Alright, y’all, it’s your girl Bree Baxter, and let me tell you—I’m about to share something straight-up cursed. Like, if you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to accidentally invite a demon into your home while trying to get your Chipotle fix, keep reading. Because yeah, that just happened. To me.
It’s Friday night, and I’m done with life. Starbucks was tragic today (seriously, Karen, stop asking for room temp lattes—it’s weird). I’m tired, I’m starving, and I’m scrolling TikTok like it’s my job, which—let’s be real—kinda is. So naturally, I hit up Chipotle on the app, order my burrito bowl (double guac, duh), and wait for my food to arrive.
Now here’s where it all goes to hell.
My phone pings—yay, food’s here! I head to the door, and right away, I’m getting weird vibes. Not like “oh no, I forgot to tip” vibes—more like “should I be calling a priest?” vibes. The delivery guy? He’s standing there, all stiff like someone hit pause on a movie, holding my Chipotle bag like it’s filled with something… not food. His face? Blank. No smile. No “have a nice night.” Just… staring.
But, okay, I’m Bree Baxter, and I don’t get rattled by some awkward delivery dude. I’m hungry. I’m here for my burrito bowl. I reach out to grab the bag, and that’s when Fluffernutter, my adorable yet total drama queen of a cat, FLIPS out.
She bolts out from her little napping spot, fur all puffed up like she’s just seen a ghost, hissing like she’s auditioning for The Exorcist: Cat Edition. I’m like, “Whoa, chill, Fluffers,” but she’s not having it. She’s staring at the delivery guy with these wide eyes, making this low growl that I’ve never heard before. And let me tell you, my cat is normally a total cuddle muffin. This? This is new.
I glance back at the guy, and my heart does this weird little flutter. Something’s off, and it’s not just Fluffernutter’s freak-out. The air around him feels cold, like I just stepped into a walk-in freezer, and the bag in his hands? It’s dripping.
Not like guac dripping. It’s this weird, oily black liquid, seeping through the bottom of the Chipotle bag and pooling at his feet. And it smells. Bad. My brain’s screaming, “Bree, CLOSE THE DOOR,” but my body? Frozen.
“Uh, thanks,” I mumble, awkwardly taking the bag. His eyes follow my hand, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. I slam the door, heart pounding in my chest, and Fluffernutter’s still losing it, running circles around my legs like she’s trying to warn me about something.
I drop the bag on the counter, and as soon as it lands, the room feels… wrong. Heavy. The smell from the bag is getting stronger—like rotten meat mixed with something metallic. My stomach flips, but I have to know what’s inside. I tear the bag open. No burrito bowl. No chips. Just… a box.
A small, black box.
My hands are shaking as I reach for it. Fluffernutter’s still hissing like a little demon, and I’m like, “Okay, girl, I get it, this is messed up.” But I have to know what’s inside.
I lift the lid. And inside, there’s a single note, written in this spidery, black ink:
“You should have never opened the door.”
Bruh. NOPE. NOPE. NOPE.
My hands are trembling so bad I almost drop the box. I whip around to check the door, because nah, there’s no way this is real. My brain is spinning, trying to process what the hell is happening. Did I just get pranked? Is this some kind of TikTok stunt that I’m not in on?
But then I hear it.
A soft scratching noise, like nails dragging across wood. Coming from inside the walls.
Fluffernutter’s growling now, her eyes locked on the hallway. Her tail’s all puffed out, and she’s acting like there’s something moving in the shadows. I grab my phone to livestream this nonsense, because obviously, I need proof when I tell people about the haunted Chipotle, but when I unlock the screen, it’s already recording.
I never hit record.
My heart races as I glance down at the phone, and there, on the screen, is the video feed of my hallway. Except… I’m not in it. The camera’s facing the door, and there’s something moving just at the edge of the frame. Something tall and thin. It’s barely visible, like it’s slipping in and out of focus, but it’s there.
And it’s getting closer.
“Fluffernutter, what the hell is happening?” I whisper, backing toward the door, but when I turn to look, the room feels… different. Like the walls are shifting, warping. The shadows are moving, twisting like they’re alive, and the temperature drops even more. It’s freezing now, and I can see my breath.
I run to the door, yanking it open, but the hallway outside? It’s gone. Just this endless black void, stretching out in front of me. I slam the door shut, chest heaving, and turn back to my apartment.
The delivery guy is standing in the middle of my living room.
Except it’s not him anymore.
It’s something else. Tall, gaunt, with these long, twisted limbs that don’t look human. Its skin is pale, almost translucent, and its eyes—oh god, its eyes—are pure black, like two endless pits. It’s smiling, that same creepy, frozen grin, but now it’s wider. Too wide.
Fluffernutter is going ballistic, yowling like her life depends on it. I want to scream, but the sound dies in my throat. The thing takes a step closer, and I feel this wave of cold crash over me, like it’s pulling all the warmth from the room, from my body. My vision blurs, and I stumble back, tripping over my own feet.
And then it speaks, in this low, rasping voice, like it’s clawing its way out of the depths:
“You shouldn’t have opened the door.”
I scramble to my feet, grabbing Fluffernutter and booking it for my bedroom. I slam the door shut, my heart in my throat, and lock it—like that’s going to help. But I can hear it, moving outside the door, its footsteps slow and deliberate.
The scratching sound is back. Louder this time. Closer. 🫣
I’m clutching Fluffernutter so tight she’s practically molded to my chest, her little body vibrating with terror. The scratching noise outside the door goes silent, but the air is still thick, heavy, like it’s holding its breath.
My phone buzzes. I look down, and my heart stutters.
A notification pops up from the delivery app.
“Enjoy your meal.”
My throat tightens. I blink at the screen, feeling a knot twist in my stomach. My heart’s racing a mile a minute, but my brain’s stuck. What does that even mean? What meal?
Then, before I can even react, I hear it. A low, raspy voice from right outside the door:
“Enjoy your meal.”
And just like that, everything goes quiet. Completely silent.
The temperature starts to rise again, normal warmth returning to the room. The lights stop flickering. The air feels... lighter. Like whatever it was is gone.
I wait, frozen in place, staring at the door, half-expecting it to fly open. But nothing happens.
No more scratching. No more voice. Just silence.
I swallow hard and slowly stand up, Fluffernutter still pressed to my chest. She’s stopped growling, and her fur isn’t standing on end anymore. She’s back to being my Fluffers, wide-eyed but calm.
I take a shaky step toward the door and listen. Nothing. I crack it open just an inch, peeking out into the hallway.
Empty. Totally normal. My apartment looks exactly the way it did before.
I close the door again, lock it, and slump against it, my pulse finally slowing. It’s like the whole thing—delivery guy, the black liquid, the shadows—was never even real.
What in the actual f—?
But I look down at my phone, still clutched in my hand, the screen lit up with that notification.
"Enjoy your meal."
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