Mark\u2019s funeral was held on Tuesday, amid a cold rain. As his best friend, I personally placed the final scoop of dirt on his coffin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today is Monday, exactly seven days since he was laid to rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At 9:00 p.m., I was sitting in Mark\u2019s empty apartment, helping him sort through his belongings. Thunder rumbled outside the window when suddenly, the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened the door, a little puzzled, to find a delivery person in a yellow uniform standing there, holding a paper bag that was still steaming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Mark\u2019s order,\u201d the delivery person said in a muffled voice, rain dripping down the brim of his cap. \u201cA double cheeseburger, extra spicy, no pickles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I froze. Mark was severely allergic to pickles. Whenever he ordered takeout while he was alive, he would always go on and on, making sure they didn\u2019t include pickles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou must have the wrong delivery,\u201d I said, pointing inside. \u201cMark died last week. I\u2019m his friend, and I\u2019m here to help sort through his things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The delivery guy didn\u2019t say a word; he just stared intently at me, his eyes looking unusually cloudy under the dim hallway light. He slowly held up the screen of his phone, which displayed the order details:
Order Time: 8:45 p.m. tonight
Notes: Please hurry, I\u2019m starving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shuddered violently and snatched the paper bag from his hand. It was scalding hot, burning the palms of my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s impossible\u2026\u201d I muttered to myself, turning to look at the empty dining table inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just then, the delivery driver\u2019s phone suddenly rang. He answered it, listened for a few seconds, then said to me in a flat, mechanical voice, \u201cMr. Mark says he\u2019s been waiting too long and wants you to open the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My whole body went rigid, and I instinctively took a step back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The delivery driver paid me no further attention; he walked right past my shoulder and into the apartment. He didn\u2019t head toward the dining table but walked straight to the tightly closed bedroom door\u2014the place Mark had feared most in life, and the room I\u2019d never dared to enter since his death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMr. Mark, your takeout is here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From outside the door, the delivery man\u2019s voice came through the wood, accompanied by the grating sound of fingernails scraping against it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked down at the paper bag in my hand. At some point, the bottom of the bag had become soaked with a warm liquid. It wasn\u2019t soup, but a viscous, dark red liquid with a metallic, rusty smell, trickling through my fingers, drop by drop, onto the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The doorknob began to turn slowly.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Takeout Arrived on the Seventh Day After His Death<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":441,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[18,22],"class_list":["post-440","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-suspense","tag-story","tag-suspense"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/440","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=440"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/440\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":442,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/440\/revisions\/442"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/441"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=440"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=440"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=440"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}