Your brain checks out, body on autopilot as you delve your hand into the bag. You yawn as your fingers touch something curved and cold. They wrap around it, unsure of what it is.

You pull it out and inspect it. An eyebrow is raised as your eyes read the label.

Your curious mind compels you to dig for more treasure, and it’s not long before you’ve poured the contents of the bag all over your table.

Just as you suspected, it’s not your bag!

And now you don’t know what to do. You can’t use any of this stuff. It took you a moment to figure out what was wrong with this picture, but now you see it all on display.

Cream, milk, butter, cheeses of all varieties.

It’s all dairy!

And you’re lactose intolerant.

It’s a shimmery teal marble eyed dead thing. Well… its at least the head of a shimmery teal marble eyed fish. It’s staring up at me from a wicker basket, a fairytale picnic basket. The juxtaposition puts a lump in my throat.

The following item is a rounded plastic tub, looking at the label offers no answers. Twarog, it reads. Sounds like the name of a pokemon I caught on my gameboy back in 07’. I open the tub and clumps of chunky white curds stare back at me. Huh.

Next comes a bundle of stinky onions, which seem worse for the trip in the basket. Their round lightbulbs of layered flesh gleam in the evening light coming through my kitchen window. Turning it over, spots on the outside rim have gone purplish green and slimy. I’ll pass.

There’s a note at the bottom, so I carefully slide the gelatinous head, vile cheese and moldy onions to the side. In cursive marked with a wobbly hand it reads, “Pasta z wedzonej makreli. Your favorite! Love, your Mamusia”

‘ I know I have forgotten something’ I hummed to myself gently. Manoeuvring my way through the shopping app, half heartedly. Really, In an ideal world I would reschedule my evening, alas, I must do as I am told. Tomorrow marks my mothers 10th anniversary as esteemed CEO of her true child. Her company adorns more attention from her than I ever could. I sound bitter, I’m not. I have learnt that this is how things are now.

My mind easily wondering whilst I scrolled through my grocery screen.

As my mother’s celebration unfolds downstairs I shall need some food to occupy myself. Perks of living in a four story mansion with kitchens on every floor, I’m not forced to socialise. Albeit for some reason it makes all the difference still being in the house, just in case anyone asks about her only child, not that they ever do.

I tap away, thoughtlessly, adding anything and everything to my cart. Just so I know I have the essentials for a night hiding on the 3rd floor away from the theatrics and unnecessary displays of wealth.

As I place my phone down, having scheduled my food delivery for first thing in the morning, I lay my head on my pillow. Closing my eyes I find myself easily drifting off to sleep.

bling bling The sound of my morning alarm waking me. I sigh as I swing my legs out of bed, sliding them into my slippers. Checking my phone, I see that my food parcel has been left in the lobby, taken in by one of the staff.

My mind flittered through the series of events of the day, as I made my way through the hallways towards the stairs. ‘Hopefully she doesn’t get too drunk’ I muse to myself. Reminiscing about the time my mother had one too many wines; finding herself leading her bemused guests all through the house in an attempt to show off her hoards of statues, and needlessly large mirrors.

Stopped in my train of thought, I reach the main lobby on the first floor. My eyes drawn to the large brown bag on the floor. Not paying too much mind to where the staff member was that brought it in for me, I approached the bag and went to lift it up. As my fingers reached for it, I recoiled in shock. Whatever was enclosed inside felt..warm and soft. Quickly I stole glances down the other corridors. No one in sight. I checked my phone, comparing the logo of the supermarket to the logo on the package in-front of me. Clearly the same.

Puzzled, I stepped closer to the bag. As my foot left the ground I saw it move. I hesitated for a mere second before gathering myself and kneeling infront of it. My breathing, admittedly, became irregular with my nervousness. Stealing glances around me whenever I could to check no one was around me. Gently, I attempted to open the top of the bag, stapled shut. Again, it moved ever so slightly. Curiosity overcame me more than anxiety by this point. As my fingers pursed the top of the bag, I heard a noise come from inside it that sent a wave of electric excitement through me.

