Little Surprises

I stare at the freshly delivered package, set so diligently upon my stoop by the same unmarked drone that had delivered the previous five. My suspicion is mild when compared to my intrigue, as the previous parcels have all held something that I have found to be wonderfully tailored to my own interests. Perhaps I should be more alarmed, but, to me, it seems that my secret admirer, whoever that may be, has come to know me very well.

I crouch down and receive the parcel carefully, always unsure of the fragility of the item inside. I place it beneath my left arm and make my way to the shed, thankful as I pass by the sows that I fed them beforehand, quieting their squeals of hunger into grunts of satisfaction, limiting the distractions that might cause Bo to stray from my side. The faster I can get to this package, the better.

The old, rusty hinges squeak when I pull the door open, my boots causing the straw on the ground to rustle in response to my quick steps toward the tall, homemade bench that sits at the far end of the modest building. I place the package on the wooden surface, reaching eagerly into my pocket for my switchblade as I take guesses at what might be inside.

This secret admirer has gifted me with so many of wonderful things in the last two months, and they are all strewn across this bench. I look them over, the first being a beautiful black diamond platinum wristwatch, indicating to me that the time is 10:42 a.m.

I open my knife, glancing momentarily at the remaining gifts, a slow smile finding its way onto my lips, a combination of gratitude and anticipation, as I prepare to open the newest arrival. Quickly, I use the blade to cut through the brown tape along the box's seams, pulling it open excitedly, my mind coming up with a thousand guesses of what it might be.

All of those guesses fall short. What I'm looking at is something so beautiful, so well-crafted, so perfectly "me," that I can no longer imagine who it is that knows me so well. Draped in a piece of leather, a hand-carved wooden hunting blade, clearly a work of an extremely talented creator. It must be worth hundreds; far too extravagant for a gift from someone who remains to be anonymous.

I double check, but the return address is as blank as all of the others, with only the letters "S.A." marked on the bottom left corner of the package and serving as the singular indication of who the sender may be. Each gift had arrived in similar packaging, the various contents included consisting of a brown leather belt, a heavy green woolen scarf, and a strong leash for my dog, Bo... there had even been a pair of cowhide gloves, perfect for these cold winter months here in the Midwest.

I pick up the new knife with excitement, turning it over in my hand and admiring the small details etched into the handle. It is truly beautiful, and it makes me wonder who could possibly desire me this much. Who is close enough to me to know of my collection of watches, my waist size, my favorite color, and that my best friend is my dog? Who is it that knows of my fervent love of hunting, especially in the cold season?

"Well, Bo, someone really must like your daddy." I smile down at him, his dark chocolate eyes meeting mine as he cocks his head to the side. I laugh quietly, giving him a quick pat before turning my gaze back to the knife.

I run my thumb along the silver blade, touching the edge carefully and finding it to be extraordinarily sharp, sharp enough, in fact, to draw a small drop of blood to the surface.

"We'll use that one soon, won't we, boy?" I smile again, turning it over once more before placing it carefully on the bench alongside the other gifts.

I'll put them all to good use, but only when the gift giver comes forward. Until then, I'll keep them in as good a condition as I can, to show my appreciation.

I do my best to forget about the new gift for the rest of the day, finishing chores and even going into town to get some more dog food and ammunition for my shotgun, before retiring for the night.

When I wake the next morning, I find myself hoping to open the front door to a new gift, much like a child on Christmas morning hopes for a full stocking. Unfortunately, I am met with a snow-covered stoop and zero parcels to speak of.

I whistle to Bo, reminding myself that 30-year-old men shouldn't pout as I make my way to the pig pen, starting my day off by feeding the gals, just as I usually do.

There is still a perk to my day, however. I finish my work in a rush, eager to take another look at my newest gift, my mind still mulling over who it might be from. Satisfied that the girls are fat and happy, I make my way straight to the shed, Bo on my heels as we enter the little building, making our way to the prize table.

I can feel my smile turn into a frown when I survey the bench, the newest addition mysteriously absent from the lineup.

