The year: 2023

38456, Moking Street,
Oadley,
Albion

[Marty's POV]

If anyone had told me that after three years of studying day and night and putting my blood, sweat, and tears (literally) to secure a merit ranking in 'Baking and Pastry Arts Management' and earning a diploma in 'Latte Art' I would end up working in a mediocre café, I would have laughed my ass off. Seriously, the establishment didn't even have one review on Squaremeal. Even street stalls were doing better than this God-forsaken place.

After almost ten years of doing the same damn thing day in and day out, however, I had made peace with my situation. My dreams of working in a Michelin-star restaurant lay in ruins, as did everything I had ever wished for. Even this café which I co-owed, didn't mean squat.

I glanced out the window. It was still dark outside. The sun hadn't risen yet, after all. It felt like the giant ball of fire had forgotten about me altogether. There was no warmth, neither in my life nor in my heart. Everything was gloomy and cold.

"Excuse me. I have a special delivery for-" The guy dressed in a bright red and yellow t-shirt peaked inside my place of work, "-Mr. Marty Wyllt. I am not sure if I am at the right place." he scanned the room and zeroed in on me: the only one there.

The guy, who looked to be no more than twenty, had bright blue eyes and a bold, almost noble-looking nose.

I gestured to him to step inside; taking off his cap, he did as told and despite knowing he might take it the wrong way, I stared.

He was a rare sight. For one, he was smiling; no one smiled at work anymore, at least not in such wee hours of the morning. And for another, he had inky black hair cut short like a marine's. I hadn't come across many his age who could pull off this look with such ease.

"Are you Mr. Wyllt?" He enquired, giving me a once over. When I nodded, he looked over his shoulder and then back at me. "I would like to see some identification, if possible."

"Sure." I handed him my driver's license, which he accepted with a smile. After verifying that I was the man I claimed to be, he returned the same to me.

"Thank you, Mr. Wyllt."

"Please, call me Marty. Being called Mr. Wyllt makes me sound like royalty, which, as you can see, I am not."

The young man's eyes twinkled, and he bit back a smile. Then, looking hesitant, he requested, "Marty, is there anywhere we can talk in private. I was instructed to deliver the item to you in person. Preferably in private. I need you to inspect the package and its contents before accepting it."

A faint blush rose to his cheeks, "I don't usually do...deliver such items. I mean, I am not used to such requests." As he struggled to get the words out, the blush darkened.

"It came out pervy, didn't it?" He asked, shaking his head and before I could reply, he muttered, 'Damn it!' under his breath and then shrugged, looking embarrassed.

Deciding not to make matters worse, I nodded, "I understand. Is this private enough?" I asked, gesturing at the deserted café, and he threw a thumbs-up at me. "I will be right back." He turned on his heel and left.

Picking up my pace, I got busy setting up the place. Soon, it would be time for me to lock the door and start prep work in the kitchen before my partner showed up and started ordering me around.

"Marty," the delivery guy called, stepping inside once again. The package he held was wrapped in a piece of faded, worn cloth that had caught mold in some places.

What could it contain?

Precariously placed on top was a similarly wrapped small square package with a note pasted on its front.

It looked like the delivery guy was struggling to carry them inside.

How heavy could they possibly be?

"Where do you want me to put it?" He asked, almost out of breath, and I felt the urge to bring him a cup of our best brew- on the house, of course. Ignoring the growing need to please the youth and keep him by my side for as long as possible, I replied, "Right there, please." I pointed at a corner, which we often used for placing our rain gear, and rushed to his side, helping him with the packages, which to my surprise, must have weighed at least a dozen kilos or more.

As we set the items down, I peeked at his name tag. Dwight Peyton, it read. I committed it to memory. "So, can you tell me who sent it, or have you been instructed not to disclose it?" I asked, quirking my brow and eyeing the packages.

Dwight chuckled. He shook his head, "I wish it was that simple. The truth is, we, I mean, my company, can't answer that either."

"Care to elaborate?"

As we cut the ropes around the packages one at a time, Dwight narrated how they had found the packages while demolishing an old estate just north of Oadley, where it was safely tucked in a hidden compartment between two walls.

"This is where things get mysterious," he took a deep breath, building anticipation, "These walls, as we came to know later, are of somewhat historical importance."

"How so?"

"So, get this: the walls are at least a thousand years old. And the packages seemed to be untouched."

"Are you telling me these packages are a thousand years old?"

Dwight nodded aggressively, "Yep. And guess what, they are addressed to you." He handed me the smaller of the two packages. "Want me to go on?" He wiggled his brows mysteriously. It seemed like he couldn't wait to get the info out, "I haven't told you the best part yet."

Giving my watch a quick glance, I nodded.

"Obviously, when my boss found it, he got curious and tried to open it. But try as he may, nothing pierced the fabric. He even tried to set it on fire."

"What!? You are kidding!"

"Absolutely not." He shook his head and handed me his phone, "Take a look at this. My buddy filmed it in secret. He got caught before he could upload it, though."

I glanced at the mobile's screen in awe, and all I could say at the end was, "How the heck..."

"Exactly. After that, no one wanted anything to do with the packages. I guess they were all freaked out."

"Then?" I could tell that there was more, and I was right.

"Then, he decided to shove it away. He sent it to the undeliverable section. But the very next morning, the packages reappeared in his home."

"That's..."

"Ya, I know. Impossible, right?"

I blinked dumbfounded; deep in my heart, a tiny flame of excitement flickered. However, it was extinguished a heartbeat later.

"Hey, Marty," Dwight shook my shoulder, "I am sorry if I spooked you. I was supposed to keep it a secret."

"Why did you take it up?" I wanted to know why Dwight seemed excited when his colleagues were freaked. "I mean, why did you accept the job? Were you forced to deliver it?"

"Oh no! Not at all. Actually, I volunteered. I don't know why, though. I guess I was more intrigued than scared," he gave me a toothy smile. "Would you mind if I recorded the unboxing?"

I took the first item, "Sure, I don't see why not. By the way, is it for official purposes?"

"Yes and no." Dwight's eyes danced with excitement. "A few of my friends made a bet on whether you will be able to open them."

Curiosity got the best of me, and before I could stop myself, I asked, "What did you bet on?"

"I am not the betting kind, but I did. And having seen you, I think you will be able to do it."

I couldn't be sure if he was flirting with me or if that was just how he was. I pushed it at the back of my mind. There were more pressing matters to take care of.

I nodded and flipped the card open:

To be opened by Mr. Marty Wyllt
[on the 21st day of the eleventh month of the year 2023, before the first rays of the sun fall on Albion]

Residing at:
38456 Moking Street,
Oadley,
Albion.

[Failure to do so or to go against the instructions would lead to the immediate and complete destruction of the people and organization who found the items.]

My immediate reflex was to look out the window.

"Don't worry. We still have about half an hour before sunrise. If that's what you are worried about." Dwight teased and pulled out his iPhone. "Before I found your place, I thought this was a hoax. But now, I am not so sure." He glanced at my hands, "Go on, then. Let's see what you got there."