delivery man

My name is Liu Zhiqiang, an ordinary takeaway rider. In this city where the lights never go out, I ride an electric bicycle through the streets and alleys every day, delivering a hot meal to customers. It's not a decent job, but it's free, and the income is not bad. At least that's what I thought until that fateful night. "one" radical in Chinese characters (Kangxi radical 1) It was the fifteenth day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, which is also known as the Mid-Yuan Festival. In the tradition of my hometown, this day is the day when "the door of ghosts opens wide", and ghosts from the netherworld can come back to visit their relatives in the sunny world. When I was a child, my grandmother would always prepare sumptuous offerings on this day, place them on the road in front of the door, light incense and candles, and pay homage to those lonely ghosts who had no descendants to worship. "Don't underestimate the wandering spirits of the dispossessed, my child," my grandmother always admonished me, "they are more dangerous than the ancestors who have a home to go to, for they are hungry, angry, and may come to the door at any time." Of course, these seem extra superstitious and outdated in a modern big city. I left my hometown seven years ago and have long since stopped believing in them. In the city, the only thing that happens during the Mid-Yuan Festival is that there are more advertisements in the shopping malls for "Ghost Festival Sales". At eight o'clock that night, I was waiting to take an order near a shopping mall. The July night was sweltering, and even though the sun had set, there was still a burning scent in the air. My cell phone rang and a new order notification popped up on the screen: 【Order No.: GH8571】 【Delivery Address: Room 2304, Building 17, Rongfeng District, No. 73, Ronghua Street】 【Delivery Fee: 35 RMB】 【Remarks: Knock three times and put it at the door. The delivery fee is ridiculously high, but the distance is not close. The Rongfeng neighborhood is on the other side of town, and it's at least a forty-minute bike ride. But with a small list tonight, it was worth the run for the price. I immediately took the order, picked up the meal from the restaurant and began this long nighttime delivery. The city should be bustling at night, but for some reason, there were fewer pedestrians on the road than usual. The electric car drove through the streets, and the neon lights around me became blurred spots of light in my eyes. Without realizing it, I had already left the city center and drove into the old town. Rongfeng neighborhood is an old residential area, built in the 1990s, and now it already looks dilapidated. The security booth at the gate of the neighborhood is empty, and the iron gate is half open, as if silently inviting me to enter. I navigated against my cell phone and found building 17. It was an old gray high-rise building with water stains all over the walls. Walking into the building, I found the elevator out of service, with a note saying "under repair", dated three months ago. I had no choice but to climb the stairs on foot. Along the way, the sensor light in the hallway went on and off, making a hissing sound of electricity. By the time I got to the 5th floor, I was out of breath and the back of my overalls were soaked with sweat. Finally, after ten minutes of climbing, I reached the 23rd floor. The corridor on this floor was unusually quiet, and you could almost hear your own heartbeat. The lighting was much dimmer than downstairs, and the light at the end of the corridor flickered as if it would go out at any moment. Room 2304 was at the far end of the corridor. As I approached the door, an inexplicable feeling of unease hit me. The door looked old, the paint had flaked off, and there were a few deep scratches on the frame, as if it had been carved by some sharp object. The number "4" on the door number was skewed and looked like it had been twisted artificially. I took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door three times, as requested on the docket. "Knock, knock, knock." The knock on the door echoed loud and clear in the empty hallway. No response. I waited about thirty seconds and knocked three times again. "Knock, knock, knock." Still no movement. "It's probably out," I muttered to myself, "the note says just leave it at the door." I was about to put the takeout on the mat in front of the door when suddenly there was a soft footstep, like the sound of someone walking barefoot on a wooden floor, "pop, pop, pop," slow and regular. The voice came closer and closer, finally stopping in front of the door. I held my breath, waiting for the moment when the door would be opened. But the door never moved. "Hello, your takeout has arrived," I said, raising my volume, "I left it at the door." Just as I was bending over to put down my takeout bag, a raspy voice came through the door: "Knock three times." I froze, unsure if I'd heard right. "I have knocked," I replied, "three times, just as you asked." There was silence behind the door for a few seconds, and then the voice sounded again, this time more clearly: "Not the door. Knock on me three times." A chill crawls up my spine. "Wh... What?" I stammered. Silence fell again behind the door. I stood still, not knowing what to do. Just as I decided to put down my takeout and leave, a voice came from the door again: "Do you know what day it