It was a quiet Wednesday evening when my doorbell rang unexpectedly. I wasn’t expecting anyone, let alone a food delivery. When I opened the door, a courier stood there holding a plastic bag filled with Chinese takeout.
“Delivery for you,” he said, handing it over.
“But I didn’t order this,” I replied, confused.
He double-checked the receipt. “This is the address. It’s already paid for.”
I hesitated for a moment before accepting the bag. The smell of sweet and sour chicken filled my apartment, but something felt… off. Who would send me food? There was no note, no message—just the receipt.
As I turned it over, my heart skipped a beat.
Scrawled on the back in hurried handwriting were four words: “Don’t trust your neighbor.”
A chill ran down my spine. Was this a joke? A prank? Or something more sinister?
The Beginning of Something Bigger
I locked my door and peered out my window. My neighborhood was quiet, as usual, but suddenly, the house across the street—Mr. Thompson’s place—seemed more ominous. He had always been a bit strange, always watching but rarely speaking. Could this be about him?
I tried to shake off the paranoia and put the food in the fridge, but I couldn’t let it go. Who sent this? And why the warning?
The next day, I decided to casually bring it up to my next-door neighbor, Rachel. “Weirdest thing happened last night,” I said, laughing nervously. “I got a food delivery I didn’t order, and there was this weird message on the receipt.”
Her face went pale. “What did it say?”
I hesitated. “Not to trust my neighbor.”
Rachel swallowed hard, glancing toward Mr. Thompson’s house. “I think someone’s trying to warn you,” she whispered.
The Truth Unfolds
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept replaying the strange message in my head. I finally gave in to my curiosity and checked my doorbell camera footage. My breath caught as I rewound to the moment before the delivery arrived.
A shadowy figure had walked up to my door—long before the courier got there. They slipped something under my doormat and walked away.
Heart pounding, I opened my door and lifted the mat. There, hidden beneath it, was a small, folded note.
With shaking hands, I opened it.
“Check your attic.”
I froze. I hadn’t been up there in years. What was I supposed to find? And who was leaving these messages?
One thing was clear—this wasn’t just about an unordered meal. Someone knew something, and they wanted me to find out.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a flashlight and headed toward the attic ladder, unaware that what I was about to discover would change everything.