"Well, Bo... I don't suppose you needed to do some carving last night?"

Bo whines quietly in reply, making me laugh again, despite the situation.

"Alright, boy. Help me look."

The rest of the gifts are just as I left them. I rack my memory, trying to figure out what I had done with the darn thing. I could swear I had left it right next to the other items, but I do have a tendency to be absent-minded.

I look around the ground a bit, Bo helping me like the good boy he is. Besides the fun he has had being on the ground with me on all fours, the search is fruitless. I stand back up, hands on my hips as I survey the room again.

My gaze lands on the small box that carried the blade, lying forgotten on the edge of the long bench. I reach over and pick it up, the weight alone telling me that what I look for isn't inside. I look anyway, my hand already in motion and my eyes already searching.

But it isn't empty. In my eagerness to get to the gift inside, I overlooked a folded-up piece of white paper.

"Hey, Bo, we might get a chance to learn our Admirer's name." I pull out the paper, toss the box aside, and unfold it on the bench.

"What in the Hell 's this?"

It's not a letter, not a confession. No... it's a list. A list of names. I read them over two or three times, but I only recognized two of the six. One was an old classmate of mine. He still lived in the next town, but I rarely spoke to him aside from casual run-ins at the grocery store or local bar. In fact, I hadn't seen him in at least a month.

And the second... the second name I recognized was more alarming. I read it three, four, five times...

Connor Kile.

Connor Kile.

Me.

That's my goddamn name. Why is it on this list? What does it mean?

I read it over a few more times before crumpling it up and tossing it to the floor.

A list of potential partners? People this freak is stalking? Or is it something else, altogether?

Feeling a bit disturbed, I choose to go about my day, drowning my racing thoughts beneath the exhaustion of labor. It works, for the most part, but as my head hits my pillow, my mind begins to wander again.

I'm into the third or fourth worst-case scenario my mind has created when I hear the heavy knocking on my door. My entire body tenses. It's late, but not so unreasonably late that this couldn't simply be a neighbor needing to borrow a tool or an ingredient.

Even so, pulling my covers back is almost impossible, and I wait until the third heavy knock to do so.

I put my slippers on and run down the stairs.

"Hold on!"

I reach the front door and pull it open, my eyes widening when I see the red and blue lights illuminating the uniforms that stand in front of me.

"Mr. Kile?"

"Ye... Yes. Yessir. Is there a problem?"

"Sir, you need to come with us."

"Excuse me?"

My heart drops in my chest and I take an involuntary step backward.

"What's this about?"

"Mr. Kile, you are under arrest for the suspected abduction and murder of James Every, along with at least six other known victims."

"What?"

Murder? Unless it's a goose or a deer, I'd never murdered a thing in my life. This doesn't make any sense!

"Sir, we found a knife at the crime scene that's been traced back to you. We have a warrant and we will be searching the property for anything linking you to these crimes."

Knife? The knife... the gifts... Oh, God.

"No... wait! You have to listen to me! Someone set me up!"

"Sir, you have the right to remain silent..."

"No!" Who would have done this? Who -

"Anything you say or do will be used against you in a court of law."

Who would... Oh. The gifts... they started coming the day after -

Of course. How could I forget? That first gift brightened my dark mood after coming home from a night in the drunk tank.

"You have the right to an attorney."

It was just a bar fight. Sam couldn't really be that nuts... right? I've known him since elementary school. He's always been a little crazy, but, aside from his temper, he really straightened himself out when we grew up.

That's what it had looked like, anyway.

"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

"Sam! It was Sam Allen! Please! Listen to me!"

As I'm pushed into the cruiser, I wonder how I could have been so stupid.

Secret admirers leave flowers and chocolate, not weapons and a countdown.

"Hey there, Connor. What sort of trouble did ya get yourself into this time?"

I look up and see a familiar pair of eyes looking back at me, a smirk on Officer Allen's lips.

Guess I was wrong when I told Sam he was the dumbest cop this town had ever had.