Daniel Conderman 
In 1920, nestled in the heart of Arkansas, lay the charming town of Springfield—a quintessential slice of small-town America. Neighbors waved as they passed by, church luncheons were the highlight of the week, and the air was filled with the hum of industry and a steadfast community spirit. But as with many seemingly idyllic places, Springfield harbored a secret—a curious event that would forever alter its destiny.
It began with a letter.
Now, this was no ordinary correspondence. When Tommy Conroy, a young man with a heart full of dreams, received it, he was met with stark, ominous language that sent chills down his spine:
“Someone you love is watching you. To ensure compliance, you must name three individuals to watch. Failure to comply will have… consequences.”
Understandably, Tommy followed the instructions. He penned his girlfriend’s name first—after all, nothing says “I love you” like drafting her into your personal paranoia squad. Next was his math teacher, a man whose ability to solve calculus in his head suggested he could handle a bit of surveillance. And finally, Mrs. Whitaker—the woman who had mysteriously stopped attending church a few years back. Surely, she could take it.
And so, the letter began its unsettling journey, moving from hand to hand, house to house, person to person.
At first, Springfield grew quieter. Curtains were drawn a little earlier, doors were locked a little tighter. But soon, the letter seemed to take on a life of its own—or at least, that’s what the townsfolk believed.
Businesses began to shutter, one by one. The last man to open a new shop saw his child vanish shortly after. Coincidence? Not in Springfield. The trains to the city ran empty because, as everyone knew, those who disappeared had a penchant for city life. And who would want to be the next one?
In time, the streets grew deserted, church bells fell silent, and an uneasy stillness blanketed the town.
Springfield was dying.
But here’s where the story takes an unexpected turn.
Tommy, a curious and determined young man, refused to succumb to fear. He embarked on a quest for answers, delving into the town’s history. One day, rummaging through his parents’ attic, he stumbled upon something extraordinary: an old, faded letter from another Springfield, dated nearly a century earlier.
But this letter was different. It wasn’t ominous or threatening. It was downright wholesome:
“I solemnly promise to look after these three people with all my heart, to protect them, to support them in times of need, and to keep our community strong and united.”
That’s right—the original letter was a pledge of care and kindness.
But somewhere along the way, perhaps a smudge on the typewriter or a miscopied message by a less-than-careful hand, the cheerful community pact had twisted into something that sounded more like a death threat.
And wouldn’t you know it—folks ran with it.
By the time Tommy pieced together the truth, it was too late. Springfield was no longer a town. It had become a collection of paranoid recluses, each person too scared to step outside their locked doors.
And then there were the mole people.
Yes, Springfield became so empty that the mole people moved in. They dug their tunnels, established a thriving underground economy, and began to rebuild what the surface had lost. Tommy, the last surface-dweller, tried to warn them about the letter. But, as it turned out, mole people hadn’t yet mastered the art of checking their mail.
So, while Springfield, Arkansas, crumbled above ground, the mole people of—yes, you guessed it—Mole-ark-ee thrived. By the time Tommy passed on, the mole people had elected a mayor, established a post office, and even opened a bakery. And their bread? Absolutely delicious.
And now you know…the rest of the story.
