Sincerely, Three Wings Above

The doorbell rang. Sounds of fans whirring soared overhead and out of earshot as Lacey opened the front door and looked down. The bright red box was labeled with no outside indicator as to its origin. Only the words "Sincerely, Three Wings Above" were visible. She stooped down and picked up the awkward package. Three strings were tied to it, these she removed with ease.

The brown wrapping came undone and dropped at her feet. They curled at the edges like hands reaching for her. She surveyed the small white box that had been hidden by the brown exterior. Again, nothing save for the words "Sincerely, Three Winigs Above" was visible anywhere on the exterior. Lacey glanced down the street where two boys peddled down the gravel road. They whooped and hollered their way past some spruce trees and made a turn out into the expansive wilderness behind the row of perfectly manicured houses. White clouds danced across saphire blue. Birds sang their songs of searching and hunger through the oak trees next to her home. There was no one nearby who acted guilty or suspicious.

"Ms. Lastly!" Her adorkable neighbor Jim (whom everyone simply called Treble) stuck his head form his second floor window and waved cheerily. He raised a mug of what she could only asume was coffee, the only beverage he ever seemed to consume.

"Mr. Angel," she smiled sweetly and waved back. It had only been three days since she'd moved in and already the neighborhood was springing to life. From those who loved their gardening to those who hated anything social and parked their cars inside their garages. These people she never saw. For all she knew, they were aliens sprung from the three planets above.

"Are you doing anything this evening," he lowered the mug.

"I don't have plans," she placed her hand to her brow to block the warm sunlight.

"What's that in your hands?" Treble indicated the package.

"I don't know. Did you see who dropped it off?" She inquired.

He shook his head and she excused herself to the comforting loneliness of her home. She let her hair from her bun. It cascaded down about her slim shoulders. She walked the short distance to the mahogny table that had been a wedding gift, before all the trauma had started. She ran a finger along its edge and shook her head to keep her mind in the moment and not the past. The package sat before her.

She took a knife from the kitchen drawer and cut the tape that kept it shut. She removed the top of the box and stared at the piece of paper inside. That was it. No strange gift or package she'd forgotten she'd ordered. Just a simple piece of white paper. Her heart settled with dissapointment. She didn't know what she'd expected. The paper curled in her hand and she folded it open to survey the contents. In red ink, the tips and ends curved with fancy swirls, the following message appeared:

You are in danger. In three hours your home will collapse into a sinkhole directly beneath you. I know you have no reason to believe this, but I have looked out for you. I always will. Times have been tough especially since Bronson died. I have looked out for you threefold and now i must tell you. I was forbidden from speaking with you as we are beyond the confines of this mortal and spirutal world. But I cannot deny I feel as I should not. I did not know I could have a heart so entranced in bright song was I. Yet now I'm sure it's not a dream nor fantasy of highest truth. I feel and I cannot lie. So in this way I hope to help. Please take my truth to your heart.

~ Sincerely, Three Wings Above

Lacey turned to her window and wondered if the author of this note was somewhere in the foilage that pressed to the pane. She wondered if the trees that tossed or the wolves that howled bore his soul. He seemed so heartbroken, whoever he was. Then her mind shifted to reality and she nearly scoffed. A sinkhole. Right. Here in the middle of Excursion Boulevard? The most boring and cookie-cutter neighborhood this side of the rolling hills and plunging valleys? Each house built the same way. Each tree sat in the same place. A sinkhole? Really?

She scoffed and tossed the letter into the wastebin where it sunk into the soiled liquid of food and gross remains. It's where it belonged, she told herrself as she busied with the dishes and cleaning. Then she pulled out her laptop and began working on a publishing challange. The prompt was to write about a box that was placed on someone's doorstep and to use the ultimate enigmatic trope. Her eyes widened and her heart beat fast. A package? Though she tried to resist it, her eyes drifted to the wastebin where the paper soaked in pitch black solitude, its words melting slowly.

She removed it and dried off the gross bits. The red ink was smudged but the message was still intact. How long had she wasted? Her clock on the sea green wall above the stove showed two hours and thirty minutes had passed. She still had time.

Lacey kicked herself and tossed the letter back. She was being stupid. There was no mysterious box challange and she was just sleeping. It was a nightmare, a dream bared from reality. But the words on the note were burned into her mind and they revolved with growing clarity. How long before the sinkhole? Don't be preposterous. You're being silly. Was there enough time left on the clock? Throw it away and do away with its memory. She could run now and be in the street in a moment. Should she call the police? There was no cause for alarm and she was stressing out. She moved mechanically toward the front door where a shadow loomed in the side window. It was dark and foreboding. Stop moving your feet. There is nothing to be worried over. Eat some food and get back to your wrriting. She opened the door though she really wished she wouldn't. Treble stood on the other side, his fist up to knock on the thick wood. He blinked in surprise and waved again. His coffee mug was in one hand. Close the door and go back. You look like a schizophrenic maid.

