In Case of Emergency

The derelict building was at the end of a straggly street somewhere on the outskirts of the town. You climbed a steep hill to get there. The views ought to have been great, but they weren’t. Distance didn’t do the town many favours. Even at night half the street lights seemed to have failed and everything looked slipshod, like a jigsaw puzzle that had been abandoned only half complete.

Inside the building the smell of damp overwhelmed any other lingering odours. The hallway had filled with fallen leaves, blown in from the street. There was a wooden staircase with the railings missing. The carpet had worn thin. It was probably unsafe to climb it, so instead Michelle made her way carefully into the living room. Fewer leaves had penetrated this far. The damp smell remained. Windows were smeared with several years’ worth of grime. Blinds had rotted and then fallen to the floor.

Whatever furniture might once have filled this room had since been removed. The vague indentations of a couch remained but that was it. She kicked around the leaves. Something lay under them. Resting within the bindings of a clear plastic wallet was an envelope. The wallet was ragged, but it had done its job of preserving the envelope in reasonably good condition. Gingerly, Michelle extracted the envelope. It had either never been sealed down properly or else it had fallen open over time. Inside was a letter, printed out on white computer paper.

The letter didn’t appear to be addressed to anyone in particular. It was headlined: In case of emergency.

The print had barely faded. Michelle moved closer to the window. The room was dim, but some light still penetrated through the dirty windows. Enough to allow her to read the text of the message.

First up, apologies for the mess. I guess in the end everything got on top of me. I tried my best, although doubtless you’ll find that hard to believe. I’m writing this list even though you should know there’s one in the family area of the Dropbox folder. I doubt you’ll have checked there though. I also doubt I ever kept it updated. Mea Culpas all round.

I was going to ask you to burn all my unpublished works, but look where that got Franz Kafka. So I burnt them for myself. Of course there are digital copies, but I doubt you’ll ever find them. It doesn’t matter. They are of no value. Also there’s a password to protect the folder. Even I can’t remember what the password is now. So I’m afraid a séance won’t help you.

The same goes for the music. Let’s face it, no one listened to the stuff I chose to release. So you can imagine what the stuff that never got released must sound like. If I left behind a masterpiece someone will discover it on some random streaming site at some future date. But of course, they won’t. Because I didn’t.

You’ll be wanting access to all my bank accounts and the like, but I only had the one. If it’s any consolation there was never much in there. At least there’s no debts for them to chase you for. You lucked out there. Then we come to the matter of the house. It’s not what it once was, but beggars can’t be choosers. If all else fails, knock it down and sell off the land for redevelopment. Give the money to your grandkids. Or keep it for yourself. I’m not fussed.

I tried to live a good life. Take only photographs, leave only footprints. That sort of thing. Even a minimalist is embarrassed by all they leave behind them. I wish I could tidy up after myself, but the way of all flesh doesn’t allow for that.

Remember to take in the view. Listen to the birds. Everything’s still spinning out here. I’m going to bed shortly. You can’t write from beyond the grave, you see.

It’s been a blast – which will carry a high level of irony if I’ve perished in an explosion of some sort. (Unlikely, but you never know. I never did get around to replacing that old boiler.)

Document created 07/09/2024. Version 3.5. Last updated 13/03/2026

There was no signature. Michelle wondered how it and the house came to still be here, somehow undiscovered. She enjoyed mysteries, but this one seemed to make no sense. She read the letter again and then carefully placed it back inside its envelope, placed the envelope back into the plastic wallet. Outside it had begun to rain. From one of the other rooms in the house she could hear water dripping against the exposed wooden floorboards.  

In the distance someone was revving up a motorbike.