Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:05):
I never expected to inherit anything from my grandfather. Thomas
Garrett was a recluse, a shadow in our family history
who existed more in whispered conversations than actual memories. The
last time I'd seen him was at my eighth birthday party,
where he'd sat in the corner, nursing a beer and
muttering to himself about delivery schedules and special protocols. My
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parents had written him off as eccentric, but now his
house and Perdition Valley was mine, along with whatever secrets
it held. The lawyer's call came on a Tuesday morning,
while I was staring at my laptop screen trying to
stretch my remaining unemployment benefits another week. Mister Garrett left
you his property, the voice said, crackling through a connection
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that kept cutting in and out. You'll need to come
claim it in person. There are special circumstances. Three days later,
I was driving down a dusty Texas highway toward a
town that didn't exist on my GPS. The moment I
crossed what felt like an invisible boundary into Perdition Valley,
the world seemed to shift around me. The oppressive heat
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was thick enough to taste, but the air was unnervingly still.
No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no wind stirred the
dead grass along the roadside. Even the radio cut to static,
leaving me alone with the sound of my engine and
the growing sense that I was being watched. The town
itself was a collection of faded buildings that looked like
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they'd been baking in the sun for decades, longer than
the rest of Texas. Paint peeled from weathered wood, windows
were grimy with accumulated dust, and the few people I
saw moved with a strange, jerky rhythm that made my
skin crawl. They didn't wave or acknowledge my presence, just
turned their heads to track my movement with blank, unblinking stairs.
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I pulled up to the house that was now mine,
a Victorian relic that had once been grand, but now
sagged under the weight of neglect. The wrap around porch
leaned at an alarming angle. The intricate gingerbread trim was
cracked and missing pieces, and the front door hung slightly
askew on its hinges. I found the key where the
lawyer said it would be, under the third loose board
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on the front steps. The door opened with a groan
that seemed to echo through the empty house. Inside, the
air was stale and thick, with dust carrying a faint,
metallic tang that made my throat tighten. Furniture sat covered
in yellowed sheets, like ghosts frozen in time, and the
wallpaper peeled in long strips, revealing dark stains beneath that
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looked disturbingly organic. The house felt alive, not in a
comforting way, but like it was watching me, waiting for
something I couldn't comprehend. Shadows flickered at the edges of
my vision, and cold spots appeared and vanished without explanation.
The floorboards creaked under foot, with sounds that seemed too deliberate,
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too rhythmic to be random settling. I found myself jumping
at every sound, every whisper of wind through broken window panes.
The kitchen held the lingering smell of old smoke, and
the fireplace in the living room was filled with ashes
that looked fresh despite the house being empty for years. Upstairs,
the bedrooms were sparse but clean, as if someone had
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been maintaining them. The master bedroom held a massive oak
dresser with drawers that stuck when I tried to open them,
and a bed that creaked ominously when I sat on it.
On my second day, while exploring the basement, I discovered
something that changed everything. The basement itself was unremarkable, stone walls,
concrete floor, a few boxes of Christmas decorations, but when
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I leaned against the far wall, it gave way with
a soft grinding sound. Behind the false wall was a
narrow staircase leading down into darkness, the air growing colder
with each step. The hidden room was larger than i'd expected,
filled with filing cabinets, maps, and notebooks. The filing cabinets
contained yellowed papers with delivery schedules dating back forty years,
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all in my grandfather's meticulous handwriting. Hand Drawn maps of
the town covered one wall, with certain addresses circled in
red ink and connected by lines that formed complex patterns.
Some addresses didn't exist on any map I had seen,
and others were marked with symbols that looked vaguely occult.
The notebooks were the most disturbing find page after page
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of careful documentation about special packages, handling protocols, and containment procedures.
There were entries about specific residents their compatibility ratings and
something called vessel assignments. The most recent entries were dated
just three weeks ago, shortly before my grandfather's death. I
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needed money, and perdition Valley had exactly one employer hiring
the local UPS depot. The building was a converted warehouse
on the end of town, unnervingly clean and sterile compared
to the rest of the community. The parking lot was
filled with more brown delivery trucks than seemed necessary for
a town of this size, and the loading dock buzzed
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with activity that felt too organized, too purposeful. The manager, Thompson,
was a nervous man in his fifties who couldn't seem
to meet my eyes. His hands shook constantly, and he
had the pale, gaunt look of someone who hadn't slept
properly in years. His office was sparse but for a
collection of laminated cards on his desk and a crucifix
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hanging on the wall behind him. Look Son, Thompson said,
sliding the cards across his desk with trembling fingers. This
isn't your typical delivery route. Your grandfather, he understood the
special requirements of this position. Special requirements, I asked picking
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up the cards. Each one contained a single rule written
in bold block letters. It's just delivering packages right. Thompson's
hands continued to shake as he watched me read. These
eight rules aren't suggestions, their survival instructions. Previous drivers who
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didn't follow them, he paused, staring at something behind me.
They're no longer with us. What happened to them? Let's
just say they found new employment opportunities permanently. The rules
themselves seemed like the product of someone's paranoid breakdown. Rule one,
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never shake packages that rattle without contents. Rule two, always
wear gloves when handling packages that feel warm. Rule three.
If a package whispers your name, deliver it immediately. Rule four.
Never look directly at packages that glow from within. Rule five.
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If you hear screaming from inside a page, drive to
the church first. Rule six. Packages that move on their own,
go to the cemetery office. Rule seven. Never open any package,
even if asked by the recipient. Rule eight. If a
package makes you feel euphoric, put it down immediately, mister
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Thompson I said, studying his haggard face. These rules are unusual.
Unusual keeps you alive in this job. He pulled out
employment paperwork with hands that wouldn't stop trembling. Your grandfather
helped establish these protocols. He understood that some deliveries require
special handling. I signed the papers because I needed the money,
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but mostly because Thompson's genuine terror suggested these weren't just
arbitrary restrictions. Something about the way he kept glancing at
the depot's back rooms, the way he flinched at every sound,
made me think there was more to this operation than
moving packages. The next morning, I met my partner in
the UPS breakroom. Rosavasquez was a woman in her mid
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thirties with dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail,
and eyes that seemed decades older than her face. She
wore thin gloves despite the heat, and carried herself with
a professional distance that barely masked a deep seated fear.
You're the new guy, she asked, pouring coffee from a
machine that hummed louder than it should have. Jake's replacement,
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Jake Thompson said this was a new position. Rosa touched
a small crucifix hanging from her neck, her fingers lingering
on the silver surface. Jake was transferred sudden promotion, you
could say. She paused, her eyes becoming unfocused, staring at
something I couldn't see. He's much happier now, aren't you, Jake.
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I looked around the empty breakroom, feeling my skin crawl.
What who are you talking to? Rosa snapped back to attention,
blinking rapidly, as if waking from a dream. Sorry, I
thinking out loud. Long days, you know, sometimes I forget
who I'm talking to. She showed me the truck, a
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standard brown ups van that had been modified with extra
padding in the cargo area and temperature controls that seemed
unnecessarily complex for simple package delivery. The glove compartment contained
several pairs of thick work gloves, a small bottle of
what looked like holy water, and a handheld radio that
crackled with static even when turned off. The packages, Rosa explained,
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as we loaded for our first route. They're not all
standard deliveries. Some require special handling. She handed me a
pair of gloves, her own hands trembling slightly. Rule number two,
always wear these when handling packages that feel warm. I
noticed immediately that some of the packages felt wrong, not
damaged or poorly packed. But wrong in ways I couldn't articulate.
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Some felt hollow, despite their weight labels indicating they should
be heavy. Others seemed to pulse with subtle vibrations that
had nothing to do with machinery inside. A few were
uncomfortably warm to the touch, and one seemed to shift
and settle when I wasn't looking directly at it. What's
in these packages anyway? I asked. Picking up a medium
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sized box that rattled like it contained loose screws or
metal parts, Rosa's expression changed instantly to one of panic.
Don't shake that rule number one, remember, Come on, it's
just I gave the package a gentle shake to demonstrate
how harmless it seemed. The box immediately became scalding hot
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in my hands, forcing me to drop it onto the
truck's floor. A low, humming sound emerged from inside, growing
gradually louder and more menacing. Rosa grabbed the package with
her gloved hands, her face pale with terror. Dios mio,
she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine panic. Drive to
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the church, now, Rosa, what the hell? Drive? Her eyes
briefly flashed completely black before returning to their normal brown.
We said, I said, drive to the church. Some things
should stay contained. I drove to the small Catholic church
on Main Street, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.
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The building was old but well maintained, with a bell
tower that cast long shadows across the empty street. Rosa
carried the package inside, spoke briefly with the priest in
rapid Spanish, and returned empty handed. The priest watched us
drive away with an expression of weary resignation, as if
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this was a routine he'd performed many times before. What
just happened, I asked, my voice higher than I intended.
You broke rule number one, Rosa said, her voice carefully
controlled some packages. They don't like being disturbed. The rest
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of our route passed in relative normalcy, though I noticed
disturbing patterns in the deliveries. Many recipients had similar mannerisms, careful,
measured speech patterns, and a tendency to avoid direct eye contact.
Several customers seemed to change personality mid conversation, their voices
shifting in tone and accent without apparent reason. At one address,
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an elderly woman accepted a package with hands that trembled
like roses as I handed it to her. Her eyes
briefly flashed the same black I'd seen in Roses, and
she smiled with what looked like too many teeth. Thank you,
she said, in a voice that didn't quite match her
frail appearance. I've been waiting for this for so long.
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As we drove away, I saw her standing in her doorway,
still smiling, the package clutched against her chest like a
precious gift. Back in the truck, I couldn't shake the feet,
feeling that I just witnessed something significant, though I couldn't
say what. Rosa was quiet, occasionally muttering under her breath
in Spanish and touching her crucifix. Rosa, I said, during
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our lunch break, how long have you been doing this job?
Three years, she replied, unwrapping a sandwich with gloved hands.
Started right after I moved here. And these rules do
they make sense to you? Rosa was quiet for a
long moment, staring out the truck's windshield at the empty street.
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They make sense if you understand what we're really delivering.
What do you mean? Some packages are just packages, but
others She touched her crucifix again, her fingers tracing the
silver surface, others are transport for things that need to
travel but can't use normal methods transport for what old things,
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hungry things, things that should stay contained. That evening, I
sat in my grandfather's kitchen, trying to process what i'd experienced.
The house felt different, now, more alive, more aware. I
found myself listening for sounds that shouldn't exist, watching for
movements in my peripheral vision. The refrigerator hummed with an
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odd rhythm, and the pipes in the walls made sounds
like whispered conversations. I called my friend Mike back in Dallas,
needing to hear a normal voice from the world i'd
left behind. Yeah, the job's weird, I told him, pacing
the kitchen floor. My partner's eccentric keeps talking about passengers
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and destinations, like we're running a bus service instead of
delivering packages. Some passengers pay a higher fare than others,
Rosa said from the doorway. I spun around, dropping my phone. Rosa,
how did you get in here? She stood in the
kitchen entrance, though I was certain i'd lock the front door.
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Her eyes had that unfocused quality i'd noticed before, and
she seemed to be listening to something I couldn't hear
your grandfather gave us a key, she said, in a
voice that was slightly different from her normal tone, more
formal with a hint of accent. I couldn't place for
emergencies us. Who's us? Rosa blinked, her expression clearing like
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fog lifting me. I meant me sorry, I'm tired. It's
been a long day. She left without explaining how she'd
gotten in or why she'd come, and I found myself
staring at the door long after she'd gone. The house
felt more occupied than ever, as if our conversation had
invited something inside that had been waiting outside. That night,
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I had dreams of packages that moved on their own,
whispering my name in voices that weren't quite human. I
woke to find one of my grandfather's notebooks open on
the nightstand, turned to a page I hadn't read before.
The entry, dated three years ago, was written in his
careful handwriting. Rosa opened the package today, Rule number seven violation.
