Random stories

Booker leapt out of his car, barely managing to balance the pizza box on his left hand as he swiveled his right arm around to check the watch face on the inside of his wrist. About forty seconds left.

He was going to make it.

Booker jumped over the short wrought-iron gate, clutching the street lamp for balance, scaring a couple of crows. His hat flew off - no time to catch it. He sprinted up the short walk and the steps and nearly slammed into the darkwood door, hammering out a near-panicked knock as the seconds ticked down on his watch. He'd made it! Just in time for his tip and not to lose out on the 'twenty-two minutes or it's free' guarantee.

"Pizza delivery!" Booker shouted. "Pizza delivery for -"

The door cracked open and Booker almost fell into it, knocking the door inward. A young woman holding a baby gasped and stumbled backwards. In a split-second decision, Booker dropped the pizza and reached out for the woman's flailing hand.

He caught her and pulled. She tipped back up, the baby in her arms now crying but safe.

Booker and the woman stood, hand in hand, staring at each other in confusion. "Thank you?" she said. "Who..."

Booker released her hand and bent to retrieve the pizza box. "Pizza delivery?" he said. "For M. DeVilious?"

The woman frowned as she tried to calm the child. "Who?"

"M. DeVilious," Booker replied. He peered around the woman - the interior of the house was completely different than he remembered it. M. DeVilious's front entry was richly dark with wood paneling and luxurious carpets, lit by oil lanterns. This entryway was cramped but homey, electric lights revealing a rack full of shoes of many different sizes and family photographs hanging on the walls.

"I don't know who that is," said the woman, rocking the baby. "Are you sure you have the right address?"

Booker took a few careful steps back, down the front stairs, and peered at the blackstone walk-up. It was number 9 all right, with the brass-hooked mailbox. It sure looked like the correct house - two storeys, narrow old construction near the bay but not so close as to smell the rotten harbour, cracked first step, decorative blackthorn bushes inside the fence.

"You sure you don't know a M. DeVilious?" Booker asked, feeling like he was going crazy, looking around at the house and neighbourhood of his best-tipping customer and talking to someone else in his house. M. DeVilious didn't chat much, but Booker had the strong impression that the well-dressed middle-aged man was single and without family on the island.

"Sorry," whispered the woman, whose baby had fallen asleep. "Don't know him, didn't order a pizza." She eased the door closed, and Booker heard the distinct click of a lock snapping into place.

"What the hell," said Booker. He opened the box and stared at the pizza, slopped up against one side from its fall. He shook his head and walked back to his car, grabbing his hat along the way. One of the crows had pecked a small hole in it.

He tossed the pizza into the open door and onto the front passenger seat. He sat hard in the front seat and looked around the street one more time, as certain as ever that he was in the right spot, but somehow his customer wasn't there.

Booker pulled out his notepad, reached for the car radio, and keyed in the correct personal frequency. He clicked down the send button. "M. DeVilious, M. DeVilious. Twenty-Two Minute Pizza." He waited a moment and was about to try again when the reply came through.

"Booker," came the instantly recognizable smooth voice. "Are you still on your way? I believe my pizza is now free."

Booker scratched the back of his neck and grimaced. "Well, actually, about that."

"You didn't follow my delivery instructions, did you?"

"No sir, sorry sir. I was running late and figured I could save some time, but, well, I'm at the house and -"

A long, heavy sigh came through the radio. Booker could sense the disappointment. "Ah, what a shame. I'm afraid we'll have to cancel the order. It will take far too long to start the route over from scratch."

"Yes sir, sorry sir. I'll make it up to you next time." Booker hung up the handset and slapped the wheel of the car. "Damn." He slapped it again. "Double damn."

He grabbed a slice of the pizza and started eating. Pineapple. Not his favourite, but at least some consolation for the lost tip. As he ate, Booker flipped through his notebook to the extensive list of instructions on the correct delivery route. He shook his head. Twelve left turns in a row? Ridiculous. He didn't mind when he made it in time - M. DeVilious tipped very generously. But tonight the whole thing seemed -

Wait a minute.

Booker skimmed over the directions again. He reached for the glovebox and pulled out his Ravenshore city map. The slice of pizza held in his teeth, he traced the delivery route onto the map. Starting from Twenty-Two Minute Pizza, the route went straight out, did a big circle three times, crossed the circle, then crossed it again, and a third time created a triangle, and then... and then...

With every step, Booker's eyes widened. The pizza fell from his mouth and landed sauce-side-down on his lap.

"Well I'll be damned."

He was looking at a devil's summoning circle.

---

Submitted by szthesquid on Tue, May 09, 2023 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

You're delivering pizza to a man that always asks you to drive a very specific route, involving circling roundabouts 3 times and other odd time wasting directions. He always leaves a great tip but tonight you don't have time so take a more direct route and find something else answering the door