Dear Envasion:

     I'm writing you in the hopes that someone will finally believe me. Someone has to believe me. Please won't someone believe me! I'm not crazy, I'm not, and I don't usually believe in stuff like this either, but too much has happened. Let me explain.

     I moved into my new apartment a little over a year ago and thought it would be fun to decorate the bathroom in rubber ducks, cute, right? So I searched everywhere, thrift stores, garage sales, toy stores and amassed a nice collection of the little plastic yellow bath toys. I had all sizes and types, from tiny ones that looked like babies to huge real duck sized ones I used as flowerpots. I even had one that went on the spout of the tub and the water came out of him. It was adorable. Everyone loved it and commented on them when I had guests. I was extremely happy with my decorating accomplishment and things went along as normal, until about six months ago.

     It began subtly. I would notice that different ducks where in different places and I hadn't moved them, but since I live with a roommate I figured he must be playing with them, so I let it go. I mean what would you think, would you think the ducks were moving themselves? Come on that is crazy talk, right?

     Then the babies appeared, dozens of them. They were everywhere; covering places I hadn't even put ducks originally. I knew I hadn't purchased them. Upon questioning my roommate he was as confused as I was as to their origins. I had to assume then that one of my friends was playing with me and that I wasn't going crazy.

     In the beginning I had only purchased a few babies that too many of the little ones would be too much, these new ones just reinforced that feeling and so I gathered up most of them and put them in a drawer out of the way. I came back later that evening, though, and found them placed back around the room. I was furious. Obviously my roommate, despite his protests to the point, must have been in on the joke and thought putting them back out would provide him with another laugh. I gathered all the little ones back up again and dropped them into a box in my closet where I was sure he couldn't find them.

     Things returned to normal in my bathroom after that. No new ducks appeared and the others seemed to stop moving so much. Then about a month ago I came home from work to find my dog drowned in the toilet. I couldn't believe it. I…I guess she must have been trying to get a drink and lost her footing or something, because her head was shoved pretty far down into the hole at the bottom. It was horrible, her little body hanging limply over the side like that, but what else was I to think happened. So I buried her with a lot of tears and went back to trying to live my life normally with out my little friend.

     Everything seemed to be fine after that, until last night that is. My roommate came home from work tired and sweaty and wanted to take a shower instead. Not something uncommon around here. I heard him go into the bathroom and close the door behind him. The water turned on and the curtain pulled, every seemed as it should have been. An hour passed, then two. Finally three hours and he hadn't turned off the water and emerged.

     Feeling concerned I banged on the door and got no response. I opened the door slowly and jumped back slightly from the sudden rush of steam. It was difficult to see anything through the mist. I walked in and called his name. Nothing. I made my way to the shower and felt my stomach knot with fear as I reached for the curtain and flung it aside. There he lay, naked, eyes glazed, hands clutching at his throat. Tiny trickles of blood pouring from several little marks on legs and his body.

     I screamed and ran out of the room. The police arrived and took his body away. They said it was an asthma attack brought on by the intense warmth of the shower steam and that he simply hadn't been able to reach his inhalers in time. The marks were dismissed as simple scratches from the tub spout, but my mind was saying otherwise.

     When I went to the coroner's office this morning to view the body he told me something bizarre. He said that the actual cause of death wasn't an asthma attack after all, that when he'd done the autopsy he'd found a small rubber duck lodged in his windpipe. I'm sure he must have seen the look of fear in my eyes, but he didn't comment on it.

     I left his office and came back here to the apartment as fast as I could. The ducks have all moved to new places and I swear to you it seems almost like they're watching me now. I'm afraid. Terrified that I'm next. I've pulled the bathroom door closed, but I can hear them now, moving around in there, planning their attack.

     I don't have anywhere else to go and I'm too afraid to think of a way to get rid of them. Please, you've got to believe me, they'll be coming soon I know it. You've got to help me. You're the only ones who can. I…I've got to go now. I'm going to hide in the closet till you guys come. I don't know what else to do. Please hurry!

A. Believer