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She's sharing space now, God help us all. I was
beginning to understand that my inheritance included more than just
a house. It was a responsibility, a burden, and a
gateway into a nightmare. I wasn't sure I could survive,
but I was already too deep to turn back. The
second day started with Rosa calling me at dawn, her
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voice tight with barely controlled panic. I could hear the
strain even through the crackling phone connection that seemed to
plague all communication in Perdition Valley. Meet me at the
depot early, she said, something's happening to the packages. I
dressed quickly, my mind still foggy with the remnants of nightmares,
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filled with moving shadows and whispered voices. The morning air
was thick and oppressive, carrying a metallic taste that made
my throat constrict. Even the birds seemed reluctant to sing
in this place. Rosa was already at the depot when
I arrived, pacing near the loading dock with nervous energy.
Her gloves were pulled tight, and she kept touching her
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crucifix with an urgency that made my stomach clench. They're
different today, she said, without preamble, the packages, they're changing,
changing how She glanced around nervously before lowering her voice
to barely above a whisper. Some of them glow now,
others whisper and the ones that move on their own.
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They're getting more aggressive. We walked into the sorting area,
and I immediately understood what she meant. Several packages emitted
a faint, eerie light that seemed to pulse with an
internal rhythm. Others vibrated softly, as if something inside was
trying to get out. The air itself felt charged, like
the moment before a thunderstorm. Rule four, Rosa muttered, pointing
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to a box that cast strange shadows despite the overhead
fluorescent lighting. Never look directly at packages that glow from within.
I found myself drawn to the glowing package, my eyes
tracking the hypnotic light that seemed to shift and dance
beneath the cardboard's surface. There was something beautiful about it,
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something that made me want to lean closer to understand
what was causing such an otherworldly illumination. Don't, Rosa grabbed
my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh. I made
that mistake yesterday. It's like staring into a fire that
burns your mind instead of your body. I had to
look away before I lost myself completely. I forced myself
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to turn away, but the after image of that light remained,
burned into my retinas. For a moment, I thought I
saw impossible geometries, angles that shouldn't exist in our three
dimensional world. As we began loading the truck, I noticed
other packages with disturbing characteristics. Some felt unnaturally warm despite
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being stored in the cool depot. Others seemed to shift
and settle when I wasn't looking directly at them, as
if their contents were alive and restless. Always wear gloves
when handling packages that feel warm, Rosa reminded me, pulling
on a fresh pair. Rule number two. The warmth isn't
natural heat, it's something else. Entirely, I slipped on my
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gloves and carefully lifted a box that radiated heat like
a small furnace through the protective barrier. I could feel
something pulsing inside, a rhythm that reminded me uncomfortably of
a heartbeat. Then I heard it, a soft voice calling
my name from inside a small, innocuous looking package. The
sound was barely audible, almost seductive in its gentleness, but
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it made every nerve in my body scream danger. Rule three,
Rosa said, her voice, tight with fear. If a package
whispers your name, deliver it immediately. Don't listen to what
it says, just deliver it and get away. The whispering
continued as we loaded it into the truck, a sound
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that seemed to bypass my ears and speak directly to
something deep in my brain. I found myself straining to
hear the words, to understand what the voice was trying
to tell me. Our first delivery was to a house
I'd visited the day before, but something was different about
the recipient. The woman who answered the door had the
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same face, the same general appearance, but her eyes held
a depth that hadn't been there before. They flickered black
for just a moment before settling into what looked like
a normal brown, but the brief glimpse was enough to
make my skin crawl. She accepted the package with hands
that trembled slightly, clutching it against her chest like a
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precious gift. As she turned to go back inside, I
caught a glimpse of her profile. Her face seemed to ripple,
as if something beneath the skin was trying to reshape itself.
Did you see that, I asked Rosa as we walked
back to the truck. She nodded grimly. They're vessels now,
hosts for the entities that travel in the packages. Once
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someone accepts a package and opens it, they're never quite
the same. Entities, demons, spirits, ancient things that need human
bodies to exist in our world. The packages are their
transportation system. The weight of her words settled over me
like a heavy blanket. I was beginning to understand that
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this wasn't just an unusual delivery job. I was part
of something much larger and more terrifying than I'd ever imagined.
Our next stop nearly broke my sanity completely. We were
delivering to an isolated farmhouse when the package in my
hands began to emit the most horrible sound I'd ever heard,
human screams, high pitched and filled with absolute terror. The
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screams seemed to come from multiple voices, as if several
people were trapped inside the cardboard box. Drive to the church,
Rosa shouted over the noise, her face pale with panic.
Now Rule five, I gunned the engine, racing through the
empty streets while the package continued its horrible chorus. The
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screams grew louder with each passing second, and I could
swear I heard individual voices begging for help. Pleading to
be released. The priest was waiting for us at the
church door, as if he'd sensed our approach. His face
was lined with exhaustion, and his eyes held the weary
resignation of someone who'd performed this ritual too many times.
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Another emergency, he asked. Taking the screaming package from Rosa,
with practiced efficiency, he carried it inside and through the
open church doors. I could hear him beginning a hurried
blessing in Latin. The screams gradually faded, replaced by an
oppressive silence that felt almost as disturbing as the noise
had been. When Rosa returned to the truck, she looked drained,
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as if the experience had physically aged her. What was
in there, I asked, Souls? She said, simply human souls
being processed for transport. The screaming happens when they realize
what's happening to them. Processed for what? For insertion into
new hosts. The network doesn't just move entities around, It
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harvests human consciousness and redistributes it. The implications of what
she was telling me made my head spin. We weren't
just delivering packages, we were facilitating the trafficking of human souls.
During our lunch break, Rosa finally told me the truth
about her condition. We sat in the truck, parked behind
an abandoned gas station, the silence broken only by the
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distant hum of power lines three years ago. I was curious.
She began, her voice barely above a whisper. I opened
a package. Rule number seven. Never open any package, even
if asked by the recipient. I thought it was just
a delivery job. I couldn't understand why there were such
strange restrictions. She paused, touching her crucifix with shaking fingers.
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The moment I broke the seal, something came out. Not physically.
I couldn't see it, but I felt it enter me,
like ice water being poured directly into my brain. Now
I'm sharing space with something that shouldn't exist. What do
you mean sharing space? Sometimes it takes control. Sometimes I'm
not me anymore. I become the passenger and it becomes
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the driver. Her eyes filled with tears, I'm losing ground
every day. It's getting stronger and I'm getting weaker. As
if triggered by her confession, rose is A expression suddenly changed.
Her features remained the same, but something fundamental shifted behind
her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice carried a
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different accent, a formal cadence that didn't belong to the
woman I'd been talking to. She speaks the truth, the
voice said through Rosa's mouth. We have been patient, but
her resistance grows tiresome. Soon there will be only us.
I watched in horror as Rosa's eyes turned completely black,
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reflecting no light at all. The thing speaking through her
smiled with her face, but the expression was cold and alien.
You fascinate us, it continued. Your grandfather was most useful
in establishing our transportation network. We hope you will prove
equally cooperative. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the
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entity withdrew, Rosa blinked, her eyes returning to normal, and
she looked around and canion what happened? She asked, I
lost time again, didn't I? I couldn't bring myself to
tell her what I'd witnessed. Instead, I helped her out
of the truck and suggested we continue our route. The
final delivery of the day was the most disturbing yet.
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We arrived at a secluded house where the package literally
moved on its own sliding across the truck bed like
a living thing. The recipient, a man with hollow, sunken eyes,
accepted it without question. I watched through the window as
he opened the package. The moment the cardboard flaps separated,
his body convulsed violently. His back arched, his limbs spasmed,
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and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Then suddenly
he was still. When he looked up, his eyes were
completely black. His voice when he spoke was deeper and
carried the same formal tone i'd heard from Rosa. Much better,
he said, flexing his fingers as if testing new equipment.
The previous tenant was inadequate for our purposes. Rosa grabbed
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my hand, her grip desperate and tight. That's how I
got infected, she whispered. Three years ago. I thought I
was delivering a gift to an elderly woman. Turns out
I was delivering her replacement. As we drove away, I
kept glancing in the rear view mirror. The man or
the thing wearing his appearance, stood in his doorway, watching
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our truck until we disappeared around a bend. That evening,
I couldn't concentrate on anything. Every sound in the house
made me jump. Every shadow seemed to move with purposeful intent.
I found myself checking and rechecking the locks, though I
suspected they wouldn't stop whatever forces we were dealing with.
I pulled out my grandfather's notebook, searching for any information
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that might help me understand what I'd gotten myself into.
One entry, dated just three months ago caught my attention.
The network is expanding faster than ever. Rosa's resistance is weakening,
and we'll need a replacement soon. I've made arrangements for
my grandson to inherit the house. He has the bloodline
compatibility necessary for the work. God forgive me for what
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I'm about to condemn him to. The blood drained from
my face as I realized my grandfather hadn't just left
me a house. He delivered me directly into the hands
of whatever controlled this supernatural transportation network. My phone rang,
startling me out of my horrified reverie. It was Rosa,
but her voice sounded different again, older, more tired. Collection
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day is coming, she said, without preamble. When the network calls,
it takes what it needs. You need to be ready,
ready for what to choose, fight and lose yourself completely,
or cooperate and maintain some fragment of who you are.
Those are the only options in Perdition Valley. The line
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went dead, leaving me alone with the terrible understanding that
I was no longer just a delivery driver. I was
part of something ancient and evil, a network that treated
human souls like freight to be shipped and processed, and
there was no escape. Outside my window, I could see
the faint glow of packages being loaded into trucks throughout
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the town. The network never slept, never stopped its grim
work of moving entities between hosts. I was trapped in
a system that was far larger than I'd ever imagined,
and I was running out of time to figure out
how to survive it. The third day dawned with a
heavy silence that seemed to press down on Perdition Valley
like a suffocating blanket. I woke before sunrise, the air
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in my grandfather's house feeling colder than it had the
night before. The shadows in the corners of the rooms
seemed to stretch and twist as if alive, and the
faint creaks of the old house sounded like whispers just
beyond comprehension. I lay in bed for several minutes, heart pounded,
the weight of the previous days pressing on me like
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a physical force. The knowledge that I was no longer
just a delivery driver, but part of something ancient and
terrible gnawed at my mind. Every sound in the house,
the settling of old wood, the whisper of wind through
broken window panes, seemed to carry meaning I couldn't decipher.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the oppressive quiet.
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I stumbled downstairs, my leg's unsteady to find Rosa standing
on my porch. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes
wide with a terror that made my blood run cold.
Dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept, and
her hands trembled as she clutched her crucifix. Something's happening
at the depot, she said urgently, her voice barely above
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a whisper. Thompson wants to see you now. They're moving
things around, big things, important things. I dressed quickly. The
chill in the house foughtollowing me as I moved through
the rooms. Outside the town was still cloaked in early
morning gloom, but the usual oppressive heat was replaced by
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a biting cold that seemed unnatural for Texas. The air
carried a metallic tang that made my throat constrict, and
the silence was so complete it felt like the world
was holding its breath. As we drove through the empty streets,
I noticed that curtains twitched in windows, and occasionally I
caught glimpses of faces watching us pass. Their eyes reflected
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no light, and their expressions were uniformly blank. The town
felt like a stage set populated by Mannikins. When we
arrived at the depot, the scene was unlike anything I'd
ever witnessed. More trucks than I'd ever seen were lined
up at the loading docks, their brown shells gleaming under
the weak morning light. Workers moved with strange, jerky precision,
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their eyes reflecting no light, their faces expressionless masks. The
usual hum of conversation was replace placed by whispered phrases
in languages that hurt my ears to hear syllables that
seemed to bypass my brain and speak directly to something
primal and terrified inside me. The air itself felt charged,
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like the moment before a thunderstorm, but instead of electricity,
it crackled with something far more dangerous. I could feel it,
raising the hair on my arms, making my skin crawl
with invisible insects. Thompson awaited us in his office, but
the man I saw was not the nervous, trembling figure
from before. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and cold as
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winter stone. The warmth had drained completely from his voice,
replaced by a chilling calm that made my spine straighten involuntarily.
