The police officer who received him at the counter looked at him for a long time, as if he already knew what it was about. The old man handed him the recording from the camera and waited to see his reaction. The lawman froze for a moment, then called a superior.
In the dimly lit office, smelling of old paper and cheap coffee, the old man learned the truth. He was not the only one receiving such “gifts.” In several villages in the area, people had reported the appearance of mysterious drones that dropped off food, as well as strangely wrapped packages.
Some had taken them home, convinced that it was a blessing sent by some organization. Others, like him, were afraid and refused to touch them. What terrified the police was that, in a few cases, after people consumed the food, they ended up in the hospital with bizarre symptoms — extreme weakness, hallucinations, memory loss.
The retiree felt his heart tighten. All his premonitions were confirmed. That bread was not an act of kindness, but a trap.
“Sir,” the police officer said, “we want to ask you something. Don’t tell anyone in the village what you saw. People would panic. But, above all, do not touch that bread.”
The old man nodded, although in his heart he felt that the peace of the village had already been shattered.
He stepped out onto the empty street and headed home. The autumn wind brought the smell of burnt leaves and damp earth. In his mind, his grandmother’s words echoed: “When you receive gifts without asking for them, make the sign of the cross and ask yourself where they come from.”
That night he could not sleep. He sat in a chair by the stove, with the dog lying at his feet. The fire crackled softly, but the silence was oppressive. He wondered what he should do.
At four in the morning, just like in the previous days, a faint buzzing sound was heard above the house. He crept out and looked through the window. The drone was there, descending with the same cold precision. But this time, the old man did not hesitate. With a quick motion, he raised the old hunting rifle he had kept since his youth and fired.
A metallic noise shattered the silence of the night, and the drone crashed to the ground, sparking. The package rolled down the stairs, opening up. It was not just bread. Inside were also a few small vials with blue liquid.
The old man’s heart sank. He knew he could hide nothing anymore. The next day, the police came, took the drone and the vials, and the village was shaken by rumors. People talked at their gates, women crossed themselves, and the elders murmured that “these are not clean things.”
In the village church, the priest delivered a heavy sermon: “Do not be deceived by foreign gifts! Behind them may lie evil, even if it hides under the guise of bread.”
From that day on, the old man found nothing on his porch. The drones disappeared, and people began to guard their homes more carefully.
But something had changed. The village was no longer as peaceful. Every engine noise, every distant buzz sent shivers down people’s spines.
And the retiree, looking up at the dark sky in the evening, felt that the danger was not over. Perhaps others would try again, perhaps the packages would return in another form.
But he knew one thing: as long as he had faith and courage, he would not be defeated.
And, raising his eyes to the icon in the house, he whispered: “Lord, protect us from gifts that do not come from the hearts of people.”
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
