I make a living delivering food, working mostly the late shift when the city’s quiet and dark. It was a regular Tuesday night, the kind of night where the streets were empty, the silence almost overwhelming. I was almost finished with my shift when I got a strange request from a customer who lived far on the outskirts, near the woods—a 2 a.m. delivery to an address I’d never heard of before.
The order was simple: a single burger and fries. Nothing unusual about it, except when I tried to call to confirm the address, no one answered. I shrugged it off, thinking maybe they’d just fallen asleep or something, and drove out, my headlights piercing the pitch-black roads as I navigated toward the pin on my GPS.
The house looked abandoned, with tall, untamed grass in the front and broken windows covered with dust and grime. But as I approached, I noticed the faintest flicker of light from within. Hesitantly, I grabbed the bag, walked up to the front door, and knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again, louder this time, and the door slowly creaked open. The house smelled of dampness, and a strange, metallic scent lingered in the air. Suddenly, a voice came from deeper inside the house—a raspy whisper, saying, “Bring it to the dining room…”
I felt a chill crawl up my spine but took a step inside. The house was empty except for a long dining table covered with dust. On one side of the table, facing me, sat a mannequin dressed in old-fashioned clothes, its eyes blank and staring, hands positioned as though it were waiting to be served.
I wanted to bolt, but the voice came again, echoing through the empty rooms, “The food… set it down.”
My hands trembling, I placed the bag in front of the mannequin, feeling the weight of its lifeless gaze on me. Just as I turned to leave, I heard a loud bang as the door slammed shut behind me. I whipped around and saw that the mannequin’s head had tilted slightly, as if watching me.
Then, out of nowhere, the whispers started again, now coming from every direction, growing louder and louder until they became a deafening chant. My heart raced as I pounded on the door, desperate to escape. Finally, the door creaked open, and I stumbled out, gasping for breath.
I sprinted to my car, started the engine, and sped off, leaving the eerie house in my rearview mirror. When I checked the delivery app, the order was marked as “Completed,” but there was no payment, no review—just an empty void where the customer’s name should have been.
Later, I found out no one had lived in that house for years. It had been abandoned after a family disappeared, leaving only their belongings… and the mannequin at the table. I never delivered there again.
As the days passed, I tried to shake off that night, convincing myself it was all just my mind playing tricks. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it—the whispers, the mannequin, the eerie silence of the house. I even tried looking up the location, digging through forums, but found nothing about any family or anyone going missing there. Just an abandoned house, like so many others.
Then, about a week later, I was finishing a late shift again, just about to head home, when I got a notification from the app. A message popped up: “Thank you for your service. Same order, same address.”
My blood ran cold. The order details were identical: a single burger and fries, with no name listed for the customer. I checked the time. It was exactly 2 a.m.
I was too terrified to accept, so I closed the app, hoping it would disappear. But within seconds, my phone buzzed again. Another notification: “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Panicked, I tried turning off my phone, but the screen wouldn’t shut off. The message seemed to burn into my vision: “Come back.”
Finally, I yanked the battery out, tossing the phone into the passenger seat. For a few moments, everything went silent again. But then, faintly, from the phone lying dead in my car, I heard that same raspy whisper echoing, “Bring it to the dining room…”
I never took another night shift. Even now, sometimes at 2 a.m., I’ll hear a faint buzz, a whisper… and I know the order is waiting.