//------------------------------// // Prologue – A strange arrival // Story: A Series of Unlikely Occurrences // by XYZDreadnought //------------------------------// The wind howled through the distant hills and tore through the countryside. Thunder rumbled, rain fell in sheets, trees bowed and leaves flew and danced in rhythm with the chaotic symphony of the storm. The gales surged on, wild country side giving way to well-manicured lawns, and slammed into the large house on the hill, rattling the shutters, rousing Rachelle Miller from a light sleep. She woke up with a start, tense, listening for the source of the noise. No sound was heard except the muffled storm outside, the shutters rattled again. She relaxed. 'Just the storm,' she thought. She felt the bed shift, causing her to look down at the sleeping form of her husband, Arthur Miller, seemingly undisturbed by the raging gale. She smiled, fondly tussling his hair. He murmured something in his sleep, grinning like an idiot. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then carefully hopped out of bed, suddenly too awake for sleep. Walking silently across the padded carpet and out the bedroom door, she crept through the corridors of their home, too big to be a house, too small to be a manor. She made her way to the kitchen. “Some warm milk would really hit the spot right now,” she mumbled to no-one in particular. She carefully poured herself a mug and put it in the microwave, punching in the numbers 1-0-0, before pressing START. She leaned against the counter, the gentle hum of the microwave and windy downpour outside the only sounds to be heard. The house felt empty, she knew the butler, Walter, was out for the evening and her husband was still in bed, but it still felt empty, it always did, there was something missing in her life, she probably knew what it was… Her musings were interrupted by the beeping of the microwave. She pressed open, carefully extracted the mug, and gingerly walked into the lounge room. She sank slowly into the shapeless cushions of the couch, her body slowly being absorbed by the blissfully soft material. Talking a sip, she listened to the raging storm outside, and pondered her marriage. She loved her husband, there was no doubt about that, he was the only man for her, his smile, his passion, his eccentric mannerisms, no uncertainty there, now if only… The door slowly opened, revealing, as if on cue, her husband. He was wearing his pyjamas, a warm grin, and a pair of bunny slippers... and carrying his own mug of warm milk. “I thought you might be here,” he said. “Mind if I join you?” She smiled and patted the cushion next to her. After sinking into the couch next to her, they sat in the silence and the gloom for a moment, savouring their drinks. He finally broke the silence “What’s on your mind sweetheart? You’re getting that philosophical look on your face.” She took a moment to arrange her thoughts then said, “Just wondering when we can have a new member of the family…” He nodded in understanding, nothing more needed to be said between the two. They both dearly wanted a child, but so far, they have remained a family of two. Not for lack of trying, but as of so far it just hasn't taken. They both sighed. She learned her head on his shoulder, as he wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t worry, it will happen,” he whispered. “Just be patient.” They shared a brief but loving kiss before resuming their relaxed embrace, the air feeling slightly warmer. They were considering whether it might be worth trying again, right here, on the couch, when suddenly they heard a heavy pounding on the door, the echoes cascading through the house. They looked at each other, marital telepathy kicking into overdrive, a stream of unspoken words flowing between them, Someone at the door? At this hour? We weren’t expecting anyone, were we? Who could it be? This needs investigating. Reaching the same conclusion, they slowly got up and crept out of the room, heading down to the entrance hall as the pounding repeated. They approached the door carefully, the hammering having stopped. She slowly lowered her eye to the peep-hole, but saw nothing, only the sheets of rain pouring down outside the sheltered alcove in which the door was built. She stood up, and scratched her head, confused. 