Speaker 1: I've been driving for a food delivery app for a
little over two years now. Nothing glamorous, just one of
those apps. So you tap a few buttons, grab a
paper bag, and drop it off at someone's doorstep. Quick
money if you don't mind the gas prices and the
occasional stress induced ulcer. I treated it like a side hustle,
deliver a few burritos, maybe a Boba tie or two,
and be home by midnight. But after I got laid
off from my last real job, it became my main gig.
The shift never technically ends. You just drive until your
body gives out while your tank hits empty. Most of
it's what you'd expect, fighting for decent tips, cursing at
building numbers that don't exist, or walking up five flights
of stairs for an order that says leave at the door,
do not knock in all caps. Some instructions get stranger
than others. I once had a guy ask me to
leave a sushi quote in the shadow of the mailbox.
Someone else left a note that said, if the front
door opens by itself, just leave the food and walk away.
Do not acknowledge her. I left that one on the
welcome mat and didn't even look back. I wasn't about
to find out if it was a prank or not.
A lot of us drivers talk. There's an unofficial group
chat we use. Nothing huge, just a few hundred regulars
who post about traffic, bad restaurants, and weirdest stuff. The
app doesn't warn you about loose dogs, fake addresses, customers
who tried to pay cash and then grab the food
and bolt. Some drivers even swap screenshots of creepy houses
or instructions that feel off. Most of us chalk it
up to trolls or lonely people looking for attention, but
there are certain addresses that come up in conversation more
than others once that make everyone go quiet. You learn
pretty quickly which places the skip and which ones to
never ask about at all. There's one address that kept
showing up more than any other. Same house, same street,
always boosted, always ignored. Every time I opened the app
late at night, there it was highlighted like some cursed
loot drop, promising three times the usual payout. Ten bucks
turned into thirty, thirty into fifty, and still no takers.
The first time I noticed it, I asked in the
group chat. I dropped the pin said something like, anyone
know what's up with this place? A reply came through,
don't seriously. The message came from a guy named Craig,
and met him once when we both happened to be
picking up from the same Chipotle. Nice guy, bit twitchy.
I remembered him because shortly after I'd seen him there,
he stopped posting altogether, quit delivery work completely. According to
someone else in the chat, said the job was frying
his nerves. I figured he was just burned out. We
all get there eventually. Then one night it was slow,
dead slow. My tank was half empty, my wallet even worse.
Rent was due at the end of the week, and
I was already rationing breakfast into two day intervals. The
address popped up again, triple pay, only a few miles
out clean order. I stared and tapped, except I told myself,
if Craig did it and lived the tell the tale,
however cryptic, then so could I. The guy was clearly
a little paranoid. There's no way that a house that
is on this app and has been on there for
as long as it has, is dangerous. You spend enough
time dropping off food to people who treat you the
way you would treat a vending machine with legs, and
it starts to mess with your head. The order came
from a local burger spot I knew well. I'd picked
up from there had times before, no issues, Fry's, double cheeseburger,
large drink. Everything was backed up tight in a stable
brown bag. I almost didn't think about it again until
I was walking out the door and one of the
lion cooks called out behind me. Did someone finally take it?
The cashier looked at the receipt, then looked at me.
Be safe, man, he muttered. I delivered to a lot
of weird places over the years, half finished basements that
smelled of mold, aves parked ilegally behind gas stations, one
guy who made me leave a pizza on top of
a tree stump. But this place felt different. For whatever reason.
The neighborhood looked like it had be intact on to
the edge of the city as an afterthought. The road
was clean and newly paved, but once I turned off it,
the ashphalt gave way to gravel, then cracked concrete. The
street signs were faded, barely legible. Every mail box I
passed looked like it hadn't seen a delivery in years,
tilted ross streaked, one even dangling by a single screw.
