The Black Wings of Providence

A recently widowed young woman goes about her nightly routine - until a series of paranormal events lead to a dark discovery.

Anna sat beside the fire, alone but not unwell. The orange glow of the flames was all that illuminated the central chamber of Croft Manor"a prison with the trappings of a home, as far as she was concerned.

It was a well-built house, perched atop a hill that overlooked the shimmering lights of Downtown Ashvale, with rustic furnishings and classical design. A solitary chandelier hung above Anna, one that could have lit nearly the entire front of the house had she the care to use it.

But she preferred the fireplace. Much more subtle. Far less bright.

She’d been married to Mr. Croft, a wealthy entrepreneur, hardly thirteen months prior"an arrangement made by her father, as they always are, and one that quite went against her wishes, as they always do. Leaving behind her comfortable, childhood home, where she’d been free to write and draw and dance in the courtyard whenever she liked, Anna made her lonesome pilgrimage away from a life of joy and privilege and into the arms of her husband. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. And now that Mr. Croft was dead, it was unclear as to what she should do next.

The details of her husband’s death remained a mystery. He hadn’t been sickly or even remotely ill yet one morning Anna had rolled over to find a pale, still corpse laying beside her. She’d screamed so loud that her neighbors, the Darbys, had heard and rushed over to Croft Manor.

Mrs. Darby had held her as she wept and shivered while Mr. Darby phoned the constabulary, which promptly sent a few officers over. They’d questioned Anna at first, even detained her for a bit, but ultimately it had been decided that she’d had nothing to do with Mr. Croft’s sudden, unexplainable demise. Even after the autopsy and weeks of investigation, no one had been able to provide a cause of death.

Anna had been understandably shaken by the ordeal at first but now, after a brief period of mourning and much contemplation, she felt very little for Mr. Croft. She’d never really felt anything for him at all, at least not that she could remember. She was free now to do whatever she wished. She hadn’t bourn Mr. Croft any children and was still very young, all things considered. She could easily remarry if she wanted"someone of her choosing this time. Or perhaps she would remain independent, to be left alone to indulge in her writing and drawing and dancing. A sudden rush of excitement pulsed throughout her, and she stood to move over to her writing desk.

Before she could move there was a sound from upstairs. A subtle, sharp crack, or rather a snap"like a rope being stretched. Anna’s heart skipped a beat. She was alone, after all. She stared into the lonesome darkness for awhile, steadying her breathing. The sound had been faint, almost faint enough for her to have imagined it. I mustn’t let my nerves get the better of me, she thought as she shook off her shivers and sat at her desk. Nothing to be worried about at all.

Still a bit wary but also reassured, Anna dipped her fountain pen in its ink well and then touched it against an already laid out piece of parchment. She penned the first few words that came to her, then sat back, wondering what to write next. What will this be, then? A story? A poem? The senseless ravings of a rich, mad widow? So many possibili"

Another snap, this time directly behind her. Anna gasped and spun her head around.

There was nothing there, nothing except the fire. She looked away, catching her breath.What in God’s name is wrong with me tonight…

Then, she realized something. Gazing back toward the fire she realized that the flames had risen higher and begun burning brighter, all on their own. But such a thing was really not so peculiar an occurrence.

Anna shook her head, glancing once over at the large, empty room. Darkness covered most of it still, despite the raging flames. She had never felt comfortable alone at night. That’s all it is. Just the jitters. She returned to her writing.

After an hour of losing herself in the words, Anna had completely forgotten about the subtle strangeness of the evening. Her work had ultimately turned into a short story, probably her best one yet. It had been ages since she’d had the chance to write and, for the first time since she’d left home, Anna felt free. Her mind raced with new ideas, new worlds she could visit, new characters she could bring to life.

It was, perhaps, an unkind thought to have, but Anna was beginning to see the appeal of being a widow.

A sharp, wicked, ear-piercing snap. Right in front of her.

Anna dared not look up from the paper. This noise had been too real, and too close, to ignore. Her hands quivered. Her heart pounded. Her mind calculated all too quickly every possible frightful thing it could be. Yet none of those possibilities were as awful as what she saw when she rose her head.

The farther up she looked, the more her eyes widened in horror. First, a pair of dangling feet. Then, the skirts of a familiar blue dress followed by limp arms and a breathless torso.

Lastly, Anna found herself staring upon her own dead face. A noose hung tightly around the apparition’s neck, suspended from the chandelier. Anna screamed. And the body came to life.

Slowly, it rose its head and met Anna’s gaze, a sick smile twisting onto its lips, its eyes wide with wicked glee. Anna screamed again. And again. And again. The apparition opened its mouth, screaming back at her with high-pitched howl.

Anna ran.

As quickly as she could, she bolted to the front door. Behind her, she could feel a searing heat"a heat that soon spread around her on all sides.

The house had caught fire.

Weeping, panting, Anna stumbled onward but she was too late. Flames blocked every escape, every direction she could turn other than backward.

Another howl.

There was a crackling sound above her and Anna jumped back just in time to avoid being crushed by falling debris. Her dress caught beneath her heel, sending her flying backward…to meet a pair of icy hands at her back.

A soothing yet vile voice spoke into her ear. “Careful, now.”

Anna was petrified. The hands that had caught her straightened her limp body up, then let go. The fires still raged around her but Anna found herself oddly calm. She turned to see the silhouette of the person that had spoken. They stepped closer and Anna got a good look at them. It was tall and thin, with an androgynous build, inhumanly ashen skin and yellow eyes. A pair of feathered black wings stretched out from either side of its torso.

“You are safe from the fire,” the creature said. “For now.”

“What do you want?”

“What you promised me.”

