California. I do Uber Eats for extra cash — mostly late nights because the surges are better.
Last Friday, around 12:30 AM, I got a ping for a delivery out in the boonies. Old rural road, maybe 20 minutes outside town. The address was weird — no street number, just “White House at the end of Cul-de-sac.”
GPS took me to a dead end. There it was. A two-story white house. But here’s the thing: on Google Maps, this entire area shows up as empty field.
An elderly woman in a floral nightgown was already standing on the porch. The porch light was off, but I could see her clearly from my headlights. She opened the front door just wide enough to stick her hand out for the food. I glanced past her into the house — just a reflex. On the wall inside, I saw an old owl-shaped wall clock. The kind with swinging pendulums.
The hands were spinning counterclockwise.
I blinked. Looked again. Definitely counterclockwise. I noped out of there fast. But as I hit the main road, I checked my rearview mirror — the second-floor windows all lit up at the same time for about 3 seconds, then went dark together.
I got home and looked up the address. Found an old news article — that house burned down in 2010. Rebuilt later. Same lot.
The creepiest part? The delivery tip came through yesterday. $6.66.
I’m not delivering to that direction ever again.