Scott woke early, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. He made pancakes for Tober, the usual morning routine feeling strangely out of sync with the day's plans. After a brief, tense negotiation about visiting the egg (a delicate matter, given Tober's enthusiasm and Scott's anxiety), they headed to Grandma's. The drop-off felt interminable. Scott checked his watch repeatedly, the minutes stretching into an eternity.
Back home, he paced. Nothing on the porch, nothing in the mailbox. He considered waiting in his car, but that felt too conspicuous. Instead, he watched from the living room window, his gaze sweeping the street. The minutes ticked by. He even grabbed a quick lunch, keeping one eye on the road. He saw the familiar FedEx truck, his heart leaping, only to see it stop at the Dugals' house next door and continue on.
It was 1:57 PM. 1:58 PM. 1:59 PM. Two PM. The delivery was late. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He was about to grab his phone to call when he heard a faint *ding*. Not a doorbell, but a softer, almost ethereal sound.
He rushed to the door. The street was empty. No cars, no trucks, no people. A small package sat on his doorstep, resting silently as if delivered by an unseen hand.
Scott picked up the padded envelope . It felt strangely light as he put it on the dinning room table. He'd examine its contents later. The question wasn't *what* he'd received, but *how*. He scanned the street again, his gaze sharp. A delivery truck *could* have parked around the corner, he was on a corner lot, but would he have heard it? Unless it was one of the new silent electric vans. The thought sparked a new possibility.
He abandoned the search for a truck. Instead, he grabbed his binoculars, powerful ones, ostensibly for birdwatching, but secretly used for monitoring neighborhood UPS deliveries (a fact that had once earned him a raised eyebrow from Marsha Dugal). A glint of sunlight on something metallic caught his eye. He dashed to the front yard, binoculars raised.
Scott surveyed his yard. The tall trees offered ample concealment for a drone. He scanned the sky, then slowly circled his property, his gaze sweeping between the oaks and pines. A faint buzzing sound caught his attention. He spun around, binoculars lowered, and dashed toward the sound. It was just a weed wacker. Disappointed, he continued his search, his eyes scanning the rooftops of his neighbors' houses. Mrs. Jensen's shingles certainly needed repare.
As circled back to his own driveway, he shifted his focus to the front steps, visualizing a possible drone flight path. He raised his binoculars, intending to inspect the roofline, when something caught his eye: a smudge of black on his pristine white door. It wasn't dirt. It looked like soot.
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He carefully examined the smudge, noting its location. A faint, smoky smell reached his nostrils. His fingertipss were slightly blackened, he hadn't touched the smudge yet. He noticed fainter traces of black around the landing, vaguely outlining a rectangle. The smell lingered. He went inside to the dinning room, grabbed the package from the table, and saw similar soot marks on its edges and top, enough to have left a smudge on the table. The mystery deepened.
Scott stared at the black soot staining his fingers, a grim reminder of the mystery unfolding from his doorstep. He glanced at his front door, then up at the pale ceiling. No delivery truck and no drone, at least none he'd seen. The soot was the only clue. Had he missed something? His gaze fell back to his blackened fingers. He needed answers. He didn't need freeze-dried flower parts; he needed to understand *why* this had happened.
A wave of unease washed over him. What if the package itself was the source of the soot? What if it contained something dangerous? Hesitation warred with curiosity. The mystery gnawed at him, compelling him to act. With a deep breath, he carefully began to open the package, his movements cautious, his heart pounding a nervous rhythm against his ribs. He had to know.
Scott wrestled open the package, the padded envelope tearing with a soft rip. Suddenly, movement caught his eye, a flicker at the window. A drone? He glanced around, then back to the table. His gaze fell upon the egg, loosely nestled atop the dirt he'd carefully packed. The dirt wasn't flat anymore; it had undulated forming a pattern, like the sand dunes his uncle described from his African travels. A ripple, a wave.
Intrigued, Scott abandoned the package, stepping outside to examine the disturbance. The soil was definately disturbed. He fetched a rake from the shed, smoothing the dirt before returning to the egg. He watched from a distance, his breath held. The shifting resumed and then stopped. It remained still.
Cautiously, he circled the egg, his eyes never leaving the subtle movements of the earth around it. He slipped inside, shut the door, and watched from the dining room window. The dirt looked unchanged. He sat, waiting, an hour blurring into another. What was he doing? Waiting until dark?
He leaned on the table, his elbow knocking against the package. He held it up, shielding his view of the egg only slightly. Still, no movement. He finished ripping it open. His eyes, though still glancing at the egg, focused on the contents: shrink-wrapped packages, vibrant green and gold, and a slip of paper.
He dumped the packages onto the table, the paper falling face down. He picked it up, its logo catching the light, flashflowers.biz. His order: Wild Flower Assortment, 52.00, plus 18.32 shipping. Delivery method: Astral Push. Astral Push?
He grabbed his laptop, a quick glance confirming the egg's stillness, and searched. A Scandinavian speed metal band. He tried "Astral Push delivery," finding a Reddit link to a grainy fax image. A shipping manifest from Bookazon.mtou for a 145.00 used copy of *Druidics Rituals*, also delivered by Astral Push. But there was an asterisk. A barely legible note at the bottom seemed to read: "*Astral Push may agitate sensitive beings at receiving location*."
Sensitive beings? He looked back at the egg. The dirt had risen again, forming a small mound with a hole in the center.