Chapter 1

For seven days in a row, a note with the exact same words was slipped into my takeout. [Don't eat it. He's watching you.]

I thought it was a prank until I checked the security footage and realized the person delivering my food every night wasn't the account holder. That delivery driver's profile had been marked missing in the system three years ago.

The system said he was still making deliveries, but he wasn't alive anymore. Tonight, my phone suddenly popped up an order from three years ago, and the delivery guy was David Lane again.

The doorbell rang. Should I open the door? One should never order takeout alone.

*****

It was midnight, and I was working overtime. My stomach rumbled, and my eyes were dry and sore.

Out of habit, I opened the food delivery app. The restaurant I usually order from was still open.

I ordered a bowl of Cream of Mushroom Soup, plus a hot dog.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

I rubbed my neck as I went to open the door. The takeout bag was hanging from the doorknob, still in that familiar blue bag.

I closed the door and went back to my laptop.

I tore open the bag, and the rich aroma of hot soup filled the air. I picked up the spoon, and then suddenly froze.

Beside the bowl of soup, a note was pressed under it. It was a white note, palm-sized, folded in half.

I frowned. Was this a promo flyer, or maybe a receipt?

I picked it up and unfolded it. There was only one line written on the paper. [Don't eat it. He's watching you.]

I was stunned. What did this mean? Was this a prank, a printing mistake, or maybe some new ad from the restaurant?

I looked over at the window. The curtains were closed. Then I glanced at the door. It was locked.

There was nobody else here, only me and the glow of my laptop screen.

I crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it in the trash. I kept eating my soup.

But the soup tasted weird, way too salty, and left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

I took a sip of water, and then glanced at the trash can. The crumpled note was sitting quietly there.

I shot to my feet and yanked open the curtains.

Across the street, the building opposite had only a handful of apartments with their lights on, and every curtain was pulled tight. I didn't see anyone.

I looked back at the note. [Don't eat it. He's watching you.]

Who was watching?

I walked a couple of laps around the room. My heart was beating a little too fast.

I told myself the restaurant owner had been careless and printed it wrong, or that someone had slipped a random note in.

I convinced myself that it must be the case. I sat back down at my laptop, trying to get back to work.

But that line was all I could think about. [Don't eat it. He's watching you.]

*****

The next day, I worked overtime late into the night again.

I stared at the food delivery app, my finger hovering over the icon of that restaurant.

Should I order or not? The note from last night flashed through my mind. That was nonsense. It had to be some kind of accident.

I took a deep breath and went ahead with the order. I ordered the Cream of Mushroom Soup again.

During the half-hour wait, I fidgeted restlessly, my ears pricked up.

I kept listening for footsteps in the hallway or the elevator's chime. Finally, the doorbell rang.

I rushed to the door and peeked through the peephole.

I caught a glimpse of someone in a helmet, already turning away.

I flung the door open and grabbed the bag. I set the bag on the table and slowly pulled it open. There was another note inside.

This one was handwritten in a blue ballpoint pen. The handwriting was messy, and the strokes were deep and heavy. [Don't eat it. He's watching you.]

It was the same words, but the handwriting creeped me out.

I flipped the note over. On the back, there were other words, smaller and more crooked. [Look through the peephole.]

My scalp prickled. I whipped my head toward the door. The peephole looked like a pitch-black eye staring right back at me.

Who was watching me? Where from?

I held my breath, tiptoed over to the door, and pressed my eye to the peephole.

The hallway was empty, and the motion sensor light was on.

There was no one. I waited for ten seconds, then twenty. The light clicked off, and the hallway went dark.

I kept staring, my eyes burning. Suddenly, the light came back on. I still didn't see anyone show up at the door.

I stepped back, and my back hit the cold wall, sending a chill through me. The note was clutched in my hand, already damp with sweat.

*****

On the third day, I didn't work overtime. But at nine, I went ahead and ordered Cream of Mushroom Soup anyway.

Part of me wondered if I'd get another note.

The doorbell rang, and I rushed over. Peering through the peephole, I caught the delivery guy already heading off.

I swung the door open, snatched up the bag, and spotted another folded note pressed under the bowl.

I opened it right away. It was the same words, same handwriting, but this time, it was more chaotic, almost frantic.

The phrase [Don't eat] was darkly scrawled over and over, so hard that it nearly punched through the paper.

I flipped it over. There were no words this time, but a deep scratch, running from the top left corner to the bottom right. It looked like it was made by a fingernail or maybe the point of a knife.

I stared at my door. The peephole was still shrouded in darkness.

But I suddenly felt that something was right outside the door, in the pitch dark, staring at me silently through the wooden panel.