It was late, or so Timothy thought.
He’d found himself in another drunken stupor. He went outside to light another cigarette and wished the elderly woman down the road a “good morning”!
It was only 4:00 PM.
It was late for Tim to be in his home alone this late on a weekday. Normally he’d wake up from the sound of the garage door opening, the typical signal his dad was off to work at 6:00 in the morning. Tim woke up the same this day, but it was odd dad wasn’t home yet.
The clock in the back of his house ticked menacingly. He decided to drown it out by going to the fridge and getting another Narragansett. It was cheaper than PBR and tasted just as bad. A few more weeks and he’d be down to Steel Reserve with his, and his dad’s saved shiny silver coins.
There wasn’t much in the kitchen but he was hungry. He contemplated making dinner but wasn’t sure if dad would be back for the evening. He shot a quick text to him asking if he wanted pasta for dinner. Half an hour passed and no response came.
“Maybe I’ll do delivery again, it’s better than getting up,” Tim thought to himself.
He fiddled with his phone for a little while and wound up ordering Lamb Saag from a local Indian place, his mouth brimming with anticipation for the garlic naan dipped in the spicy and savory curry.
After about fifteen minutes he checked his phone, stomach grumbling for food despite the spoiled ingredients plaguing his kitchen — things he promised he’d cook for himself sometime. Unfortunately, food has a faster expiration date than ideas. So it goes.
“It’s been half an hour, what’s taking so goddamn long?” Tim muttered to himself as he paced the kitchen.
He checked his phone once again and the delivery app was blinking with a notification.
“Finally,” Tim breathed, “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
Tim opened the app and saw to his dismay that the delivery was cancelled and it was awaiting a new delivery driver.
“Fuck,” Tim said under his breath. He considered reopening the app and ordering again, but he didn’t want to deal with the hassle.
Tim reclined on his aged leather sofa, an antique from grandparents long past who he couldn’t even remember the names of.
“This fucking sucks. Maybe I’ll just go pick up Thai.”
Tim felt the alcohol swim in his veins as he stood up from the old sofa.
“Nah, maybe tomorrow.” He breathed to himself.
Tim nestled himself into the sofa and soon found himself in a blissful and memorable slumber.
He awoke suddenly to a pounding on his front door. His mind still considering delivery food rousted him from the couch and moved his legs step by step towards the front door.
“Hey, boss! You had the special, right?” The delivery man looked imploringly at Tim, swaying on his doorway.
“Special? I don’t think so?” Tim was confused and felt something strange with the interaction. A chill running up and down his neck.
“It’s all right here, sir! Would you like to call the shop to verify the order?” The delivery man looked expectantly at Tim, as if expecting him to call for a manager at any moment.
“No, no. That’s fine. I’m sure the special will be fine.” Tim nodded his head gracefully and hoped the delivery driver would leave his food and go. After all, didn’t he opt for contactless delivery?
The driver smiled a wide and sinister grin.
“Ah, yes sir, the special. Enjoy your pizza!”
“Wait,” Tim said, “I didn’t order this.”
“Well, it has your address, your last four digits from your card, and your name. You’re Tim Gantry, right?”
The delivery person passed the receipt to him and, sure enough, everything matched up.
“Yeah, that’s me, but I don’t remember ordering pizza.” Tim struggled to get the words out as his inebriated mind was flashing back to when he thought he ordered delivery.
“No worries sir, if there are any issues just call the number on that receipt and we’ll refund you fully! Between you and me, we’ll refund you anyway,” the delivery man said with a wink.
Tim signed the receipt and brought the pizza box inside. It smelled honestly delicious. Probably one of the best smelling pizzas he had ever encountered. He opened the box to find it was buffalo chicken flavored. Tim walked over to the cabinet and took out a bottle of Sriracha, “it just makes it better, I don’t know how!”
Tim drizzled the sauce over his three slices on the dinner plate thinking his dad would absolutely love some pizza when he got home. Tim decided to text his dad and let him know he’d taken care of dinner and it was a “special treat”.
20 minutes passed and Tim had polished off half the pizza. The meat of which was weirdly chewy, more than he’d expected from chicken.
“Well, it’s mass-produced that’s probably why”, Tim thought to himself.
Remembering the kitchen was a mess of beer bottles and other detritus, and sure of the fact his dad must be home soon, Tim busied himself by tidying up. Once the counters were wiped and sanitized, all the miscellaneous cups were stowed in the dishwasher, and the pizza box was neatly stored in the fridge, Tim clapped his hands and decided it was time for a cigarette.
Tim unbolted the front door and stepped into the cold February air. He took a cigarette from the soft pack in his loose-tobacco-filled pocket, put it between his lips and tried his disposable lighter. The wind was howling that night and so he resorted to pulling up the side of his jacket to shield the flame from the wind. Finally, Tim had that first hit of nicotine in hours. It felt heaven-sent.
Tim finished his cig and tossed it into a too-full ashtray and walked inside. The clock read 6:00. Dad should’ve been home hours ago and this made Tim start to worry deeply.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked to see if he’d missed a text from his dad in the time it took him to eat an entire pizza and smoke. No new messages, his text didn’t even show as “read”.
Tim began to drink more and heavily, thinking that maybe his dad was just over at his girlfriend’s house. He really shouldn’t bother him, and it’s late enough already. These are the words Tim repeated to himself until he fell into an alcohol-induced slumber.
He awoke with a pounding headache.
“Fuck. I knew I should have drank more water,” Tim complained to himself in his head, speaking would’ve been too bone rattlingly painful.
Tim stumbled down into the kitchen and guzzled a small glass of water and downed two aspirin along with it. In spite of the hangover first aid he performed he felt the pounding intensify. Suddenly he realized the pounding wasn’t coming from his head, it was coming from the front door.
Tim opened the door to find the delivery man from last night, drenched in sweat and wearing another uniform he didn’t recognize.
“Did you like the pizza?” the delivery driver’s lips curled back behind his teeth showing jagged fangs in place of teeth.
“Uh, I’m sorry what?” I looked at the driver in genuine fear.
“Well, I hope you loved it. You should have, after all. I procured the meat myself!”
The driver was in my face and backing me into my house now. His feet over the threshold, I looked around for anything I could use to defend myself.
“What’re you looking for? A knife? Like mine?” He drew a long silvery blade from inside his delivery jacket. It was stained with something that looked brown, maybe black, and kind of chunky.
I shook my head, “No, no, I’m just wondering what you wanted to tell me about that pizza. I thought it was great! Did I not tip you enough? I’m happy to pay you more, just leave now please.”
“Your dad didn’t come home last night, did he?” The driver asked menacingly.
“No, I figured he was with his girlfriend. Wait, how the fuck do you know that?” My face was taut and my blood was on fire in my cheeks.
“Oh, that’s easy. I saw him yesterday. Anyway, I hope you liked the pizza. I made it special. The meat was definitely, let’s say aged.”
The driver walked out the door. Tim fell to his knees realizing the weight of what had just occurred.
Tim cried.