Without hesitation I grasped the bag and ran as fast as I could towards the floor I had adopted for the evening. Every step I took, feeling the bag against me, I felt some clarity as to what the contents could be. The wriggling and warmth becoming more apparent the faster I moved.

Hearing my heart thumping in my ears, I burst through the bedroom door, placing my new found, precious cargo onto the bed, taking a step back from it for a moment; I stared.

‘It couldn’t be, surely’ Completely overcome with confusion, I gathered myself and tore open the top of the bag. I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped me. Taking in all I could of the contents of the bag. As quickly as the excitement coursed through me, it ended suddenly. My blood ran cold as a realisation took over me. The contents of this bag having a darker tone that what I originally thought. You see, upon first inspection, this parcel contained three black and white kittens, so small, their eyes barely opening. The sickening part of this discovery was that also in this bag, placed almost menacingly, was a large rock.

Clearly the mix up so great, had saved these sweet kittens from a callous fate.

“Ok, I need ham, eggs, bread, milk and bell peppers.” I mumbled to myself.

I was scrolling through my grocery app looking for the items I would need for Sunday brunch. I was responsible for the biscuits but I was going to bring a casserole as well. I was missing some key ingredients mainly all of them. Speaking out loud helped me concentrate so I could remember the items I need. I could have gone to the store but with my day being as busy as it is I just don’t have the time or the energy.

“I already have the flour and butter but do I have the strawberry jam?” I close my eyes and try to remember the contents of my pantry. In my mental picture I can see honey but jam of any flavor is not coming to mind.

“Well, I guess you can never have too much jam.” I say to myself as I select the strawberry jam in my app. I set the delivery time for after I get home from work and place the order with a few taps.

I continue on with my workday putting out the fires that inevitably crop up but nothing really out of the ordinary happens. I have a good paying job but not a job I am passionate about. I gave up passion in my 20s for stability. It was the safer choice some say the boring choice. I found passion left my wallet and stomach empty. My stomach being the more important of the two. I would rather be boring and full instead of passionate and starving. Bohemia, I found, was not the lifestyle for me.

My workday ends at 5 o’clock in the evening. I drive home in rush hour traffic, the 20 min drive stretching out to 2 hours due to a wreck along my regular route. It always seems to go that way. I need to do something after work but events seem to always work against me.

I get home a little before 7 o’clock and see that the groceries I ordered are sitting by my apartment door. I see two paper bags which is odd since I didn’t order enough groceries to fit into more than one. I grab both bags and they seem heavier than they I thought they should. They are stapled shut so I can’t see the contents, I just hope the driver got some of my order correct.

I enter my one bedroom apartment and take off my shoes. I set the bags on the breakfast bar in the kitchen. It’s a small but adequate affair. The stove and the sink are situated by each other and there is more storage space than what I need for my single lifestyle.

Before I open the bags I go into the bedroom and get out of my work clothes. Suits and ties are nice but not really something you can relax in. I put on my gray sweats and my favorite T-shirt from an 80s cartoon about a group of colorful super hero teddy bears. Since I lived alone there was no one to judge my questionable taste in lounge wear.

I go back into the kitchen to put away the groceries. I open the first bag and almost immediately know that my order is wrong. It was the smell coming from the bag. I could smell raw meat and blood. I looked inside the bag and I saw butcher paper and a plastic container full of a thick liquid with darker chunks of something floating in it. I open the container and find it is actually blood and the darker chunks are liver.

Seeing what was in the container, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out what was in the butcher paper but curiosity got the better of me. I reached in and pulled out an item that was much larger than I expected. I pulled the brown paper back and saw a pair of eyes looking back at me. I dropped the paper immediately and scurried away as fast and as far as I could in the small apartment kitchen.

