister now. She’s worried about you.”<br><br>I wanted to ask her what she meant but she hung up before I had a chance to. I decided to call my sister instead.<br><br>“Hey, stranger,” she said as soon as she picked up. “How are things over there?”<br><br>“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why did the mailman say what he said?”<br><br>“I have no idea,” she said. “Maybe mom paid him to. Sounds like her dumb luck, doesn’t it?”<br><br>I didn’t want to think so, but the possibility was definitely there. It was no secret that my mom hired a lot of stupid people when she was a manager at the grocery store. We had a whole list of examples to prove it.<br><br>“Did you get your package yet?” I asked.<br><br>“No, I haven’t,” she said. “But I’m kind of glad now. They look…like something you’d hang on the wall, huh?”<br><br>I looked down at the package. On the front of it, there was a picture of a girl hanging a framed picture on a wall. I turned it over and looked at the sealed side. Under the packing tape there was a series of photos as well, each depicting a different step of the process: unpacking the picture frame, unwrapping the plastic covering it, and hanging it on the wall for the final photo on the front.<br><br>It looked so easy.<br><br>“Yeah, something like that,” I said.<br><br>“Listen,” my sister said. “I’ve gotta go, okay? I’ll call you back in a few hours.”<br><br>“Alright,” I said. “Thanks, sis.”<br><br>We said our goodbyes, hung up, and I got back to the business at hand. After all, I wasn’t going to hang the picture of my own wedding by myself, was I?<br><br>The first step was no problem, and before I knew it, I had the whole package on the kitchen table in front of me. I picked up the picture of my wedding and studied it hard. Every detail was exactly right, from the color of the wedding dress to the color of the carpet the ceremony took place on.<br><br>It felt so real.<br><br>Next, I unwrapped the packing plastic from the picture frame. Underneath it, I felt something strange. It was wet and warm, like honey. I decided to skip this step and go straight for the final one.<br><br>I wasn’t going to hang the picture anywhere in particular. As long as it was on the wall, I’d be happy. But I wanted to make sure I got it right, so I looked at the pictures on the front of the package again. As I did, I felt a cold wind pass through my body, as if someone had blown across the back of my neck. And in that moment, I felt the goosebumps form.<br><br>But I didn’t look back. I didn’t look back. I stayed focused, determined to finish what I had started. I took the picture of my wedding, held it against the wall, and drove a nail into the drywall.<br><br>As I did, I felt a similar nail being driven into my head.<br><br>I moaned in pain, fell onto the floor, and looked back. The room was in shambles. All the furniture my wife had put away was torn apart. The carpet was stained with blood. And across the wall, there were photos of what had really happened: a picture of my dad, who died when I was a toddler, hanging a photo on the wall. A photo of my wife, who died in college because of a bad car accident, standing next to my dad as he died. A picture of the empty house that my mom had thought about moving into. A picture of the care package she sent us instead. And a picture of her crying, with the caption “I miss my kids” scribbled in red pen above it.<br><br>I took out my phone and called my sister.<br><br>“Hello?”<br><br>“Hi,” I said. “I wanted to see if you opened yours yet.”<br><br>“Actually,” she said. “I did. I ignored the warning and did it anyway. And now I kind of wish I hadn’t.”<br><br>“What did you find?”<br><br>“I was a stillborn baby.”<br><br>I was silent for a minute. “What?” I asked.<br><br>“I was a stillborn, and so were you. Do you remember?”<br><br>“Yes,” I said. “I do.”<br><br>I don’t know how long we talked after that. It felt like it went on for years, but in reality it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. I think it was a few hours. <br><br>I’m not really sure.<br><br>I do know that when we talked about our lives, our parents, and our homes, it felt like we were making it all up. The package we had received wasn’t a package at all. It was something else entirely. A gift. A reward. A punishment.<br><br>Or maybe it was none of those things. Maybe the package was just what it was, and nothing more.<br><br>In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it was. What matters is that we got it, and now we know the truth.<br><br>So if you ever get a package in the mail marked “Do Not Open,” ignore it. Take it to a field somewhere, light it on fire, and never think about it again. And if you ever get a package marked “Please Open Me,” do the same thing. And if you ever get a package with no writing at all, do the same thing.<br><br>Because in the end, it truly doesn’t matter what it says on the package. Whether you open it or not, the experience will be the same. You’ll see things that you can never unsee. You’ll realize things you can never un-realize. And you’ll never be able to go back.<br><br>That’s what happened to me when I opened my package. And that’s what will happen to you when you open yours.