Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Desperate for money, James takes a mysterious Tug job delivering a warm, humming box from a funeral home. When he peeks inside and finds a strange vial of black liquid, a stranger arrives demanding it back, putting James in a dangerous position.
The last fifty bucks in my wallet felt like a bad joke. I folded the worn bill and tucked it back, cursing the Tug that got me into this mess. The Tug was the underground job market for people like me—quick cash, no questions, and a one-way ticket to trouble if you weren’t careful. But these times? They were hard. Rent was due in three days, and my girlfriend Jess had been dropping hints about a dinner she wanted to go to. A dinner I couldn’t afford.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled the latest listings. Most were the usual garbage—moving boxes, cleaning gutters, walking some rich guy’s dog. But one caught my eye: “Simple delivery. High pay. Discretion required.” It paid three times what I made in a week. That was either a miracle or a trap.
I messaged Jess: “Hey, got a job thing tonight. Talk later?” She replied with a heart emoji and a vague “Be safe.” I didn’t tell her what I was doing. She knew I did odd jobs, but not the Tug. Not the real ones. She thought I was delivering pizzas.
The pickup location was a funeral home on the edge of town. Creepy, but I’d done worse. I parked my beat-up sedan across the street and waited. The instructions said to go around back and knock three times. I did. A short woman in a black dress opened the door without saying a word. She handed me a small wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox, tied with twine. It was warm—like it had been sitting in the sun, but it was midnight.
“Don’t open it,” she said. “Deliver to the address on the tag by sunrise. You get paid when it’s handed over.”
I took the box. It hummed faintly against my palm, a low vibration that made my teeth itch. “What’s in it?”
“None of your business.” She shut the door.
I stood there holding the box, feeling like an idiot. But the money—I needed it. Jess deserved a nice night. Maybe I could finally tell her about the Tug, about all the weird jobs. But first, this box.
I drove toward the address, a rundown apartment building in the old industrial district. The box kept vibrating, getting stronger the closer I got. Something was wrong. I pulled over and stared at it. The warmth was almost hot now. Curiosity won. I untied the twine and lifted the lid.
Inside was a small glass vial filled with a thick, black liquid that swirled on its own. It looked like oil, but it moved like something alive. I shook it. The liquid convulsed, and a faint whisper filled the car—a voice I couldn’t understand but somehow felt. My hands went cold. This wasn’t a simple delivery. This was something else.
I slammed the lid shut and retied the twine. My heart was pounding. I had to think. Return it? No, I needed the money. But what if this was illegal? What if it was dangerous? Jess’s face flashed in my mind—her worry when I came home late. I couldn’t drag her into this.
Before I could decide, headlights flooded my rearview mirror. A black sedan pulled up behind me, blocking my car. A tall man in a long coat got out and walked toward my window. His face was hard, eyes like two black stones.
“You have something of mine,” he said. His voice was flat, but it cut through the glass.
I gripped the box. The vibration spiked, and the whisper came back, louder now.
The man smiled. It wasn’t friendly.
“Get out of the car, kid. We need to talk.”
I didn’t move. The box was burning my fingers. Jess’s text was still on my screen. I thought about running, but there was nowhere to go. This was the job I chose.
And now I had to choose again.