7 August 2024, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2457: express delivery to nowhere

“Keep the engine running,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the car’s engine. The fog outside was so thick it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them and the road stretching into the void. She couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and every shadow that flitted in the periphery of her vision felt like a phantom.

The package on the seat beside her was wrapped in brown paper, plain and unassuming. But it carried a weight that pressed down on her chest, making each breath feel labored. She’d been instructed not to open it—no matter what. Just get it to the address, hand it over, and leave. That’s it.

But nothing had gone as planned since she’d set out. First, the GPS failed, leaving her with only vague directions scribbled on a piece of paper. Then, the road itself seemed to stretch longer and longer, the landmarks she was supposed to pass by vanished into the fog. A trip that should’ve taken an hour was now dragging into its third, and she had this nagging feeling that she was driving in circles.

“This is insane,” she muttered, glancing at the dashboard. Her hands were trembling. She couldn’t even tell if it was from the cold or something else—something deeper. She wanted to turn back, to give up and leave this nightmare behind, but something inside wouldn’t let her. Maybe it was the money. Maybe it was something darker.

As the car crawled forward, the fog seemed to part, just slightly, revealing the faint outline of a building ahead. It was small, just a shack really, with a dim light flickering in one of the windows. The place looked abandoned, like no one had lived there for years. Yet, here she was, and this was the address.

She parked the car, her heart thudding in her chest, and grabbed the package with a shaking hand. Her breath fogged up the air as she stepped outside, the cold cutting through her coat. Every instinct told her to get back in the car and drive away, to forget about the delivery, about the money, about everything.

But she couldn’t. Not yet.

The door to the shack creaked open with a push, and she stepped inside, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The smell hit her first—damp wood, stale air, and something else, something rotten. The room was almost bare, save for an old table and a chair that looked like it would collapse if anyone sat on it.

“Hello?” she called out, but her voice came back to her, hollow and flat. She swallowed, taking a step further in, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of life.

“Just leave it on the table,” a voice said, low and raspy. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from—if it was from the other room, or if it was just in her head. But it was there, commanding, unmistakable.

She set the package down, her fingers lingering on the edge of the paper as if to say something, but the words caught in her throat. There was a story behind this, she was sure of it—a dark, twisted tale that she wasn’t a part of. Not really. She was just the delivery girl, the messenger. Nothing more.

Turning to leave, she hesitated for a moment, looking back at the package. A part of her wanted to rip it open, to see what was inside, to understand why it felt so heavy, why it made her skin crawl. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked back to the door, her footsteps quickening as she reached the threshold.

Just as she was about to step outside, the door slammed shut behind her, and she felt it—a presence, cold and suffocating, like a pair of eyes boring into the back of her head. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t dare.

The car was still running, just as she’d left it. She slipped inside, her breath coming in short gasps as she threw the car into reverse and sped back down the road, the fog swallowing the shack behind her.

For a moment, she felt relief. But it was short-lived. As she drove, the headlights caught something on the road ahead. She squinted, her heart racing as she recognized it—the package. The same one she had just delivered, lying in the middle of the road, as if waiting for her.

Her mind raced, her pulse quickened. She wanted to turn the car around, to flee. But something inside, something darker than fear, compelled her to stop. She needed to know. She needed to understand.

She stepped out of the car, her breath catching in her throat as she approached the package. It looked exactly the same—same wrapping, same weight. But as she bent down to pick it up, the paper unraveled on its own, revealing what lay beneath.

Her own name, scrawled in jagged letters, on a piece of paper.

And beneath that, nothing. The package was empty.

She stared at it, her mind reeling, trying to make sense of it all. But there was no sense to be found, no answers, just an empty package, an empty road, and a delivery to nowhere.

She got back in the car, her hands gripping the wheel, her knuckles white. She drove, not knowing where she was going, not caring. The road stretched out before her, endless and unyielding, and she drove into the fog, into the unknown, the package forgotten on the seat beside her.

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