Trailer Park Bandits
written by: William Falo
Nobody wanted to deliver mail to the trailer park. I just started working for the post office and got stuck with it. I thought how bad could it be, but I soon found out. I saw overdoses, fights, possible fugitives, and guns within a few months. Missing children posters were hanging on telephone poles, and the worst raccoons in the world lived there. I downloaded a transfer request form.
My health had deteriorated, and I was flirting with depression. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed or even cried.
The raccoons caused me all kinds of trouble by destroying mail and packages, and they often threatened me. I haven’t seen any for a few days.
So, I stopped to eat a peaceful lunch when I heard a scratching sound coming from the back of the truck. I got out and checked, but nothing was there.
When I turned back, a raccoon ran out of the truck with my sandwich. It ran under an old fence and rumbled into the woods.
Now hungry and angry, my blood boiled over.
I passed a gang of raccoons. They watched me, and I swore they were laughing. I gritted my teeth and stormed after them with my dog spray canister in my hand. They scattered into the woods; I was so determined to get them; that I lost track of how far I went.
I noticed an old shack covered with branches. My mind drifted to a possible horrific discovery like a body or a hidden chamber holding missing children. I remembered the missing posters. I yanked the door open. Inside, I saw a bunch of packages, and when I lifted one up, it slipped out of my hand. When it hit the ground, white powder spilled out. Drugs. I dropped it and went into a panic; I turned and tripped over a loose piece of wood, spreading the white powder around the floor. There was no way to hide it; I could be killed. My hands shook as I tried to hide the powder, but it still showed; outside of the shed, I erased all my footprints, but I missed some since I was in such a hurry. Drug traffickers would kill me if they knew I was here; then, I heard voices getting closer.
I ran back to the truck. Later, I realized something was missing. My dog spray was nowhere in sight. I might have dropped it in the shed, and it clearly states it was for a letter carrier on it. I could call the police, but snitches usually ended up in a grave, and I would be easy to find.
I passed two girls on skateboards; one of them grabbed the truck’s bumper to get more speed. Suddenly, a black jeep stopped in front of me, and two men got out. I noticed the black metal of gun handles at their waists. One of them held out my dog spray.
“Did you lose something?”
I looked around. I didn’t care if they shot me, but the two girls on skateboards could be in danger. I ran away from the truck knowing the traffickers would follow me.
I turned the corner, and a raccoon I recognized as one that is usually aggressive let me run by, then jumped on the trafficker closest to me. A gun went off, pain shot through my leg, and I collapsed. I heard one of the traffickers cry out, then another gunshot. I stopped running and looked back. The raccoon was on the ground and not moving. The traffickers walked toward me.
“There they are.” The two skateboard girls pointed at the men. A group of residents flooded into the area, a few with bats, a couple with knives, and one who even pumped a shotgun. It was a stand-off until a siren in the distance got closer, and the two men ran away.
One of the skateboarders held a rag to my leg.
“Thank you. What’re your names?” My eyes began to blur.
“I’m Sophie, and that’s Melissa.” She pointed at her friend. “You saved us.”
“I’m Wren, and you saved me.” I managed to say. “What about the raccoon?”
Sophie shook her head then I blacked out.
The hospital made me feel isolated; nobody visited me. I needed surgery to remove the bullet. The police told me that the traffickers were still on the run, and the drugs were gone.
The next day, I heard wheels rolling down the hallway.
“No skateboards in the hospital.” Someone yelled.
Sophie and Melissa came in, followed by their parents and a few other people I recognized as trailer park residents.
They handed me a box of cookies and a pile of cards.
“We have a picture to show you.” Sophie handed me her phone, and I stared at the picture and then laughed for the first time in years. “We’re going to have a huge party and cookout when you get back.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
The picture showed a group of raccoons under a mailbox. One of them looked like it was eating a sandwich. She added the words Trailer Park Bandits to the image.
“I think they’re waiting for you,” Melissa said, then laughed.
I couldn’t stop laughing, then I fought to hold back tears. The raccoon that died saved my life. It moved the shooter’s arm just enough to prevent a lethal shot.
“We buried the one who got killed.”
“Thank you. That raccoon was a hero.”
“So are you.”
“No, I’m not.” I wasn’t. The people who lived in the trailer park are the real heroes. They fight every day to make it a better place.
“I’ll save the picture for you. Hurry back.” The skateboarders said in unison.
They both hugged me and left. The others waved, and I cried for the first time in years, but it wasn’t because of sadness; then, I looked at my phone and deleted the transfer request form.
- Trailer Park Bandits - April 17, 2025
- Take Me Out - August 11, 2023
- The Heritage Park War - April 10, 2023
