The Package

You’re overreacting, she thought as she angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She stood outside her apartment door, staring at the little brown box sitting neatly in the middle of her welcome mat. She looked around but saw no one. You’re overreacting, she told herself again.

At first, she had thought one of her online orders had been delivered; but once she got closer she noticed it had no labels or writing on it. It was a small box about the size of a cell phone, wrapped in brown paper. To anyone else it was just a package waiting to be brought inside and opened, but to her it was a harbinger of dread. She knew who it was from.

She stood there rooted in place, keys in one hand and a grocery bag with her melting ice cream in the other. She didn’t hear the laughter coming from behind her neighbor’s door. She didn’t smell Mr. Sullivan’s evening cigar that always seeped out of his apartment despite his open window. She didn’t see anything around her; just that suspicious little brown box.

In her mind she was no longer standing outside her apartment door. Instead she was hundreds of miles away across the state line. She was in her cozy little home that used to be her safe haven, until he came into the picture.

At first, she was flattered by the attention: he was always quick with a compliment and ready with a kind gesture. However, as time went on, his attention became obsessive and his actions frighteningly controlling. She told him that if he didn’t leave her alone she was going to go to the police and get a restraining order. He just looked at her and sneered. “You think a little piece of paper can stop me?” he asked with a wicked smirk.

That was the day she began to fear leaving her house. She would see him everywhere: across the street from where she worked, ducking down an aisle in the grocery store. She’d catch glimpses of him in the park where she went for her morning run or standing outside her favorite coffee shop.

She put in a request at her job to work from home, she had groceries and other necessities delivered to her door, and she slowly started to spend less time out with her friends until finally, she stopped leaving her house all together. She kept every door and window locked and all of her curtains drawn. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. It’s safer this way, she thought, he can’t get to me here. Until one night, he did.

She had barely made it out of the house before it was consumed in flames. The fire chief said an accelerant had been used in every single room. She hadn’t even known he was in the house until he was in her bedroom. The overwhelming stench of gasoline was choking her as she looked at him in horror, the little flame from his lighter dancing wickedly in his hand. “If I can’t have you, no one can,” he said as he dropped his igniter.

Everything after that happened so fast: her running for her window, him grabbing her wrist and dragging her back toward the flames. She remembered grabbing her bedside lamp and bringing it down on his head with all her strength. It wasn’t like the movies: he didn’t fall to the floor in an unconscious heap. He was just dazed and seemed to be confused about where the blood was coming from. So she hit him again. And again. And again. Until he finally loosed his grip on her enough for her to pull free. She didn’t look back to see if he was still upright. She had inhaled too much smoke already and she needed to get out of there now if she wanted to survive.

The next thing she remembered was a fireman picking her up from the lawn in front of the inferno that was once her home. She sat in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth and a blanket that looked like it belonged on the space shuttle wrapped around her shoulders.

She decided to move out of state after she was released from the hospital. She didn’t have any family in the area and her friends would understand. She tried to convince herself that she was free. They never found a body, but the fire was so hot and intense there was no way he could have survived; and for six blissful months she believed it. Until she saw that damn brown box.

The ding of the elevator brought her back to the present. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at her unwanted package. She took a tentative step forward, as if she were afraid he would jump out at her, like a twisted Jack-in-the-Box. She crouched down and reached out with shaking hands. She ran her fingers along the edge of the paper. It felt thick, like a paper bag you pack your groceries in. She ripped a small piece away and saw red velvet peaking up at her. He loved red velvet. Every cruel and sadistic “gift” he ever sent her was always nestled in a box of red velvet.

She dropped the package and hurried into her apartment, leaving her now melted ice cream and the box out in the hallway. She ran to her hall closet and pulled out her suitcase. She started to throw everything she could get her hands on into the luggage: clothes, books, shoes… anything she could get her hands on. She was a whirlwind of chaos as panic dictated her every move.

Once her suitcase was full, she headed for the door. She would have to figure out what to do with the rest of her things later, but for now she needed to get as far away as she could. She opened her door and once again found herself staring at the box. She knew nothing good could be hiding inside, but morbid curiosity was starting to take over. It was like Pandora’s box had been delivered to her doorstep.

After a few minutes, she looked up and noticed the garbage shoot down the hall. She picked up the unwelcomed parcel and ran to the shoot, ripping the little door open. She held the box over the small void, and hesitated. What if she really was overreacting? Maybe someone left her a gift just to be nice. Or maybe it belonged to someone else and it was left at her door by mistake? Slowly closing the door to the shoot, she began to rip the paper away, piece by piece. She lifted the lid a fraction to peak inside.

The sight of something black and the acrid smell of smoke caused her to slam the top down and throw the box down the garbage shoot with as much force as she could muster. She ran back to her apartment, locked the door, grabbed her luggage, and made her way out of the building. She was going to go somewhere, anywhere, that he would never find her again.