The first time you get a gift in the mail, it's early in the morning and you'd just barely pulled yourself out of bed.
The package shows up on your door unannounced. You give it a quick lookover and all the mailing stickers are correct, listing your address and coming from a post office in New York City.
It's odd. You don't know anyone who'd mail you something this big without telling you, but it's addressed to your place. It has your name on it, taller than your hand, and gives you a bit of trouble when you move it to your table.
Finding no leads on who it could be from, the curiosity overcomes you.
Inside lies three things.
One, a soft turtle plushie with a makeshift, multicolor bandana - the stitches visible from where someone sewed multiple thin strips of fabric together to form a charming little mask with eyeholes. It's fairly squishy, and as the first thing you see, it gives you a good impression. A good bit of the weight of the box comes from this, you suppose, maybe filled with poly pellets as you feel around the stuffing.
Two, a box filled with an arrangement of packaged snacks. Some of your favorites, and a lot of others you haven't tried before. The seams on the snacks look a little odd.
And three, a sleek-looking purple digital camera. Your eyes go wide as you lift the heavy object from the box, raking your eyes over everything on it. Smooth metal, shiny and spotless, not a scratch to be seen and several options and buttons to explore. It looks professional. It looks expensive.
If it weren't for the letter with your name on it at the bottom of the box, you would have thought it was for someone else.
The second time you get a gift in the mail, the sun had just begun to set, and you'd been interrupted in the middle of a meal by your doorbell ringing once, twice, thrice. A peek through the peephole shows a box packaged messier than before, and this time you pause. Hand on the doorknob.
Should you really open it? The letter and the last box were all addressed to you, sure, but you don't know these people. You don't recognize any names, though they talk like they've known you for ages. The fear had crept in through weeks of pouring over it, staying up at night thinking and thinking and thinking. Despite how sleepy the mailed treats made you, it seemed these days you just couldn't stop the paranoia from keeping you up.
The second time you get a gift in the mail, you leave it outside.
The fifth time you get a gift in the mail, you don't even get out of bed. Installing a camera for your door to get a glimpse of these mysterious gift-givers has done nothing but frustrate you, watching the footage glitch into static just after a three-fingered hand comes in view for a single frame.
You tried to file a police report, but nothing happened; No follow-ups or actual anything being done. You guess, at this point, you'll just have to deal with it yourself.
Every time you step out of the house, you pointedly avoid looking at the pile of boxes accumulating on your doorstep, not interacting with it past pushing it to the side. They bang on your door instead of knocking and the boxes just get bigger and bigger, honestly, it's getting a little ridiculous, and you're starting to get frustrated.
It seems they did too, because the next time you get a gift in the mail;
It shows up on your kitchen table.
