The rain pounded against the windshield as Alex navigated the winding road leading to the farmhouse. It was the last delivery of the night—a package with no return address, meant for someone named "M. Holloway." The GPS flickered uncertainly, the signal struggling in the storm, but eventually, it directed Alex down a narrow dirt path lined with gnarled trees swaying violently in the wind.
The farmhouse loomed ahead, its outline barely visible through the mist. The porch light was out, and the place looked abandoned. Alex hesitated. Something about this delivery felt... wrong. Still, duty called. With a deep breath, Alex grabbed the package, dashed through the rain, and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
Just as Alex turned to leave, the door creaked open on its own. The air that rushed out was stale and ice-cold, carrying the faint scent of mildew and something metallic. "Hello?" Alex called, stepping hesitantly inside, hoping to spot the recipient. The interior was dimly lit by a flickering candle on a table, illuminating dust-covered furniture and faded wallpaper peeling away in jagged strips.
