Plain Brown Wrapper

1

My life had become isolated and uneventful since Covid-19 shut the world down. To keep my job, I began to work remotely, doing the same job I had for years, but now in my apartment. Turns out I didn’t have to commute daily through horrible traffic to a packed office full of gossip and cliques worse than high school. I was already much of a loner without many friends, didn’t go out to bars, clubs or parties and had very little social life. I enjoyed my own company and that of my cat, Bruce. I became familiar with multiple forms of delivery systems and utilized them all. Brown boxes and bags at my door were no surprise. As it turned out, the Covid-19 quarantine wasn’t so bad.

As I said, I had become no stranger to brown packages at my door. Groceries ordered online came in brown sacks or brown plastic bags, other goods and supplies in brown cardboard boxes, usually imprinted with a shipping logo, Amazon, Chewy, UPS, and the like. Everything had its proper shipping sticker, the “to” and “from” label with the usual barcode. Nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing unexpected.

That is, until a new neighbor moved in. One day, a professional moving truck parked in the lot, the movers carried in furniture and boxes, and left soon after. I didn’t see or hear a new tenant for weeks, it seemed, until heard the movement through my bedroom wall of heavy furniture and loud cursing. I just put my noise-cancelling headphones one with a bit of soft music and went back to sleep. This was routine for about a week, and still, I had not yet seen my new neighbor. All was quiet during the day, just a few kids playing in the parking lot after remote home-school was out. I kept plugging away at my computer, answering calls, and enjoying the company of my cat, Bruce, in my lap or on his window seat nearby.

2

I had just wrapped up a call when there was a soft knock at my door. “Must be a delivery arriving early” I thought. I put on a mask and opened the door; it was policy if I had to sign for something and make contact with the carrier. There was no one there, just a small pile of boxes. As I picked them up, I noticed they weren’t the typical delivery boxes. They were all wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine, a practice I had not seen since my grandmother sent me birthday gifts as a child, and those always had a not from the postal carrier that the sender should not wrap this way, as the paper or string may get caught in the sorting machines and either damage the package or the machine. There weren’t even any postal stickers, no bar codes, not even a hand-written address. So, what were these things, who or where were they from, and how did they even reach my door? As I set the boxes on my table, a piece of paper slid out.

“Dear friend, the resident in apartment 13 is unable to take receipt of these during this time. He will come for them after 9 pm. Thank you.”

No name, no signature, no other information. “I guess I’ll finally get to meet my new neighbor,” I think, and slide back into my desk chair to get back to work.

That night, I had become engrossed in some season-ending-keep-you-on-the-edge-of-your-seat-drama of my favorite show I had been streaming, so when I checked the time on my phone and saw it was after midnight, I was a little shocked. My neighbor never showed for his packages, so I shrugged it off and just went about my bedtime routine, fed Bruce, washed my dishes, checked the locks, and crashed face first into my mattress.

3

A few days had passed, and still the mystery packages sat on my table with no one coming to collect them. It was a weekend, so I didn’t have any work calls to answer. I went into my ordering apps and arranged for my weekly groceries and supplies, sent a few texts, and browsed social media. My eyes were drawn to the packages on my table, and I wondered what to do with them. “Time to meet our neighbor,” I said to Bruce as I scratched his head and patted his belly.

I didn’t want to carry the packages over and find the guy not home or not answering his door for whatever reason, so I simply donned a mask and knocked. As I feared, there was no answer. I didn’t even hear any movement. I decided to write a note and let the man know I had his deliveries. Maybe he didn’t know? As I slid the note under the door, I felt it pulled from the other side. He IS home. I knocked again, but still heard nothing. “What the heck is up with this guy?” I thought and went back to my own apartment.

4

“Maybe he’s a severe germaphobe?” Anne messaged back after I had told her the whole story. “Maybe he’s just ultra-paranoid about the plague or maybe he’s an undercover superhero, or an undercover cop using the apartment for surveillance on someone.”

