I have over 60 posts at home that I handwrote while I didn't have a computer this year. Is it wrong of me to post them now, dating them when I actually wrote them? I was thinking I'd do a new post and type up on of the others every day until I've filled the gap.

 

What's your opinion on backposting? Do you think it's okay in special circumstances? Or wrong since I didn't post it online on that day, like it's a form of cheating?

She worked on business orders and called back and forth to the two cafes for over two hours when a knock sounded at the door. She wrapped up the call and called the person in.
Rick walked into the simple office and sat on a large sofa against the wall. Books covered the walls. Cassandra was behind a simple mahogany desk. A multi-line telephone, a file folder, a laptop and a small pencil cup were the only supplies on her desk. "I've looked over the house,"
"And?" She pulled a pair of glasses from her face and shut the laptop.
"Do you normally wear glasses?" he asked instead of answering.
"No. I need them for my laptop. Something about the screen messes with my vision. The house?" she persisted.
"It's more secure than I expected. The only things I'd recommend are a security system and a better lock on the back door. I picked it in less than two minutes."
Her face paled slightly, but she nodded confidently, "I will call some security companies and find something." He made a recommendation then and she accepted. They spoke for a few minutes about security and locks before she stood. "I want another cup of tea. Would you like anything?" She pressed something on the desk and the laptop sunk, a panel sliding into place above it.
Rick came over and inspected the desk, "Clever. You can barely tell there's something amiss about the desk."
"I'm a private person. That laptop has everything about me on it. I don't take risks with that. Did you want a drink?" she asked, walking out of the room.
"No thanks. I drank all the coffee."
She reached into the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of cold tea, "I normally eat dinner around 7. Is that alright with you?" She poured a tall glass and put the pitcher away.
"That's fine. You don't need to cook for me. I brought some food with me."
She lifted an eyebrow at that, "Canned foods and power bars?" she guessed.
He shrugged, "It works."
"It's no way to live. I was planning to make lasagna tonight. You are welcome to share."
"I never turn down free food. Especially not lasagna."
"Okay. Now that that's settled, do you eat salad? Or are you type of man who says, 'Salad? Rabbit food!'"
"I eat salad. They give you one on any burger you order it seems."
She laughed at that, "I'm making salad to go with the lasagna, but if you don't want it you don't have to eat it. I'm finished work, so I'm going to watch a movie in the living room. There's another TV in the guest room if you'd like to watch something else." She wasn't going to ask him to watch the movie with her.
"What movie is it?"
"The Damned. It's about a psycho and his family."
"I've heard of it. If you wouldn't mind the company I would like to watch it."

The phone was ringing. Anne fidgeted on her bed, eyeing the floor. The phone rang again, and she sighed as she glanced at it through the bedroom door.  Why didn't I bring it in with me last night? She shifted as the phone rang again, considered the floor. Her foot lowered toward it and then jerked back. Had she seen it move? She was almost sure the board had shifted, tilted so her foot would have slipped. No, she thought, it's too much. It's like a bog. If I put my foot down it will pull me into its filth.

She trembled as the phone rang again. The answering machine would click on next. Whoever it was would leave a message, and she would still be stranded on her bed, helpless against the floor. Shoes. She needed shoes. But her shoes were in the other room as well. She'd come into the room unafraid the night before. The floor had been clean last night. It had been still and stable under her sock-clad feet. Where had her socks gone? A fissure of hope cracked through her fear as she spun around on the bed, flicking back blankets and pillows.

Her sister's voice came over the answering machine as she grasped one sock in triumph. One more left!

"Anne, are you there? Pick up, I know you're there. You're always there." A pause. Anne continued looking for the other sock. A sigh from the answering machine. "Fine. I will call back in ten minutes, and if you do not answer I will stop by before work. Okay? If you need help, do not panic. You heard me say I would be there if you don't answer, didn't you? I will come for you if you don't answer. I love you baby sister."

The answering machine clicked off. Anne was staring over the side of the bed at the remaining half of her second sock. The other half had been taken in by the floor. I have to wait, she thought, trying not to panic. Alyssa will be here in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes later, Alyssa let herself into Anne's apartment. "Anne?" she called, walking quickly through the rooms.

"I'm here," she heard Anne's voice from the bedroom.
"What's wrong today, sweetie?"

"Oh, not much. It's just the floor."

"What's it doing?" Alyssa stopped in the doorway and looked at her disheveled sister crouched on the bed.

"It's dirty and it's eating my sock," Anne stared at the spot in question accusingly, "You have shoes, you're fine."
With that Alyssa stepped into the room and went to the sock. She picked it up and the missing half flopped out from underneath.

Anne sighed happily, "You fixed it."

"Yes. Do you need new socks and shoes?"

"Please."

Alyssa found them and helped Anne put them on. "Anything else?"

"No, I can get the bucket and cleaner now."
"You know I will always be here to help," her voice wavered tiredly.