The Shipper

== WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT. ==
It started with boxes—innocent-looking packages delivered to doorsteps in the dead of night. At first, they went unnoticed, as deliveries were a common sight in this sleepy suburban town. But these weren’t ordinary parcels. The horrors inside would soon reveal that the town was no longer a safe place for anyone. The Shipper had arrived.
No one knew who he was or why he’d chosen this place, but one thing was clear: his reign of terror would be unlike anything the world had ever seen. What made him worse than all those before him—The Backwards Man, The Pumpkin king, even The Brutalizer—was his perverse love for shipping his victims' dismembered, mutilated bodies as though they were nothing more than grotesque gifts for those left behind.
The First Package: Mary Walters
Mary Walters, a 30-year-old elementary school teacher, was the first to disappear. Her neighbors saw nothing unusual the night she went missing—no screams, no broken windows, no forced entry. She simply vanished from her home, leaving only a bloodstain on her kitchen floor. Days later, her husband, John, received a package at his front door. He opened it to find a large, pristine wooden crate.
Inside, there was no immediate sign of what was coming. Instead, carefully wrapped in tissue paper was a note written in red ink: “Do you miss her?”
John frantically tore through the packaging. The tissue paper concealed something cold and rigid—a human arm. Mary’s arm. But this was no ordinary severed limb. It had been carefully hollowed out, the bones removed and replaced with a grotesque clockwork mechanism made from nails, screws, and shards of broken glass. Her skin had been treated and stretched tight, like leather on a drum. The fingertips were nailed to small gears, forcing the hand to wave slowly back and forth in a sickening, automated mockery of life.
John vomited immediately. The next part of the package was far worse: Mary’s severed head. Her eyes had been gouged out, replaced with shards of broken mirrors, her teeth had been removed and replaced with shards of glass, giving her a horrific smile. Her lips had been sewn into a wide, grinning rictus, stretched impossibly far to each side. The back of her skull was caved in, and where her brain should have been, the Shipper had inserted a wind-up music box that played a distorted, nightmarish version of her favorite lullaby.
The Shipper had taken weeks to create this. And Mary had been alive for much of it.
The Package Arrives: Kevin’s “Gift”
Kevin Larson was next, a mechanic who had lived a quiet life until the day his wife reported him missing. Three days later, a delivery arrived at her house—a long, narrow crate. This time, there was no note, only a bloodied crowbar left taped to the top.
Inside the crate, Kevin’s body had been reassembled, but grotesquely out of order. His arms were where his legs should be, his legs where his arms should have been, his torso stitched together in a bizarre zigzag pattern. Every bone in his body had been shattered, then forced back together with nails and industrial staples. His body was more metal than flesh at this point—a human puzzle that had been cruelly reassembled by someone who took pleasure in its disfigurement.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
Kevin’s eyes had been sewn open, and his body had been filled with foam insulation to keep him rigid. The Shipper had installed small motors in his wrists, and when Kevin’s wife opened the crate, the motors activated. His arms twitched, his hands raised in a mock greeting, and his hollow, gaping mouth whispered through an audio device embedded in his throat: “I’m home.”
The Shipper had designed it to be a twisted joke—a parody of a homecoming, the sickening sound of mechanical bones grinding against each other as the motors spun.
More Killings: Everyday Objects, Twisted Uses
The Shipper wasn’t satisfied with mere mutilation. His creativity knew no bounds, and he used everyday objects in ways that made even seasoned investigators recoil.
One of his victims, a teenage girl named Chloe, was found after her parents received a box filled with her organs, neatly vacuum-sealed and labeled as if from a butcher’s shop. Each organ was paired with a different household tool—a hand mixer threaded through her intestines, a can opener lodged in her stomach, her lungs perforated with a series of knitting needles.
Her face had been removed entirely, and in its place, The Shipper had attached a cheese grater. But the real horror was yet to come: inside the box was an old-fashioned crank telephone, one that had been rewired to produce static. If you turned the crank, you’d hear Chloe’s voice—small, terrified—whispering, “Please, stop. Please...”
The Shipper had recorded her final moments and embedded it into the machine, a grotesque, echoing loop of her suffering for her parents to relive endlessly.
A New Type of Torture: The Box Room
The police finally found what they believed to be The Shipper’s headquarters, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Inside, they discovered a nightmarish room filled with shipping crates. Some were closed, others open, but all of them contained something horrific. Each crate held the parts of his victims, stitched, twisted, and reshaped into grotesque new forms. Arms, legs, heads—nothing was in the right place.
One crate was filled with the bodies of children. Their limbs had been removed and replaced with the limbs of adults, their faces reconstructed with bits of metal, gears, and wires, giving them a nightmarish, doll-like appearance. The children had been kept alive for as long as possible as The Shipper replaced parts of their bodies with everyday objects—scissors for hands, kitchen knives for feet, staplers embedded in their backs.
But perhaps the most disturbing crate of all was one they hadn’t expected. Inside was a living person—a man, barely recognizable, with his arms and legs surgically removed. His torso had been fitted with long rods and metal plates, transforming him into something like a macabre puppet. He was conscious but unable to move, his face sewn into a permanent grin. The only sounds he made were the rasping breaths of a man who had been broken in every possible way.
He was one of The Shipper’s unfinished projects, left alive to suffer for days, possibly weeks, until the killer decided to send him off to his next “customer.”
A Town in Terror
As more and more bodies turned up, the town of Crighton spiraled into chaos. People started fleeing, but no one could escape The Shipper’s reach. He seemed to know exactly where to find his victims, no matter how far they ran. Even when people barricaded themselves inside their homes, they weren’t safe. Boxes would appear, sometimes inside their own houses, as if The Shipper had found a way to get inside without anyone noticing.
Each new package was more brutal, more vile than the last. One couple received a box filled with their neighbors’ body parts, packed in ice with a note that read, “Careful—it’s fresh.”
The Ultimate Horror: The Collector
As the body count rose, one thing became clear: The Shipper wasn’t just killing for pleasure. He was collecting. Each body part, each gruesome creation was part of a larger, darker purpose. In the basement of his warehouse, the police found a massive crate, larger than anything they’d seen before. Inside, they discovered what could only be described as The Shipper’s masterpiece—a figure assembled from the parts of dozens of his victims. The Shipper had turned them into a grotesque monument of death, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and metal.
It was clear that this was far from over. The Shipper wasn’t just a killer. He was an artist of death, and his work had only just begun.
The final message found scrawled on the inside of the crate read: “I’m not done. Expect delivery soon.”
Category:Halloween
Category:Story
Category:Special Event