“There really was a box on your porch this morning. I swear it.” Donna was getting choked up and nasally. I find that annoying, but what can you do? We’ve been neighbors over fifteen years. I’ve watched her boys grow up. She’s watched me blow bubbles and love on my garden and puppies. But the one thing we’ve always done is watching out for packages for each other and she fell down on the job. Not that I’m angry, which actually I am but can’t let her know because then the running nose and crying starts. I just got off work and I’m too tired for Donna’s dramatics. She called to let me know she was running out to the post office and saw that there was a box on my porch, she’d pick it when she got home. I thanked her and said I’d see her when I finally got out of work and through all the road construction coming home. So here I am. No box on my porch or at Donna’s though.

And I know what was in that box. Damn, of all the times to lose track of a package. I should have just driven home when she called or, explained that the box was important, couldn’t she get it before she left for the post office? That’s not my style though. Never has been. I don’t have a picky or nasty bone in my body; at least that’s what people tell me. I of course feel like ripping out all of her hair and choking her with it. I just smile and pat her arm and tell her that of course it’s okay, of course it’s insured, of course I can track it and of course she shouldn’t worry or be upset.

Not as if any of that is true mind you. That box held some rare books that I had obtained illegally. I have no idea how to find out where they went. And I used them as collateral for a very rare book that I need to have. The rarest of rare books. The book that will make me rich and famous. Especially now that books them are becoming so rare. Everyone gets information from the Internet; no one actually reads books anymore, except for the writers. The dreamers. The “Old Ones” they call us. Doesn’t matter our ages. If you have a real book in your possession, you are an “Old One”. The government is making it illegal for books to be used in schools. They say books are full of grammatical and historical inaccuracies. True enough, written by humanity and humanity isn’t perfect. Computers are the same yet no one seems to believe us when we try to tell them this. Man programs the computers. Man types the code, the letters, the numbers, dates. Fallible as much as any written word upon a page. I recently read an article that said they weren’t teaching penmanship anymore. Only typing and computer coding. I wrote to all my friends as I cried at the news. Of course it took me a week to find a working post office. Those are going out of business now too. Good news for the forests, we don’t need your trees for paper or pencils. Bad news for Libraries and bookstores and stationary shops. I look under the porch, in the bushes.

I even look under my vehicle, thinking, okay, someone moved the box, and I ran over it in the drive. No such luck and I need that box. The “Old Ones’ are relying upon me to get them that box. It’s the box we need to change our fortunes, to remind humanity that contact with each other is part of the truest form of humanity. Observation of how we all behave, interact, what type of books bring us enjoyment, help us to find our dreams, color our imaginations. Donna is peeking out her curtains fidgeting and worrying that I’ll be out of sorts with her. I am out of sorts with her. I realize I’m shaking. I have been shaking since she told me the box of books wasn’t there when she returned. Okay, so I have to go back to the dreaded brainless box and circumvent Homeland Security again and try to find more books. The “Old Ones” aren’t going to be happy, but it’s not as if we have lots to be happy about anyway.

Since all the classics have been updated into the World Wide Web of lies and deceit. Mark Twain’s “Tom Sawyer” without the word nigger in it because that’s Politically Incorrect? Any book with a view that doesn’t agree with the governments was not downloaded to the Internet. Owning one isn’t a crime. Yet. We know that’s coming though. It’s why we hoard the books, hide the books and try to educate people that without the knowledge of the past, we are destined to repeat the mistakes. Fine. Standing here wondering where the box went isn’t going to help me at all. Probably the government or just some nosey kids took the box. No reason for paranoia just yet.

Acting as if I don’t have a care in the world, smiling and waving at Donna in her window, I head toward the back yard. I try to appear to be looking at my garden as my eyes scan the yard for signs that anyone had been there today. Nothing is out of order, no footprints or, wait. There, on the ground next to the power box. A tiny snip of new wire. I pretend I don’t see it and go back to my own front door. I check my dusty mailbox and surprisingly find mail. I hurry into the house to see who cared enough to take the time to write. No return address, no stamp. Uh Oh. I should probably call this in to the local authorities. It’s what you are supposed to do with such mail. It’s no wonder no one wants to deliver mail anymore. Too much death in those envelopes. Not really wanting to have to be decontaminated and my house sealed off and rummaged through, instead I decide to go get the gas mask I ordered on-line when all this mailing of death first started.

Having put it on along with my dishwashing gloves, I open the letter, on the back porch with all the windows open, but the blinds pulled shut. My heart shudders, my hands flutter, but I open the envelope anyway.

“Dear Old One,

Your box of books is safe. You should know that your neighbor is a spy for the locals. We are friends, don’t be alarmed. The books are now safely in the hands of the one who can use them best. Once he shuts down the WWW people will be forced to read from real paper. Messengers will not be paid as much as they are now with all the dangers, but once people have learned that on the internet, nothing and no one is as they appear the written word will once again become important and meaningful. Also, the young man you are dating, if you don’t mind us saying so, you don’t have to worry, he is a reader and a writer. He only speaks the words he feels he must. Trust your heart and him.  We took the bug off of your Internet and off of your phone. They will be useless soon enough anyway. By the time you are done reading this letter, which we enjoyed writing, the Internet will have been disabled, struck down and the true messages will be the only messages that are allowed to be seen.

Sincerely,

Your faithful followers”

Now of course my heart is about to explode. But not from the joy that was expected. The box of books was the key to manipulating the Internet. It was the key to wiping out the spy bugs the government puts on them. It was the key to wiping out the stories that they deemed readable. It would have made people aware. Not this. This is as bad as the government and their manipulations.  Those books that they hide away, that they don’t want anyone to remember exist.

How am I to explain to the other ‘Old Ones’ that all of our lovely stories are gone? That the fanatical anti-techies misread a communication and think they stole all the computer books for Dummies?  Hopefully they will figure out their mistake and Donna will be informing on all of us soon for breaking the law of “using your imagination without a license.”