Heather Petosa was a 23 year old Arizona State graduate with a Masters in math and a ninth grade math teacher. She never expected to find such a simple person with such a simple job to be so horrifically dangerous.
After moving into a beautiful little house on Yahoo Lane, in the so old, yet lesser known town of Edmonds, Washington, she quickly noticed that Edmonds was a town with almost no shootings, kidnappings—or any kind of crime, for that matter. The place was a great area. There wasn't a single person who didn't know almost everyone in town. Heather saw Edmonds as the perfect place to have a family; she knew she could let her kids run and play during the summer without worrying too much about the bad stuff that could happen.
Just down the street, about a block from Olympic Beach was the Edmonds Post Office. Mike Reynolds was the number one mailman in the city. He had just started on his daily route, which goes through the whole downtown section, up through 88th (which is the highest part of town before Mountlake Terrace).
On one of the last streets he goes to before the end of his route was Yahoo Lane. Nobody understands the name of the street, but people just accept it as another thing that makes their town so unique and beautiful. Mike was driving down Yahoo Lane, delivering mail on the west side of the street. He had been in the mail business for over a decade. For that entire time, the the house at the end of the street, 8808, had always been empty. After a while, Mike made it a
habit to just skip that house. It was like it never even existed; so when he finds mail addressed to
that location, he almost forgot where it was. He gets to house number 8807 and sees there is a postcard addressed to: 8808 Northwest Yahoo Lane, Edmonds, WA 98026.
The postcard read, “Come serve your country! Join the U.S. Army TODAY!”
“Must be a mistake.” Mike thought. But then he saw the 2002 Chevrolet Impala LT sitting in the driveway. He put the van in park, got out, and walked up to the front door. Mike rung the doorbell twice; He heard the sound of socks quickly stepping down the wooden stairs; that kind of subtle thumping sound.
A lady opened the door. She was a beautiful, blue-eyed brunette who stood about five-foot-nine. “May I help you?” She asked, politely.
Mike was instantly mesmerized by the beauty of this woman as he stood on her doorstep, as frozen as the ice in the polar ice cap.
“May I help you?” She asked again, this time a little more suspicious. It was then that Mike finally snapped back to reality.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, still a little lost. “I found a postcard addressed to your house, and I thought it was a mistake.” He laughed, a little embarrassed. “You see, nobody has lived here in over ten years.”
She then accepted the postcard and shut the door, and Mike got back into his mail truck and finished his route.
That night, as he lay in bed, all he could think about was how sensuous that woman was. For hours and hours he simply could not sleep. Around three o’clock, he finally drifted his way off into a deep slumber. He dreamt of the most insane, and horrifying things. Things that would get you arrested, or put in an insane asylum. The kind of things only a mad man would do.
Mike awoke with a sudden jerk when his six a.m. alarm went off. Even after falling into such a deep sleep, he still couldn't stop thinking about the woman he had met the previous day. The thoughts of her beauty, and what it would be like to have her as his wife, and his closest friend. What it would be like to see her in the low light of a fancy date, and then in his room getting ready for…Now the thoughts were coming back...the thoughts of nothing but absolutely mindless insanity...things that a psycho might do. But he wasn't a psycho...was he?
After moving into a beautiful little house on Yahoo Lane, in the so old, yet lesser known town of Edmonds, Washington, she quickly noticed that Edmonds was a town with almost no shootings, kidnappings—or any kind of crime, for that matter. The place was a great area. There wasn't a single person who didn't know almost everyone in town. Heather saw Edmonds as the perfect place to have a family; she knew she could let her kids run and play during the summer without worrying too much about the bad stuff that could happen.
Just down the street, about a block from Olympic Beach was the Edmonds Post Office. Mike Reynolds was the number one mailman in the city. He had just started on his daily route, which goes through the whole downtown section, up through 88th (which is the highest part of town before Mountlake Terrace).
On one of the last streets he goes to before the end of his route was Yahoo Lane. Nobody understands the name of the street, but people just accept it as another thing that makes their town so unique and beautiful. Mike was driving down Yahoo Lane, delivering mail on the west side of the street. He had been in the mail business for over a decade. For that entire time, the the house at the end of the street, 8808, had always been empty. After a while, Mike made it a
habit to just skip that house. It was like it never even existed; so when he finds mail addressed to
that location, he almost forgot where it was. He gets to house number 8807 and sees there is a postcard addressed to: 8808 Northwest Yahoo Lane, Edmonds, WA 98026.
The postcard read, “Come serve your country! Join the U.S. Army TODAY!”
“Must be a mistake.” Mike thought. But then he saw the 2002 Chevrolet Impala LT sitting in the driveway. He put the van in park, got out, and walked up to the front door. Mike rung the doorbell twice; He heard the sound of socks quickly stepping down the wooden stairs; that kind of subtle thumping sound.
A lady opened the door. She was a beautiful, blue-eyed brunette who stood about five-foot-nine. “May I help you?” She asked, politely.
Mike was instantly mesmerized by the beauty of this woman as he stood on her doorstep, as frozen as the ice in the polar ice cap.
“May I help you?” She asked again, this time a little more suspicious. It was then that Mike finally snapped back to reality.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, still a little lost. “I found a postcard addressed to your house, and I thought it was a mistake.” He laughed, a little embarrassed. “You see, nobody has lived here in over ten years.”
She then accepted the postcard and shut the door, and Mike got back into his mail truck and finished his route.
That night, as he lay in bed, all he could think about was how sensuous that woman was. For hours and hours he simply could not sleep. Around three o’clock, he finally drifted his way off into a deep slumber. He dreamt of the most insane, and horrifying things. Things that would get you arrested, or put in an insane asylum. The kind of things only a mad man would do.
Mike awoke with a sudden jerk when his six a.m. alarm went off. Even after falling into such a deep sleep, he still couldn't stop thinking about the woman he had met the previous day. The thoughts of her beauty, and what it would be like to have her as his wife, and his closest friend. What it would be like to see her in the low light of a fancy date, and then in his room getting ready for…Now the thoughts were coming back...the thoughts of nothing but absolutely mindless insanity...things that a psycho might do. But he wasn't a psycho...was he?