Sit down, he commanded, gesturing to the chair across from
his desk, with a gesture that brooked no argument. We
need to discuss your future here, your real future. I sat,
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feeling Rose's presence behind me like a fragile shield against
the unknown. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and I
could hear her muttering prayers under her breath in Spanish.
You've seen enough to know this isn't a normal delivery operation,
Thompson began, his voice, carrying an authority I'd never heard before.
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Ups Here is not just a shipping company. It's the
most efficient supernatural transportation network ever created. The words hit
me like a physical blow to the gut. What do
you mean? He stood and retrieved an ornate key from
a locked drawer, its metal surface covered in symbols that
seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them.
(33:40):
Let me show you something that will help you understand
your grandfather's true legacy. He led us through a door
marked authorized personnel only, and down a narrow staircase that
descended far deeper than the building's foundation should have allowed.
The air grew colder with each step, thick with the
metallic scent of blood and rub ust, mixed with something else,
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something organic and wrong that made my stomach churn. The
basement was vast, stretching into darkness, lit only by flickering
fluorescent bulbs that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Rows
upon rows of shelves held packages that defied logic and reason.
Some pulsed with eerie light that seemed to come from within,
(34:22):
Others vibrated with contained energy that made the air around
them shimmer, and still others whispered in voices too low
to comprehend, but loud enough to feel in my bones.
Several packages moved on their own, sliding back and forth
along the shelves like restless beasts pacing in cages. One
box near the entrance was covered in what looked like
breathing holes, and I could swear I heard something scratching
(34:45):
at the cardboard from inside. This is the containment facility,
Thompson explained, his voice, echoing in the cavernous space. Every
package you deliver passes through here. First, we process them,
categorized them according to their contents and destination, and ensure
they reached their intended recipients intended destinations. My voice sounded
(35:08):
small and hollow in the vast space. Host bodies human
vessels for the entities that travel within these packages. He
gestured to a section marked with red symbols that seemed
to pulse with their own internal rhythm. These contain newly
harvested consciousness, human souls extracted from their original bodies for
(35:31):
redistribution to new hosts. Rose's hand gripped my shoulder so tightly,
her fingers dug into my flesh, and I could feel
her shaking behind me. Your grandfather helped establish this network
forty years ago. Thompson continued walking deeper into the storage area.
He understood that some things are too dangerous to exist
(35:52):
without proper management and control. These entities aren't evil in
any human sense. They're simply following their nature, seeking hosts
and sustenance. This system keeps them contained and controlled, while
allowing them to fulfill their needs and the people they possess,
I asked, though I dreaded the answer. Thompson's expression remained
(36:14):
cold and clinical, acceptable casualties in service of a greater good.
Without this network, these entities would run wild, consuming everything
in their path. At least this way we can manage
the process, control the flow, minimize the damage. I stared
at the shelves, stretching into the darkness, my mind reeling
(36:36):
with the implications. How many people know about this? Everyone
who matters the entire town is part of the network,
directly or indirectly. Most residents are hosts themselves now, or
they serve the network in other capacities. A soft sound
came from behind me, Rosa's breath hitching in what sounded
(36:57):
like a mixture of sorrow and resignation. Rosa here is
one of our success stories, Thompson said, turning his cold
gaze on her three years of shared consciousness with minimal resistance,
though lately her human side has been problematic, inefficient. I'm
(37:18):
still here, Rosa whispered, but her voice carried an undertone
that definitely wasn't hers, something formal and ancient that made
my skin crawl. For now, Thompson replied with a knowing smile.
But that brings us to why you're really here. He
led us to a large desk cluttered with files, photographs,
(37:40):
and documents covered in symbols I couldn't read. I recognized
some of the faces in the photographs, recipients I delivered
packages to over the past few days. In every photo,
their eyes were completely black. The network is expanding faster
than ever before, Thompson said, spreading the documents across the
desk's surface. We need coordinators who can manage the increasing
(38:02):
volume of transfers, handle the more complex negotiations, and insure
smooth operations. Your grandfather was our primary coordinator until his death.
Now that position falls to you. I never agreed to this,
I said, though even as I spoke the words, I
knew how hollow they sounded. Your grandfather made the agreement
(38:23):
for you, Thompson replied, matter of factly, bloodline compatibility. You see,
the entities respond better to certain genetic markers, and your
family carries the right combination of traits. I felt trapped,
the weight of inherited responsibility crushing down on me like
a physical force. What if I refuse Thompson's smile was
(38:45):
completely devoid of warmth. Then you become inventory instead of management,
another package to be processed and distributed. The morning's deliveries
felt different with this terrible knowledge weighing on me. Every
package I carried was more than just a box. It
was a vessel of stolen souls, a carrier of entities
waiting to inhabit new human hosts. The weight was not
(39:08):
just physical, but spiritual, pressing down on my consciousness like
a lead blanket. Rose's condition deteriorated visibly throughout the day.
Her moments of lucidity grew shorter and less frequent, and
when the entity took control, it spoke with increasing boldness
and confidence. She grows tiresome, it said through Rose's mouth
(39:33):
as we sat in the truck during our lunch break.
Her resistance wastes energy that could be better spent on
our work. Soon there will be only us. Let her go,
I pleaded, though I knew it was futile. Even as
I spoke, we cannot. She opened the door willingly, even
if unknowingly the contract is binding according to laws far
(39:55):
older than your human understanding. What contract. Rule seven, never
open any package, even if asked by the recipient. She
broke that rule three years ago and invited us in.
The invitation cannot be withdrawn. I watched Rosa's face struggle,
her human consciousness fighting desperately to surface. For a brief moment,
(40:16):
her eyes cleared completely, and she looked at me with
desperate pleading. Don't let them take you completely, she whispered urgently,
her voice barely audible. There's still a way to keep yourself. Negotiate,
negotiate terms with them, don't just surrender. Then her eyes
rolled back, showing only whites, and the entity resumed full
(40:39):
control with a satisfied sigh. The afternoon brought multiple rule violations,
though not by my choice. A package began glowing so
brightly that I couldn't avoid looking at it directly, immediately
experiencing visions of impossible geometries that made my head throb
and my vision blur. Another package started screaming with such
intensity and aspiration that Rosa or the thing controlling her,
(41:03):
could barely manage the emergency drive to the church while
the horrible sounds filled the truck. With each violation, I
felt something fundamental changing inside me. The entities seemed to
recognize me differently now, their whispered voices shifting from hunger
and predation to anticipation and something that might have been welcome.
As evening approached, we received an emergency call to deliver
(41:25):
a special package to the town center. This package was
different from all the others, larger, heavier, and it moved constantly,
writhing and shifting in the back of the truck, like
something alive and desperate to escape its cardboard prison. When
we arrived at the town square, I was shocked to
find it filled with people. Every resident of Perdition Valley
(41:46):
seemed to be gathered there, standing in perfect, unnatural silence.
Their eyes reflected no light, and they all faced the
center of the square, where a makeshift platform had been
hastily erected. Get out, Rosa said, but her voice now
carried only the formal tone of the entity controlling her.
It's time for the negotiation. They've been waiting. I climbed
(42:09):
out of the truck on unsteady legs, my heart pounding
so hard I could hear it in my ears. The
crowd parted to create a clear path to the platform,
their movements unnaturally synchronized like dancers following choreography they'd practiced
for years. As I walked through them, whispers in ancient
languages filled the air around me, creating a sound like
(42:31):
wind through dead leaves. On the platform stood the elderly
woman who ran the cemetery office, but her appearance had
changed dramatically. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire that
cast no light, and when she spoke, her voice resonated
with the power of something ancient and vast. We have
been patient, she said, her words carrying across the silent
(42:53):
square like a bell tolling. But patience has limits, even
for being such as ourselves. You will choose now, cooperation
or consumption. What kind of cooperation, I asked, surprised by
the steadiness of my own voice. You will coordinate the network,
manage the transfers between vessels, insure efficient distribution of consciousness,
(43:18):
and minimize wastage, the entity explained through the woman's mouth.
In return, you maintain your individual identity while gaining access
to our collective knowledge and power. And if I refuse,
then you become housing like Rosa, like Jake, like all
who refused our generous offer before you. I looked back
(43:40):
at Rosa, standing motionless beside the truck. For the briefest moment,
her human consciousness managed to surface one last time, and
she mouthed a single crucial word. Terms Understanding flooded through
me like cold water. This wasn't just about acceptance or refusal.
It was about in negotiation, about finding terms both sides
(44:03):
could accept. I'll coordinate your network, I said, addressing the
entity directly. But I have conditions that must be met.
The glowing eyes fixed on me with what might have
been surprise conditions. You are hardly in a position to
make demands little human. Actually I'm in the perfect position,
(44:25):
I replied, finding confidence I didn't know I possessed. You
need a human coordinator with the right bloodline compatibility. According
to you, that's me. But I won't do it unconditionally.
A ripple of movement passed through the crowd, as if
a single consciousness was considering my words and finding them
(44:46):
unexpectedly interesting. What do you propose? Willing hosts only, no
more forced possessions. People who choose this arrangement get full
disclosure of what they're agreeing to and what they're gaining,
And in return, I'll manage your network efficiently and effectively.
(45:07):
I'll find people who actually want what you offer, relief
from pain, enhance stabilities, extended life knowledge. There are humans
who would choose partnership over their current existence if given
the option. The entity was silent for a long moment,
and I could feel the weight of its consideration pressing
down on the entire square. These terms are acceptable, but
(45:33):
understand this completely. Once you begin this work, there is
no withdrawal from the network. You become part of it
permanently for the remainder of your existence. I understand, I said,
and found that I truly did do you. Your grandfather
thought he understood our arrangement, but he fought us for
forty years. His resistance made the network inefficient and dangerous.
(45:57):
You will not repeat his mistakes. I thought of the notebooks,
filled with guilt and anguish, of my grandfather's obvious struggle
with the role he'd been forced into. He'd tried to
limit the network's damage while being compelled to participate in it.
I won't fight you, I said firmly, but I'll hold
you to our agreement. The entity smiled through the elderly
(46:20):
woman's face, an expression that was both terrible and oddly reassuring.
Then let us begin your education, coordinator. The crowd began
to disperse, their movements, remaining synchronized and purposeful as they
walked away into the gathering darkness. I could see the
variety of entities that inhabited them, some ancient and patient,
(46:42):
others restless and hungry, all bound together in this vast,
supernatural network that spanned far beyond the borders of perdition Valley.
Rosa approached me, her movements more fluid and confident than
they'd been in days. When she spoke, her voice carried
both human and demonic tones in perfect harmony. We are
learning to coexist, she said, and for the first time,
(47:05):
she seemed at peace with her situation. It is not
unpleasant once you stop fighting the arrangement. Are you still you?
I asked, needing to know. I am still Rosa, but
I am also more than Rosa. Now the entity brings knowledge, power,
perspective I never had before. In exchange, I provide humanity, creativity,
(47:27):
and connection to this world. I nodded slowly, beginning to
understand that this arrangement might not be the complete horror
i'd initially imagined. What happens now now you learn to
manage the network efficiently, coordinate transfers between vessels, find willing hosts,
and negotiate terms that benefit both human and entity consciousnesses.
(47:51):
As we drove back to the depot through the quiet streets,
the weight of my new responsibility settled over me like
a heavy cloak. I was no longer just to delivery driver.