My GPS stopped giving turn by turns and just dropped
a pin. No house number, just a blinking blue dot
and a note that said you've arrived. I slowed the
car to a crawl and finally spotted it whdged tightly
between two larger houses, like it had been squeezed in
after the fact. It was narrow, with pealing siding and
no numbers on the door or curb. The porch like
blinked in a lazy, irregular pattern. A set of wind
chimes hung from the awning above the door, clinging together
even though the air was completely still. No visible motion inside,
no shapes behind the curtains. But I had that prickling
sensation in the back of my neck, the kind you
get when someone staring at you from a second story window.
I scanned the house once, then again. The windows were dark,
the blinds drawn tight. I sat in my car for
another moment. I'll be lying if I said that all
those messages in the group chat hadn't done a number
on me. I was definitely feeling anxious. But I grabbed
the bag and stepped out into the silence. The instructions
a blunt and impersonal leave on the porch, Do not knock,
do not wait for acknowledgment. I had seem worse. I
set the bag just to the left of the welcome mat,
careful not to block the door, took the confirmation photo,
uploaded it, and marked the order as delivered. As I
turned to leave, I half expected something to happen. But
nothing did. No creak behind me, or so much as
a breath, just the wind chimes tapping lightly above my head.
I walked back to the car, slid into the driver's seat,
and waited for the payment notification. It came through, clean,
full fare and tip included more than I expected. Honestly,
I pulled away, relieved, drove a few blocks, parked near
a gas station and cracked the window, planning to eat
something before taking another order. And that's when the appinged
a new delivery on the same address, triple pay again.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Then I accepted it.
If I had done it once, I figured I could
do it again. It wasn't like anything bad had happened.
The house was weird, yeah, but weird didn't pay rent
and I was behind. The pick up was fast, one
neatly packed brown bag. I made sure not to forget anything.
Checked twice. The receipt was stable to the top of
the new instructions printed in bold lee. If for the
back door, do not use front entrance. So I drove back,
same street, same dying street lights, same wind chimes knocking
together in the still air. I followed the gravel driveway
around the side of the house. The grass was knee
high and busted. Plastic chair laying its side near the
back porch, half sunken into the ground, making it clear
that it had been there for years. The back door
was unpainted and had no handle, just a latch on
the inside, akin to something from an old cellar. I
said the back down, gently snapped the photo and hit complete.
The payment came through almost instantly. Tip included more than
the last one. I got back in the car and
drove off. I was getting tired and it was already
way too late. That night, I went to bed without
overthinking it, slept harder than I had in weeks. The
next morning, I rolled over, checked my phone as always
and opened the app out of habit and the address
was there again, no driver assigned to it. It had
already been sitting in queue for twenty minutes, double pay
this time, no takers, so I took it. The hours
in that day blurred together real fast. Each time the
address popped up, I accepted it. Sometimes the pay was higher,
and sometimes it was the normal amount. Yet still it
was so easy and uncomp located that I felt like
I had just struck gold. But the instructions also kept changing.
Do not ring doorbell, do not make eye contact, place
food and porch, and step back six feet, use gloves,
say nothing. I started joking with myself about it. I
told myself it was some eccentric shut in, maybe an
older person who didn't trust the outside world. The bags
were never moved. However, every time I came back, the
food I'd left earlier was still there, the containers still sealed,
the receipts still stabled. Some of them had gone soggy
from the morning dew. I counted eleven bags stacked on
the front porch, all of them from me. That was
when something in me shifted, and I started wondering, what
if the person inside was dead? What if the app
was just said to auto order schedule meals. Nobody ever canceled.
What if they had family who didn't check on them.
What if I'd been delivering to a corpse? The idea
borrowed into me that night when the order came through.
I didn't hesitate and didn't really care how much they
were paying. I had to check if the person inside
was okay. When I stepped onto the porch and placed
the bag beside the others, I didn't walk away. I
reached for the front door as anxiety was trying to
borrow a hole into my stomach. I knocked three times
food delivery, I shouted. No answer came, and so I
decided to take matters into my own and I opened
the door with a painful groan and stepped inside. The
door clicked shut behind me the moment I stepped through.
