Creative? Writing

I Solved A Reddit Mystery

Here is the original post from kev1t (real name Daniel):

The text from the original post:

Here’s the back-story to this:

I was on a business trip and on the phone with my wife, who informs me I have a card in the mail. I told to to open it. I couldn’t think of any reason I’d get a card (birthday, holidays, etc).

She told me it said “congratulations”, and nothing else. Weird? A little. Scary? No. But there’s more…

I’ve continued to get these cards, through the summer, every few weeks. They all have the same kind of stamp, the same typed/sticky address label, no return address, and were sent from different places in the country wherein I know nobody (mostly the Midwest). They also have nothing handwritten, and no message inside aside from what may be there.

All of the cards are, after the 1st, some kind of strange inspirational kind of message, but with zero context, just seem kind of creepy.

I just received the latest of these cards today (pics linked), but this time there was no postmark. The best I can surmise from that is that it was dropped in my mailbox right across from my house.

Now, after getting 5 or so of these cards, it’s little unnerving not knowing what is behind these. I’ve asked friends, I’ve looked at common factors between the cards (none), places of origin, etc. Have any of you ever heard of something like this? What do you think? Should I be worried, and what could I even do about it?

Today’s card:[1]

Update: I have other images. Trying to find them. Here is the creepiest one I got. Nothing inside:[2]

Update2: Found the original envelope my wife sent to me. Best I can do[3]

So, I decided to solve the mystery for him:

Daniel became more and more anxious about the mystery cards. Spurred by the suggestions of a small group of millions on an obscure website everyone had heard of, he began tracking the greeting cards as they came in. At first, there didn’t seem to be a pattern. As the number of cards increased, though, his anxiety became an obsession. Despite his wife’s urging to “throw the goddamn things away, get off the internet, and come eat dinner,” Daniel began a small subforum on the aforementioned website, which drew literally tens of people to join him in his quest for the Card Giver.

The pattern refused to reveal itself. A man known only as Elidor (or it could be a woman because, let’s face it, it’s 2011 and women are now allowed on the internet), created and posted an Excel spreadsheet tracking the dates, locations, messages, and images of each card as Daniel received them. Moo8 (whose name more clearly indicates that he’s a man…with boobs) took down the oversized mirror in his dining room and put up a world map marked with the location each card was sent from and a print-out of the card. Then, because it wasn’t looking cool enough, he began making connections between the the thumbtacks with red string. Let’s face it: maps always look cooler with thumbtacks and red string. Give that map bitch a red string. Map bitches love red strings. Philip-fry researched antidotes to invisible poisons, which he refused to post on the subforum until the moderators threatened to ban him, at which point he put google links to all of his research and called everyone “asshats” for not looking this shit up themselves.

Months went by. Spreadsheets got longer. Red strings became more and more tangled. Dinner got colder and colder.

Finally, a clever girl known as Gypsyred found a pattern. All of the cards were of pictures of children. Being childless, Daniel couldn’t understand why the Card Giver would be sending what appeared to be a threat to his children.

Because Daniel’s wife gave up on waiting for Daniel to join her for dinner, she began eating his share herself. As the months went by, she began to get noticeably larger. Well, noticeably to her. Daniel was rather distracted by the latest greeting card from New York, which read “Count your life by smiles, not tears. Count your age by friends, not years.” The subforum was all a twitter. The cliches were getting worse, and this particular one was the most offensive in its brazen use of false sentiment. It had arrived shortly after Daniel returned from a business trip to Texas, a place he had to visit far more frequently this year due to someone’s repeated failure to put cover sheets on the TPS reports.

A week later, another card arrived. This time, there was no stamp. This time, the card was simply sitting on his coffee table. This time, the message simply read “Call me Tyler.”

A piercing cry came from the back of the house. Daniel ran to find his wife clutching her stomach and leaning against the bedpost. “It’s time. Call the doctor. Get the car.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for the baby, you dolt.”

Confused, Daniel did as instructed. Rushing his wife into the delivery room, he started to realize the detail he’d been missing. As his wife began to push, he finally, for the first time in nine months, thought of something other than the Card Giver. The baby’s head began to crown. Doctors did doctor stuff. Nurses were yelling nursing stuff. Out the baby came, but something was off. There was something in the baby’s hand. Something that looked a lot like…a greeting card. And then he knew. The cards had been coming from her womb.


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