I was a broker between worlds, a coordinator of supernatural
forces that most humans couldn't even begin to imagine. The
network had claimed another coordinator, but this time it had
(48:13):
gained one who understood the value of negotiation over conquest,
cooperation over domination. I was beginning to adapt to my
role in something far larger and stranger than I'd ever
imagined possible, and somehow that felt right. The morning light
filtered weakly through the grimy windows of the UPS depot,
(48:33):
casting long shadows across the concrete floor where I stood
waiting for what would be my first day as the
network's coordinator. The air was thick with the familiar scent
of dust and old paper, but beneath it lay attention
that felt different, now, expectant rather than threatening, like the
calm before a thunder storm that would bring relief rather
(48:53):
than destruction. I was no longer the skeptical delivery driver
who had stumbled into this supernatural name nightmare just days ago.
The network had claimed me, but not as a victim.
I had negotiated my way into something that felt almost
like partnership. Rosa arrived early, her movements more fluid and
confident than they'd been since her possession began three years ago.
(49:16):
The jerky, uncertain gait that had marked her struggle with
the entity was gone, replaced by a grace that seemed
to blend human purpose with other worldly awareness. When she spoke,
her voice carried both human warmth and an other worldly
resonance that no longer frightened me. The negotiation had worked.
She was herself again, but more than herself, enhanced rather
(49:39):
than diminished by her supernatural passenger. Ready for your first
day as coordinator, she asked, And I could hear both
Rosa and her entity speaking in harmony, their voices creating
subtle harmonics that shouldn't have been possible from a single throat.
Thompson was waiting for us in his office, his nervous
energy replaced by a quiet efficiency that suggest tested enormous relief.
(50:02):
The constant tremor in his hands had stopped, and for
the first time since I'd met him, he looked directly
into my eyes without flinching. He handed me a tablet
displaying the day's delivery schedule, but the interface was completely
different from what I'd seen before. Instead of simple addresses
and package weights, it included detailed notes on host compatibility ratings,
(50:23):
entity preferences, territorial requirements, and special instructions for negotiation protocols.
This is your network now, Thompson said, his voice steady
and clear for the first time since I'd met him.
Every package, every transfer, every host relationship falls under your
direct management and oversight. Your grandfather would be proud to
(50:44):
see what you've accomplished in just a few days. I
scrolled through the list, feeling the enormity of the responsibility
settling over me like a heavy cloak woven from ancient threads.
The scope was staggering, dozens of active transfers, hundreds of
potential hosts, and a complex web of supernatural relationships that
stretched far beyond perdition. Valley's borders. What about the hosts
(51:08):
who don't want to participate, the people who refuse the arrangement.
Thompson's eyes darkened slightly, a shadow of the old fear returning.
We try to find willing hosts first always, but sometimes
the network requires persuasion to maintain operational efficiency. The entities
have needs that must be met. Rosa touched my arm gently,
(51:30):
her fingers warmed despite the other worldly energy that seemed
to flow beneath her skin. Persuasion doesn't have to mean force.
There are ways to make the arrangement genuinely beneficial for
both parties. We've learned that cooperation yields better results than coercion.
Our first task was reviewing the comprehensive list of potential
(51:53):
hosts throughout Perdition Valley and the surrounding areas. The network
had grown considerably over the past few decades, and with
that growth came increasing complexity that required careful management. Some
hosts actively sought relief from chronic pain or debilitating conditions,
others desired enhanced physical or mental abilities, and a surprising
(52:15):
few simply wanted to experience consciousness beyond normal human limitations.
The entities offered real gifts healing, strength, knowledge, extended life,
but the price was always the sharing of consciousness space.
I spent the morning learning the intricate language of supernatural negotiation.
(52:36):
The entities communicated in formal, archaic tones that carried layers
of meaning built over centuries of existence. Their speech patterns
were layered with both ancient wisdom and subtle threats, requiring
careful interpretation and delicate diplomacy. I had to learn to
broker deals that balanced legitimate human needs with entity requirements,
(52:57):
while preserving as much individual health humanity as possible in
each arrangement. One of the most challenging aspects was territory management.
Each entity had distinct preferences and requirements that went far
beyond simple geography. Some thrived in rural isolation, where they
could commune with natural forces and draw power from the
(53:18):
earth itself. Others preferred urban density, where they could feed
on the energy of human crowds and the electromagnetic pulse
of modern life. Matching compatible hosts to appropriate entities required
careful consideration of geography, personality types, spiritual inclinations, and the
subtle energetic patterns that bound human and supernatural consciousness. Together.
(53:41):
By midday, Rosa and I retreated to the secure room
in the depot basement, where she could rest and maintain
her delicate balance. The process of sharing consciousness with an
ancient entity was physically and mentally exhausting, requiring regular periods
of recovery to prevent either consciousness from overwhelming the other
and destroying the careful equilibrium they'd achieved. How are you feeling,
(54:04):
I asked, watching her eyes flicker between warm brown and
something deeper and more alien that seemed to contain depths
of knowledge accumulated over millennia, better than I have in months,
she replied, her voice carrying genuine relief that made her
seem years younger. The negotiation helped establish clear boundaries between
(54:26):
my consciousness and my passengers. I can think clearly as
myself again, even while sharing space with something that experiences
reality in ways I'm only beginning to understand, and the
entity its content satisfied in ways it hasn't been for decades.
(54:47):
Having a willing partner instead of a resistant victim makes
the arrangement more efficient for both of us. We're learning
to compliment each other's strengths rather than fighting for control.
I knew the road ahead would be difficult and fraught
with ethic complexities that would test every moral principle i'd
ever held. The network was vast and ancient, with momentum
(55:07):
built over decades of operation and traditions that stretched back centuries.
My role was to guide it towards sustainability while preventing
it from consuming the town's population entirely. But for the
first time since arriving in Perdition Valley, I felt a
genuine glimmer of hope that we could transform something predatory
into something genuinely beneficial. The afternoon was spent in the field,
(55:31):
visiting potential hosts and explaining the new voluntary arrangements we
were implementing. The responses varied dramatically. Some people were deeply
skeptical of anything involving supernatural entities, Others were desperate enough
to consider any option that might improve their circumstances, and
a surprising number were genuinely eager to explore the possibilities
(55:51):
of enhanced existence. Our first stop was the local nursing home,
where we met with Missus Henderson, an elderly woman who
had volunteered for the mostability enhancement program. The entity specializing
in pain management, had formed a partnership with her three
days earlier, and the transformation was remarkable. It's the best
I've felt in twenty years, she told us, her eyes
(56:13):
shining with gratitude as she demonstrated her renewed ability to
walk without assistance, climb stairs, and move with a grace
that belied her eighty three years. I can tend my
garden again, visit with my grandchildren without being a burden.
The entity asks for so little in return, just the
chance to experience the world through human senses. Rosa smiled warmly,
(56:36):
her expression carrying both human compassion and other worldly understanding.
The entity prefers hosts who genuinely appreciate what it offers.
The relationship works better when both parties benefit from the arrangement.
We visited several other successful partnerships throughout the afternoon. A
young man with severe depression had formed a symbiotic relationship
(56:58):
with an entity that specialized in emotional regulation, his suicidal
thoughts replaced by a calm clarity he'd never experienced before.
An artist with failing eyesight now painted with supernatural clarity
thanks to her entity partner, creating works that seemed to
capture dimensions of reality invisible to normal human perception. Each
(57:20):
case was different, but all showed the potential for genuine
cooperation rather than parasitic consumption. As evening approached, we had
one final appointment that would test the new system's viability.
Father Miguel, the local Catholic priest, had requested a meeting
to discuss the church's position regarding the network's operations and
(57:40):
the spiritual implications of supernatural coexistence. You're asking me to
allow demon possession in my town, he asked, his voice
heavy with theological concern as we sat in his modest
office beside the sanctuary, surrounded by religious texts and artifacts
that seemed to hum with their own protective energy. Not
(58:00):
possession in the traditional sense, I corrected, carefully, choosing my
words with diplomatic precision. We're talking about controlled, consensual coexistence
between willing human hosts and ancient entities seeking symbiotic relationships
based on mutual benefit. He considered this distinction carefully, his
weathered hands folded over his Bible as he weighed spiritual
(58:22):
doctrine against practical reality. And what about sacred ground? What
protections remain for those who seek sanctuary from supernatural influence.
Church property remains completely protected, I assured him with absolute conviction.
No entity enters without explicit permission from church leadership, No
possessions or transfers occur during religious services. Sacred Ground maintains
(58:46):
its traditional sanctity, and any one seeking refuge here will
find it. How can I know they'll honor these agreements?
What guarantee do I have that these entities won't simply
ignore our arrangements when it suits their purpose, Because I'll
personally enforce them. That's my responsibility as network coordinator. Any
(59:07):
violation of our agreements will result in immediate intervention and
consequences that the entities understand and respect. The priest studied
my face for a long moment, searching for signs of deception, coercion,
or supernatural influence that might compromise my judgment. Finally, he
nodded slowly, his expression cautiously optimistic. I'll need to see
(59:31):
these partnerships in action before I can offer the church's endorsement,
but I'm willing to observe and learn. A tentative alliance
had been formed, one that could serve as a model
for expanding the network's operations while maintaining community trust and
moral integrity. That night, I sat in my grandfather's kitchen,
(59:51):
surrounded by his notebooks and the weight of inherited responsibility
that felt less burdensome now that I understood its true purpose.
The house felt different, still old and creaky, but no
longer threatening or alien. It was simply home, a place
where I belonged and could find peace. Rosa joined me,
her presence a comforting reminder of how adaptation and cooperation
(01:00:13):
could transform even the most impossible circumstances into something workable
and even beneficial. Are you happy with how things turned out?
She asked softly, her voice carrying both human concern and
supernatural curiosity about the complex emotions that drove human decision making.
I considered the question carefully, weighing the enormity of what
(01:00:35):
I'd inherited against the satisfaction of finding purpose in the
most unlikely circumstances. I'm useful, I'm needed. I'm keeping people
safe while helping others get what they genuinely need. It's
not the life I planned when I came here, but
but it's the life that chose you. She finished with,
understanding that transcended species boundaries. I smiled, feeling the strange
(01:01:01):
comfort of my new role, settling into place like a
perfectly fitted garment. Exactly, what's our schedule tomorrow? Three more
nursing home residents want to try the mobility enhancement program,
Rosa said, consulting her notes with the efficiency of someone
who had found peace with her dual nature. And we
have a meeting with the town council about expanding operations
(01:01:24):
to neighboring communities. All willing participants, completely voluntary. Every person
knows exactly what they're agreeing to and what benefits they'll
receive in exchange for sharing consciousness space. Then let's continue
making deliveries. The network was alive and thriving, but now
(01:01:45):
it operated on principles of mutual benefit rather than predatory consumption.
Rosa and I had found our place in this strange
new world, serving as bridges between human and supernatural needs
while preserving the dignity and autonomy of both species. As
I looked out the window at the quiet streets of
Perdition Valley, I could see the faint glow of packages
(01:02:06):
being prepared for the next day's deliveries. The Supernatural Transportation
Network never slept, never stopped its ancient work of moving
entities between willing hosts who had chosen enhancement over ordinary existence.
But now it was a system I could be proud
to coordinate, one that preserved human dignity while satisfying ancient
hungers through cooperation rather than conquest. The inheritance my grandfather
(01:02:31):
had left me wasn't just a house or a job,
but a chance to transform something terrible into something that
might actually help people live better, fuller lives. I was
no longer just surviving in perdition Valley. I was helping
it evolve into something better than it had ever been before,
And somehow that felt exactly right. The network had found
(01:02:53):
its new coordinator, and I had found my purpose in
a world far stranger and more wonderful than I had
ever imagined possible
I never expected to inherit anything from my grandfather. Thomas
Garrett was a recluse, a shadow in our family history
who existed more in whispered conversations than actual memories. The
last time I'd seen him was at my eighth birthday party,
where he'd sat in the corner, nursing a beer and
muttering to himself about delivery schedules and special protocols. My
(00:28):
parents had written him off as eccentric, but now his
house and Perdition Valley was mine, along with whatever secrets
it held. The lawyer's call came on a Tuesday morning,
while I was staring at my laptop screen trying to
stretch my remaining unemployment benefits another week. Mister Garrett left
you his property, the voice said, crackling through a connection
(00:49):
that kept cutting in and out. You'll need to come
claim it in person. There are special circumstances. Three days later,
I was driving down a dusty Texas highway toward a
town that didn't exist on my GPS. The moment I
crossed what felt like an invisible boundary into Perdition Valley,
the world seemed to shift around me. The oppressive heat
(01:10):
was thick enough to taste, but the air was unnervingly still.
