He opened the door.
In the center of the foyer, seated at a desk made of stacked mail trays, was a woman. ultra mailer
Inside, the house was bigger than its exterior. Much bigger. The foyer alone was the size of a high school gymnasium, its walls lined not with portraits but with mail slots. Thousands of them. Millions. Each one labeled with a name and a date. Arthur saw John F. Kennedy – 11/22/63 . Marie Curie – 7/4/34 . Genghis Khan – 8/18/1227 . Some slots were empty. Some were overflowing with envelopes of every color and material. Some glowed. Some wept. He opened the door
On the front, written in a script that seemed to glow faintly gold, was an address: Arthur Kellerman, 147 Potter’s Lane, Dry Creek, CT . Much bigger
Arthur stopped the truck. He looked at the box on the passenger seat. Its label still read THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE WORLD .
He closed the box. He stood. He looked at the Sorting, who had become a woman again, or almost.