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Wrong Address:

The Door That Shouldn’t Have Opened...

By The Writer...A_AwanPublished about a month ago 3 min read

It turned into speculated to be a easy delivery. Ayesha, a excessive school student running component‑time to assist her circle of relatives, picked up a food order from a famous app. The deal with become clear, the map precise, and the commands ordinary: “Ring the bell, depart the bag on the door.”

however whilst she reached the house, some thing felt off. the street was darker than the rest of the community, as though the lamps had burned out years in the past. The residence itself appeared abandoned—peeling paint, broken shutters, and a mailbox full of yellowed papers. yet the app insisted: this is the place.

She hesitated, clutching the nice and cozy bag of meals. perhaps it was a mistake. perhaps the patron typed the wrong variety. however earlier than she ought to turn back, the door creaked open.

The Stranger’s Welcome

A person stood there, tall and faded, his eyes too wide, his smile too fixed. He spoke before she ought to: “ultimately. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Ayesha iced up. We? She glanced at the back of him, however the hallway became empty, coated with shadows. “I assume that is the incorrect address,” she stammered. He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s exactly right.”

He reached for the bag, but in preference to taking it, he pushed the door wider. “come in. You should see what’s inside.”

The residence That knows

Towards her higher judgment, Ayesha stepped inside. The air become stale, heavy with dust and some thing metallic. The walls have been covered with photographs—loads of them. every photo confirmed one of a kind humans status at the same doorway, retaining food baggage, similar to her.

Her belly dropped. The faces inside the photos seemed uneasy, a few nervous, a few blurred as if they had been transferring. None of them smiled.

“shipping after shipping,” the person whispered. “they all arrive right here sooner or later. much like you.”

Ayesha subsidized closer to the door, but it had already closed behind her. The lock clicked on its very own.

The wrong Names

On a table lay a stack of receipts. She picked one up. The call on it wasn’t hers, however it become near—same initials, same ultimate name spelled barely in a different way. another receipt had her exact name, published smartly, dated nowadays.

Her palms shook. “How do you've got this?” the person’s smile widened. “due to the fact you were always intended to come back here. The machine doesn’t make errors. It simplest guides.”

The break out try

She bolted closer to the again of the residence, determined for some other go out. The kitchen window changed into nailed shut. The lower back door turned into chained. every route led her deeper inside.

Then she heard it: footsteps upstairs. sluggish, deliberate, heavy. She wasn’t by myself.

A voice drifted down from above: “Is the new one here?” “sure,” the man replied lightly. “She’s perfect.”

The Revelation

Ayesha’s eyes darted to the photos once more. She noticed something she had overlooked earlier than: none of the human beings in the pictures had been ever seen leaving. The final photograph in every collection showed the door closed, the bag long past, and the house darker.

Her breath caught. This wasn’t a incorrect deal with. It turned into a trap.

The very last choice

the man stepped nearer, his shadow stretching across the floor. “you can stay with us. Or you can try to leave. however the residence comes to a decision who walks out.”

Ayesha gripped the food bag like a weapon. She hurled it at him and sprinted closer to the front door. To her shock, it swung open effortlessly this time. She burst into the street, gasping for air, the night abruptly brighter, the lamps flickering lower back to life. while she became again, the house changed into gone. In its area was an empty lot, overgrown with weeds. No door, no home windows, no photos. simply silence.

Her telephone buzzed. A notification from the app: transport completed. thank you.

The incorrect deal with wasn’t wrong at all. It become waiting. And someplace, another shipping driver could quickly be guided to the equal area, maintaining a bag, thinking it was just every other regular night time.

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About the Creator

The Writer...A_Awan

16‑year‑old Ayesha, high school student and storyteller. Passionate about suspense, emotions, and life lessons...

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