No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no wind stirred the
dead grass along the roadside. Even the radio cut to static,
leaving me alone with the sound of my engine and
the growing sense that I was being watched. The town
itself was a collection of faded buildings that looked like
(01:31):
they'd been baking in the sun for decades, longer than
the rest of Texas. Paint peeled from weathered wood, windows
were grimy with accumulated dust, and the few people I
saw moved with a strange, jerky rhythm that made my
skin crawl. They didn't wave or acknowledge my presence, just
turned their heads to track my movement with blank, unblinking stairs.
(01:53):
I pulled up to the house that was now mine,
a Victorian relic that had once been grand, but now
sagged under the weight of neglect. The wrap around porch
leaned at an alarming angle. The intricate gingerbread trim was
cracked and missing pieces, and the front door hung slightly
askew on its hinges. I found the key where the
lawyer said it would be, under the third loose board
(02:15):
on the front steps. The door opened with a groan
that seemed to echo through the empty house. Inside, the
air was stale and thick, with dust carrying a faint,
metallic tang that made my throat tighten. Furniture sat covered
in yellowed sheets, like ghosts frozen in time, and the
wallpaper peeled in long strips, revealing dark stains beneath that
(02:36):
looked disturbingly organic. The house felt alive, not in a
comforting way, but like it was watching me, waiting for
something I couldn't comprehend. Shadows flickered at the edges of
my vision, and cold spots appeared and vanished without explanation.
The floorboards creaked under foot, with sounds that seemed too deliberate,
(02:57):
too rhythmic to be random settling. I found myself jumping
at every sound, every whisper of wind through broken window panes.
The kitchen held the lingering smell of old smoke, and
the fireplace in the living room was filled with ashes
that looked fresh despite the house being empty for years. Upstairs,
the bedrooms were sparse but clean, as if someone had
(03:20):
been maintaining them. The master bedroom held a massive oak
dresser with drawers that stuck when I tried to open them,
and a bed that creaked ominously when I sat on it.
On my second day, while exploring the basement, I discovered
something that changed everything. The basement itself was unremarkable, stone walls,
concrete floor, a few boxes of Christmas decorations, but when
(03:43):
I leaned against the far wall, it gave way with
a soft grinding sound. Behind the false wall was a
narrow staircase leading down into darkness, the air growing colder
with each step. The hidden room was larger than i'd expected,
filled with filing cabinets, maps, and notebooks. The filing cabinets
contained yellowed papers with delivery schedules dating back forty years,
(04:06):
all in my grandfather's meticulous handwriting. Hand Drawn maps of
the town covered one wall, with certain addresses circled in
red ink and connected by lines that formed complex patterns.
Some addresses didn't exist on any map I had seen,
and others were marked with symbols that looked vaguely occult.
The notebooks were the most disturbing find page after page
(04:30):
of careful documentation about special packages, handling protocols, and containment procedures.
There were entries about specific residents their compatibility ratings and
something called vessel assignments. The most recent entries were dated
just three weeks ago, shortly before my grandfather's death. I
(04:51):
needed money, and perdition Valley had exactly one employer hiring
the local UPS depot. The building was a converted warehouse
on the end of town, unnervingly clean and sterile compared
to the rest of the community. The parking lot was
filled with more brown delivery trucks than seemed necessary for
a town of this size, and the loading dock buzzed
(05:11):
with activity that felt too organized, too purposeful. The manager, Thompson,
was a nervous man in his fifties who couldn't seem
to meet my eyes. His hands shook constantly, and he
had the pale, gaunt look of someone who hadn't slept
properly in years. His office was sparse but for a
collection of laminated cards on his desk and a crucifix
(05:33):
hanging on the wall behind him. Look Son, Thompson said,
sliding the cards across his desk with trembling fingers. This
isn't your typical delivery route. Your grandfather, he understood the
special requirements of this position. Special requirements, I asked picking
(05:55):
up the cards. Each one contained a single rule written
in bold block letters. It's just delivering packages right. Thompson's
hands continued to shake as he watched me read. These
eight rules aren't suggestions, their survival instructions. Previous drivers who
(06:15):
didn't follow them, he paused, staring at something behind me.
They're no longer with us. What happened to them? Let's
just say they found new employment opportunities permanently. The rules
themselves seemed like the product of someone's paranoid breakdown. Rule one,
(06:37):
never shake packages that rattle without contents. Rule two, always
wear gloves when handling packages that feel warm. Rule three.
If a package whispers your name, deliver it immediately. Rule four.
Never look directly at packages that glow from within. Rule five.
(06:58):
If you hear screaming from inside a page, drive to
the church first. Rule six. Packages that move on their own,
go to the cemetery office. Rule seven. Never open any package,
even if asked by the recipient. Rule eight. If a
package makes you feel euphoric, put it down immediately, mister
(07:19):
Thompson I said, studying his haggard face. These rules are unusual.
Unusual keeps you alive in this job. He pulled out
employment paperwork with hands that wouldn't stop trembling. Your grandfather
helped establish these protocols. He understood that some deliveries require
special handling. I signed the papers because I needed the money,
(07:42):
but mostly because Thompson's genuine terror suggested these weren't just
arbitrary restrictions. Something about the way he kept glancing at
the depot's back rooms, the way he flinched at every sound,
made me think there was more to this operation than
moving packages. The next morning, I met my partner in
the UPS breakroom. Rosavasquez was a woman in her mid
(08:05):
thirties with dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail,
and eyes that seemed decades older than her face. She
wore thin gloves despite the heat, and carried herself with
a professional distance that barely masked a deep seated fear.
You're the new guy, she asked, pouring coffee from a
machine that hummed louder than it should have. Jake's replacement,
(08:27):
Jake Thompson said this was a new position. Rosa touched
a small crucifix hanging from her neck, her fingers lingering
on the silver surface. Jake was transferred sudden promotion, you
could say. She paused, her eyes becoming unfocused, staring at
something I couldn't see. He's much happier now, aren't you, Jake.
(08:49):
I looked around the empty breakroom, feeling my skin crawl.
What who are you talking to? Rosa snapped back to attention,
blinking rapidly, as if waking from a dream. Sorry, I
thinking out loud. Long days, you know, sometimes I forget
who I'm talking to. She showed me the truck, a
(09:11):
standard brown ups van that had been modified with extra
padding in the cargo area and temperature controls that seemed
unnecessarily complex for simple package delivery. The glove compartment contained
several pairs of thick work gloves, a small bottle of
what looked like holy water, and a handheld radio that
crackled with static even when turned off. The packages, Rosa explained,
(09:35):
as we loaded for our first route. They're not all
standard deliveries. Some require special handling. She handed me a
pair of gloves, her own hands trembling slightly. Rule number two,
always wear these when handling packages that feel warm. I
noticed immediately that some of the packages felt wrong, not
damaged or poorly packed. But wrong in ways I couldn't articulate.
(09:59):
Some felt hollow, despite their weight labels indicating they should
be heavy. Others seemed to pulse with subtle vibrations that
had nothing to do with machinery inside. A few were
uncomfortably warm to the touch, and one seemed to shift
and settle when I wasn't looking directly at it. What's
in these packages anyway? I asked. Picking up a medium
(10:20):
sized box that rattled like it contained loose screws or
metal parts, Rosa's expression changed instantly to one of panic.
Don't shake that rule number one, remember, Come on, it's
just I gave the package a gentle shake to demonstrate
how harmless it seemed. The box immediately became scalding hot
(10:40):
in my hands, forcing me to drop it onto the
truck's floor. A low, humming sound emerged from inside, growing
gradually louder and more menacing. Rosa grabbed the package with
her gloved hands, her face pale with terror. Dios mio,
she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine panic. Drive to
(11:01):
the church, now, Rosa, what the hell? Drive? Her eyes
briefly flashed completely black before returning to their normal brown.
We said, I said, drive to the church. Some things
should stay contained. I drove to the small Catholic church
on Main Street, my hands shaking on the steering wheel.
(11:24):
The building was old but well maintained, with a bell
tower that cast long shadows across the empty street. Rosa
carried the package inside, spoke briefly with the priest in
rapid Spanish, and returned empty handed. The priest watched us
drive away with an expression of weary resignation, as if
(11:44):
this was a routine he'd performed many times before. What
just happened, I asked, my voice higher than I intended.
You broke rule number one, Rosa said, her voice carefully
controlled some packages. They don't like being disturbed. The rest
(12:04):
of our route passed in relative normalcy, though I noticed
disturbing patterns in the deliveries. Many recipients had similar mannerisms, careful,
measured speech patterns, and a tendency to avoid direct eye contact.
Several customers seemed to change personality mid conversation, their voices
shifting in tone and accent without apparent reason. At one address,
(12:27):
an elderly woman accepted a package with hands that trembled
like roses as I handed it to her. Her eyes
briefly flashed the same black I'd seen in Roses, and
she smiled with what looked like too many teeth. Thank you,
she said, in a voice that didn't quite match her
frail appearance. I've been waiting for this for so long.
(12:49):
As we drove away, I saw her standing in her doorway,
still smiling, the package clutched against her chest like a
precious gift. Back in the truck, I couldn't shake the feet,
feeling that I just witnessed something significant, though I couldn't
say what. Rosa was quiet, occasionally muttering under her breath
in Spanish and touching her crucifix. Rosa, I said, during
(13:12):
our lunch break, how long have you been doing this job?
Three years, she replied, unwrapping a sandwich with gloved hands.
Started right after I moved here. And these rules do
they make sense to you? Rosa was quiet for a
long moment, staring out the truck's windshield at the empty street.
(13:35):
They make sense if you understand what we're really delivering.
What do you mean? Some packages are just packages, but
others She touched her crucifix again, her fingers tracing the
silver surface, others are transport for things that need to
travel but can't use normal methods transport for what old things,
(13:58):
hungry things, things that should stay contained. That evening, I
sat in my grandfather's kitchen, trying to process what i'd experienced.
The house felt different, now, more alive, more aware. I
found myself listening for sounds that shouldn't exist, watching for
movements in my peripheral vision. The refrigerator hummed with an
(14:19):
odd rhythm, and the pipes in the walls made sounds
like whispered conversations. I called my friend Mike back in Dallas,
needing to hear a normal voice from the world i'd
left behind. Yeah, the job's weird, I told him, pacing
the kitchen floor. My partner's eccentric keeps talking about passengers
(14:40):
and destinations, like we're running a bus service instead of
delivering packages. Some passengers pay a higher fare than others,
Rosa said from the doorway. I spun around, dropping my phone. Rosa,
how did you get in here? She stood in the
kitchen entrance, though I was certain i'd lock the front door.
(15:01):
Her eyes had that unfocused quality i'd noticed before, and
she seemed to be listening to something I couldn't hear
your grandfather gave us a key, she said, in a
voice that was slightly different from her normal tone, more
formal with a hint of accent. I couldn't place for
emergencies us. Who's us? Rosa blinked, her expression clearing like
(15:25):
fog lifting me. I meant me sorry, I'm tired. It's
been a long day. She left without explaining how she'd
gotten in or why she'd come, and I found myself
staring at the door long after she'd gone. The house
felt more occupied than ever, as if our conversation had
invited something inside that had been waiting outside. That night,
(15:49):
I had dreams of packages that moved on their own,
whispering my name in voices that weren't quite human. I
woke to find one of my grandfather's notebooks open on
the nightstand, turned to a page I hadn't read before.
The entry, dated three years ago, was written in his
careful handwriting. Rosa opened the package today, Rule number seven violation.
