Ok, I'm going to take a chance and lift the Anon. Reviews ban, so more people can review. The warning still stands, constrictive criticism is accepted, blatant flames and negativity, NO! I see even one spark of flamer, I WILL REPORT to the site admin! I won't take anybody's immaturity anymore. Alright then, I hope you enjoy your stay in the meanwhile.

"From the sublime to the ridiculous, there is but one step." -Napoleon-

And so it continued back and forth for how long, she didn't know. Honestly, having lost complete count after a certain point.

Because as soon as one thing was said and sent off, another would come back just as graphic, sometimes even more so, and half of it was usually ranting about the both the paper and grammar used.

Having gotten into the habit, just to get a few extra pot shots in. Had started to send off her replies on the weirdest paper she could lay her hands on, the colors had started out normal enough pink, purple all those kinds of normal solids. But as the other's letters had gotten nastier, so had the paper. Going from solid colors, to wild bold prints, like polka dots or animal prints, once even scented with a strong perfume.

That one had produced a really satisfying reaction.

Word for word, pound for pound, each one matching the other with skill and ease. It went back and forth like there was no tomorrow. And it didn't look like there would be a stop to it anytime soon.

But while she'd long ago established that nobody was breaking in, when she had spent a rather uncomfortable night slumped over the desk. A huge police flashlight she'd picked up at an army surplus store clasped tightly in her grip, no idiot burglar was going to get the jump on her. And none ever did. She was glad her brother didn't live with her anymore with his late night habits he probably would have come home and she'd never have heard the end of it, and the entire family via Facebook or MySpace the next day. Nothing starts the day right like being labeled "certifiable lunatic" alongside the previous "black sheep" status in the family to boost one's self esteem. But she did learn something, well aside of the fact that sleeping at odd angles doesn't improve the life's outlook of one who's naturally prone to ill moods in the first place.

Nobody was doing anything.

However that night had taught her to get smart. Quite literally, taking a proverbial page out of her mysterious "admirer's" book started carefully looking back over the contents of the letters she started noticing unusual things she hadn't before like words, grammar even handwriting. Things that while weren't foreign to her as she was very-well read and watched a lot of the various history and documentary channels on TV. They wouldn't be in normal conversation as they were primarily, if one put it in a logical sense, last century.

Bedlam for example, was one of the largest asylums the nineteenth century. Located in England, famous for not only those it housed. But its methods of 'curing' the criminally insane or just anybody they felt like labeling guinea pig. Basically if you went there, and somebody wanted to be rid of you nobody would ever find the body, or that you even existed for that matter.

Aside of that the paper itself which was a light parchment-like vellum had the consistency and color of fine butter-cream, the way the letters were paraphrased and the handwriting could only have been spawned by one with a very high degree of education. Maybe aristocratic.

Plus, something about that stupid desk in general, just struck her as totally odd. The way the things were pointing was just too much of a coincidence to be an accident. There was only one place she could go, Antique Row.

She had been welcomed warmly by the wife of the owner, whom had originally sold her the desk. Apparently the middle-aged woman was something of a history detective, and was more than delighted to have a willing ear with whom to share her obsession. She had just smiled at that, the woman was a bit over enthusiastic, but was willing all the old guy probably would have been worried she wanted to return it, and might not have let her get a word in edgewise. It was true what people said about if you wanted to know anything relevant about a matter, kiss up to the highest woman in the place. Still, she had to start somewhere anyway, if said woman was a crazy old woman, so be it.

Over a cup of Earl Grey and little teacakes, the older woman had pulled various papers out of a neat folder. She was impressed, the older lady was organized she'd give her that. "Now what did you say it was, dear?" she asked in a gentle, grandmotherly voice.

"An English secretaire," came the reply. "Regency, I think."

The look of recognition was almost instantaneous. As the older woman put the folder down, "I don't need this then." She pushed it away and it was the younger woman's turn to look confused.

"I remember it, very well actually. To be honest, I don't know where it came from."

"How is that possible? Surely it had a return address from a previous owner?"

The older woman shook her head. "Yes and no. We get a lot of crates and packages here, dear. And while it had our address on it, it only said London, England on the return manifold. I just assumed one of my husband's suppliers had sent it. He was just as stumped as I. No matter what we tried, we couldn't find out where it came from. It was lovely though, we set it out on the floor and hoped it would catch someone's fancy. It sat there for quite some time until you purchased it. Why did you want to know? "

Sensing a shift in the conversation, as if the older woman was aware something was unnatural about the desk. She rushed in to reassure the woman's fears, also she didn't want anyone to find out that her special secret was anything but distressingly ordinary. Not fancying it being dissected by government scientists or turned into kindling by a rabid witch hunter, whichever came first should the truth be known.