'Was it a prank? Unlikely at this hour, maybe they got tired of waiting, or thought nobody was in?' She turned to her husband. “There's nobody there...” she began, before she heard a soft whimpering, a little cry of something too young to speak... ...The cry of a infant. It was coming from outside the door. They looked at each other again, no doubt they had both heard it. He stepped forward, slowly turning the lock and drawing the bolt back, careful to make as little noise as possible, while keeping his weight on the door, in case of a sudden rush. Ever so slowly, the door slid in on oiled hinges, and the couple peered out into the stormy night. On the doorstep, mostly out of the rain, was a small wicker basket, the content covered in a small quilted blanket. The whimpering continued, as the blanket shifted ever so slightly. She stared at the basket in shock. 'There's a child in there,' she thought, 'A living child that someone has just dumped on our doorstep in the middle of a storm.' She wasn't sure whether to be confused, scared, or angry at the unknown individual who had done this. Gingerly, she reached down and picked up the strange basket, her husband tensed, but made no attempt to stop her. Shivering in the cold, damp air, she brought the basket inside, her husband closing and locking the door behind her. Leaving the gloom of the corridor, they made their way back to the living room, Rachelle still carrying the basket. Flicking the lights on, her husband went about lighting the fire, while she laid the basket down on the table, the whimpering all but subsided now, replaced by the occasional sniffle. With care, she slowly lifted the blanket over where she assumed the head was... and then recoiled in shock, because looking back at her were possibly the biggest pair of eyes she had ever seen. She stared down at the the strange face, it was fairly round, with no nose, only a muzzle. It was covered in what looked like purple fur, and it had some kind of messy red hair. Its ears protruded from the top of its head, and were large and pointed, like dog or cat ears. And then there were the eyes themselves, they were a vivid ocean blue, with large pupils, and they looked up at her, filled with silent tears, confusion, anxiety, and maybe, was that hope? She reached down, careful not to make any sudden moves, and pulled of the rest of the blanket, what she saw was no less strange. Still covered in that odd purple fur, its arms and legs ended in odd flat stumps, it had some sort of short tail, the same colour as its hair, and... were those wings? Curiosity overtook caution as she reached down with both hands clasping under its arms (forelegs?) and lifted it out of the basket to hold at arm's length. Sure enough there were two tiny, feathered wings clinging lightly to its sides. She and it stared at each other for a while. The little creature cocked its head to one side and gave a look of curiosity, its tears now dry. The sound of a log being moved reminded her that her husband was in the room, as he stacked the fire up with wood. She felt the need to bring him up to speed. “Umm... Dear?” she said slowly. “Hows the child?” he asked, not looking up. “Its fine, I think,” she said, not breaking eye contact with the creature held in her arms. “But... it's kind of... odd?” she continued, leaning her head to one side, the small creature mimicking the action in a rather cute way. He finished stacking the fire, the warmth spilling into the room. Then, turning around, he said, “Odd? What do you mean... odd...” his voice petering out when his eyes locked on the thing his wife was holding. There was an awkward silence, And theyall just stood there for about a minute. The creature started shifting about nervously, made uncomfortable by the silence. It reached out its tiny appendages at her and started making a small whining noise, its little wings fluttering gently, trying to bring itself closer to her, its eyes shimmering in the light. She couldn't take it. “Awww... he's so adorable!!!” she exclaimed, throwing caution to the wind and hugging it to her chest. It cooed softly and snuggled into the soft material of her nightie. The tension in the room was dispelled in an instant. “What... is it?" he said, releasing a breath he had been holding for the past two minutes. “I don't know but he's the cutest little thing ever!” she said in a sing-song voice, rocking the little creature in her arms. It giggled happily. “Shouldn't you be a bit more cautious?” he said warily. “Why should I?” she said, laughing good-naturedly and holding it at arm's length facing her husband. “Its completely harmless! Look, it hasn't even got teeth.” He approached it to get a closer look. It seemed harmless enough... A sudden urge over took him, he didn't know why he did it, but he reached out with a single finger, slowly approached the muzzle and... *Boop* The little creature's eyes crossed and its muzzle scrunched up as the finger touched the end of its nose. It was too much. He cracked up, the laughter nearly doubling him up. His wife joined, him chuckling at his husbands amusement, bringing the little