My Hallucinations Ahh

Doug had seen many things in his long, grueling career as the last remaining FedUpEx employee. He had driven through snowstorms to deliver suspiciously heavy boxes labeled "DO NOT SHAKE." He had once knocked on a door only for it to be opened by an ominous, glowing-eyed figure who whispered "Ah, yes. It has arrived." before vanishing into thin air. He had delivered letters that people read, gasped at in horror, and immediately burned before making desperate phone calls that Doug pretended not to hear. But none of that compared to what had been happening for the last six months.

Because for the last six months, every single package—every single one—had been addressed to the same name.

A.F.O.

Not even a real name. No first name, no last name. Just A.F.O. Sometimes it was in a mansion. Sometimes a warehouse. Sometimes an abandoned lot that, when Doug arrived, had nothing there but a single, forgotten mailbox, standing in the middle of nowhere like some kind of cosmic joke. No one ever received them. No one ever signed for them. He'd leave them at the designated address, and by the time he checked again, they were just gone. And worst of all?

They never stopped coming.

Doug had tried to ignore it at first. It was just another weird rich guy thing, right? Some corporate mogul hoarding junk. But it wasn't just junk. The packages came in every shape and size. Huge, towering crates. Tiny, palm-sized boxes. Some weighed next to nothing, others nearly crushed his spine. But it never mattered what was inside. It never mattered where they were sent. The only thing that mattered was that the packages never stopped. And since Doug was the last FedUpEx employee still left standing, every single one of them fell on him to deliver.

It had long since stopped being a job. It was a war of attrition between him and AFO's endless, meaningless deliveries.

And now, today, with the sun glaring down at him through his windshield, Doug was on his way to deliver yet another package to AFO when his phone rang.

Janet.

Doug had exactly three seconds to consider pretending he had died. He sighed, hit the green button, and immediately regretted it.

"Doug."

Doug winced. "Janet."

"Where is it."

Doug furrowed his brow. "Where's what?"

"The child support money, Doug. The bare minimum you should be sending. The money for the child we share—you know, our son? The one who had a birthday last week?"

Doug gritted his teeth. "I told you, I get paid when—"

"No, Doug. You don't get paid. You don't get anything. You're running around delivering cursed mail in a job that doesn't even pay real money and you still expect me to believe that this is temporary?"

Doug had nothing to say to that, because Janet was completely right.

FedUpEx hadn't paid him in actual cash for months. At some point, corporate had just stopped existing, and the automated system took over, sending him "FedUpEx Loyalty Credits" in exchange for his work, which could only be redeemed at FedUpEx gas stations and vending machines. His entire existence had been reduced to driving, delivering, and eating expired burritos from a vending machine in an abandoned FedUpEx office.

It was a closed system of suffering with no way out.

Janet sighed, the exhaustion in her voice cutting deeper than the anger ever could. "Doug. Just… just figure your life out, okay? If not for me, then for him."

The line went dead.

Doug parked the van, rested his forehead against the steering wheel, and breathed.

For a long time, he didn't move.

For a long time, nothing happened.

And then, in the passenger seat, the package for AFO shifted slightly.

Doug turned his head slowly, but he already knew what he would see. The box sat there, silent and still, yet somehow unbearable in its presence. He had delivered thousands of these boxes, and never—not even once—had he dared to open one.

But today, with his life in shambles, his job a joke, and his sanity hanging by a thread—

Doug reached for the package.

He peeled back the tape.

He opened the flaps.

And inside… was another package.

Doug stared. His hands trembled. He picked up the smaller package, opened it, and inside—

Another. Package.

Doug let out a strangled, broken laugh. He pulled out package after package, tearing through layers upon layers of carefully packed boxes, each one smaller than the last, but none of them containing anything except another package. It went on and on, deeper and deeper, until the final, tiniest box sat in the palm of his hand.

A simple note was inside.

A single sentence.

"Thank you for your service. - AFO"

Doug screamed.