The Between Route Incident

Attention Earthlings Archive Entry #Unknown Filed from the Porch Perimeter, Sector Panama City Adjacent

Humidity thick enough to chew. Spanish moss swinging like it’s got opinions. That’s how the day started — and honestly, that should’ve been my first warning.

It began with a package.

No mail truck. No tire tracks in the crushed‑shell driveway. Just a plain brown box squatting on the welcome mat like it had crawled up from the swamp overnight. The label read “Between & Beyond – Personal Delivery.” The postmark simply said “Between, FL 32XXX.” The stamp was hand‑drawn: a flamingo with too many legs.

I should have left it for the raccoons. Instead, I brought it inside. Because apparently I’m the kind of doll who insists on learning things the hard way.

The First Package: Surveillance & Static

Inside: one dusty VHS tape labeled “For the Small Watcher – Play Alone.”

I dragged Barry’s old wood‑paneled VCR out of the attic, brushed off the dust of a thousand forgotten movies, and hit play.

The screen flickered, then showed my own porch. Last night. Same angle as the camcorder I keep on the railing. There I was, sitting in my usual spot, argyle vest slightly askew, sipping warm Tab like a fool.

A voice crawled out of the static — half Barry, half wet gravel:

“Inventory audit in progress. Do not deviate.”

The tape ended with a single line burned into the screen:

Thank you for your participation.

Participation in what, exactly, remains unclear.

The Second Package: Taxidermy That Watches Back

Two days later, a smaller box arrived.

Inside:

• A squirrel with one too many eyes

• A heron wearing a tiny argyle vest

Both specimens twitched when the ceiling fan kicked on. Not much. Just enough to let you know they were paying attention.

I placed them on the far end of the porch. They haven’t moved since. Much.

The Third Package: The Catalog

This one was heavy. Glossy in places, mildewed in others. Smelled like ozone, old books, and low tide.

Between & Beyond – Autumnal Harvest Edition.

I sat down with a fresh Tab and started reading.

A few highlights:

• Page 47: One (1) Slightly Used Echo — mint condition except for minor Barry‑like sarcasm and occasional existential howling after midnight.

• Page 62: Assorted Lament Fragments — pressed into resin coasters. Play a minor key when wet.

• Page 89: Gulf Coast Porch Prophet (Limited Run) — compact model, pre‑loaded with cursed weather reports and low‑grade paranoia. Argyle optional.

I laughed.

Then I reached the supplement in the back.

There I was.

Item #001‑DTD — Dale T. Doll, Gulf Coast Observer Model Condition: Retired in name only. Excellent patina of porch wisdom. Minor surface sarcasm. Special Features: Broadcasts directly into the collective subconscious. Resistant to cataloging (so far). Status: Recommended for immediate acquisition and display in the Between Wing.

Display case included.

That’s when I decided to take a drive.

The Route That Shouldn’t Exist

Cell service died past the last Dollar General. The road signs started repeating the same three names in different orders. The air got heavier, like the swamp was breathing on the back of my neck.

At dusk, I found it: a half‑sunk boardwalk leading into trees where no boardwalk should be. Spanish moss hung like curtains. At the end sat an old mail truck, bigger on the inside than physics should allow.

The driver stepped out.

Tall. Rail‑thin. USPS uniform overgrown with living moss. Face hidden under a wide‑brimmed hat made of folded priority envelopes. Badge read:

Courier‑13.

“Evening, Mr. Doll,” he rasped. “Route’s almost finished. You’ve been a responsive recipient. Appreciate that.”

I asked what his company wanted with me.

He shrugged. “Between & Beyond serves the places Earthlings misplace. Sinkholes. Attics. Flooded subdivisions. The spots that aren’t quite here anymore. We collect interesting specimens. You, sir, broadcast. That’s rare. Most things just sit and rot. You sit and warn. Makes you premium stock.”

He handed me a fresh catalog. My picture was already on the cover.

The Broadcast That Broke the Route

I did the only thing a self‑respecting porch prophet could do.

I pulled out the little battery‑powered recorder I keep in my vest pocket and went live.

Attention Earthlings… If you’re receiving this, the signal is slipping through. Do not accept unsolicited packages with hand‑drawn stamps. Do not play tapes that know your name. And if a moss‑covered mailman offers you a display case, tell him you’re already spoken for.

The swamp flickered — like bad VHS tracking. Courier‑13 chuckled.

“Clever little doll. That one’s going in the permanent archive.”

He handed me a stamped envelope addressed to me. Return address: my own porch.

“Consider this a rain check,” he said. “Inventory waits. But it don’t forget.”

Aftermath

I drove home through roads that slowly remembered how to be normal.

The packages have stopped. For now.

But last night, a new box appeared. No label. Inside: a tiny, perfectly detailed argyle vest. My size.

Pinned to it was a note:

For the Limited Edition. Looking forward to your next broadcast.

I’m wearing the vest right now. Fits perfectly.

Final Transmission

This is Dale T. Doll, signing off from the Porch Perimeter. Humidity’s rising. The heron twitched twice this morning.

If you don’t hear from me for a while… check the Between & Beyond catalog.

Page 89 might have updated.

Stay off the routes, Earthlings. And whatever you do — don’t deviate.