(16:12):
She's sharing space now, God help us all. I was
beginning to understand that my inheritance included more than just
a house. It was a responsibility, a burden, and a
gateway into a nightmare. I wasn't sure I could survive,
but I was already too deep to turn back. The
second day started with Rosa calling me at dawn, her
(16:34):
voice tight with barely controlled panic. I could hear the
strain even through the crackling phone connection that seemed to
plague all communication in Perdition Valley. Meet me at the
depot early, she said, something's happening to the packages. I
dressed quickly, my mind still foggy with the remnants of nightmares,
(16:54):
filled with moving shadows and whispered voices. The morning air
was thick and oppressive, carrying a metallic taste that made
my throat constrict. Even the birds seemed reluctant to sing
in this place. Rosa was already at the depot when
I arrived, pacing near the loading dock with nervous energy.
Her gloves were pulled tight, and she kept touching her
(17:16):
crucifix with an urgency that made my stomach clench. They're
different today, she said, without preamble, the packages, they're changing,
changing how She glanced around nervously before lowering her voice
to barely above a whisper. Some of them glow now,
others whisper and the ones that move on their own.
(17:38):
They're getting more aggressive. We walked into the sorting area,
and I immediately understood what she meant. Several packages emitted
a faint, eerie light that seemed to pulse with an
internal rhythm. Others vibrated softly, as if something inside was
trying to get out. The air itself felt charged, like
the moment before a thunderstorm. Rule four, Rosa muttered, pointing
(18:03):
to a box that cast strange shadows despite the overhead
fluorescent lighting. Never look directly at packages that glow from within.
I found myself drawn to the glowing package, my eyes
tracking the hypnotic light that seemed to shift and dance
beneath the cardboard's surface. There was something beautiful about it,
(18:24):
something that made me want to lean closer to understand
what was causing such an otherworldly illumination. Don't, Rosa grabbed
my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh. I made
that mistake yesterday. It's like staring into a fire that
burns your mind instead of your body. I had to
look away before I lost myself completely. I forced myself
(18:46):
to turn away, but the after image of that light remained,
burned into my retinas. For a moment, I thought I
saw impossible geometries, angles that shouldn't exist in our three
dimensional world. As we began loading the truck, I noticed
other packages with disturbing characteristics. Some felt unnaturally warm despite
(19:07):
being stored in the cool depot. Others seemed to shift
and settle when I wasn't looking directly at them, as
if their contents were alive and restless. Always wear gloves
when handling packages that feel warm, Rosa reminded me, pulling
on a fresh pair. Rule number two. The warmth isn't
natural heat, it's something else. Entirely, I slipped on my
(19:32):
gloves and carefully lifted a box that radiated heat like
a small furnace through the protective barrier. I could feel
something pulsing inside, a rhythm that reminded me uncomfortably of
a heartbeat. Then I heard it, a soft voice calling
my name from inside a small, innocuous looking package. The
sound was barely audible, almost seductive in its gentleness, but
(19:56):
it made every nerve in my body scream danger. Rule three,
Rosa said, her voice, tight with fear. If a package
whispers your name, deliver it immediately. Don't listen to what
it says, just deliver it and get away. The whispering
continued as we loaded it into the truck, a sound
(20:16):
that seemed to bypass my ears and speak directly to
something deep in my brain. I found myself straining to
hear the words, to understand what the voice was trying
to tell me. Our first delivery was to a house
I'd visited the day before, but something was different about
the recipient. The woman who answered the door had the
(20:37):
same face, the same general appearance, but her eyes held
a depth that hadn't been there before. They flickered black
for just a moment before settling into what looked like
a normal brown, but the brief glimpse was enough to
make my skin crawl. She accepted the package with hands
that trembled slightly, clutching it against her chest like a
(20:58):
precious gift. As she turned to go back inside, I
caught a glimpse of her profile. Her face seemed to ripple,
as if something beneath the skin was trying to reshape itself.
Did you see that, I asked Rosa as we walked
back to the truck. She nodded grimly. They're vessels now,
hosts for the entities that travel in the packages. Once
(21:21):
someone accepts a package and opens it, they're never quite
the same. Entities, demons, spirits, ancient things that need human
bodies to exist in our world. The packages are their
transportation system. The weight of her words settled over me
like a heavy blanket. I was beginning to understand that
(21:43):
this wasn't just an unusual delivery job. I was part
of something much larger and more terrifying than I'd ever imagined.
Our next stop nearly broke my sanity completely. We were
delivering to an isolated farmhouse when the package in my
hands began to emit the most horrible sound I'd ever heard,
human screams, high pitched and filled with absolute terror. The
(22:06):
screams seemed to come from multiple voices, as if several
people were trapped inside the cardboard box. Drive to the church,
Rosa shouted over the noise, her face pale with panic.
Now Rule five, I gunned the engine, racing through the
empty streets while the package continued its horrible chorus. The
(22:27):
screams grew louder with each passing second, and I could
swear I heard individual voices begging for help. Pleading to
be released. The priest was waiting for us at the
church door, as if he'd sensed our approach. His face
was lined with exhaustion, and his eyes held the weary
resignation of someone who'd performed this ritual too many times.
(22:48):
Another emergency, he asked. Taking the screaming package from Rosa,
with practiced efficiency, he carried it inside and through the
open church doors. I could hear him beginning a hurried
blessing in Latin. The screams gradually faded, replaced by an
oppressive silence that felt almost as disturbing as the noise
had been. When Rosa returned to the truck, she looked drained,
(23:11):
as if the experience had physically aged her. What was
in there, I asked, Souls? She said, simply human souls
being processed for transport. The screaming happens when they realize
what's happening to them. Processed for what? For insertion into
new hosts. The network doesn't just move entities around, It
(23:34):
harvests human consciousness and redistributes it. The implications of what
she was telling me made my head spin. We weren't
just delivering packages, we were facilitating the trafficking of human souls.
During our lunch break, Rosa finally told me the truth
about her condition. We sat in the truck, parked behind
an abandoned gas station, the silence broken only by the
(23:58):
distant hum of power lines three years ago. I was curious.
She began, her voice barely above a whisper. I opened
a package. Rule number seven. Never open any package, even
if asked by the recipient. I thought it was just
a delivery job. I couldn't understand why there were such
strange restrictions. She paused, touching her crucifix with shaking fingers.
(24:24):
The moment I broke the seal, something came out. Not physically.
I couldn't see it, but I felt it enter me,
like ice water being poured directly into my brain. Now
I'm sharing space with something that shouldn't exist. What do
you mean sharing space? Sometimes it takes control. Sometimes I'm
not me anymore. I become the passenger and it becomes
(24:47):
the driver. Her eyes filled with tears, I'm losing ground
every day. It's getting stronger and I'm getting weaker. As
if triggered by her confession, rose is A expression suddenly changed.
Her features remained the same, but something fundamental shifted behind
her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice carried a
(25:09):
different accent, a formal cadence that didn't belong to the
woman I'd been talking to. She speaks the truth, the
voice said through Rosa's mouth. We have been patient, but
her resistance grows tiresome. Soon there will be only us.
I watched in horror as Rosa's eyes turned completely black,
(25:32):
reflecting no light at all. The thing speaking through her
smiled with her face, but the expression was cold and alien.
You fascinate us, it continued. Your grandfather was most useful
in establishing our transportation network. We hope you will prove
equally cooperative. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the
(25:53):
entity withdrew, Rosa blinked, her eyes returning to normal, and
she looked around and canion what happened? She asked, I
lost time again, didn't I? I couldn't bring myself to
tell her what I'd witnessed. Instead, I helped her out
of the truck and suggested we continue our route. The
final delivery of the day was the most disturbing yet.
(26:17):
We arrived at a secluded house where the package literally
moved on its own sliding across the truck bed like
a living thing. The recipient, a man with hollow, sunken eyes,
accepted it without question. I watched through the window as
he opened the package. The moment the cardboard flaps separated,
his body convulsed violently. His back arched, his limbs spasmed,
(26:40):
and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Then suddenly
he was still. When he looked up, his eyes were
completely black. His voice when he spoke was deeper and
carried the same formal tone i'd heard from Rosa. Much better,
he said, flexing his fingers as if testing new equipment.
The previous tenant was inadequate for our purposes. Rosa grabbed
(27:05):
my hand, her grip desperate and tight. That's how I
got infected, she whispered. Three years ago. I thought I
was delivering a gift to an elderly woman. Turns out
I was delivering her replacement. As we drove away, I
kept glancing in the rear view mirror. The man or
the thing wearing his appearance, stood in his doorway, watching
(27:26):
our truck until we disappeared around a bend. That evening,
I couldn't concentrate on anything. Every sound in the house
made me jump. Every shadow seemed to move with purposeful intent.
I found myself checking and rechecking the locks, though I
suspected they wouldn't stop whatever forces we were dealing with.
I pulled out my grandfather's notebook, searching for any information
(27:48):
that might help me understand what I'd gotten myself into.
One entry, dated just three months ago caught my attention.
The network is expanding faster than ever. Rosa's resistance is weakening,
and we'll need a replacement soon. I've made arrangements for
my grandson to inherit the house. He has the bloodline
compatibility necessary for the work. God forgive me for what
(28:11):
I'm about to condemn him to. The blood drained from
my face as I realized my grandfather hadn't just left
me a house. He delivered me directly into the hands
of whatever controlled this supernatural transportation network. My phone rang,
startling me out of my horrified reverie. It was Rosa,
but her voice sounded different again, older, more tired. Collection
(28:35):
day is coming, she said, without preamble. When the network calls,
it takes what it needs. You need to be ready,
ready for what to choose, fight and lose yourself completely,
or cooperate and maintain some fragment of who you are.
Those are the only options in Perdition Valley. The line
(28:58):
went dead, leaving me alone with the terrible understanding that
I was no longer just a delivery driver. I was
part of something ancient and evil, a network that treated
human souls like freight to be shipped and processed, and
there was no escape. Outside my window, I could see
the faint glow of packages being loaded into trucks throughout
(29:19):
the town. The network never slept, never stopped its grim
work of moving entities between hosts. I was trapped in
a system that was far larger than I'd ever imagined,
and I was running out of time to figure out
how to survive it. The third day dawned with a
heavy silence that seemed to press down on Perdition Valley
like a suffocating blanket. I woke before sunrise, the air
(29:43):
in my grandfather's house feeling colder than it had the
night before. The shadows in the corners of the rooms
seemed to stretch and twist as if alive, and the
faint creaks of the old house sounded like whispers just
beyond comprehension. I lay in bed for several minutes, heart pounded,
the weight of the previous days pressing on me like
(30:03):
a physical force. The knowledge that I was no longer
just a delivery driver, but part of something ancient and
terrible gnawed at my mind. Every sound in the house,
the settling of old wood, the whisper of wind through
broken window panes, seemed to carry meaning I couldn't decipher.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the oppressive quiet.
(30:23):
I stumbled downstairs, my leg's unsteady to find Rosa standing
on my porch. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes
wide with a terror that made my blood run cold.
Dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept, and
her hands trembled as she clutched her crucifix. Something's happening
at the depot, she said urgently, her voice barely above
(30:46):
a whisper. Thompson wants to see you now. They're moving
things around, big things, important things. I dressed quickly. The
chill in the house foughtollowing me as I moved through
the rooms. Outside the town was still cloaked in early
morning gloom, but the usual oppressive heat was replaced by
(31:08):
a biting cold that seemed unnatural for Texas. The air
carried a metallic tang that made my throat constrict, and
the silence was so complete it felt like the world
was holding its breath. As we drove through the empty streets,
I noticed that curtains twitched in windows, and occasionally I
caught glimpses of faces watching us pass. Their eyes reflected
(31:30):
no light, and their expressions were uniformly blank. The town
felt like a stage set populated by Mannikins. When we
arrived at the depot, the scene was unlike anything I'd
ever witnessed. More trucks than I'd ever seen were lined
up at the loading docks, their brown shells gleaming under
the weak morning light. Workers moved with strange, jerky precision,
(31:52):
their eyes reflecting no light, their faces expressionless masks. The
usual hum of conversation was replace placed by whispered phrases
in languages that hurt my ears to hear syllables that
seemed to bypass my brain and speak directly to something
primal and terrified inside me. The air itself felt charged,
(32:14):
like the moment before a thunderstorm, but instead of electricity,
it crackled with something far more dangerous. I could feel it,
raising the hair on my arms, making my skin crawl
with invisible insects. Thompson awaited us in his office, but
the man I saw was not the nervous, trembling figure
from before. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and cold as
(32:35):
winter stone. The warmth had drained completely from his voice,
replaced by a chilling calm that made my spine straighten involuntarily.
