After-Hours Delivery

She wasn’t sure how long she had laid there under the covers. She had pulled them over her head, wrapping them, molding them around her face so that only her nose and mouth was exposed to the cold air of her bedroom.

Normally howls of wind and subtle creaks of buildings soothed her to sleep. On quiet nights, it was common for her to browse on her phone for a while to find the perfect ambience. Sometimes it was a windy desert, or rain, or the sounds of a night in a forest much farther south.

Now, though, as she peeped out again for the umpteenth time, she felt that instinctual itch, not of comfort in shelter, but worry and anxiety of too-still nesting shadows.

Her hand braved the cold to grab her sweater that she had tossed across the headboard as she had slipped into bed and pulled it under the covers. Rather awkwardly, she slipped it on while still hiding under them, shuddering as its cold form invaded her warm cocoon. Slippers on and her emergency night-light platypus snatched from the bedstand, she drifted towards the stairs, the platypus’ main light harsh compared to the muted light cast through its soft body in night-light mode.

(It got pitch black on moonlit nights or in weather like this, this far out into the country! It was perfectly reasonable to have an emergency light so one didn’t fall down the stairs going to the bathroom, and a flashlight shaped like a platypus was as functional as a sleek cylindrical one!)

She took only a moment to flick the light switch as she passed it. Nothing happened, and she wasn’t surprised. The howls and the utter lack of light coming in through the windows on a nearly full moon night was usually a good enough indication out here for whether the electricity was up at the moment.

Down the stairs and through a short hallway, the ground floor opened into a room that would likely seem strange to most others. A portion of the room was clearly a kitchen and looked almost completely normal for one. There was a fridge, a stove, a large table with a vase of dried flowers, a small window frosted completely over, a collection of chairs, and a too small amount of counter space but it contrasted with the rest of the area. Metal shelves stacked with boxes stood in neat rows for most of the room which was the something that most would find strange to have in their kitchen/dining room.

She didn’t even glance at them as she drifted to the large double backdoors and tested their locks. Satisfied when they didn’t budge, she drifted to the opposite set of doors, and this time, undid their latch.

It was cold in the kitchen but it was definitely colder in this larger room. However, it didn’t feel quite as anxiety-inducing since an auxiliary power source always kept the emergency lights glowing and the single security camera recording.

Her steps squeaked over the waxed floor as she worked her way through the aisles. She took the quickest route to the front, past the displays of baked goods, through the jerky and candy aisle, and then the souvenir aisle to finally stand next to the newspaper rack. Silently she watched the flying snow obscure the street outside.

She sighed as she studied how nearly horizontal icicles connected the metal slats of the security screen beyond the windows of the storefront. The way this storm was going, she was going to be entombed with her store in a chrysalis of ice.

What a way to go, she (mostly) jokingly deadpanned.

A storm like this meant one of two things. One, she may get the chance to sleep in tomorrow, or two, she’ll be busy for the next several weeks with orders.

Penelope’s General Store. Her little store in effectively the middle of nowhere.

There weren’t a lot of stores around these parts. Penelope’s General Store, although definitely smaller than the big-chain stores, had become the supermarket of the area over the years. 

You have a need, any need, we can fill it (but please allow five to seven business days for orders not in stock)!

She rubbed her arms as that strange, unnerving feeling returned. Finally, she turned back to face the bulk of the store’s layout but bright purples by the front caught her eye.

She knew every inch of this building. Even when she had closed up earlier in the day as the winds picked up and the number of customers thinned to nothing, those purples had not been between the front counter and the storefront. With only a single step closer, she could tell a wad of blankets sat in her package bin above the delivery chute.

The Houghton twins again.

At least that was her thought at first. That unruly duo found a great many things much too funny. While she liked her healthy doses of chaos – it kept things interesting around here – shoving a raccoon through her package chute was enough to miff anyone off, especially when said raccoon was found only after getting into stuff and whole units of stock had to be tossed from being chewed (and pooped) on. She needed to just lock that thing up and just tell Henry to (annoyingly) deliver the mail in the back like the other delivery folk. Grabbing the nearest sturdy stick-like thing – a thick yardstick from a shelf – she quietly stepped to and around the counter towards the bundle of blankets. Each step she got closer, though, the less she glanced to the sides for feral little teeth and the more her gaze focused on the bin.

She crouched down over the bin, taking in the picture of a peaceful face with chubby cheeks framed by softness.

“… Oh, crap.”

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Diaper. She needed a diaper. She didn’t actually know if she needed one yet but it was safe to assume that someone so small needed one soon if not already. She didn’t have any diapers, though, so what could she use?

