No Forwarding Address

Monica Volkov was the worst one. For all the other ghosts of tenants past, Casey only received ad mailers and the occasional request for a charity donation, but for Monica Volkov, she always got serious stuff: envelopes that clearly contained hospital bills or insurance policies, even the occasional package. It was almost as if Monica Volkov had never bothered to tell anyone she didn’t live there any more.

Usually, Casey just wrote 'return to sender' on these things and silently wished Monica Volkov the best of luck getting her stuff. When the bright red envelope from the traffic enforcement division arrived at her mailbox, announcing that she'd run a red light equipped with an automated camera (which caused Casey to spiral into a minor panic attack), and it turned out to be addressed to Monica Volkov, she decided she'd had enough. It had been her house for nearly five years at this point; it was time for Monica Volkov to take some responsibility and start updating her address.

Casey had never actually met the woman (though after receiving so much of her mail, Casey certainly felt like she knew her). All Casey actually knew about the mysterious former tenant was what the landlord had told her in passing, which was that Monica was an overnight nurse at a local nursing home, but that was enough. That evening, she called the nursing home and asked for Monica Volkov. Miraculously, she was transferred right to her.

"Monica speaking," said a woman on the other end of the line.

"Hi," Casey began. "This is gonna sound weird, but I live in your former house."

"Oh," Monica Volkov said, sounding bemused.

"So, I still get a lot of your mail," Casey continued, "and this week I got a traffic ticket addressed to you, so I thought you would want to know…and maybe update your address?"

Monica Volkov sputtered in irritation. "Oh, that's—I don't own that car any more. I gave it to my cousin. The ticket must be his."

"So…you're getting tickets for a car you no longer own at an address where you no longer live?" Casey couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. She wasn't great at adulting herself, but this was a whole new level of apathy. "It sounds like it might be a good idea to contact the DMV and…you know…update your information."

"Please don't call me at work again," Monica Volkov snapped. Casey heard her slam the phone down, and the call ended.

Casey grabbed a Sharpie and wrote 'RETURN TO SENDER' on the traffic ticket in the biggest letters possible, going over each line a few extra times so it was nice and dark. I hope they hunt you down, Monica Volkov, she thought spitefully as she dropped it back in the mailbox.

The next morning, Casey was awakened by a loud crashing noise, and rushed into the living room to discover that her cat, Snickers, had knocked her tablet off the arm of the couch, sending it crashing to the ground and cracking the screen. Well, isn't that just great, Casey thought. She'd wanted to upgrade anyway, she just didn't have the money at that moment.

When she returned home from work the next day, to her surprise, there was a package on the doorstep. Casey was sure she hadn't ordered anything, so its presence was mystifying. Enthralled, she took the package inside immediately and ripped the box open.

Inside was a brand new tablet. Just the one she'd wanted, too.

Casey was stunned. She would have definitely remembered ordering a replacement for her broken tablet. Just in case, she checked her bank balance—no recent purchases of this size. Then how? Was it a gift? She didn't recall mentioning the mishap to any of her friends.

Puzzled, she checked the packaging for a clue and discovered the answer: the package was addressed to Monica Volkov.

Anger bubbled up inside her. You know what? Casey said to herself. If Monica Volkov can't be bothered to forward her mail for five years after moving out, it's her own fault. I'm keeping this tablet, she resolved, as payback for giving me that scare with the traffic ticket. After all, she reasoned, it showed up at my door just when I broke the other one. I'm meant to keep it.