Every morning, at the same precise hour, the old pensioner stepped onto the porch of his cottage, and there it wasthe same peculiar gift, waiting for him. A fresh loaf of bread, wrapped in cellophane, its label bearing the name of an unfamiliar bakery. The words sounded foreign, as if from another land, and a creeping unease settled in his bones.
The first time, he assumed it must be the kindness of neighboursperhaps someone had noticed his solitude and taken pity. He felt a flicker of gratitude, yet he left the bread untouched. Instinct whispered that nothing came without reason.
The next day, it happened again: the same loaf, the same wrapping, the same spot. He wondered if it might be some new scheme by the council to support elderly folk. But no one else spoke of it, and no notice had arrived.
By the third morning, his nerves were frayed. The precision of the hour, the strangeness of the breadit all gnawed at him. Clutching the loaf under his arm, he trudged to the village shop. “Is this your doing?” he asked the shopkeeper. “Some new promotion, perhaps?”
The woman stared at him as if he’d lost his wits. “Goodness, no, sir. We sell breadwe dont deliver it to folks doorsteps,” she said briskly.
He left more unsettled than before. The more he pondered, the darker his thoughts grew. What if it was poisoned? What if someone meant him harm?
On the fourth day, he resolved to uncover the truth. Digging out an old camcorder from the cupboardone hed once used to film christenings and birthdayshe aimed it at the porch. When he played the footage at dawn, his heart near stopped. There, clear as day, a small drone glided noiselessly to his doorstep at four in the morning, hovered, deposited the bread, and vanished into the gloom.
His breath caught. This was no neighbour, no council scheme. This was something else entirely.
With trembling hands, he gathered his coat and marched to the police station. There, stammering, he showed them the recording. The officers exchanged glances, and one stifled a chuckle. “Blimey, mate, youve been roped into an experiment.”
It turned out some new start-up, testing an odd bread-delivery system, had somehow added his address to their trial list. Days earlier, fumbling with his mobile to check the weather, the old man had accidentally clicked an advertsigning himself up for a months subscription. He hadnt the faintest idea hed done it.
When the truth came out, he wasnt sure whether to laugh or seethe. They refunded his money and cancelled the service, but the dread lingered.
As for the loaves piled in his pantry? He never dared take a bite. There was something about themsomething not quite right.