"You should come," he said confidently, though his voice seemed nervous. "With me. Right now."

She blinked back and wondered if she should. Don't go with strange men you've just met. Get back in your house and quit worrying so much. Something drew her to step from her doorjam and close the door behind. How much time was left on the clock? Forget the clock. It ticked in her mind. It's your subconscious vying for attention. She took his hand and he led her down the road. This is creepy. Stop. Who just walks with someone they just met? You know nothing about him. Something about him was familiar, drew him to her. How much time was left. Ten minutes. She turned back to the house and let it soak in her memory. The package wrrapping blew about her yard as if reminding her why she was out here. Was she stupid? Yes, duh. She folded her arms. Treble stared at her.

"Have I done something wrong?" He inquired softly. "You act as one unwilling.

"I feel like something is about to happen," she whimpered. "It's in my head. A voice. I can't think. They're not my own thoughts.

"What could happen?" He touched her shoulder.

"No, don't," she shook her head as her timer ticked. 3 Minutes left.

"I'm sorry, Lacey," he retreated. "Perhaps another day. I hope you enjoy your stay in this neighborhood. If you need anything, just knock on my door."

Two Minutes. "I will," she offered a pathetic smile in hopes he wouldn't be too upset.

He turned and strode back the way he'd come, only this time he walked a liittle less confidently with a little less strut. His shoulders sagged and his head was titled down. Guilt rose in her chest. One Minute. Was she being stupid? Yes, duh. She shook her head and turned to walk back to her house. A feeling bubbled inside her like a hundred screams, a hundred shouts to turn and run. The air beat heavily around her like wings from a giant bird. 10 Seconds.

Lacey reached her hand for the doorknob but something stopped her. Something prevented her. The metal was too cold. There was an eletric zap in its haze. Run. She turned and tumbled to the grassy yard as a rumbling shook the ground. Dirt sprayed into the air and bricks rained down. Some hit her shouldder, one her face. It is as I have made it.

She turned on her back, ignoring the bruises and pain. Above her, her house was gone and was replaced by a giant gaping hole. It spanned fifty feet across and stopped just short of her feet. The depths of the chasm dug deep into the mud and clay. Pieces of her home were littered about but there, on the grass, was the note. It was clean, somehow, and sparkled. On it, a new message read:

Thank you for trusting me.

She glanced about to see if once again someone had left her the note. But dozens of people spilled into the street all gawking and pointing. The house next door was half sunk. The Mayfields who lived inside congregated on their lawn and murmured prayers of gratitude. Lacey supposed she should also thank those who saved her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her hands clenched together.

You have much to offer this world and through us, it shall be strong. Your time is not nigh thus you have been spared. Why do you think we placed an angel in the house next door? Why do you think we waited three days, sent a message three hours before? Your angel of three was waiting for you outside your great big house. Treble. Treble was trouble till he met you. This in three.

She stared up as three white clouds formed one giant bank and drifted past. Treble. Angel in the house next door. Could it be?

Trebel stood a few feet away, his hands outstretched like he wished to help her but knew he couldn't. His eyes watered and his mouth curved up. His neck pulsed. She stared at him. At the note. At him. The package on her doorstep. Delivered by a drone. A mysterious box. And inside the box? Not a note curled in writers hand. A third chance. First when she nearly died at age five. Second when she made it through Bronson's death without ending her own life. Third, when she nearly died in this sinkhole. Three times. This in three. Treble. Three parts. She stared at him and he at her.

"I thought if you knew, it would ease the burden inside," he confessed. "It does not. There is nothing more tantalizing then that which we cannot have. I only needed to see you safe. I am the Angel of Three. I have protected you thrice and now you must live on your own. Farewell."

She wished she had stopped him then. She wished she had the strength. but she let him drift into the shadows there and vanish forever from her life. What had he meant more tantalizing is that we cannot have?

The mysterious package of three had saved her and she had been given another chance. She would use this if only so others could have this same chance. Her laptop was long gone but she knew if she had written about a mysterious box that had shown up on someone's doorstep, she would write about this very incident. And so she took that piece of paper and on its back with a pen she'd borrowed from a bewilderred neighbor, she began to write her story with soft silky words: "The doorbell rang..."