Outrunning the Storm by Michele Dutcher	Against a Diamond by Michele Dutcher	A Fisherman's Guide to Bottomdwellers by Michele Dutcher	Louisville's Silent Guardians by Michele Dutcher

Spam

by Michele Dutcher

995 words

Spam

The little man in the tiny office at the National Printing Factory sat stoically going through his email.  He was rail thin, as he had always been, but nowadays there was a slight smile frozen onto his pale face.  Soon the sun would rise outside.  Soon Rick Gilmore would finish cleaning out today’s email so he could go home.

“From: Sani Usman” was the title given on the left side of his inbox. “Re: Your payment” was the phrase in the subject line.

Rick Gilmore clicked on the email line, opening the spam message.

“Dear one in Christ, I am with much happy to write to you this secret letter about the 3 millions of dollars that will be deposited into your bank account, because you are clicking on...”  The email went on and on but that was all that Rick had time for, looking down to the bottom where it said, “with peace and greetings to for you, Vidalia Nyarkoa.”

Rick Gilmore didn’t care if the names at the top and bottom matched; he just clicked on ‘reply’ then closed it, knowing that the said amount would be deposited as promised.  He smiled, looking at the next subject line of the next email. 

“From: Ambassador Mo…  Subject: Your ATM Card Payment.  Honestly nothing on this earth can stop me of writing this to you but there are also others telling me that you will not do what I say and send me of money 300 dollars so I may bless you with the four million of dollars left to you by my friend Caliph Rashid.”

The middle-aged man had read enough – he immediately pushed the reply button knowing that the $300 would be taken from his account and sent to Ambassador Mo.  The little man knew that if he checked his bank account, the statement would say that 300 dollars had been sent elsewhere and four million dollars had been deposited to his account.

‘From: Mrs. Angela Benja  Subject: Your urgent Assistance is needed.’  Rick pressed delete.  He knew that when the subject line contained no promise of wealth untold, it was usually a plea for help.  He didn’t want to waste his time with that insanity.

‘From: Your Attentions!  Subject: Re: Foreign Contracts Payments.’  Ah!  That was better.  Payments.  That’s what he wanted to see.  He opened the email just long enough to see how much money he was going to receive before hitting reply, knowing that 250,000 dollars in cash had just appeared in one of his P.O. boxes in Switzerland, probably the one at No1 Postfach CH 4002 Basel.  Momentarily someone would appear to pick it up in Switzerland, and then deposit it into one of Rick’s accounts there.  He didn’t know why, but the Foreign Contracts Payments always worked like that.

‘From: Mr. Edward Meyers  Subject: International Account Bank of America.’  Click open, money promised, reply sent, email message closed.  It had been the same routine since he had come in one morning to his boring, trivial, brain deadening government job and found one hundred and fourteen emails from a certain Ima Genie.  He had meant to delete them all but had been so exasperated with the sheer number of them, that he had accidently opened the one on top instead.   “Mr. Rick Gilmore,” it had started. “If you will hit reply to this email after reading it, you will finally release me, a genie, from my digital imprisonment – and I will grant your first wish after you have released of my essence.”

The unending desperation of years of faithful (yet unrecognized) government service had suddenly risen to the top, forcing him to stop for a moment.  Should he take the chance? – what did he have to lose?

He thought about his meager apartment over a garage and his faithful dog Mr. Dukes – the only real friend he had in the world.  If not for himself, why not try it for his seven year old Boston Terrier.  Rick took the mouse in his hand, his cursor hovering over the reply button. 

“Click” went the mouse button on the word ‘reply’, and something magical happened.  The entire computer shimmered, glistened the color of an emerald, and a faint female form hovered momentarily, smiling down upon the man. "A million times thank you," said the beautiful spirit before she took flight, going right through the ceiling of the second floor.   Rick remembered the memo saying he could make one wish only.  He closed his eyes and whispered, “I wish that every promise in my junk emails were true.”

Rick opened his eyes to notice that all the emails from Ima Genie were gone.  The only emails remaining were spam. 

“From: EZ money” read the first one. “Subject: Your secret millions are waiting”.  Rick clicked on it, read it carefully, and then hit reply.  He miniaturized his email before checking his bank account online.  There it was – 2.3 million dollars sitting there waiting for him, no questions asked.

With his first withdrawal of $200,000 USD, he bought two houses in the historic part of town. Eventually he paid the head of his firm a hefty sum in cash to ensure him complete, eternal access to his original computer and office. 

“He’s back at it,” said Lori Haralovich to herself, as she punched in for the day. In the last six months her secretarial work for Rick had turned quite profitable.  

Suddenly the door to Rick Gilmore’s office opened. The tiny man was smiling as he stepped out, making certain the lock had fastened securely.   As usual he held an unmarked envelope filled with cash.  “Miss Haralovich, you are looking as lovely as ever,” he said joyfully.  He laid the envelope into her waiting hand.

“Thank you Mr. Gilmore,” echoed Lori, smiling back at him.  “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Oh I will, Miss Haralovich. I most certainly will.”  And with that he walked out of the office, into the rest of his beautiful day and his beautiful life.

The End

Read more stories by this author

Outrunning the Storm by Michele Dutcher	Against a Diamond by Michele Dutcher	A Fisherman's Guide to Bottomdwellers by Michele Dutcher	Louisville's Silent Guardians by Michele Dutcher

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