24th of July, 2008
The call came in a little past 9 on Thursday evening. One medium peperoni plus, extra cheese. One large coke. Address: Cemetery road, x, xxxx.
Terry frowned.
Cemetery road? Was that supposed to be a joke? But no, a quick google search confirmed its existence and the boy shrugged, then passed the order along to the cook.
30 minutes later found Terry driving in to the street. He passed two funeral homes, one on either side, and parked on the curb beside the only house. It looked old, and there was a vintage car parked in the driveway. Terry would have liked to admire it some more but he had other deliveries to get back to.
He rung the bell, or tried to when the door swung open. It revealed a girl, about 13 years old if he had to guess. Her hair was a pretty sort of dark and her eyes immediately zeroed in on the pizza.
"Finally!" She snagged the food out of his hands, thrusting a bunch of crinkled notes his way. Terry refrained from rolling his eyes and counted the money. He started on the change but the girl shook her head.
"Keep it."
Terry blinked. She'd given him nearly twice the amount.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yeah. It'll teach him not to forget about getting me dinner." She said the last part a bit louder.
Before Terry could reply a man's voice drifted out of the house. "I can hear you," it said. "And all you are ensuring is that I am never providing you with money, or food, again."
"We'll see," the girl called back, sounding completely unconcerned by the threat.
Terry shuffled awkwardly, feeling like a piece of furniture while the two occupants bickered back and forth. Was she his daughter or something? If Terry pulled something like this his mum would definitely kill him so probably not. Maybe a niece? The guy sounded too old to be a friend.
"Uh," Terry said. The girl looked back, slight surprise on her face. Wow, did she actually forget about him?
"Enjoy your food," he told her. She shrugged, told him to keep the change, and then shut the door.
The seconds ticked by. Terry stood there staring at the woodwork for half a minute before he shook his head. He made his way back to the car and finished his other deliveries, putting the memory of the house on Cemetery road firmly out of his head.
Until a couple days later when another order came in, and then another, and another. Until finally they were getting calls at least once a week.
It was always the same girl, the same disembodied yet strangely pleasant voice, and luckily for Terry the same awkward moment while they argued over his head.
Sometimes, on rare occasions, the girl didn't answer the door. Instead there was a man who, and Terry couldn't quite believe it at the time, wore a long coat, scarf, sunglasses and the fakest wig he had ever seen. He didn't speak, merely gave Terry the correct amount and took the food before closing the door in his face.
The phone rang. Terry sighed. There he goes again.
To be continued...