I didn't even touch it, didn't hear wind or pressure
or anything that might have caused it. It just closed,
smooth and silent. Then I heard the dead bolt slide
into place with a low mechanical clunk. I turned around immediately,
heart jumping into my throat. I tried the knob nothing,
it didn't even rattle. I jiggled it harder, then put
my weight into it to no avail. I also tried
getting the dead bolt unlocked at least, but I failed
every time. I tried, are you serious? And muttered, half laughing,
but with no humor behind it. I pulled out my phone.
No bars, not a single one. The little spinning circle
on the screen felt like it was mocking me. Of course, hey,
I called out, raising my voice, a little hallo food
delivery silence. You would think every single home would have
some sort of ambient noise, but this one didn't. Just
dead air and a deafening silence. I waited for a
few more seconds, trying to listen out for any movement
or maybe even some one calling out to me from
deep inside the house. There was nothing. I didn't want
to go any farther, but I told myself who was
probably an old person, someone hard of hearing. Maybe they fell,
maybe they had a stroke, wherever the case. All I
wanted to do was leave and call the police or
the ambulance. So I stepped forward with a full intention
of getting out as soon as possible. The entryway opened
into a short hallway carpeted in a faded brown that
was matted down in uneven patches, like certain spots had
been stepped on too many times and others not at all.
The walls were yellowed, maybe from smoke, maybe just time,
and the air smelled faintly of ammonia laid over something
harder to name, like meat left out too long in
warm room. The ceiling looked weird, Strange marks had been
left in the material. Circular holes dotted the entire surface.
I took another step, shoes sinking slightly into the carpet.
The floor creaked beneath eath me, slow and high pitched Hello.
I tried again. I don't mean to intrude, I just
your door locked behind me. I reached the end of
the hallway and leaned slightly to peek into the kitchen.
Pale tile, mostly clean, a few dark stains near the sink.
The fridge was humming, and the little green light on
the microwave was blinking twelve o'clock like it had never
been set. The place wasn't messy, but it didn't feel
lived in either. It had the hollow, too quiet energy
of a model home, something built to look like someone
was there. I offered there for a second, right at
the edge of where tyle met carpet, trying to figure
out what to do next. That's when I heard it,
A noise from deeper in the house, a sort of
raspy breathing. I leaned in just enough to get a
clearer view down the hall that when something moved. It
wasn't loud, definitely not a crash, but I felt it
more than heard it. A sudden, fast shift low to
the floor. I caught just the briefest flicker of pale
skin sliding out of sight around the corner, like something
had darted across on all fours. I jerked back instinctively,
a cold jolt ripping through my chest. My heel slid
across the linonium, and I nearly went down. I caught
myself against the wall, palm slapping into the dry wall
with a dull thud, but I barely noticed. My heart
was pounding so hard it felt like I choked me.
For a second, I didn't move, just stood there, frozen
in place, the air in my lungs too tight to
let out. Something was here and it wasn't sick, and
it wasn't human. I started backing toward the front door
without thinking, each step light, careful, like I didn't want
the floor to know I was leaving. My eyes stayed
locked on the hallway. I didn't even blink. The doorknob
was slick under my hand. I twisted it hard. I
felt like a kid checking the fridge every five minutes
to see if anything has changed. I kept tugging and pulling,
each tug making a sound that pierced the silence. Then
I heard it agains, but this time it was softer, wetter,
the steady drag of something moving along the floor. It
wasn't coming from the hallway anymore. It was coming from
the kitchen, right behind me. I turned around slowly and
saw it. It was crouched low behind the kitchen island,
half shadowed, but close enough now that I could make
out its shape. The thing was down on all fours,
bare chalk white skin, stretched tight over a long, rail
thin frame. Its limbs were too long for its torso,
and they bowed slightly like they had too many joints.
Its fingers, if that's what they were, scraped along the
floor in slow, deliberate arcs, each tipped with yellowed, cracked
nails that curved like splinters. Its head moved slowly swaying
side to side like it was sniffing. But it had
no nose, no eyes, just the sunken face with a slack,
wet mouth, hung wide open, as if it had been
caught mid scream and then forgotten how to close it.