Initially my brain couldn’t process what I saw. I thought it was human eyes looking back at me but that obviously had to be wrong. The bags came from a grocery store for god’s sake. Steeling myself I opened the paper again and could see that the eyes are staring at me from some animals skinned head. The muscles and sinew exposed and the mouth looking like it was stuck in a perpetual grin. I unfortunately recognize the head as one from a goat. I had spent Christmas with my now ex and his Latino family. One of their traditions was to bake a goats head and the patriarch of the family got to eat the eyes. Being raised in a typical middle class family this disturbed me more than a little. But as they say to each their own and it was an experience I was not likely to ever forget.

Laughing at myself for my overactive imagination I looked at the bottom of the first bag and could see nothing else. I rewrapped the animal head and put it back in the bag. I made sure the lid was securely put on the plastic container of blood and liver and placed it in the bag as well.

A little more nervous than I was initially I opened the next bag hoping it contained my order. I had a sinking feeling that the driver accidentally gave me someone else’s order but I wouldn’t know until I looked. Taking a deep breath I looked inside the second bag and as I opened it I let out my breath slowly when I saw the innocuous items inside.

“ That was anti climatic.” I mumble to myself. The bag contained a couple of bottles of sun block 100 SPF, an extra large dog collar and 1 tube of toothpaste and a various cleaning supplies.

“What in the world?” I mumbled to myself.

My thoughts try to find any discernible reason for this mish mash of items. The cleaning supplies and toothpaste are easily explained away. They probably just ran out. The dog collar and sun screen were a little more of an enigma. For one it was the middle of Fall so sunscreen isn’t what one would call a must have item. Maybe they were using the sun block as moisturizer. Who doesn’t like to smell like a tropical drink in the middle of Fall?

I don’t know what emergency would require a dog collar to have to be bought from a grocery store. Who even knew that grocery stores carried dog collars let along extra large ones. A pet store probably sold them cheaper so it must have been some weird kind of emergency. Maybe it is a sex thing. An emergency sex thing. Probably not.

I obviously I had the wrong order. Hopefully I could get this rectified. Brunch wouldn’t be ruined. It was just Thursday so I had plenty of time to get what I needed but it would have been nice to get grocery shopping off my mind.

I pulled up the delivery app on my phone and called customer service. They confirmed I got the wrong order. Luckily my order was given to someone else in my building. The customer service rep said that the driver could come back out and correct the delivery or they could give my contact info to the customer with my order and we could arrange the exchange our selves. I opted for choice two just so I could get this done and over with.

A couple of minutes later I get a phone call and hear a young and deep voice on the other end.

He says “Hello, I am Clive I believe I have your groceries. ”

I respond “Hello Clive, I am Oliver and I sure hope you have my order. I don’t think I can make Sunday brunch from what is in your bags.”

The silence on the other end was a little too long. It was broken by a quiet chuckle. “Well we can’t have Sunday brunch ruined. What do you say we switch our orders back?”, he said with a tinge of humor in his voice.

I immediately respond in the affirmative and give him my apartment number. I put Clive’s groceries back in the second bag and tried to pack them as nicely as I could. Even though Clive knew I looked inside the bags already, I didn’t want it to look like I had.

10 mins later my doorbell rang. I go to the door and look through the peephole. I see a young man in his 20s with tousled blond hair and an athletic build. He was holding a brown paper bag on his hip. I open the door and smile. It could only be Clive.

After I opened the door, I greet the young man. “Clive I presume. It’s nice to meet you.” I smile warmly.

“Hello Oliver, nice to meet you as well. Turns out I am your neighbor in the apartment below you.” he says in a friendly tone.

I see his eyes quickly glance down at my shirt and he smirks slightly. That’s when I remembered what tshirt I was wearing. Slightly embarrassed I pretend I don’t notice the smirk and internally berate myself for not changing. Then I berate myself again, it wasn’t like this was a date.

Clive smiles and hands me the bag he is holding. I turn around and head to the kitchen. I look over my shoulder and Clive is standing at the door a little unsure.

“Please come in Clive. Your bags are in the kitchen.”I say as I turn back around.

I go into the kitchen and set my groceries down. I hear Clive come down the hallway. I grab his bags and before I turn around I felt a sharp pain on my head. My legs crumble and I lose consciousness before my head hits the ground.

