GRIND AND SHINE
1578 Words
Gina lived for nights like this.
The roads were mostly clear, the orders kept rolling in, and she had zero responsibilities outside of getting pizzas to their destinations and collecting tips. No screaming siblings. No stolen hairbrushes. No crowded apartment. Just her, the car, and the city stretching out in front of her.
Her first stop was one she knew by heart.
Mr. Flirty.
His real name was Leo, but in Gina’s mental Rolodex of customers, he was labeled “Annoying But Tips Well.”
She pulled up to his usual spot, a small apartment building with way too many Christmas decorations. Every inch of his balcony was lit up like a Vegas strip—blinking lights, plastic reindeer, one of those inflatable Santas that looked possessed when it deflated during the day.
Grabbing the pizza bag, Gina hopped out, bracing against the cold. The second she knocked, she heard him clear his throat inside.
Showtime.
The door swung open, and there he was.
Leo.
Tall, a little too good-looking, always smelling like expensive cologne—the kind of guy who knew he was hot and acted accordingly. He was a regular, always ordering the same pepperoni-and-mushroom combo, and always hitting on Gina like it was his second job.
Tonight was no exception.
“Gina, my favorite delivery girl,” Leo grinned, leaning against the doorframe like he was posing for a cologne ad.
“Oh wow,” Gina deadpanned, “my very own stalker. Just what I wanted for Christmas.”
Leo laughed, unbothered. “Nah, see, that’s the thing—you’re the one always showing up at my house. Almost like you can’t stay away.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, totally. Nothing to do with my paycheck.”
He handed her a twenty for the $13.99 order. “Keep the change.”
“Gee, thanks, big spender,” Gina muttered, but she took it. He always tipped well, even if he was relentless.
Leo smirked. “So, tell me—when are we making this official?”
Gina snorted. “When hell freezes over.”
“Damn. Guess I’ll be ordering extra in January, then.”
Slick bastard.
“Whatever, Leo,” she said, already stepping back. “Merry Christmas. Try not to hit on the next delivery girl.”
“No promises.”
She was already halfway down the stairs when he called after her—
“Oh, and Gina?”
She turned, eyebrows raised.
His expression had shifted, just a little—still cocky, but something else behind his eyes.
“Be careful out there,” he said.
…Weird.
She shook it off. Probably just another line.
Whatever.
She had more stops to make.
The next orders were easy.
Standard deliveries, quick drop-offs, good tips. She was in the zone, moving through the city like she owned it.
Then came the last one.
The weird one.
The address popped up on her GPS with no name. Just a street she didn’t recognize, in a part of town she rarely went to.
She squinted at the screen. “Huh.”
She double-checked the app. The order had been placed normally—no special instructions, no weird requests. Just a single pizza.
Mari’s route.
Gina frowned. Maybe that’s why it looked weird. Mari had been handling this side of town for months.
She thought about texting her. Something felt off. But then she shook it off. It’s just pizza, not a horror movie.
She hit “Start Route” and pulled out of the lot.
The further she drove, the emptier the streets became.
The usual holiday traffic disappeared. No Christmas lights. No cars.
Just silence.
Then, as she turned onto a narrow, winding road, the GPS glitched.
“Recalculating… Recalculating…”
Gina glanced at it. What the hell?
She was still on the highlighted path, but the screen flickered—like the map couldn’t decide where she was.
Then, out of nowhere, the route snapped back to normal.
0.2 miles to destination.
Gina swallowed. Okay, weird, but whatever.
She kept going.
The road twisted through an overgrown area—not quite woods, not quite abandoned. The buildings here looked… old. Empty.
And then, finally, she saw it.
A house.
Not just any house. A goddamn mansion.
It loomed at the end of the road, tall, gothic, and completely out of place. Like it had been dropped here from another time.
The windows were dark. No cars in sight. No signs of life.
Gina hesitated.
Her stomach did this weird little twist.
She’d delivered to rich weirdos before.
But this?
This felt different.
Then, her phone vibrated.
A new text.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Leave the pizza on the porch. Do not knock. Do not wait.
Gina’s blood ran cold.
What. The. Hell.
She stared at the message, heart thudding.
Then, slowly, she looked up at the house.
