My husband is an executive at a thriving advertising agency so it’s not like we needed the money. I do it purely for fun. I don’t have any kids, so I need something to fill my days. I’m what you would call a ‘porch pirate.’ I get a total buzz taking other people’s packages and then tearing off in my white BMW.
It’s a huge adrenalin rush ripping open the cardboard packaging wondering what’s inside. I’ve taken everything from a slow cooker to a top-of-the-range laptop. I guess it’s stealing but I tell myself they’ll get a refund so I’m not hurting anyone… until now that is.
See, there’s this guy who lives directly opposite us. His house is the best on the block. He keeps himself to himself. I’ve only ever spoken to him once in the five years we’ve lived here and that was only small talk about the weather which he duly ignored.
He’s a bit creepy with cold, empty eyes and has a strange demeanor about him. We call him ‘The Collector’ because he has packages delivered most days. Many have exotic-looking postage stamps suggesting the packages are from all over the globe.
I’ve wanted to get my hands on one of his deliveries for as long as I can remember. I’ve even fantasized about it. Picturing myself with a broad grin as I tear it open. Until now it had remained a fantasy. ‘The Collector’ has a doorbell camera that has prevented me from getting my hands on his stuff.
A few minutes ago, I saw him cuss as he removed the rechargeable battery and then hurled it in the air before driving off. I figured he had gone to the store to get a new one.
Wouldn’t you know it mere moments after he left, a package was plonked on his porch by a guy who looked like he had just swallowed a wasp’s nest. To say he looked miserable would be disingenuous to the word.
As I eyed the package through my kitchen window, I knew this was the chance I had been waiting for, it was like all my Christmases had come at once. I raced across his front lawn in record time. The package was on my kitchen counter before you could blink.
My heart trembled. There were butterflies in my stomach. My hands trembled with excitement as I used a kitchen knife to open the sturdy box. I had not been this excited since my wedding day.
My cobalt blue eyes burst with anticipation as the steel blade hacked through the thick packaging. I carefully removed all the cardboard and was left with a circular object covered in gauze. I suspected it was an antique vase or bowl only to discover to my horror it was a severed head!
I screeched like an animal about to be slaughtered as I recoiled in horror at the grizzly sight. The look of fear on the face of the poor person who met such a violent end will haunt me until the day I die. Which I figured might not be too long as my doorbell just rang and when I looked through the peephole I saw those same cold, empty eyes peering back at me. It’s ‘The Collector’ looking to collect.
He must have seen me on his way back from the store. I’ve called the cops, but I figure ‘The Collector’ will be the first one through my door thanks to the huge ax he is wielding. I cannot hear any approaching sirens, just the sound of my front door being turned into Kindle. So I guess you’ll probably never hear from me again.