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Goblin Bites: Scary Stories 17

The Package

By Natalie GrayPublished 2 years ago 9 min read
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Goblin Bites: Scary Stories 17
Photo by BEARPAW PRODUCTS on Unsplash

Tom was exhausted. He'd been delivering packages all day, and was eager to go home for the night. Lucky for him, he had just one package left to deliver. It was so small, he'd almost missed it to be honest. Still, the address wasn't too far off the beaten path, and he had been there a handful of times before, so it should have been easy enough to drop it off and pack it in for the evening.

When Tom stopped at the driveway of the house, the cheery older woman who lived there stepped out onto the front stoop to greet him. "Evening, Tom," she grinned, drying her hands on her apron, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tom jogged over to meet her, juggling the small yet surprisingly heavy box as he walked. "Package for you, Mrs. Simmons. Sorry it's a little late; I must've overlooked it."

Mrs. Simmons frowned at the box curiously, "A package? Are you sure it's mine? I wasn't expecting a package any time soon."

Tom checked the address again, and let out a sheepish little sigh. It turned out he had misread the house number on the label, and it was really destined for the house across the street. "Looks like I made a mistake," he mumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "It's for next door. Do you mind if I leave my truck here for a minute?"

Mrs. Simmons told him it was fine, then watched, confused, as he hustled across the street. She started to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and bustled back into her house. Tom took no notice of this, as he was already on the other house's front porch ringing the bell. The house across the street was of the older variety, probably one of the oldest houses in the neighborhood. He thought he knew pretty much everyone who lived in the area, too, but was sure he'd never delivered a package to this house before. In all honesty, he didn't think anyone even lived there. The house was in decent shape but in need of a new paint job, and its lawn was overgrown almost to knee height. Besides that, he never noticed any lights on inside when he drove by it in the evenings, and there didn't appear to be any lights on inside it now.

He had begun to think that nobody was home, and started to set the package by the door and leave. As soon as he stooped over to set it down though, the front door suddenly opened. Tom startled, then frowned inquisitively into the small gap before him. "Hello?" he called out, "sorry, I didn't know anyone was... home..." His brows knit tighter together as he peered further into the house. It was almost pitch dark on the other side of the door, too dark to see the face of the person who had opened it. They hadn't said a word either, making him think for a moment that it had opened on its own. He shivered and dismissed the thought, taking it upon himself to squeeze through the narrow opening.

Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he discovered that there was no one else on the other side of the door. His eyes darted around in surprise and confusion, trying to spy where the homeowner had gone to so quickly. Soft, shuffling footsteps coming from the room to his left made him breathe a sigh of relief. "You scared me a moment there," he chuckled, "I'll just set your package right here for you, okay?" Again, there was no answer from the dark. Tom shrugged, thinking the homeowner must have some kind of phobia of people or something; it seemed odd, but he wasn't bothered too much by it. In his line of work, he'd come across quite a few people with strange personality quirks. Nine times out of ten they were just harmless regular people, trying to live their lives in the best way they knew how. He pulled out his phone to use as a flashlight, to look for a table or something to leave the small package on. He found a spindly little end table that served his purposes well enough, then bade the homeowner good evening and turned to leave.

When Tom took one step toward the door, however, it suddenly slammed shut in his face. He jumped in surprise at the loud noise, then stood there utterly gobsmacked at what he'd just seen. He convinced himself that it had to have been the wind, then hurried over to open the door. To his alarm, it was locked tightly from the other side. Tom began to panic, yanking and beating on the door frantically to get it open. A soft, cold wind blew on the back of his neck, making his hair stand on end, and a pair of voices whispered in his ear. "Stay... we like you... stay with us, please..." With a final burst of strength, Tom yanked hard on the doorknob again. The door suddenly unlocked - seemingly on its own - causing Tom to stumble backward from the force of opening it. He didn't question it though. As soon as the door was open, he ran pell mell from the house and didn't stop until he got back to his truck.

Tom stood by his delivery truck, shaking and out of breath for several minutes. Mrs. Simmons had been peeking at him through the lace curtains of her front window, but when he hadn't left right away she walked back out to check on him. Her kind brown eyes studied Tom's pale, shaken expression concernedly, "Tom? What happened? Are you okay?"