"Oh, I absolutely adore it, and was just curious, how something so old could still be in such good condition?" She replied as innocently pleasant as she could be, fortunately her eyes were big and blue enough to get the point she wanted to make across. "It seemed a fun way to learn a little history, my own personal Sherlock Holmes mystery, so to speak."

The answer seemed to please the older woman immensely because the oppressive aura in the room seemed to ease up instantly with the presented opportunity to talk some more about her area of "expertise."

The woman heaved a dramatic sigh, perfectly obvious to her audience that it was more for theatrics than anything else."It's an old story, my dear. Many of the older English families these days are sometimes low on funds. So they sell their antiques out the backdoors of their estates to make some quick money on the side, such a pity. But I'm glad this unique piece found its way to someone who truly appreciates it."

"You don't know the half of it sister," she thought amused.

But the pleasant, sunny smile remained all the same, fishing for info aside, she really liked this woman. When rising to leave, she had promised to return for tea again. It was the least she could do. There were too few genuinely nice souls left in the world.

The trip while not productive as a whole had confirmed her suspicions on two things.

One: Whoever was writing to her was British in origin. (Hence the holier-than-thou egomaniacal approach to life in general.)

And Two: The desk was somehow, someway magical.

All those years of unshakable belief in the unseen world had finally paid off. Because her little piece of the metaphysical pie had for all purposes fallen in her lap. She was sorely tempted to just laugh in the face of the common logic her ever-practical parents had shoved down her throat for countless years. But what good would it serve her now, she had what she wanted. It was a small thing, but she was grateful, sent silent prayers of thanks upward, and questioning it no more.

Thus the universe was satisfied in its decision of divine gift-bestowing.

She was in such a good mood, that when she opened the drawer for her usual every-other-day crabby, attitude-laden letter. Where she usually just got mad at the contents, this time she laughed whole-heartedly realizing what an utter fool she'd been for so long. And it was time to remedy it, this time she sent it on plain old boring white computer paper. As a kind of peace offering.

Sir,

I know we've gotten off on the wrong foot. But recent events have brought to light, at least with me. The source of our headaches is not of where, but rather of when. Somehow our desks have become connected in the greater web of time and space, thus causing our little 'exchanges of opinion'. While I don't know how it happened, I'm glad it did. And while I'm sure we've caused each other countless pains to say the least. I'd like to declare a cease-fire and be on more friendly terms with you. Seeing as I'm not sure how much longer this wonderful accident will last. Please let me know.

Thank you

The reply almost had her falling off the chair, doubled over paralytic with laughter.

Just when I think you can't get anymore bizarre, you come out and pull this. You are obviously a very disturbed personality. Why else would you concoct such a tale? Well, I won't be fooled. Of that I assure you. You are obviously planning something ominous, because you keep breaking into my desk. Just to write me letters, I think not. I may be cursed, but I'm not stupid. Time and space? Blah, I just think you are some poor misguided soul who most likely thinks themself in love with me. That's why you've gone to all this trouble. I have yet to figure out who you are, but when I do. I assure you retribution will be swift!

Hoo Boy, this person had a high and mighty opinion of themselves that was for sure. Thus she replied with a few obvious points of her own, knowing she was going to have some major fun with this. And maybe get a little payback too.

Oh, really? Well then, I'll make you a little wager. If I am as you say I am, and you know where I lurk. I'll give you the opportunity to catch me. Move your desk to an area you are positive has no secret exits, nor hidden devices of any kind. Then lock your desk and the room therein. Secure it tightly, keep the keys close to your heart and let no one pass for as long as you wish. Offer a reward for my capture; do as you like to find me. But I can assure you, you will find another letter from me safe and sound in the drawer when you return. And in the meanwhile, you will have found no trace of me, because I do not exist in your world. Still, on that slim chance you should indeed find me. I will willingly put myself in your hands and allow you to do as you wish with me. But if I win, I only ask you take what I've said at face value. Do we have a deal?

What came back were two solitary words,

I accept.

She couldn't help but chuckle at that, "Let the games begin."