When I wake up I am not sure how much time has passed. I am sitting in a chair in the middle of a warehouse. I am in naked and my hands are tied behind my back. My legs were chained to the ground, cuffs snuggly secured around my ankles. On my neck I can feel a collar. More specifically an extra large dog collar. It was attached to the chair with a dog leash wrapped around the back of the chair.

I look around the warehouse the best I can. There is little light mainly coming from the windows at the top of the building. Some of those windows were broken all of them were dirty. All the light really did was make the amorphous shadows bigger and the corners of the interior pitch black.

The panic I was feeling starts to escalate and I say out loud, “Please let this be a weird sex thing. Please be a pervert and not a serial killer.”

I hear a door open behind me and can hear a chair being dragged behind me. I am bound in such a way that turning my head to look behind me is impossible. The scrape of the chair sounds like nails on a chalkboard which just makes my already frayed nerves more unbearable.

The person comes into my view and of course it is Clive. He young face is set into a somber visage. He sets the chair in front of me and takes a seat.

He looks at me impassively, I can smell the artificial coconut that a lot of sunscreens smell like. The sweet smell is out of place in the sinister situation and my brain tries to make sense if it. Irrationally I say to myself “I guess he uses it as moisturizer.” and I giggle a little out loud.

This breaks the blank look on Clive’s face and he looks at me with curiosity now. In his deep voice he asks, “Does this situation amuse you?” He continues, “Most people in your situation would be losing their minds.”

I take a deep breath and respond, “I am terrified. My brain just made a connection that was funny in this situation. The giggling was just my nerves being shot and releasing some tension.”

Clive’s face goes back to being impassive. He tilts his head a little to the side. It looks like he is observing a rat in a cage that is about to do something interesting.

He asks in a quiet voice “Do you want to know why you are hear?”

The quiet words send a jolt through me. Did I want to know? Would knowing make it better or worse? My voice shaky I ask, “Will I get to live if you tell me?”

Clive takes a slow breath and let’s it out. His blank face shows just a small flicker of sadness before turning blank again.

He speaks again this time he sounded tired, “No, you are going to die tonight but sometimes people want to know why.

“So, you have done this before. How many before me?” Clive doesn’t say anything just continues to look at me.

My mind racing I try to come up with some escape plan. I am tightly bound and naked. I can see no weapon or anything that could get me free. The situation is hopeless. Maybe if I was some sort of spy or MacGyver my hopeless situation would be a little less hopeless.

The dread I feel starts to overwhelm me. I don’t have a lot of people in my life, mainly people from work and my brunch buddies. I am not super close to any of them. My flakiness keeps a lot of people from getting closer.

My family is in a different state and I talk to them rarely now. Mainly just holidays and birthdays. No one would miss me for a very long time.

I say to Clive, In a voice on the verge of tears, “Ok, tell me why this is happening.”

Clive nods and says In monotone voice, “I am a lot older than I look. How old doesn’t really matter. I am old enough to wonder why people are going back to thinking the world is flat.” He continues on his voice becoming a little more weary, “I made a deal with an entity for eternal life and youth. The price of that deal is my soul and I have to provide two fresh bodies a year for their amusement and for sustenance. To answer your question you are not the first and you will not be the last. You see I have no intention of going to hell and being this entities plaything. That is why you are here.”

At first I think he is joking and then I realize he is not. He has to be crazy, right? Clive gets up and pushes the chair he was sitting in away.

“I am going to leave now. I get no pleasure from watching what is about to happen. I am glad you have no one close to you, it makes things a lot easier for me.”

The last sentence brings some clarity back to my mind. Clive had been watching me. I wonder for how long. I had never seen him before until tonight. I start to muse about how long he had been following me when I hear some movement behind me. The fear comes back with a vengeance and I start to cry. All I can hear is a low growl and the smell of something burning. I feel hot breath on the back of my neck and scream.