Something was watching her.
She couldn’t see it. Couldn’t prove it.
But she felt it.
Like eyes pressing against her skin.
Something inside her screamed: GO.
But her feet wouldn’t move.
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.
And then, in the silence of the night, she saw it—
A shadow.
Not a person. Not an animal.
Just a shape.
Moving behind one of the upstairs windows.
Watching her.
Gina swallowed hard.
Then, gripping the pizza bag like a weapon, she stepped out of the car.
The house loomed in front of Gina like something out of a dream.
Not a nightmare. Not yet.
But something felt… off.
The unknown number’s message still sat on her phone screen:
“Leave the pizza on the porch. Do not knock. Do not wait.”
Every nerve in her body told her to listen—drop the food and get the hell out of here.
But something else—that stupid, stubborn streak in her that hated being told what to do—kept her frozen.
She stared at the house, the dark windows, the peeling wood of the front porch.
And then—movement.
A shape, shifting behind the upstairs curtains.
She wasn’t alone.
Gina’s breath hitched, her heartbeat hammering.
Okay. Screw this.
She wasn’t gonna just stand here, all creeped out, acting like some horror movie extra.
With a sigh, she grabbed the pizza, strode up the creaky porch steps, and set the bag down.
Then, because she was Gina, and she wasn’t afraid of some rich weirdo who didn’t like social interaction, she knocked. Twice.
The silence stretched.
The air was thick. Still.
Then—a sound.
A slow, shuffling drag from inside.
Like someone moving.
Gina swallowed. Okay, that’s fine. Totally fine. Maybe the customer’s just old.
The door creaked open.
Not fully. Just a crack.
Enough for Gina to see—
A single, gnarled hand.
Fingers long and thin, skin wrinkled and blotchy, nails like curved yellow talons.
A hand that did not look human.
Gina’s pulse jumped.
“Uh…” She cleared her throat. “Your pizza’s here.”
The hand reached out, slow, shaking.
Fingers curled over the top of the pizza box.
Still, no face. No voice.
Just breathing.
Deep, rattling breathing.
Gina felt cold.
A chill ran down her spine, and every instinct screamed at her to leave.
She took a step back. “Alright, well… Merry Christmas, I guess.”
She turned—
“Wait.”
The voice was soft. Cracked, like old paper.
Gina hesitated.
Slowly, so slowly, the door creaked open a little wider.
And then, Gina saw her.
The woman standing there was—impossibly old.
Not just elderly. Not grandma old.
Ancient.
Her skin was leathery, cracked like dried riverbeds. Deep, sunken wrinkles stretched over her cheeks. Her eyes were small and dark, peering out from beneath heavy lids.
She was wrapped in layers and layers of mismatched shawls, draped like a nest around her bony frame.
And yet—
Despite everything, despite the unearthly wrongness of her presence…
She looked cold.
Tired.
Alone.
Gina’s grip on her car keys relaxed.
This wasn’t a monster.
This was just a little old lady.
An ugly one, sure. A little creepy. But… still just a person.
The woman’s black, bead-like eyes flicked up to her.
“You knocked, child.”
Gina blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”
A pause. Then, slowly, the woman’s mouth stretched into a smile.
It wasn’t a good smile.
Her lips were thin and cracked, curling over too-small teeth, some missing.
But… there was something gentle about it.
Like she was surprised.
Moved.
Gina felt her stomach untwist.
It was weird, yeah. But not dangerous.
“Not many knock anymore,” the woman murmured.
Gina shrugged. “Didn’t feel right just leaving it.”
A slow nod.
The old woman’s hand, still curled around the pizza box, trembled.
Like she was struggling to hold it.
Gina sighed. “You need help?”
The woman didn’t answer. Just watched her.
Then, after a long moment, she took a slow step back.
An invitation.
Gina hesitated.
Her gut screamed no.
But then—she looked at the old woman again.
At her hunched, frail frame. The way she seemed so damn small beneath all those shawls.
At the way her smile—her weird, creepy little smile—looked… grateful.
…Aw, hell.
Gina sighed. “Alright, move over.” before taling the pizza box back from her frail grasp.
And then—against all common sense, against everything her brain was telling her—
She stepped inside.
- Writer
