Chapter 1

Forty-one letters

Oskar Brandt had delivered the Linden Street newsletter to every house on Linden Street, both sides, every Saturday since he was eight, and in that time he had learned three things.

One: number four's dog could get its nose through the letter slot and would.

Two: number fifteen's letterbox was full of snails and the snails did not want to leave.

Three: nobody lived at number nine.

Nobody Lives at Number Nine

On the Saturday this story begins, Oskar came to number nine with the newsletter in his hand and stopped on the mossy step, because the slot was already full. A letter was sticking out of it, white and crisp and stamped. He pushed the newsletter in beside it and heard, instead of a dry slither, nothing. The newsletter had gone in and landed on something soft. Or, Oskar thought, on nothing at all. On a floor. A clear floor.

He crouched and looked through the slot. He could see a strip of hall carpet, red and brown. He could see the corner of a doormat. He could see his newsletter lying on it, alone.