“I can’t even speculate; I’ve never seen or heard the guy. I only know stuff was moved in, I heard moving noises, then the packages came.” I replied.

“Just be careful and keep me posted.”

I felt I would nearly jump out of my skin when I heard a knock at my door. I caught my breath, put on a mask, and opened the door, but once again, no one was there, just another pile of oddly wrapped packages and a repeat of the note. “What the heck is going on here?” I questioned out loud. But of course, no one answered. I didn’t move the packages this time but went straight to the next apartment and knocked loudly. I heard a small movement, but still there was no answer, so I knocked again even louder. “I’m not the post office sir or ma’am, I’m your neighbor, so please come get your packages!” I yelled at the door. Waiting for a moment, I heard that small movement again, but this time a note was slid out from under the door.

“Please place the packages outside my door at exactly 10 pm. You will be compensated. Thank you.”

I growled under my breath and went back to my apartment. Looking at the clock, it was only 7 pm. I sighed and stacked all the packages together. I really wondered if I should just call the police. What if I was naive enough to let a bunch of bombs sit on my table? What if it was drugs? If I call the police and it is something illegal, will I be in danger? Now I’m worried.

5

It was 9:55 and I had bitten all my nails down to the skin. I needed to get this done. I donned a mask, opened my door, and started moving packages to my neighbor’s door. Once they were all moved, I knocked and said, “here are your packages”, then returned to my own apartment.

I finished up my nightly routine with Bruce at my heels, he was ready for bed too. As soon as I had finished checking my locks Bruce ran to the door, pouncing on an envelope that had just been slid under. I managed to take it from him without doing much damage to the paper.

“Bruce, you would be a great hunter if we had and vermin.” I said to him with a head pat.

The envelope was thick, and printed neatly outside was simply, “Thank You”. I opened it, and it was full of cash. All $100 dollar bills.

“Oh my god!” Counting it out on my table was $10,000. I counted three times just to be sure. What was in those packages? What if this is all counterfeit? What should I do? I needed to think, I needed to sleep on it. I put the money back in the envelope and put it in my nightstand drawer.

I slept restlessly, but I did sleep a little. As I nibbled my breakfast and sipped orange juice, I decided it was time to call the police. I dialed the non-emergency number, not wanting to use 911 just in case there was nothing to all of this. I told the dispatcher as much as I could, and he assured me a pair of officers would come get the whole story.

Once they arrived, we sat down and I laid out everything for them, even showing them the envelope full of cash. Officer Edwards examined some of the bills declaring they were indeed genuine and non-sequential, while Officer King went next door to question the neighbor. After a few moments of silence, King radioed and said he was going to talk to the landlord about a welfare check and unlocking the door, and to have me sit tight.

I waited on pins and needles until there was a knock at my door. It was Officer King returning. He had a bewildered look on his face but said to Edwards, “You need to see this, Ma’am, please wait here.”

I paced in my kitchen until the pair of officers came back. They told me to have a seat, so I did, with different scenarios running through my head, most of them morbid.

“Ma’am, you said your neighbor moved in a few weeks ago, a company delivered furniture and boxes, you heard furniture moving around later but never once did you see anyone. Am I correct?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Ma’am, this is all pretty weird, but there’s no evidence of any crime, or anything really. The apartment is empty and clean. The landlord says the apartment is paid for a year in advance through some corporation, and he didn’t even know that anyone had moved in or out. We will of course turn this over to detectives and research the corporation just to be sure there’s no illegal activity, so, now, that money is yours, an anonymous gift. We will just take the envelope for fingerprints.”

I felt as if I looked like a fish gulping for air. “So, NO ONE is there? This mystery money is mine? I don’t, I don’t even know what to say, what to do.”

“Enjoy it. Pay it forward. Buy your cat a whole tuna.” Officer King said. “We will keep in touch ma’am.”

They excused themselves leaving business cards for me and closing the door behind them. I stood there for a moment just staring into space, holding $10,000 cash in my hands.

Sometimes, it pays to be a good neighbor.

Elizabeth Crow

July 2021