creature back to her chest and cradling it in her arms. The creature in question cooed in confusion at the mirth around it. A few minutes had passed, Rachelle was sitting on an arm chair, while Arthur examined the little creature as it sat in the middle of the coffee table on top of its quilt. “Fascinating...” he said, gently lifting up its foreleg and feeling the base on its stump, “it's some kind of hoof, with a soft pad in the centre...” he continued, before testing some of the hinges in the appendage. “Very versatile...” “A hoof you say?” she said, giggling “You're a doctor, not a vet.” “Well, my dad used to keep horses...” he mumbled, before changing the topic. “Anyway this is far from any animal as we know it, it has an unusual physiology, one would almost say unique, the colour is natural as far as I can tell, its forelegs have incredible dexterity for a quadruped, showing a range of movement comparable to the human arm, not to mention the wings...” He was cut off by a small sniffle. He looked up at the little creature's face, only to see its eyes were watering and its lips were trembling, punctuated by the occasional sniffle. “Wha...” he began. “And I think he's hungry,” she said, standing up and scooping the the little creature who had its forehooves out stretched to meet her, before carrying it off to the kitchen, her confused husband following behind. “What makes you think it's...” he began “He.” she said cutting him off. “What?” he said, perplexed. “It's a he, silly,” she laughed. “Oh, I see.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled good-naturedly. “Well then, what makes you think that he's hungry then?” “Call it a hunch,” she said, setting him down on the kitchen counter, before going to warm up some milk. The little one lifted its hooves gently in her direction and cooed as if calling her back. Observing its/his behaviour, Arthur seemed to ponder a possibility. “It may be too early to tell, but this little tyke might be showing the mental capacity of a human infant,” he said thoughtfully. “He seems smart enough,” she chimed in. pouring a saucepan of warm milk into a baby bottle. “Good thing we got our baby supplies early,” she continued, scooping up the little one again before offering him the bottle. He looked at the bottle for a minute, before tentatively sucking at the teat, then he latched onto it and started sucking with gusto. “I guess I was right,” she chuckled. They sat in thought for a moment, as the little one drank away. “So what should we do with the little guy?” she said, voicing the question they were both thinking. “Could we hand him over to the authorities?” He asked. They both thought about it for a moment, they would probably take it away to some laboratory somewhere, or put it down as a potential threat. “No,” they both said, they couldn't do that in good conscience. They thought more, they thought of multiple scenarios, none of which ended well for the little creature, then Rachelle suddenly had an idea. “Dear...” she said thoughtfully. “Yes..?” he replied , wary of her tone. “You know how we wanted to have a child...” she said, continuing in the same tone, not looking away from the cute little creature in her hands, who had just finished feeding. “What’s that got to do with it...” he said, before catching on, “...are you serious?” “This way only we and Walter need know about him.” A determined look appeared on her face. “We can keep him a secret and therefore safe, we can raise him on our own. Who knows, he might be as smart as we suspect him to be and he will be like the child we always wanted, as far as we know he was no other home to go to.” What she said made sense, he had to admit. “And besides,” see added with a smile, “could you really say no to this face?” She held out the little one for him to take. He held him gingerly, looking down into those huge eyes, filled with innocence and hope. He grinned. “Alright, you win.” His wife positively beamed “But what are we going to call him?” Her massive smile was replaced with a little awkward one. “To be honest, I hadn't thought of a name yet.” He pondered it for a moment, before saying “I think I have one.” “What is it?” she asked eagerly. “An unusual name for an unusual child,” he mused aloud “How does Paradox sound?” “Paradox Miller?” she said, mildly amused. The newly named Paradox smiled and coo'ed his apparent approval. “Well, he seems to like it,” he said, before holding him high above his head. Paradox cooed at the hight, flapping his little wings. “Well that settles it,” he said, still holding him up high. “Welcome to the family Paradox, we're glad to have you.” Their new son smiled and gave a joyful squeal. The future is going to be interesting for sure.