You’ve Been Selected for Antler Dreams

 I don’t remember joining the Order, but the velvet shadows do. The trees remember.

(Do you?)

This is Letter #9 of Filed and Left Behind, left near a coffee station for someone who might need instructions they didn’t know they were waiting for.

The message is simple:
Don’t speak. Touch moss. Avoid corn.
The deer will handle the rest.

The inside features a vintage deer print and a handwritten ritual note from someone named Fern—a name that feels soft but definitely knows how to summon something antlered and ancient if disrespected.

The envelope simply reads
“The Trees Remember, don’t you?”
And that’s it. No explanation. No return address. Just... deer energy.

The whole thing feels like a nature cult tried to run orientation pamphlets through a poetry generator and dropped them in public spaces for the right people to find.

Who’s Fern?
Why corn?
Why four minutes?

If you know, you know. If you don’t… well. You might.

I wrote it down so I could let it go,

— Elsie Thorne