Sit down, he commanded, gesturing to the chair across from
his desk, with a gesture that brooked no argument. We
need to discuss your future here, your real future. I sat,
(32:57):
feeling Rose's presence behind me like a fragile shield against
the unknown. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and I
could hear her muttering prayers under her breath in Spanish.
You've seen enough to know this isn't a normal delivery operation,
Thompson began, his voice, carrying an authority I'd never heard before.
(33:18):
Ups Here is not just a shipping company. It's the
most efficient supernatural transportation network ever created. The words hit
me like a physical blow to the gut. What do
you mean? He stood and retrieved an ornate key from
a locked drawer, its metal surface covered in symbols that
seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them.
(33:40):
Let me show you something that will help you understand
your grandfather's true legacy. He led us through a door
marked authorized personnel only, and down a narrow staircase that
descended far deeper than the building's foundation should have allowed.
The air grew colder with each step, thick with the
metallic scent of blood and rub ust, mixed with something else,
(34:02):
something organic and wrong that made my stomach churn. The
basement was vast, stretching into darkness, lit only by flickering
fluorescent bulbs that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Rows
upon rows of shelves held packages that defied logic and reason.
Some pulsed with eerie light that seemed to come from within,
(34:22):
Others vibrated with contained energy that made the air around
them shimmer, and still others whispered in voices too low
to comprehend, but loud enough to feel in my bones.
Several packages moved on their own, sliding back and forth
along the shelves like restless beasts pacing in cages. One
box near the entrance was covered in what looked like
breathing holes, and I could swear I heard something scratching
(34:45):
at the cardboard from inside. This is the containment facility,
Thompson explained, his voice, echoing in the cavernous space. Every
package you deliver passes through here. First, we process them,
categorized them according to their contents and destination, and ensure
they reached their intended recipients intended destinations. My voice sounded
(35:08):
small and hollow in the vast space. Host bodies human
vessels for the entities that travel within these packages. He
gestured to a section marked with red symbols that seemed
to pulse with their own internal rhythm. These contain newly
harvested consciousness, human souls extracted from their original bodies for
(35:31):
redistribution to new hosts. Rose's hand gripped my shoulder so tightly,
her fingers dug into my flesh, and I could feel
her shaking behind me. Your grandfather helped establish this network
forty years ago. Thompson continued walking deeper into the storage area.
He understood that some things are too dangerous to exist
(35:52):
without proper management and control. These entities aren't evil in
any human sense. They're simply following their nature, seeking hosts
and sustenance. This system keeps them contained and controlled, while
allowing them to fulfill their needs and the people they possess,
I asked, though I dreaded the answer. Thompson's expression remained
(36:14):
cold and clinical, acceptable casualties in service of a greater good.
Without this network, these entities would run wild, consuming everything
in their path. At least this way we can manage
the process, control the flow, minimize the damage. I stared
at the shelves, stretching into the darkness, my mind reeling
(36:36):
with the implications. How many people know about this? Everyone
who matters the entire town is part of the network,
directly or indirectly. Most residents are hosts themselves now, or
they serve the network in other capacities. A soft sound
came from behind me, Rosa's breath hitching in what sounded
(36:57):
like a mixture of sorrow and resignation. Rosa here is
one of our success stories, Thompson said, turning his cold
gaze on her three years of shared consciousness with minimal resistance,
though lately her human side has been problematic, inefficient. I'm
(37:18):
still here, Rosa whispered, but her voice carried an undertone
that definitely wasn't hers, something formal and ancient that made
my skin crawl. For now, Thompson replied with a knowing smile.
But that brings us to why you're really here. He
led us to a large desk cluttered with files, photographs,
(37:40):
and documents covered in symbols I couldn't read. I recognized
some of the faces in the photographs, recipients I delivered
packages to over the past few days. In every photo,
their eyes were completely black. The network is expanding faster
than ever before, Thompson said, spreading the documents across the
desk's surface. We need coordinators who can manage the increasing
(38:02):
volume of transfers, handle the more complex negotiations, and insure
smooth operations. Your grandfather was our primary coordinator until his death.
Now that position falls to you. I never agreed to this,
I said, though even as I spoke the words, I
knew how hollow they sounded. Your grandfather made the agreement
(38:23):
for you, Thompson replied, matter of factly, bloodline compatibility. You see,
the entities respond better to certain genetic markers, and your
family carries the right combination of traits. I felt trapped,
the weight of inherited responsibility crushing down on me like
a physical force. What if I refuse Thompson's smile was
(38:45):
completely devoid of warmth. Then you become inventory instead of management,
another package to be processed and distributed. The morning's deliveries
felt different with this terrible knowledge weighing on me. Every
package I carried was more than just a box. It
was a vessel of stolen souls, a carrier of entities
waiting to inhabit new human hosts. The weight was not
(39:08):
just physical, but spiritual, pressing down on my consciousness like
a lead blanket. Rose's condition deteriorated visibly throughout the day.
Her moments of lucidity grew shorter and less frequent, and
when the entity took control, it spoke with increasing boldness
and confidence. She grows tiresome, it said through Rose's mouth
(39:33):
as we sat in the truck during our lunch break.
Her resistance wastes energy that could be better spent on
our work. Soon there will be only us. Let her go,
I pleaded, though I knew it was futile. Even as
I spoke, we cannot. She opened the door willingly, even
if unknowingly the contract is binding according to laws far
(39:55):
older than your human understanding. What contract. Rule seven, never
open any package, even if asked by the recipient. She
broke that rule three years ago and invited us in.
The invitation cannot be withdrawn. I watched Rosa's face struggle,
her human consciousness fighting desperately to surface. For a brief moment,
(40:16):
her eyes cleared completely, and she looked at me with
desperate pleading. Don't let them take you completely, she whispered urgently,
her voice barely audible. There's still a way to keep yourself. Negotiate,
negotiate terms with them, don't just surrender. Then her eyes
rolled back, showing only whites, and the entity resumed full
(40:39):
control with a satisfied sigh. The afternoon brought multiple rule violations,
though not by my choice. A package began glowing so
brightly that I couldn't avoid looking at it directly, immediately
experiencing visions of impossible geometries that made my head throb
and my vision blur. Another package started screaming with such
intensity and aspiration that Rosa or the thing controlling her,
(41:03):
could barely manage the emergency drive to the church while
the horrible sounds filled the truck. With each violation, I
felt something fundamental changing inside me. The entities seemed to
recognize me differently now, their whispered voices shifting from hunger
and predation to anticipation and something that might have been welcome.
As evening approached, we received an emergency call to deliver
(41:25):
a special package to the town center. This package was
different from all the others, larger, heavier, and it moved constantly,
writhing and shifting in the back of the truck, like
something alive and desperate to escape its cardboard prison. When
we arrived at the town square, I was shocked to
find it filled with people. Every resident of Perdition Valley
(41:46):
seemed to be gathered there, standing in perfect, unnatural silence.
Their eyes reflected no light, and they all faced the
center of the square, where a makeshift platform had been
hastily erected. Get out, Rosa said, but her voice now
carried only the formal tone of the entity controlling her.
It's time for the negotiation. They've been waiting. I climbed
(42:09):
out of the truck on unsteady legs, my heart pounding
so hard I could hear it in my ears. The
crowd parted to create a clear path to the platform,
their movements unnaturally synchronized like dancers following choreography they'd practiced
for years. As I walked through them, whispers in ancient
languages filled the air around me, creating a sound like
(42:31):
wind through dead leaves. On the platform stood the elderly
woman who ran the cemetery office, but her appearance had
changed dramatically. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire that
cast no light, and when she spoke, her voice resonated
with the power of something ancient and vast. We have
been patient, she said, her words carrying across the silent
(42:53):
square like a bell tolling. But patience has limits, even
for being such as ourselves. You will choose now, cooperation
or consumption. What kind of cooperation, I asked, surprised by
the steadiness of my own voice. You will coordinate the network,
manage the transfers between vessels, insure efficient distribution of consciousness,
(43:18):
and minimize wastage, the entity explained through the woman's mouth.
In return, you maintain your individual identity while gaining access
to our collective knowledge and power. And if I refuse,
then you become housing like Rosa, like Jake, like all
who refused our generous offer before you. I looked back
(43:40):
at Rosa, standing motionless beside the truck. For the briefest moment,
her human consciousness managed to surface one last time, and
she mouthed a single crucial word. Terms Understanding flooded through
me like cold water. This wasn't just about acceptance or refusal.
It was about in negotiation, about finding terms both sides
(44:03):
could accept. I'll coordinate your network, I said, addressing the
entity directly. But I have conditions that must be met.
The glowing eyes fixed on me with what might have
been surprise conditions. You are hardly in a position to
make demands little human. Actually I'm in the perfect position,
(44:25):
I replied, finding confidence I didn't know I possessed. You
need a human coordinator with the right bloodline compatibility. According
to you, that's me. But I won't do it unconditionally.
A ripple of movement passed through the crowd, as if
a single consciousness was considering my words and finding them
(44:46):
unexpectedly interesting. What do you propose? Willing hosts only, no
more forced possessions. People who choose this arrangement get full
disclosure of what they're agreeing to and what they're gaining,
And in return, I'll manage your network efficiently and effectively.
(45:07):
I'll find people who actually want what you offer, relief
from pain, enhance stabilities, extended life knowledge. There are humans
who would choose partnership over their current existence if given
the option. The entity was silent for a long moment,
and I could feel the weight of its consideration pressing
down on the entire square. These terms are acceptable, but
(45:33):
understand this completely. Once you begin this work, there is
no withdrawal from the network. You become part of it
permanently for the remainder of your existence. I understand, I said,
and found that I truly did do you. Your grandfather
thought he understood our arrangement, but he fought us for
forty years. His resistance made the network inefficient and dangerous.
(45:57):
You will not repeat his mistakes. I thought of the notebooks,
filled with guilt and anguish, of my grandfather's obvious struggle
with the role he'd been forced into. He'd tried to
limit the network's damage while being compelled to participate in it.
I won't fight you, I said firmly, but I'll hold
you to our agreement. The entity smiled through the elderly
(46:20):
woman's face, an expression that was both terrible and oddly reassuring.
Then let us begin your education, coordinator. The crowd began
to disperse, their movements, remaining synchronized and purposeful as they
walked away into the gathering darkness. I could see the
variety of entities that inhabited them, some ancient and patient,
(46:42):
others restless and hungry, all bound together in this vast,
supernatural network that spanned far beyond the borders of perdition Valley.
Rosa approached me, her movements more fluid and confident than
they'd been in days. When she spoke, her voice carried
both human and demonic tones in perfect harmony. We are
learning to coexist, she said, and for the first time,
(47:05):
she seemed at peace with her situation. It is not
unpleasant once you stop fighting the arrangement. Are you still you?
I asked, needing to know. I am still Rosa, but
I am also more than Rosa. Now the entity brings knowledge, power,
perspective I never had before. In exchange, I provide humanity, creativity,
(47:27):
and connection to this world. I nodded slowly, beginning to
understand that this arrangement might not be the complete horror
i'd initially imagined. What happens now now you learn to
manage the network efficiently, coordinate transfers between vessels, find willing hosts,
and negotiate terms that benefit both human and entity consciousnesses.
