Chapter 11: Wrong Package, Wrong Body
If you ever wondered what it feels like to accidentally deliver a package to a corpse, let me tell you upfront: it's not on my bucket list either.
It all started with another one of those cheerful, glowing app notifications.
NEW DROP. CLIENT: SPECIAL. LOCATION: UNLISTED. SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS: TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS.
I sighed, sipping my third cup of instant ramen broth (because apparently sleep is for quitters). The glowing package from the cult was still sitting in the corner, humming softly, casting faint sun-shaped shadows on the wall. I was not touching that again.
My phone vibrated: ETA 10 MINUTES. PREPARE FOR TRANSFER.
"Transfer?" I muttered, poking the app. But no map appeared, no address. Just a flashing icon and the words: It's coming to you.
Cue ominous dread.
A low thump echoed from my hallway.
I froze.
Another thump. Closer.
Grabbing the nearest blunt object (which turned out to be a rubber chicken from a Halloween costume), I edged toward the door. "Hello...?"
Something slid under the door: a package. Small, wrapped in black wax paper, the seal pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
I bent down slowly. The package trembled.
Suddenly, a loud bang!—my neighbor's door across the hall flew open. Mrs. Kwan poked her head out, curlers and all. " Ray Alvarez! Keep it down! Some of us are trying to watch our stories!"
"Sorry, Mrs. Kwan," I muttered, scooping up the box.
I felt it shift in my hands. Not heavy, but... wrong.
NEW INSTRUCTION: DELIVER TO FINAL DESTINATION. CLIENT: UNKNOWN.
That was it? No address, no details?
I slipped on my shoes and headed out, moped already waiting. As soon as I sat down, the screen blinked to life, showing a single word:
MORTUARY.
Lovely.
The mortuary was tucked between a closed-down laundromat and a neon-lit karaoke bar, which, honestly, felt like the start of a terrible joke. I parked, package in hand, and tried to ignore the way the shadows shifted under the streetlights.
Inside, the place smelled like antiseptic and... something faintly sweet. The receptionist, a pale man with half-moon glasses, didn't even look up from his crossword. "Delivery?"
"Uh, yeah. For... someone here?"
He pointed a thumb toward the back. "Room 3. They're waiting."
They?
I swallowed hard and made my way down the hall, the package practically vibrating now. The door to Room 3 was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.
Inside was a single body on a gurney, covered with a sheet. The toe tag fluttered slightly in the draft.
"Okay, Ray," I whispered to myself, "drop the package and leave. Easy."
I placed the box gently on the table beside the gurney.
The sheet rustled.
I froze.
The sheet rustled again.
"Nope," I said, spinning on my heel.
But before I could leave, a hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.
I screamed. I'm not ashamed. It was a very manly scream, okay?
The figure sat up slowly, the sheet sliding off its face. Pale, sunken eyes met mine. Its mouth moved soundlessly.
My phone buzzed furiously: DO NOT LET IT SPEAK.
"Oh, crap, crap, crap—" I fumbled for the package, slamming it into the figure's chest. "Here! Take it! I'm just the delivery guy!"
The corpse gripped the box tightly. Its mouth opened wider, wider—until the jaw unhinged with a grotesque crack.
I did the only logical thing: I ran.
Behind me, I heard a faint whisper, like the rustling of dead leaves. My head pounded as I sprinted down the hall, burst past the receptionist (who still didn't look up), and dove onto my moped.
As I peeled away, heart hammering, the app pinged softly: DELIVERY COMPLETE. CLIENT SATISFACTION: UNKNOWN.
"UNKNOWN?!" I yelled at my phone. "What the hell does that mean?!"
A new message popped up: BONUS AWARDED. CHECK POCKET.
I reached into my jacket and pulled out a small, cold token: a silver coin with the image of a skull. Great. First sun coins, now death coins. My wallet was starting to look like a haunted arcade.
Back home, I double-locked my door, shoved a chair under the knob, and collapsed onto the floor. My phone vibrated once more: REST WHILE YOU CAN. NEXT DROP PENDING.
I let out a shaky laugh. "Rest? Yeah, sure. Right after I burn this apartment down."
Somewhere in the corner, the cult package gave a soft thump.
I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
In DropDead Express, there's always another package. Always another nightmare. Always another impossible job.
And I was starting to wonder if quitting was even an option anymore.