Messenger Goblin 1

I received a postcard from years ago. When I got back to my apartment from work, I habitually opened the mailbox at the door and found a crumpled postcard lying inside, the front side of the picture still dirty and looking like it had come a long way. I felt a little strange and picked up the card. The handwriting on the message on the back had been soaked with water that it was illegible, but fortunately the handwriting in the recipient information column was still legible. The name of the recipient written on it was indeed me, but the address written on it was not this apartment, but the old house on the same plot of land before this apartment was built a few years before. The postmark was also from when the old house was still standing. I'm pretty sure this is the postcard that was sent to me, although it seems to have arrived several years late and even the sender's name is blurred out. Because the door number on the address happened to be the one I used to live in in that old house. Besides, I couldn't mistake the sender's handwriting. I was about to close the mailbox when I suddenly heard a sharp shout from it: "Don't close it!" Then a small humanoid dot poked its head out from the shadows deep inside the mailbox. My hand froze in mid-air as I looked left and right. The late postcard, the strange little dot, compared to the latter should be a little more bizarre. *** Given that this kind of strange encounter is not common in my uneventful life, it took me a while - enough time to boil water, boil noodles, beat eggs, put vegetables and finally serve the pot together - to accept that it was the messenger attached to the postcard. setting. "It's not surprising that you haven't seen it." The little one was very delicate looking, wearing a pointy little hat and sitting on his knees on the postcard I had placed on my desk like a flying carpet-riding elf. "Our clan is indeed becoming less and less common these days." Still sounds like an endangered species? I couldn't decide whether to take out the cookies I was going to feed it for breakfast tomorrow or to call animal control right away. Luckily, he made the choice for me, eyeing the cookie box next to the table and leaping up to grab it when I opened the bag and pulled one out, gnawing on it like he was starving. "That's a long time for a letter to be delivered." It whined as it ate, "I'm starving." My curiosity is not strong, but when faced with such a strange guy, all kinds of questions can't help but pop out of my head. So in between eating dinner together, I asked some questions and heard more unbelievable answers. This little guy in front of me is a member of the parasitic - although it insists on using the word "guardian" - race of handwritten letters, a long and secretive race that in the past In the old days, when information could only be transmitted by letter, their clan used to flourish, and everyone roamed the world by letter. "Just like we humans travel around?" I asked as I took a big bite of noodles. It first nodded, then immediately shook its head: "We are working, each time with a mission, not like you humans silly play!" This sounded familiar, and I flinched before asking what kind of work it had to do. But it stammering answer, a vain face nibbling the big cake in his arms: "Anyway, the seniors said this is work, to do to get food as a reward ......" Hey, this little fool of the human cloud.