(47:51):
As we drove back to the depot through the quiet streets,
the weight of my new responsibility settled over me like
a heavy cloak. I was no longer just to delivery driver.
I was a broker between worlds, a coordinator of supernatural
forces that most humans couldn't even begin to imagine. The
network had claimed another coordinator, but this time it had
(48:13):
gained one who understood the value of negotiation over conquest,
cooperation over domination. I was beginning to adapt to my
role in something far larger and stranger than I'd ever
imagined possible, and somehow that felt right. The morning light
filtered weakly through the grimy windows of the UPS depot,
(48:33):
casting long shadows across the concrete floor where I stood
waiting for what would be my first day as the
network's coordinator. The air was thick with the familiar scent
of dust and old paper, but beneath it lay attention
that felt different, now, expectant rather than threatening, like the
calm before a thunder storm that would bring relief rather
(48:53):
than destruction. I was no longer the skeptical delivery driver
who had stumbled into this supernatural name nightmare just days ago.
The network had claimed me, but not as a victim.
I had negotiated my way into something that felt almost
like partnership. Rosa arrived early, her movements more fluid and
confident than they'd been since her possession began three years ago.
(49:16):
The jerky, uncertain gait that had marked her struggle with
the entity was gone, replaced by a grace that seemed
to blend human purpose with other worldly awareness. When she spoke,
her voice carried both human warmth and an other worldly
resonance that no longer frightened me. The negotiation had worked.
She was herself again, but more than herself, enhanced rather
(49:39):
than diminished by her supernatural passenger. Ready for your first
day as coordinator, she asked, And I could hear both
Rosa and her entity speaking in harmony, their voices creating
subtle harmonics that shouldn't have been possible from a single throat.
Thompson was waiting for us in his office, his nervous
energy replaced by a quiet efficiency that suggest tested enormous relief.
(50:02):
The constant tremor in his hands had stopped, and for
the first time since I'd met him, he looked directly
into my eyes without flinching. He handed me a tablet
displaying the day's delivery schedule, but the interface was completely
different from what I'd seen before. Instead of simple addresses
and package weights, it included detailed notes on host compatibility ratings,
(50:23):
entity preferences, territorial requirements, and special instructions for negotiation protocols.
This is your network now, Thompson said, his voice steady
and clear for the first time since I'd met him.
Every package, every transfer, every host relationship falls under your
direct management and oversight. Your grandfather would be proud to
(50:44):
see what you've accomplished in just a few days. I
scrolled through the list, feeling the enormity of the responsibility
settling over me like a heavy cloak woven from ancient threads.
The scope was staggering, dozens of active transfers, hundreds of
potential hosts, and a complex web of supernatural relationships that
stretched far beyond perdition. Valley's borders. What about the hosts
(51:08):
who don't want to participate, the people who refuse the arrangement.
Thompson's eyes darkened slightly, a shadow of the old fear returning.
We try to find willing hosts first always, but sometimes
the network requires persuasion to maintain operational efficiency. The entities
have needs that must be met. Rosa touched my arm gently,
(51:30):
her fingers warmed despite the other worldly energy that seemed
to flow beneath her skin. Persuasion doesn't have to mean force.
There are ways to make the arrangement genuinely beneficial for
both parties. We've learned that cooperation yields better results than coercion.
Our first task was reviewing the comprehensive list of potential
(51:53):
hosts throughout Perdition Valley and the surrounding areas. The network
had grown considerably over the past few decades, and with
that growth came increasing complexity that required careful management. Some
hosts actively sought relief from chronic pain or debilitating conditions,
others desired enhanced physical or mental abilities, and a surprising
(52:15):
few simply wanted to experience consciousness beyond normal human limitations.
The entities offered real gifts healing, strength, knowledge, extended life,
but the price was always the sharing of consciousness space.
I spent the morning learning the intricate language of supernatural negotiation.
(52:36):
The entities communicated in formal, archaic tones that carried layers
of meaning built over centuries of existence. Their speech patterns
were layered with both ancient wisdom and subtle threats, requiring
careful interpretation and delicate diplomacy. I had to learn to
broker deals that balanced legitimate human needs with entity requirements,
(52:57):
while preserving as much individual health humanity as possible in
each arrangement. One of the most challenging aspects was territory management.
Each entity had distinct preferences and requirements that went far
beyond simple geography. Some thrived in rural isolation, where they
could commune with natural forces and draw power from the
(53:18):
earth itself. Others preferred urban density, where they could feed
on the energy of human crowds and the electromagnetic pulse
of modern life. Matching compatible hosts to appropriate entities required
careful consideration of geography, personality types, spiritual inclinations, and the
subtle energetic patterns that bound human and supernatural consciousness. Together.
(53:41):
By midday, Rosa and I retreated to the secure room
in the depot basement, where she could rest and maintain
her delicate balance. The process of sharing consciousness with an
ancient entity was physically and mentally exhausting, requiring regular periods
of recovery to prevent either consciousness from overwhelming the other
and destroying the careful equilibrium they'd achieved. How are you feeling,
(54:04):
I asked, watching her eyes flicker between warm brown and
something deeper and more alien that seemed to contain depths
of knowledge accumulated over millennia, better than I have in months,
she replied, her voice carrying genuine relief that made her
seem years younger. The negotiation helped establish clear boundaries between
(54:26):
my consciousness and my passengers. I can think clearly as
myself again, even while sharing space with something that experiences
reality in ways I'm only beginning to understand, and the
entity its content satisfied in ways it hasn't been for decades.
(54:47):
Having a willing partner instead of a resistant victim makes
the arrangement more efficient for both of us. We're learning
to compliment each other's strengths rather than fighting for control.
I knew the road ahead would be difficult and fraught
with ethic complexities that would test every moral principle i'd
ever held. The network was vast and ancient, with momentum
(55:07):
built over decades of operation and traditions that stretched back centuries.
My role was to guide it towards sustainability while preventing
it from consuming the town's population entirely. But for the
first time since arriving in Perdition Valley, I felt a
genuine glimmer of hope that we could transform something predatory
into something genuinely beneficial. The afternoon was spent in the field,
(55:31):
visiting potential hosts and explaining the new voluntary arrangements we
were implementing. The responses varied dramatically. Some people were deeply
skeptical of anything involving supernatural entities, Others were desperate enough
to consider any option that might improve their circumstances, and
a surprising number were genuinely eager to explore the possibilities
(55:51):
of enhanced existence. Our first stop was the local nursing home,
where we met with Missus Henderson, an elderly woman who
had volunteered for the mostability enhancement program. The entity specializing
in pain management, had formed a partnership with her three
days earlier, and the transformation was remarkable. It's the best
I've felt in twenty years, she told us, her eyes
(56:13):
shining with gratitude as she demonstrated her renewed ability to
walk without assistance, climb stairs, and move with a grace
that belied her eighty three years. I can tend my
garden again, visit with my grandchildren without being a burden.
The entity asks for so little in return, just the
chance to experience the world through human senses. Rosa smiled warmly,
(56:36):
her expression carrying both human compassion and other worldly understanding.
The entity prefers hosts who genuinely appreciate what it offers.
The relationship works better when both parties benefit from the arrangement.
We visited several other successful partnerships throughout the afternoon. A
young man with severe depression had formed a symbiotic relationship
(56:58):
with an entity that specialized in emotional regulation, his suicidal
thoughts replaced by a calm clarity he'd never experienced before.
An artist with failing eyesight now painted with supernatural clarity
thanks to her entity partner, creating works that seemed to
capture dimensions of reality invisible to normal human perception. Each
(57:20):
case was different, but all showed the potential for genuine
cooperation rather than parasitic consumption. As evening approached, we had
one final appointment that would test the new system's viability.
Father Miguel, the local Catholic priest, had requested a meeting
to discuss the church's position regarding the network's operations and
(57:40):
the spiritual implications of supernatural coexistence. You're asking me to
allow demon possession in my town, he asked, his voice
heavy with theological concern as we sat in his modest
office beside the sanctuary, surrounded by religious texts and artifacts
that seemed to hum with their own protective energy. Not
(58:00):
possession in the traditional sense, I corrected, carefully, choosing my
words with diplomatic precision. We're talking about controlled, consensual coexistence
between willing human hosts and ancient entities seeking symbiotic relationships
based on mutual benefit. He considered this distinction carefully, his
weathered hands folded over his Bible as he weighed spiritual
(58:22):
doctrine against practical reality. And what about sacred ground? What
protections remain for those who seek sanctuary from supernatural influence.
Church property remains completely protected, I assured him with absolute conviction.
No entity enters without explicit permission from church leadership, No
possessions or transfers occur during religious services. Sacred Ground maintains
(58:46):
its traditional sanctity, and any one seeking refuge here will
find it. How can I know they'll honor these agreements?
What guarantee do I have that these entities won't simply
ignore our arrangements when it suits their purpose, Because I'll
personally enforce them. That's my responsibility as network coordinator. Any
(59:07):
violation of our agreements will result in immediate intervention and
consequences that the entities understand and respect. The priest studied
my face for a long moment, searching for signs of deception, coercion,
or supernatural influence that might compromise my judgment. Finally, he
nodded slowly, his expression cautiously optimistic. I'll need to see
(59:31):
these partnerships in action before I can offer the church's endorsement,
but I'm willing to observe and learn. A tentative alliance
had been formed, one that could serve as a model
for expanding the network's operations while maintaining community trust and
moral integrity. That night, I sat in my grandfather's kitchen,
(59:51):
surrounded by his notebooks and the weight of inherited responsibility
that felt less burdensome now that I understood its true purpose.
The house felt different, still old and creaky, but no
longer threatening or alien. It was simply home, a place
where I belonged and could find peace. Rosa joined me,
her presence a comforting reminder of how adaptation and cooperation
(01:00:13):
could transform even the most impossible circumstances into something workable
and even beneficial. Are you happy with how things turned out?
She asked softly, her voice carrying both human concern and
supernatural curiosity about the complex emotions that drove human decision making.
I considered the question carefully, weighing the enormity of what
(01:00:35):
I'd inherited against the satisfaction of finding purpose in the
most unlikely circumstances. I'm useful, I'm needed. I'm keeping people
safe while helping others get what they genuinely need. It's
not the life I planned when I came here, but
but it's the life that chose you. She finished with,
understanding that transcended species boundaries. I smiled, feeling the strange
(01:01:01):
comfort of my new role, settling into place like a
perfectly fitted garment. Exactly, what's our schedule tomorrow? Three more
nursing home residents want to try the mobility enhancement program,
Rosa said, consulting her notes with the efficiency of someone
who had found peace with her dual nature. And we
have a meeting with the town council about expanding operations
(01:01:24):
to neighboring communities. All willing participants, completely voluntary. Every person
knows exactly what they're agreeing to and what benefits they'll
receive in exchange for sharing consciousness space. Then let's continue
making deliveries. The network was alive and thriving, but now
(01:01:45):
it operated on principles of mutual benefit rather than predatory consumption.
Rosa and I had found our place in this strange
new world, serving as bridges between human and supernatural needs
while preserving the dignity and autonomy of both species. As
I looked out the window at the quiet streets of
Perdition Valley, I could see the faint glow of packages
(01:02:06):
being prepared for the next day's deliveries. The Supernatural Transportation
Network never slept, never stopped its ancient work of moving
entities between willing hosts who had chosen enhancement over ordinary existence.
But now it was a system I could be proud
to coordinate, one that preserved human dignity while satisfying ancient
hungers through cooperation rather than conquest. The inheritance my grandfather
(01:02:31):
had left me wasn't just a house or a job,
but a chance to transform something terrible into something that
might actually help people live better, fuller lives. I was
no longer just surviving in perdition Valley. I was helping
it evolve into something better than it had ever been before,
And somehow that felt exactly right. The network had found
(01:02:53):
its new coordinator, and I had found my purpose in
a world far stranger and more wonderful than I had
ever imagined possible
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