I started my day like normal, except for the frigid as hell temperatures and the steam roaming my odd apartment complex. When all of a sudden my doorbell rings. The casual “Ding Dong, Ding Dong,” that went on for ten seconds or whatever, never really was good at counting things. I opened the door to see the normal steam fog and something dark, maybe brown, underneath it. I hurry as to make sure not much of the steam got into my apartment. My roommate came out scowling. “You know I don’t like you opening the door! Even if you are careful it doesn’t matter, this crap still gets in no matter what!” Sidney, or ‘Shrimp’, what I call her, exclaimed as she came out of her room. She was in a bathrobe that made a wide v-shaped and came to her knees, as well as a towel covering her long, wet, black hair. I looked down at the bags I had brought in then looked up at her “You order these?” “No,” She said, more calmly now. “Then, what else is there to do,” I shrugged, looking around the bags, thinking hard on which one to open first. I grabbed the one I thought heaviest and bulkiest. I first held a rope, a 10ft rope 3inches wide, some bungee cords, and duck tape. Not off to a good start. Bag #2, now Shrimp was crouching next to me in full clothing. She pulled out garbage bags, wash cloths, and some extra strong cleaning spray. The kind you use when you spill red punch all over your family’s brand new white carpet. “What would anyone need to do with these?” Shrimp asked as if I had any clue whatsoever. Then the 3rd and last bag. I slid it over the cheap tile floor and looked in it. Bile rising in the back of my throat. I wasn’t much of one of those little miss prisses who thought they were the only thing that mattered and thought everything was gross, so this was a big deal to me. There, in the top of the bag was… Moldy, and when I say moldy, I mean like 500 year old mold that had been already sitting there for another 500 years. So just imagine the smell, because there was no plastic cover over this…this…horror. A human thigh. Shrimp had already disposed of it after putting on almost fifteen pairs of gloves and using that handy cleaning spray after. Kinda useful when you think of it. Then I looked to see if there was anything else it the box, and what I saw was morbid, just plain stupid compared to the other items… A sticky(with blood) bag of jolly ranchers. I, of course, burst out laughing, but soon stopped as Shrimp glared at me. “We never talk about this hell of a grocery order again, ok?” Shrimp firmly said. “‘Aight,” I replied. Me and Shrimp soon forgot about it, or at least that’s how we acted, because we were scared.

As I walk to my from door I see a package. I didn’t order anything so it couldn’t be mine. Maybe the mail man mistook it for someone else. I look on the package and it has a note saying, “ take this, I don’t care what you do with it but take this cursed item.” There was no signature. I take the box inside. I grab a knife and a bowl just in case something jumps out. I slowly cut the box open, no sign of life, no telling what it is. I peak through the crack of the box, and inside it’s dark, but I can make out an outline. I open the box up rapidly, ripping out all the foam and cardboard until I can see the item. Only this is not an ordinary item. I turn away, feeling my mouth fill with vomit as I get ready to throw up. Why the hell would someone send me that!!!!! I slowly look back to the box as my stomach is still wrenching. My hands shaking, body tightening, heart beating as rapid as a sprinter in a track race, beating once every millisecond. I look into the box and see the pale, cut up, dented, deformed head of my classmate, Issac. Missing an eye, half it’s teeth, and nose cut out, I stare in disbelief and star struck in what I’m looking at. I look next to the head, and there lies something just as bad as the head. The blood, and the missing eye, poked into the end of the knife the murdered one of my dearest friends. How has this happened? Who would do this? I hear a knock on the door. Who is this terrorizer?? Should I answer? No I should call the cops. I pick up my phone, but before I can hit dial the power goes out, disconnecting me from all data and internet. Damnit. I look to go hide, but then my phone rings… . What? How is that even possible? I decline the call. Without a breath it rings again. I answer this time, praying that it’s not what I think. I hear screaming, and slashing. It’s a recorded message, and I know what it is. I hear the scream, the horrid, deep scream of my friend as he gets repeatedly stabbed for over a minute, each stab causing the loss of more blood. I can hear Issac’s voice get scratchy, soft, and then silent. I hear the breathing of the murderer, and when the call ends I catch the sound of a door opening. Shit, the back door. I run to my room and hide. I listen for his footsteps, he gets closer. I watch the door to my room slowly open and… no one’s there. What? I stay where I’m at, and when the man jumps at me out of nowhere I…

I look at the man lying on the floor. I walk to him. Pale like Issac. I pick up the knife, which now has a new persons blood on it. I call the cops as soon as the power comes on and when they arrive I tell them the whole story.

