Backlund, North Borough.
The pitch-black night had the crimson moon covered by clouds. There were only street lamps on the two sides of the road that emitted a faint light, illuminating the road ahead and the doors of the nearby houses.
7 Pinster Street's mailbox was silently hiding in the intersection between light and dark, bathing in a cool breeze that blew from the side as though it was in a slumber.
At this moment, newspapers, bills, and letters from various unknown people suddenly spewed out from its mouth.
These objects seemed to be dragged by an invisible hand as they floated in midair before flying towards the door and entering through a gap.
Inside the house, at the foyer, the newspapers automatically spread open as they rapidly flipped over. Then, they were casually left on the chair, stacking over other newspapers.
