Joe was a trusted soul in the small community, and had served as a postman for over twelve years. He was never once bitten by a dog, threatened by the recipient of red bill or propositioned by a bored housewife. There was just something slightly... off... about him that caused people – even his co-workers – to leave him be.
Until a Tuesday morning in September when he delivered a small package to Paper Street. It was too big to go through the letterbox, forcing him to knock on the old oak door of number 3; a door that was opened by a coffee-skinned woman who made his heart race.
"Yes?" If the brunette, who was of indeterminable age, had any idea of the effect she had on Joe she didn't show it.
"I have a package for Ms A Hewitt," said Joe. "It was too big for the letterbox."
"Thank you." The woman went to take the package but Joe didn't let go. She tugged twice before looking into Joe's face for the first time. Her breath caught in her throat.
"From the old country?" asked Joe, nodding to the package. "I saw the stamps."
"Yes," she said. "Locusts wrapped in melokiyah and deep fried." Her accent was perfect, with hardly a trace of her true nature behind the veneer of normality. "Would you like to try one?"
"I would, thank you." Joe smiled, just the hint of his forked tongue tasting the pheromones of this beautiful female lamia.
Image: Lamia, Isabella, the Eve of St.Agnes and Other Poems