Tom patted his sternum, debating internally for a moment or two over whether or not to tell Mrs. Simmons what had happened. In the end he thought she would think he was crazy if he did, as honestly he thought he might be a little crazy himself after what he had experienced. He eventually took a deep breath and climbed behind the wheel of his truck with his best attempt at a grin. "Y-Yeah," he muttered, "I'm okay. I just, uh... had a little trouble with your neighbor there. I'm fine though."

Mrs. Simmons glanced at the house across the street again, her round face lined with apprehension. "Tom," she said slowly, "I don't have any neighbors who live across the street anymore. The two sisters who lived there - Myrtle and Louise - passed away years ago, long before you started your route." She studied the termite-riddled porch posts and old asbestos shingles with an uneasy, almost nervous gaze, "Strange old birds they were, too, but kind. They had half the neighborhood kids convinced they were witches or something, I think. The strangest thing is they both died in the house on the same night, but the county coroner could never quite determine the cause. The house has been empty ever since." She tore her gaze from the looming house across the street with a shiver then, and shook her head, "I'm sorry; I should have said something earlier, and spared you the trouble. Was there a transient squatting there that spooked you? I've seen lights in the house every now and again, so I wouldn't be surprised if that's what it was."

Tom just sat there in silence for a moment, then began to nod. "Yeah," he mumbled, lowering his eyes to his lap, "must have been. Sorry, Mrs. Simmons, I've taken up way too much of your time this evening. Thanks for everything. Have a good night and take care, okay?" Mrs. Simmons stepped back so that he could pull out of the driveway, and waved as he executed a three-point turn and drove off.

Tom's shaky hands gripped the wheel tightly as he drove. He couldn't explain what had happened, and more importantly he didn't want to. All he wanted was to forget it ever happened, and go home. As he turned down the street heading for the warehouse to return his truck for the night, something in the passenger seat caught his eye. It was the same package he'd just delivered, only this time the address had been scratched out and his name was written on it in delicate, swooping cursive. When he got back to the warehouse parking lot, he hesitantly picked up the little box and set it on his knee. He had no idea how it had gotten back into his truck, and wasn't sure if he should open it. For one thing, it was against company policy to tamper with other people's packages, and for another it seemed a bad idea to open a strange package that had materialized back into his truck. Still, it had his name on it, so what was really the harm?

With a deep breath, he retrieved the pen knife from the pocket of his cargo shorts and cut the tape along the top carefully. Immediately, his truck was filled with a foul, rank odor, which made him cough and gag so badly he had to roll down the window. The smell alone was almost enough to stop him from peering into the box, but his curiosity overpowered his desire to breathe. At arm's length, he pried up the flaps with the blade of his knife, and almost screamed and puked simultaneously at what he saw inside. Sitting in the bottom of the small box was what appeared to be a rotting human heart, along with an assortment of tiny animal bones with fur and flesh still clinging to them. Written on the inside of one of the flaps was a note, in the same swooping cursive that was on the label:

"We enjoyed your visit. Please accept this humble gift with our gratitude. Hope to see you again soon. M and L."

Some hours later, one of Tom's coworkers, Dave, noticed the truck still sitting in the lot with the engine running. When he approached the rolled down window, he found Tom huddled in the back of the truck babbling incoherently. Sitting on the driver's seat was a small open cardboard box that was completely empty. When Dave tried to ask Tom about the box, Tom started screaming and rocking back and forth on his heels. Not knowing what else to do, Dave called an ambulance for Tom, and within the hour his coworker was taken away to the local hospital for evaluation.

Several of Dave's other coworkers, including his boss, talked about the incident for weeks after. The box they tried to throw away, but always seemed to make its way back into the building some way or another. They would have used it for storage, as it was a good, sturdy little box, but several of the people working in the warehouse complained of a strange, putrid odor coming from it. The source of the odor was never determined, and Tom - once he'd been released from the hospital - never came back to work. Eventually, however, the small box disappeared from the warehouse on its own. A few weeks later, Dave was finishing a route when he found a similarly-sized small box wedged behind his driver's seat. Dave hummed pensively as he read the name on the shipping label, "Myrtle and Louise Strickland... huh; don't think I've ever delivered anything to them before. Oh well. Just one more stop, and then I can go home."

fictionhalloweenpsychologicalsupernatural
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About the Creator

Natalie Gray

Welcome, Travelers! Allow me to introduce you to a compelling world of Magick and Mystery. My stories are not for the faint of heart, but should you deign to read them I hope you will find them entertaining and intriguing to say the least.

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