They inform me that the man that had killed Issac was at the top of the most wanted at the police stations world wide. No man has killed as many people as he has. And yet here I was, his blood at my hands.

It’s a regular winter day. In another words: it’s cold as hell and you are engrossed by the paralysis the sun’s absence always gives you.

The doorbell rings and you are unsurprised by it, as tedium took hold of your poor lazy soul—and you are extremely aware that the most interesting thing that will probably happen in the next hours are your groceries finally arriving.

You move slowly to the door, socked feet slightly dragging on the polished hardwood floor. You are almost excited though, despite your sleepy demeanor. You would have coke and chocolate, and that certainly was a happy thought.

You take the grocery bag, thanks the delivery guy, and goes straight to the kitchen to claim your sugary prizes.

Then you realize something is absurdly wrong with your order.

The first time you dive your hand in the unsuspecting bag you return with oat milk. Weird.

You’re sure you didn’t order that, having long ago given up on your last try of going vegan. But that’s alright, it could have been mixed with your grocery by accident.

On your next dive into the now suspicious bag, you are rewarded with a frozen hog’s head. A fucking whole animal’s head. You stare at it dumbfounded, shock and horror overwhelming you.

After blinking dumbly at it for a few seconds, you quickly put it on the counter, almost dropping it to the ground, as if burned.

For a brief moment the gory thing makes you think of its soul, makes you wonder about its existence. A drunk philosophical though, made possible by the suddenness and depth of your horror.

You look wearily at the now full-on offensive bag.

After a deep breath, you decide to investigate the remnants of the grocery that definitely wasn’t yours. You find a pack of red candles.

For the love of the Lord. As a shiver suddenly runs down your spine, your atheist and hypocritical self starts to mumble exclamations to God.

Compelled by morbid and irresistible curiosity, with trembling hands you reach for another of the contents of that cursed grocery bag.

A broccoli. A fucking wholesome broccoli. Organic even, from a local farm. You kind of feel whiplash. What a healthy satanist, you stupidly mumble to yourself.

You give up on prying upon the grocery items and start to call the store to let them know their mistake. You think of going out of the house for a bit. Yeah, it sounds good.

As I sit down after a long day of work, i am able to take a breath. I go to the front door to collect my online grocery shopping bag filled to the brim with goods. I transport the bag into my kitchen. I then proceed to open and further examine the bag. I open it, and I am surprised of the content of the bag. The bag had a lot of bettered, tools, knives, bleach, and a couple rags. At first I had just thought that the delivery Man had just accidentally grabbed the wrong bag. But, As I continued to investigate I found a note in the bag…. It read, “ This is all for you, sugar.” I was in disbelief. Could I have a deranged stalker? I then picked up my phone to call the police, and the line was dead. It was a scene right out of a horror movie. I knew better then those idiots in the slasher movies. I grabbed one of the knives to arm myself. I ran out the back door. I ran and didn’t look behind me. I ran until I got here. At the police station.

Detective- You did the right thing coming here. Smiles and waches into pocket. Let’s make sure you leave here safe sugar. *Grabs knife and uses content that was in the grocery bag to clean and dispose of the body.

Embers glowed red as ash gray wood shifted in the wood burning stove. Horace fluffed his feathers enjoying the kitchen’s warmth. A large cast iron pot simmered complacently. From somewhere in the cozy home a violin was being played with more passion than skill.

