The Last Contract

In 2011, I was a courier for a small delivery service in the dusty town of Redmond. My route was always the same: out past the old quarry, through the abandoned industrial park, and into the hills where the rich folks lived. I never had dreams before, not memorable ones anyway. But one night in late August, I dreamt of the quarry road. It was exactly as I remembered it, except for one detail: a figure standing in the middle of the asphalt, about a hundred yards ahead. She was tall, with long black hair that hung straight down, and she wore a pale blue dress that reached the ground. I couldn’t see her face, but I felt an overwhelming dread as I drew closer. I woke up with a gasp, my heart pounding. I tried to shake it off, but the image lingered for days.

Months passed, and I pushed the dream to the back of my mind. Then, on New Year’s Eve of that same year, I was at my sister’s place in the countryside. It was freezing, and the old farmhouse creaked with every gust of wind. My sister asked me to fetch some firewood from the barn. I grabbed a flashlight and trudged through the snow. Inside, the barn was darker and colder than the night outside. The smell of hay and old oil filled my nostrils. As I bent down to pick up a log, I saw a pair of bare feet standing just beyond the circle of my flashlight. They were pale, almost translucent, and the toenails were chipped and black. My blood froze. I slowly lifted the beam up the legs, past the hem of a pale blue dress, to the face. It was her. The woman from my dream. Her skin was gray, her eyes were hollow sockets, and her mouth was stretched into a grin that reached her ears. She tilted her head and whispered, ‘I’ve been waiting.’ I dropped the wood and ran, but the barn door slammed shut before I could reach it. I turned, and she was right behind me.

I woke up in my car, parked in my own driveway at home. My hands were shaking, and my shirt was soaked with sweat. I thought it was just a nightmare, but then I looked at the dashboard clock: it was January 1st, 2012. I didn’t remember driving home. I entered my house, and everything seemed normal, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me. Over the next few weeks, I started seeing her everywhere: in reflections, in the corner of my eye, in the static of my TV. My friends said I looked exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there.

One night, I decided to confront her. I sat in my living room, in the dark, and said, ‘What do you want?’ No answer. But the room grew cold, and a faint whisper came from the hallway: ‘The contract is not fulfilled.’ I searched the house, but no one was there. Then I remembered the dream: I was driving my route, but I had never reached the end. In the dream, I always woke up before I hit her. But what if I never woke up? I pulled out my old route logs and found a delivery slip that had been marked ‘Return to sender’ from a date in August. The address was on the old quarry road, a place I knew had been abandoned for years. I went there the next day.

As I drove down the quarry road, the fog rolled in thick. My headlights cut through it, and there she was, standing exactly where she had been in my dream. I slammed on the brakes, but the car kept sliding. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact, but when I opened them, she was gone. I got out and looked around. In the middle of the road was a small, weathered envelope. I picked it up and opened it. Inside was a piece of paper with my name and a date: my birthday. Below it was written: ‘One soul owed. Payment due upon delivery.’ I realized then that I had signed something when I took the job, a contract I had never read. The woman in blue was the collector, and I was late. I tried to burn the paper, but it wouldn’t catch. I threw it on the ground and drove away, but I knew she would be back.

Now, I live with the constant presence of her. Every night, she stands at the foot of my bed, silent and patient. I’ve tried everything: priests, psychics, moving, but nothing works. The only thing I can do is hope that maybe, one day, I’ll find a way to break the contract or that she’ll finally take what’s owed and the haunting will end. But deep down, I know the truth: the collector never stops. She’s always there, waiting for the moment I least expect, to take me to the other side. And I can’t help but wonder: did I ever really wake up that morning, or am I still in that dream, driving toward her forever?