. : C h a p t e r - 3 : . Countdown

"Slacker, gimmie some candy, or else I'll play nasty tricks on you!"

"Booo...I need candy, ten-hut!"

"Little one, you'd better fork over the goods, or else!"

I HATE Halloween.

The silly pumpkin-masked villagers had been stopping in one by one the entire night. They tracked mud all over the floor and littered it with candy wrappers after they had their fill of tasty treats. A dish of over 100 morsels would be empty by morning. She knew they were coming in twice--even three times!--but Phyllis didn't feel like knocking ten rolls of toilet tissue off of the Post Office again this year.

After the hoopla had settled down, one peculiar patron entered. It wore the pumpkin-mask and indigo robes, as everyone else did, but didn't threaten her or make strange noises. It wandered about the post office idly, looking the place up and down. Now and again the mysterious villager eyed-up the candy dish, but it remained silent.

"Jack, are you going to ask for a piece or just flood your mask with drool like last time?" Phyllis asked at last.

"Um..." The animal's head quickly turned to Phyllis. As it approached the counter, it slipped on a small deposit of muddy water on the floor, letting out a baffled mew as it caught its balance. "Oh!"

That's not Jack, but...who is she? Phyllis thought, anxiety seeding deep within her.

The small, pumpkin-masked stranger approached the counter, leaning in close to Phyllis and studying her face from behind the safety of the orange mask. A familiar feeling crept up the pelican's spine, and what she could see in the holes of the mask was, also. Too familiar. "This is the town Post Office. What do you want?"

The stranger pulled from beneath her robe a white envelope, sliding it across the counter.

"There's no addressee on this envelope. I can't mail it." Phyllis raised her voice. Was this girl some kind of idiot?

"Then don't." The Idiot's soft voice didn't equate such cynicism; she turned away nervously and her mask shifted softly on her petite shoulders. She gingerly took two pieces of candy from the dish, placing one in her pocket. As she walked out, she popped the other sweet into her mouth, tossing the wrapper into the proper waste receptacle.

For a time, Phyllis stared out into space. Who was she? I know I've met her before...

She turned the envelope over and over in her hands nonchalantly, as if in a trance. It fell from her wings, flipping once in midair and ending seal-side-up on the counter. She slowly tilted her head downward to look at it. Scooping it up cautiously, she pulled out her letter opener from under the counter. The flap sprang out of its fold tautly, cutting through her feathered finger and nicking the skin. The wisps of pink feather floated about ethereally. Phyllis held up the injured extremity, and a single crimson drop dove onto the crisp white envelope. With her other wing, she turned the envelope upside-down and shook the slip of long, yellowed memo paper out.

This was thoughtfully scrawled on the front:

It's not over, Phyllis:
You upset the flow and stole the
balance. I WILL get it back.
If you thought it was bad before,
you'll be unpleasantly surprised.
That's a promise.

And this on the back, in large print:

22

Just as Phyllis finished reading the note, a small object rolled down the tilted inside of the envelope and came to a rest on the counter after rolling lopsidedly for a few seconds. Her ring.

She seized the paper form its resting place, reading it over and over again. She picked up the ring, and slid it onto her right ring finger with a smirk. "I suppose its time to pay the piper..." Phyllis' insides were violently shaking with fear, but she masked it with a resolved acceptance of her fate. After all, she had been waiting a long time for this. The 22, though, still rattled her brain. Yes, they had been married for 22 years, but she would never forget that.

It hit her like a bushel of bricks. Phyllis had 22 days left before the reunion. 22 days to live.

One agonizing day of wait for each agonizing year of their matrimony. She circled the day on the wall calendar. Oh, the irony; it was their anniversary and her 40th birthday. And Phyllis wasn't about to give HIM a gift. Just as she placed her marker back in its cup, the bell above the door sang its salutation to...

Copper. The officer strode stiffly in, eyes locked on Phyllis. "What's that, Miss Phyllis? Fan mail?"
There he goes with that Miss Phyllis thing again. What does he want?

"It's garbage." Phyllis curtly replied, tossing the paper into the garbage can across the room.

"Well played."

"I was varsity in high school."

"Really? I was also quite the athlete in my younger days--but I digress. There is something suspicious about you, Phyllis. I can smell it." Copper didn't beat around the bush about crime. Ever.

"You might want to get that checked. Nothing ever happens around here." The pelican snapped, heading into the back room to grab her inventory clipboard. Copper crept over to the garbage can, poking the wad until it unfurled its secrets. The canine quickly jotted a few notes down on his notepad, making sure to note the exotic scent of the paper. He rubbed his paw on the paper and then on his.

When Phyllis returned, she spotted the snooping dog and was quite enraged. "Get out of there!"

"Well, I don't have anything more to see here. I'll be off; stay out of trouble Miss Phyllis!" The police dog strode out with his usual airs still intact.

Phyllis waddled over to the can, pulling out the paper and stuffing it back into the envelope. She tore the envelope (and the letter) into a million little pieces and cupped her wing around them. Pelly would be in any minute, so she swept up the dried mud with one hand on her broom. As the angelic white figure strode in, she brushed past and was out the door without a word.

Phyllis stopped at the Wishing Well on her way to the docks. In the plaza, she heard a strange echo:

Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine...

The pelican peered into the dusky distance and saw Tortimer, staggering and singing into the neck of a bottle he held in his claws.

Now she's lost and gone forever, oh my darling Clementine...

"Tortimer?! Tortimer!" Phyllis called to him. The senile turtle stopped dead, looking at her blankly.

She rushed to him, pushing him by his shell toward the post office. "I think you need to abandon the bottle for a while and relax." She suggested. If anyone in town saw this, there could be trouble! Phyllis thought as she coaxed Tortimer back toward the Post Office. He was now babbling senselessly, his arms flailing. She kicked the door open, shouted "Pelly!", and shoved him in. Pelly would have to deal with this; Phyllis was, after all, off the clock.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let the twilight-infused wind blow around her. In solemn silence she walked back to the well, kneeling before its stone rim and jovial statue. Taking the paper bits she had cupped so tightly in her wing, she laid them in the cool, clear water, watching them slowly sink to the cobblestone bottom. Though it felt concluding to dispose of the materialized threat, Phyllis knew this was far from over.

22 days far from over.