Short Horror Stories

The Last Delivery on Raven Street

The clock ticked past midnight, the luminescent numbers glowing ominously in the dim light of Reza's cramped apartment. He should have been asleep, but the insistent ping of his food delivery app had dragged him from his bed. Rent was due, and a late-night surge in pay was too good to pass up. He sighed, pulled on his worn jacket, and grabbed his helmet.

The order was simple enough: one "Midnight Special" from a new burger joint called "The Raven's Nest" to be delivered to 13 Raven Street. The address sent a shiver down his spine, but Reza shook it off. He was a practical man, not one for superstition.

The streets were eerily deserted as he navigated his motorbike through the sleeping city. Every rustle of leaves in the wind, every shadow cast by the streetlights, seemed to amplify in the silence. He finally reached Raven Street, a narrow lane lined with gnarled, ancient trees that formed a canopy overhead, blocking out the moonlight. The streetlights flickered intermittently, casting the street in an unsettling strobe effect.

Number 13 was an imposing Victorian house set back from the road, its silhouette looming against the night sky. The paint was peeling, the windows dark and lifeless. As Reza approached the house, a sense of unease settled over him. He could have sworn he saw a figure flit past one of the upstairs windows, but when he looked again, it was gone.

He parked his bike by the curb and retrieved the food package. The "Midnight Special" was surprisingly heavy, and an unpleasant odor, something akin to raw meat, emanated from it. He wrinkled his nose but reminded himself that it wasn't his place to judge a customer's culinary preferences.

He walked up the creaking steps to the front door and pressed the doorbell. The sound echoed through the house, followed by an unnerving silence. He waited, then pressed the bell again. Still no answer. He was about to leave the package on the doorstep when the door creaked open.

The entryway was shrouded in darkness, but Reza could make out the silhouette of a tall, gaunt figure standing just inside.

"Delivery for... uh... 13 Raven Street?" Reza stammered, his voice trembling slightly.

A raspy voice, like dry leaves skittering across pavement, responded, "Come in, delivery boy. We've been expecting you."

Hesitantly, Reza stepped into the house. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding boom that made him jump. He fumbled for his phone, but the screen remained stubbornly dark. The battery had died.

"This way," the raspy voice beckoned. Reza followed the sound down a long, dimly lit hallway. 

The air grew colder with each step, and the smell of raw meat intensified, making his stomach churn. He passed portraits on the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him as he moved.

They reached a room at the end of the hallway. The door creaked open, revealing a dining room lit by a single flickering candle. A long, ornate table dominated the room, and seated around it were several figures shrouded in shadow. Reza could make out their skeletal outlines and the glint of their eyes in the candlelight.

"Finally," one of the figures rasped. "We were starting to get famished."

Reza's blood ran cold. He realized with horror that the figures around the table were not human. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural hunger, and their bony fingers tapped impatiently on the tabletop. He had stumbled into a nightmare.

He tried to back away, but the door had vanished. He was trapped.

"Don't be shy, delivery boy," the first figure said, gesturing to the table. "Join us for dinner."

The figures rose from their chairs, their shadows stretching and contorting on the walls. Reza screamed, dropping the food package, which landed on the table with a sickening thud. He turned to run, but the figures were upon him, their icy grip closing around his arms.

He was dragged towards the table, his struggles futile against their supernatural strength. He caught a glimpse of the "Midnight Special" lying open on the table. It wasn't a burger inside. It was something else, something raw and bloody, and it was pulsating.

Reza's screams echoed through the empty house as the creatures descended upon him, their laughter echoing in his ears. He was the last delivery on Raven Street, a meal for the hungry things that dwelled in the shadows.

The next morning, Reza's motorbike was found abandoned on Raven Street, the engine still running. The food package lay open on the doorstep of number 13, its contents untouched. The police investigated, but they found no sign of Reza, no trace of the occupants of the house. The case went cold, another unsolved mystery in a city full of secrets.

And so, the legend of 13 Raven Street grew, a chilling tale whispered among the late-night delivery drivers, a warning to those who dared to venture into the shadows after midnight