I froze for half a second, maybe less. It didn't
lunge or make any aggressive gestures. It just inch forward
with that same awful calm, dragging its body across the tile,
with a sound like wet towels sliding through broken glass.
It was close enough to reach me if I hesitated.
I didn't. I sprinted, angled my shoulder and drove straight
into the kitchen window with everything I had. But it
didn't give. It cracked, spied a webbing beneath the impact,
but held my arm folded wrong, pain shooting through it
like an electric wire. I dropped hard, the breath knocked
out of me, my back slamming against the cabinet with
a dull, wooden bang. I gasped for air, vision swimming,
and when I looked up, it was already there. The
thing was crawling toward me fast, now, fast than it
had any right to move. Its limbs clacked against the tile,
one of Its arms flailed blindly, catching the helm of
my jacket. The sound it made, somewhere between a gurgle
and a rattle, was directed at me. It didn't just
want to hurt me. He wanted to feed. Nobody had
stepped foot in this house for god knows how long,
and I was the first one it had seen. I
kicked hard, my boot connecting with his chest. His skin
felt soft, almost spongy, but underneath was something solid. The
thing recoiled slightly but didn't stop. Its hand lashed out again,
skimming my knee, this time, nails grazing skin. I felt warmth,
but I didn't check. I pushed myself up with a grunt,
got my hands under me, and searched forward with everything
I had. I slammed into it, head on my weight,
driving into its chest, and for a moment I thought
it might hold its ground. Its limbs curled around me
like cables, one of them wrapped around my forearm, pulling tight.
Adrenaline surged through me as I pulled against it with
everything I had. My elbow smashed into what passed for
its neck once twice until it let go just enough
for me to shove its sideways. It crumbled onto the floor,
limp tangling beneath it like a sack of broken sticks.
Still running on whatever adrenaline I hadn't burned out in
the scuffle, I doubled back toward the window. The crack
I'd made earlier was still there, spidered across the glass
like a frozen explosion. This time, I didn't brace myself.
I didn't aim. I threw my whole body into it.
The glass gave with a sharp, staccato burst. It came
apart all at once, not with a clean break, but
in a thousand small shards that cut through my sleeves,
my forearms, the side of my neck. I didn't feel
it right away, just the sensation of air hitting exposed
skin as I spilled through the frame and landed hard
in the patchy, uneven grass outside. The fall knocked the
wind out of me again, but I scrambled to my
feet without thinking. Blood was running down my arms in thin,
erratic lines, and my shirt stuck wet against my ribs.
But I didn't stop. I didn't check behind me. I
just ran. I don't remember the drive home, not really,
just fragments, my hands slipping on the wheel from blood,
the street lights looked brighter than the sun as I
drove in the daze. By the time I made it
back home, my hands were shaking so badly I could
barely open the first aid kit under the sink. I
tore it apart, trying to find gauze, tape, anything to
make the bleeding slow down. I didn't try to explain
it to myself, not anymore. I wasn't going to sit
there and rationalize what I saw, what it tried to do.
I called the police, not nine one one, just the
local station. I told them I delivered to a house
and found someone inside, maybe someone dangerous, I said. I
thought they might be breaking or someone in need of
medical help. I didn't know what I was saying. I
just needed someone else to go there. They sent a car.
I waited by my phone for over an hour, hands
bandaged in layers of gauze and paper towels. When the
call came, the officer sounded annoyed. He told me the
resident was an elderly woman lived alone. The cop asked
me if this was some sort of internet trend. This
house has been called in for things for months now,
yet the police never find anything. He asked me why
I felt the need to make a false report. Warned
me that filing again without cause could result in charges.
Suggested maybe I was overworked. I didn't argue. I just apologized,
hung up, and sat there in the dark. The next morning,
I did what I always did. I opened the app
and there it was. Same address, no number, just the pin,
same block behind the strip mall, same flickering porch light.
In the preview photo, triple pay order waiting to be
picked up.