The Ring camera chimed. Her startled owl hooted. Violin in hand, Dorie hurried to the back door. It opened and Dorie claimed her groceries from the porch steps. Immediately from the weight of the bags she knew something was amiss. Dorie had ordered fresh herbs, Motrin, and other supplies from Mandrake & Sons. In the sack was liver, lots of liver. Next she pulled out a package of diced cow heart and an ice cream cooler with a quart of blood.

“Not again,” Dorie said.

Horace turned his head 360 degrees to give her an I told you so look.

“Yes I know I know I just wanted to shop local. I wonder if this order is for one of those weird bodybuilders. For fate’s sake, if I have to go into town and park somebody’s getting turned into a toad.”

There was a flapping of leathery wings and in a grey spiral of smoke a man appeared on Dorie’s porch. Dressed in a track suit and Chuck Taylors, he was carrying a sack of groceries.

“Crises averted. You are Endora Weaver, recent ill fated customer of Mandrake’s.”

Shocked Dorie stood stock still. The stranger waited by the doorway with a smile playing on his lips.

“Who, who,” Horace said.

“Nice familiar. I got your order by mistake,” the stranger said. “You know you have to invite me in. Or you can chuck my offal at me from across the room.”

Pale and handsome with hair that reminded Dorie of steamy romance covers, he held up the bag. Dorie shook herself awake.

“Please come it. I was expecting a Neanderthal,” Dorie said then clamped her hand over her mouth. “I mean, I mean.”

The stranger chuckled as he set her groceries on the small kitchen table. “Well I’m not quite that old. And if it makes you feel more comfortable you are not what I excepted either. I hate to say it but I assumed all witches were old with warts and pointed hats.”

Together they repacked his groceries. “I only wear my pointed hats on formal engagements. How did you know I was a weird sister.”

He shook a bottle of eye of newt at her from her groceries. Dorie blushed.

“Where are my manners? Name’s Darren but my friends call me Dare. I’m new in town and this is the third time I’ve gotten the wrong order from the market. Last time was a disgruntled werewolf. I had to chase him around the block, but it’s important to buy local.”

Dare ran his pinkie along the body of her violin on the kitchen table. He gathered his bags and turned.

“Do you play?” Dorie blurted out. “I mean the violin.”

Dare raised an eyebrow. He enjoyed the bloom of pink on her throat and neck. “Yes I’m the walking stereotype of the moody vampire with a violin. I actually studied for a century or so Endora but my music lacked soul so I gave it up.”

“Please call me Dorie. Stay for tea or a glass of O positive and I could play for you. I learned during the pandemic so I’d appreciate any pointers.”

Dare gave her a toothy grin.

“Who who who,” the owl murmured before closing his eyes to sleep.

“

Shopping is something I have always enjoyed. I get lost in the aisles and the curiosity of the shelves. When I realized I didn’t have the money to shop like I wanted, I figured, why not shop for others and get paid doing it?

As I make my way to the cleaning supplies, I scroll through the list Mr. Murphy had sent me. A few cleaning supplies; floor cleaner, bleach, mop pads and some scrubs. Simple enough. I add them to the cart, refer back to the list and make my way to the outside section of the store.

I noticed it wasn’t too crowded in here today, which was nice because large amounts of people freak me out. In the outdoor section I look around for a few of the items. A new shovel, tarp, firewood and some rope. The idea of sitting around the fire brings me comfort. I do, however, wonder about the tarp. Growing up, my mom would lay a tarp out in the yard, drizzle it with dish soap and turn on the hose for a make-shift slip’n’slide. Though, I don’t see Mr. Murphy, a forty eight year old man with no family, turning his backyard into a water park.

Looking back at the list, I make my way over to the office supplies. I toss in some staples and look for the paint aisle. Mr. Murphy put down red paint in capitol letters but finding just a tube of red paint was, surprisingly, not easy. I dinged through a pile of single containers and found a deep red at the bottom, it will do. I toss it in the cart and continue.

Just a few more things.

I do stop for a moment. The last few things on the list confuse me. Baby Diapers and pacifiers. Huh? Mr. Murphy doesn’t have any family so this is alittle strange to me, but I shrug it off and find the baby aisle. What a strange and interesting man.