“Promised you?” Anna said. “I’ve never seen you before…I don’t even know what you are!”

The creature’s head slanted slightly to one side. “Curious.” It took a step closer. “You really don’t remember me?”

“Of course not!”

“Most curious,” the creature said. There was a slight pang of guilt in its eyes, which disappeared swiftly. “Nevertheless, a deal is a deal.”

“What are you talking about?” Anna cried. The creature approached and wiped her tears away.

“I am Providence,” it said. “That is my name. That is my purpose. You made an agreement with me. I took your husband’s life, as you requested.”

“What…” Anna said in a hushed voice. “No, you’re mistaken. I’ve never met you!”

“I took your husband’s life,” Providence repeated. “Now you must give me yours. An eternity of servitude. As we agreed.”

“I would never have agreed to such a thing,” Anna declared, the fear beginning to recede. “Never.”

“Your memory must have been damaged during the Binding,” Providence said. “Allow me to refresh it.”

A sudden conclave of mind and memory"images of the forgotten past all coming back to her at once. Mr. Croft’s fists across her face, his steel-toed shoes kicking into her sides, his calloused hands at her throat. The prayer she’d sent to the heavens. Anything would be better than this.

Anna jolted back into the present, tears streaming hotly down her face. “I…I don’t…”

“It’s time, Anna,” Providence said. She looked up at the creature. Its eyes were not unkind. “It’s time to go.”

Anna said nothing. Did nothing. Only fell to her knees and wept. This is all wrong…this wasn’t supposed to happen…

An eternity of servitude. Anna couldn’t fathom having made such an agreement. But she had. She’d been that desperate to get away from Mr. Croft. An eternity of servitude in exchange for a death that could never be traced back to her or her family. An eternity of servitude to a demigod during which she just might have more freedom than she could anywhere else.

She thought of the story she’d written earlier in the evening. It had truly been her best work yet. Perhaps, if she went with this creature, she would have time to write more.

The house began to fall in around them.

“It’s time,” Providence said. It enfolded Anna in its wings, guarding her from the merciless heat of the fire.

“No,” she said softly.

“What?” Providence said.

“No!” Anna shouted, pulling away with every last shred of will.

The creature eyed her with solemn, blank distaste, its haunting yellow eyes reflecting the flames. “If you do not come with me, you will perish.”

“I’d rather die than be bound again.”

Providence glared at Anna with bitter, unfeeling wrath, the likes of which she’d never seen. “As you wish, then.”

The black wings of Providence spread apart, unburnt, untouched, and the creature vanished, leaving Anna alone to the torrent of fire that raged around her. There was an ear-shattering snap above her, and Anna looked up to see the chandelier falling toward her.

***

Constable Wilkes walked briskly down Pennywhistle Lane, as he did every morning, smiling to the usual passers-by. A particularly affluent couple came strolling down the lane in his direction"the Darbys"and Wilkes gave them a cheerful nod as they stopped to great each other.

“Morning, Mr. Darby. Mrs. Darby.”

“Good morning, Constable,” Mr. Darby said.

“Good morning, Constable!” Mrs. Darby said.

“How are you two doing today, then?”

“Alright, I suppose,” Mr. Darby said. “We’re a bit late for a meeting so I’m afraid we don’t have much time to stay and talk.”

“Of course, Mr. Darby. Have a lovely day.”

“Thank you, Constable.”

“Oh, Constable,” Mrs. Darby, “one quick thing before you go.”

Mr. Darby rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“What is it, ma’am?” Wilkes asked.

“I heard the strangest sounds coming from Croft Manor last night,” she said. “I’m afraid for poor Mrs. Croft’s well being. You know how excitable she is, and how terribly melancholy she’s been since the death of her dear Mr. Croft. I don’t suppose you could check in on her?”

“Of course I will, Mrs. Darby,” Wilkes said.

“Oh, wonderful,” Mrs. Darby replied, smiling brightly. “We’ll see you soon, Constable. You and your wife will have to come over for dinner one day soon.”

“The missus and I would be delighted, Mrs. Darby.”

“Excellent. We’ll be in touch.”

Wilkes nodded to the both of them, then set off toward Croft Manor. When he arrived, he found the building to be far less vibrant than usual. It was, of course, the sabbath so the typical bustle of servants rushing about the premises was absent, but there was something else as well"something eerie. Something haunted. The house almost seemed to be staring back at him.

After a series of knocks on the door, Wilkes called out. “Mrs. Croft? It’s Constable Wilkes. Are you there?”

As he waited for an answer a slight chill began to swirl around him. Odd. Today is such a nice day.

A crash from inside.

“Mrs. Croft?! Are you alright?” he said, pounding on the door. “Do you need help?”

All on its own, the door to Croft Manor creaked open. Wilkes then realized that the chill was coming from within the house. What in God’s name is going on? Swallowing hard, he stepped inside. “Hello? Mrs. Croft?”

He made his way through the Manor’s dark hallways. It was a beautiful house, elegantly furnished and designed. It was a shame that so few of the windows were open. A bit of light would have made the place a brilliant sight to behold.

The farther inward he went, the more he shivered from the cold. Finally he reached the central chamber.

“Good God…”

In the middle of the dark room, hanging from the chandelier, was the corpse of Mrs. Croft, still gently swaying back and forth. Wilkes walked along the walls, pulling back the drapes to let the morning sun in so that he could get a better look. He approached the body then circled it, taking the scene in. Poor woman. Must’ve gone mad with grief. What a waste. What a bloody waste. Hold on, what’s this…

Wilkes bent down. On the floor there was a dark, perfect circle, neatly set beneath Mrs. Croft’s dangling feet. Upon closer inspection, the constable saw what the strange formation was made of.

Black feathers.