Delivered to Death

The night after my boyfriend Carter left for a business trip, I received a call from an unfamiliar number.

"Fresh delivery, your order is here. Come down and grab it."

I didn't think much of it; I did have a habit of ordering groceries online every week.

But just as I reached the entrance, my toe slammed into one of Carter's metal dumbbells he hadn't put away.

The pain shot through my foot, making it impossible to walk.

"Sorry, I tripped and can't come down right now," I gritted out. "Just leave it outside the apartment gate, and I'll get it later."

There was a brief pause before he replied, "Okay," and hung up.

However, less than ten minutes later, my phone rang again.

It was the same delivery guy.

"Listen, ma'am," he urged. "You'd better come down now. There are a lot of raccoons around here, and they're closing in. If you wait too long, your meat will be picked clean."

I almost blurted out, "I'll be right there," but something tightened in my throat, and an unsettling feeling dripped into my mind like ice water.

Wait.

Raccoons?

There were indeed raccoons in our neighborhood, but they only roamed around the garbage bins in the apartment courtyard.

I'd clearly told him to leave the package outside the gate—that was the sidewalk near a main road, well-lit and busy with traffic. Raccoons wouldn't venture there.

Plus, why was he waiting for me downstairs for ten minutes after dropping off the package?

"I told you to leave it outside the gate and go," I said, my voice steady.

"I just happened to be delivering to your neighbor in Building B," he replied, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. "I saw your box still outside through the iron gate, and there were cats or raccoons nearby... so I thought I'd give you a heads-up."

It was common for delivery people to have multiple orders in the same area.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, feeling silly for getting paranoid at home alone.

"Sorry, thanks for the heads-up. I'll be down shortly."

Just as I was about to head downstairs, it hit me—I hadn't ordered any groceries.

My movements froze in place.

So, who was the person down there urging me to come down right now... what did that mean?

I dialed the security desk on the first floor.

"Front desk," a strange male voice answered.

It wasn't the usual friendly old guy who worked the night shift.

Maybe it was a new substitute?

"Hi, I'm a resident. Is there a fresh delivery outside the main door?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's a sealed cold chain box. Would you like me to bring it up?"

My tense nerves relaxed a bit.

Since the package actually existed, maybe the delivery guy just dialed the wrong number.

"No, that's not my package," I said decisively. "I haven't ordered any groceries recently. Please have the delivery guy take it back."

There was a pause of a second or two before he replied, "Ma'am, the shipping label does have your contact information. If it's not yours, maybe a family member ordered it."

I texted Carter: [Did you order a fresh delivery to the apartment?]

Within three seconds, his reply popped up: [No, babe, I just got back to the hotel. What's up? Is something wrong?]

"Ma'am? Are you still there? If it's inconvenient for you to come down, I can bring it up for you right now."

This was getting weird!

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to sound relaxed. "No need to bring it up; I'm just getting ready to do some cleaning and can't step away. Just leave it at the front desk, and I'll grab it later."

"Is that so, ma'am?"

I was about to hang up, but in that instant, I heard a faint sound through the receiver that sent chills down my spine.

Ding—

It was the sound of the elevator.

He had come up!

I scrambled to the front door, checking if it was locked.

The hallway outside was eerily quiet.

But in the darkness just beyond the door, I could almost hear the sound of polished shoes stepping on the carpet, slowly approaching.