A Postman’s Guide to Monster Hunting

Veteran Postman Reginald Crawford-James travels the multiverse through means of Postboxes, slaying monsters who have strayed into dimensions where they don’t belong. Reginald’s abilities are pushed to their limits when he encounters a long thought mythical monster, the Numbaldorg. If Reginald cannot stop the Numbaldorg, an infinite number of realities will fall victim to its wrath.


“I don’t care. You’re being punished! And restoration’s not the half of it.” She leant forward, pressed a button on her desk, and spoke into a microphone, “Bring him in.”

“What is this?” Reginald’s eyes narrowed, a pit materialising in his stomach.

“I’m reining you in.” She stood and straightened her blazer, causing the medals on her breast pocket to jangle. Reginald’s brow furrowed and he twisted in his chair to face the door as it opened.

“Oh, bugger that!” His moustache twitched as he laid eyes on a rosy-cheeked boy. Near enough five foot six with crop cut black hair and wide, brown eyes, the boy wore a pair of shorts just above the knees and socks pulled halfway up his shins. His shirt, crisp and beige, featured a plethora of badges sewn on the right bicep and the Multi-Mail Corp insignia on the breast pocket. He even wore a white and red rolled cloth hung around his neck, secured in place by a wooden toggle.

A Postal-Scout.

“Reginald Crawford-James, meet Toby Twigg.” Durand’s lips curled into a sadistic grin as she soaked in Reginald’s drawn face.

“Gosh blimey, Mr Crawford-James, sir. A pleasure to meet you, I should think!” Toby bounced forward with his hand extended.

Scoffing, Reginald glanced between the boy’s fragile hand and his smooth-cheeked face. He turned back to Durand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Toby Twigg is on work experience, he’s Sandra’s nephew,” said Durand.

“Which Sandra?”

“Sandra Twigg.”

Reginald nodded. “I should’ve guessed that.”

“I’m rather excited to assist in any way I can, Mr Crawford-James, sir! Gosh blimey, am I ever!” Toby smiled a toothy grin, pumping his arm in a mocking, rounded punch.

“He’s from your dimension,” said Durand, “so you should have plenty in common. You’ll show him everything a Restoration Postman does and, hopefully, you’ll each learn a thing or two.”

Wetting his lips, Reginald leant forward in the chair, ignoring the squelch of the leather. “I must say, I’m not a babysitter. The Multiverse is a dangerous place, far too dangerous for Postal-Scout-Sandra-nephews!”

“It’s this or crucifixion,” said Durand, her tone taking on a bored lace.

“I’m a miff better than crucifixion, I should think!” Toby lightly punched Reginald’s arm and threw his head back, laughing.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Reginald ground his teeth. “And if you presume to touch me again, I shall have no option but to remove your hand. Do you understand me, boy?”

Toby swallowed. “Like a Tree-Shark understands bark, sir.” He blinked, toying with his fingers. “T-That means thoroughly, Mr Reginald, sir.”

“I gathered.”  

“I have a lunch to prepare for,” said Durand. “so if there’s nothing else you’re both excused.” She turned her attention to a stack of papers on the desk and scribbled. “I’ll be watching, Reginald, so enjoy restoration. Or else.”

Mouth opening and closing, Reginald sat for a time, trying to find the words to argue the situation, to talk his way around having a work experience shadow.

Eventually, he stood, gave the lapels of his blazer a vicious tug, and twitched his moustache with abandon. “This is no way to deliver letters!” He snatched his flask and duffel, before storming out of the office, Toby close on his heels.



For all enquiries about representing this work, please email me at Will@w-g-white.com

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