One, she began to repeat again from the beginning to get herself to focus: warm the babe.

Two: find things that can be used for diapers and food because a baby doesn’t care if the sheriff is ten minutes away. When a baby needs something, they know it and they’ll let all those around them know it, too.

Speaking of said sheriff, he apparently wasn’t coming, because as she paused in her frenzy of searching to pick up the landline, she deflated where she stood as no tone issued from the handset. A cellphone definitely wasn’t going to work in this weather out here, and if the landline wasn’t working, something had gone down somewhere which meant no sheriff until this weather eased and she could hike to the station on MacCulloch’s Hill. Anxiously, she exhaled long and hard as she replaced the handset on its hook.

There was Vondell’s ham two doors down, but that meant going out into the night that was equal parts whited out and pitch black.

No. It was best to stay inside. Already exhausted, she slowly turned back to the package bin in the middle of her kitchen table and the little form still snug inside, and she sighed.

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Evaporated milk, when heated, had a bit of strange smell – at least it did to her, she found out.

She leaned closer over the pot to study the warming “soup” but not close enough as to fog her glasses. Maybe she should add a little sugar. Maybe… but how much was too much, especially for a babe?

She had just added in a pinch when a tiny groan behind her stilled the spoon in her hand. Gingerly, ever so quietly as she could, she eased it in to finish stirring the edible-enough-baby-formula-replacement. Just a little longer, she thought, and I’ll have something for you.

The stove clicked off, she turned and…

…

…

Hesitantly, she eased closer to the package bin and stared down into the mess of bedding within.

The empty bedding.

“What the…” she silently breathed.

Every thought crashed into her at once.

Carbon monoxide poisoning? (But the blankets were still there.)

Someone in the house? Too quiet for a grab-and-dash!

The baby couldn’t have climbed or rolled away! Maybe – maybe – they could roll onto their front but not out of the bin without me noticing!

“Eek!”

She quickly scrambled under the table and hid behind the now definitely too-short tablecloth as instinct flared at the slightest of noise sounding too nearby. She sat there, crouched, spoon still in hand, gulping down breaths as quietly as she could.

Something that may have been the noise that scared her sounded again soon after. Not big footsteps, no, but instead something most like scuttling. A shuffling, perhaps, with almost rhythmic clacking on tile coming from the small bathroom down the hall.

… She had to do something. (Babies don’t disappear, brain!) She was only twenty-some feet from the back door. Beyond that, the closest building she knew that would have someone to let her in from the cold was Vondell’s shop.

A soft growl from the bathroom snapped her attention to the spoon in her hand. You need something else! Anything else besides a spoon was what she needed. It was store policy to not keep non-plastic knives in the employee area (Incident #12 – Impromptu “Dart” Game) so she snatched the heavy push broom from its corner. That scuttling coming suddenly closer had her flying towards the dinner table again. Using a chair as a step, she quickly pulled all her limbs tightly away from the edges as she caught a glimpse of a mass dashing under the table. She had lost control of her breath again, but even in panic’s grip, she had enough sense to kick the chair onto the floor, and silence returned for the moment to the softly lit corner that was the kitchen.

That soft growling was under her. She glanced into the bin that crowded the tabletop with her which was still empty. Tried as she might, that now tentative shuffling never reached to where she could get a glimpse of whatever lurked below her. Her grip which she had managed to keep on the broom as she had all but jumped onto the table tightened as her gaze catching on the fridge gave her an idea. It took a bit of trying but given the shape of the brush cap, she was able to open the refrigerator easily enough. She grimaced, hesitating to actual touch the brush against food, but she forced herself to deal with it. Various food items from apples, a package of cheese, and Stan’s sandwich scattered onto the floor. That shuffling that had stopped at the clatter renewed once the items had settled.

Her eyes widened as claws clicked over the tile.

She was definitely hallucinating.

The storm had encased her home in so much ice and snow that it had blocked an exhaust for something somewhere and she was slowly succumbing to its effects. Sitting on her dining table with her knees up and her broom still in hand, she watched the scuttling something cautiously move towards the closest apple, and she paled. 

A familiar little romper was crawling across her floor but now with a stubby purple reptilian tail poked through the seat. Little claws forsook the apple to instead grab Stan’s brown bag, and with a bite, ripped a chunk from it and devoured its contents. The bag of cheese suffered a similar fate along with several more tubs of stored food.

Apparently placated at last, the little form burped, colorful sparks and smoke issuing from their mouth before they sleepily curled on top of the remains of their carnage.

…

…

…

WHAT WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?!