I had just finished my third coffee and was staring blankly at the wall of my apartment when my phone buzzed again. Not the usual cheerful app chime, though—this one sounded like static, followed by a whisper.
I frowned, picking it up. NEW DROP ASSIGNED. LOCATION: UNKNOWN. PACKAGE: INCOMING.
Incoming? I hadn't even left yet!
There was a loud knock on my door. Correction: several loud knocks, all at once, as if six people were slamming their fists in perfect unison. I stumbled over, nearly tripping on my moped helmet, and yanked the door open.
There was no one there.
Just a box.
Sitting neatly on my doormat, wrapped in black wax paper, humming softly.
My fingers twitched. I hadn't even accepted the delivery yet!
Cautiously, I poked it with a broom. It hummed louder.
"Alright, alright," I sighed, picking it up. My phone vibrated furiously, nearly leaping out of my pocket: DO NOT OPEN. DO NOT LISTEN. DO NOT—
Too late.
The box let out a soft giggle.
I yelped, nearly dropping it. "What the—?!"
The giggle turned into a snicker, then a full-blown chuckle.
"Oh, this is so cursed," I muttered, backing into my apartment. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope."
I set the box on my kitchen table, eyeing it like it might sprout legs and run off. My phone pinged again: DELIVERY LOCATION: YOUR APARTMENT. CLIENT: SHIFT GLITCH.
"What the hell is a Shift Glitch?!"
Suddenly, the walls shimmered.
My fridge elongated, stretching into the ceiling like taffy. The floor rippled, shifting under my feet. I stumbled, grabbing at a chair that promptly turned into a hissing cat statue.
"Oh, come on!"
The box giggled again. Louder this time. The kitchen lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows. One of the shadows peeled itself off the wall, waving cheerfully at me.
"Hey, Ray!" it chirped in my own voice. "Ready to deliver yourself today?"
"I don't get paid enough for this!" I yelled, bolting for the door.
But the door wasn't there.
Where my front door had been was now a shimmering portal, pulsing with static.
My phone buzzed: STEP THROUGH. COMPLETE THE SHIFT.
I squeezed my eyes shut. "I swear, if I end up in another dimension where gravity's upside down, I am suing someone."
With a deep breath, I stepped through.
I emerged on the other side, gasping, nearly falling flat on my face.
I was standing in... my apartment?
No, not quite.
Everything was mirrored—literally. The left was right, the right was left. My posters were flipped, my couch leaned the opposite direction, even the coffee stain on the rug had switched sides.
The giggling box was sitting neatly on the mirrored table, still humming.
I approached cautiously. "Alright, package. Who's the client here?"
The box twitched, then softly spoke. "You are."
I froze. "Come again?"
"You. Are. The client," the box said, voice oddly familiar—like mine, but layered with static.
My phone vibrated violently. WARNING: DO NOT ANSWER IT. DO NOT—
The box spoke again. "Well, Ray, you've been delivering packages for everyone else. Isn't it time you got something, too?"
My throat went dry. "What... what's in the box?"
The box gave a low, rumbling chuckle. "Why don't you open it and see?"
I should have walked away.
I knew I should have walked away.
Instead, I reached out. My fingers brushed the lid.
Suddenly, the apartment shuddered—like reality itself had hiccupped. The walls flickered, and I saw glimpses of myself—hundreds of me—trapped in mirrored apartments, all reaching for their own cursed boxes.
I yanked my hand back with a shout.
The box's voice turned cold. "Ah, so close. Maybe next time."
My phone chimed: SHIFT COMPLETE. DELIVERY FAILED.
Failed?! I'd never failed a delivery before!
The portal behind me shimmered open again. With no other choice, I stumbled back through.
Back in my normal apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, panting.
The box was gone.
My phone buzzed softly: NEW RECORD: FIRST FAILED DROP. CONGRATULATIONS?
I threw a pillow at it.
Suddenly, my kitchen door creaked open by itself.
"Hello?" I called nervously.
No answer.
Just a faint giggle.
I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. "I'm so done."
But the phone buzzed one last time: NEXT DROP INCOMING. CLIENT: FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD CULT.
"Oh, come on! Can I at least have breakfast first?!"
Somewhere in the apartment, the shadows laughed.
Because in Dropdead Express, the shift never really ends.