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I Delivered a Package to My Own Funeral · MYSTERY & HORROR STORIES

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  My father answered the door. He'd been dead for
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  19 years. He looked at the package in my hands
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  and smiled. We've been waiting for you, Oliver.
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  Behind him, people gathered on a closed coffin.
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  Above it stood my photograph. I should have run.
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  Instead, I looked at my delivery scanner. The
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  recipient's name was mine. It was my final delivery
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  that evening. A small parcel, no company logo
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  signature required. The address belonged to a
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  funeral home on a road I had driven along hundreds
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  of times. I didn't remember seeing the building
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  before, but it was raining hard and I wanted
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  to finish. Now my father stood beneath his porch
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  light, wearing the brown suit we had buried him
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  in. His tie was crooked. My mother had straightened
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  it before they closed the coffin. I remember
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  that. I remember being nine years old and standing
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  on a chair to kiss his forehead. Oliver, he stepped
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  aside, come out of the rain. Inside, I recognized
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  my grandmother, my uncle Lichard, woman who used
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  to live next door. All dead. At the front, beside
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  my coffin, sat my younger brother. He was still
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  six. I was 32. I asked my father what this was.
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  His smile faded a little. A delivery. Just finish
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  your delivery. My scanner vibrated. Recipient
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  signature required. I held it out to him. He
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  folded his hands behind his back. Your name is
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  on the parcel. The recipient has to sign. The
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  label was damp. My date of birth. Much smaller
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  letters. Release to family. I backed toward the
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  door. Every face turned with me. My brother swung
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  his feet above the carpet. He was holding the
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  little red car that had disappeared with him
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  in the accident. I had spent years wondering
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  where it went. I could see the scratch across
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  its roof. It made that scratch pushing it beneath
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  my bedroom door. Come and sit with me. My phone
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  rang. Then her voice filled my ear. My mother
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  asked if I could collect a prescription tomorrow.
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  She stopped speaking. Then she asked me to repeat
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  the address. There was a scraping sound on her
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  head as though she had stood up too quick. Don't
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  sign your name. My father extended his hand because
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  your brother came to my door the night after
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  we buried him. Even the rain seemed farther away.
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  He said he had asked her to sign a school permission
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  slip. He said there was a trip and she noticed
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  the teacher's name.