is?" Midwinter. The answer immediately popped into my head, but I didn't say it out loud. "I don't understand what you mean," I tried to remain calm, "I left your takeout at the door, enjoy your meal." I quickly put the bag down and turned to leave. Just then, the door behind me made a slight "click", as if someone had unlocked it from the inside. Without looking back, I took a step toward the stairway. But for some reason the corridor seemed longer than when I had come, and I took several steps only to feel that the door to room 2304 was still close at hand. Finally, I mustered up the courage to look back. The door - half open. The doorway was so dark that no light could be seen. But I was sure there were eyes watching me from that darkness. I turned around and pulled out my legs. On my way down the stairs, I heard strange laughter coming from behind me, like it was drifting from far away and like it was right in my ears. Not daring to stop, I rolled and rushed down the stairs, nearly falling several times. On the last few floors, the lights had gone completely out. I turned on the flash on my cell phone and fumbled my way down the dimly lit stairwell. When I finally burst out of the neighborhood gate and rejoined the street, I was drenched in sweat. I went back to the electric car, my hands shaking so much that I could barely hold the keys. Just then, my cell phone rang with a message alert from the takeout platform: 【Order completed】 【Customer has confirmed receipt】 【Received a 5-star review That's impossible. I didn't even see anyone pick up that takeout. I stared at the screen of my phone, not knowing how to react. Then another message popped up: [Customer Message: Thank you, next time.] Running my finger across the screen, I see the customer's name on the order details page: John Doe. stupid (Beijing dialect) After that night, I tried to convince myself it was just a prank, or that I was so tired I was hallucinating. But I knew that the voice, the half-open door, the feeling of being watched, couldn't have been a figment of my imagination. For the next few days, I tried to stay as busy as possible, taking orders for deliveries and mechanically repeating my daily routine. During the day, I was able to pretend that everything was normal; but as soon as night came, fear crept in. I began to fear entering unfamiliar neighborhoods, climbing stairs, and knocking on doors. On the fourth night, I was delivering an order of midnight snacks when a new message popped up on my phone. I clicked on it and broke out in a sweat. [Personal message from "Anonymous": Missed your knock.] How is this possible? The takeout platform's system doesn't allow customers to contact the rider directly, except through official customer service. But this message just inexplicably appeared in my inbox. I immediately contacted the platform's customer service and asked if there was a registered user named "John Doe". The customer service queried and told me that there was no such user name in the system, nor had any user sent me a private message. "Are you sure it wasn't another app in your phone that received the message?" Customer Service asked patiently. I checked and indeed only the takeaway platform's app showed this unread message. But when I opened my inbox again, that message had disappeared without a trace, as if it had never existed. I immediately deleted that app and re-downloaded and installed it. But when I logged in, that message reappeared in my inbox and turned up: [Private message from "Anonymous": Why don't you answer me?] My hands began to shake. This couldn't be a coincidence or a technical glitch, something must be on me. That night I finished work early and went back to the little one-room apartment I was renting. It was a cheap rental in the basement, damp and dark, but the rent was cheap. I unlocked the door and shoved a chair behind it, which was a little reassuring. Before going to bed, I mustered up the courage to open the takeout app again. The inbox was empty and the creepy message had disappeared. I took a long breath, turned off my phone, and tried to fall asleep. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by a sharp knock on the door. "Knock, knock, knock." Three strikes, exactly three strikes. I opened my eyes and went cold. The room was dark, with only a faint glimmer of light coming through the doorway. The knock came again, still three times. "Knock, knock, knock." I held my breath and lay motionless on the bed, hoping that the uninvited guest at the door would think no one was in the house and leave. "I know you're in there," a familiar raspy voice came through the door, "Open up, I've got a 'takeaway' for you." It sounded exactly like the one I heard behind the door that night in the Rongfeng neighborhood! My heart raced and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. It was impossible. I hadn't told anyone where I lived. How could that "John Doe" have found me here? "Or," the voice at the door continued, "would you prefer that I come in?" There was a harsh scraping sound, like something sharp was scraping my door. I curled up on my bed and covered my ears with the covers, but the sound was still clearly audible. I don't know how long it took, but it was finally quiet outside. I slowly got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, peering out the cat's eye. The hallway was empty, with only a dim light shining on the dirty floor.