This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/1One1MoreNightmare on 2024-04-09 10:00:17.

---

Late one night, a couple of weeks or so ago, just as I was settling down to enjoy my dinner of dry oven-baked chips and chicken nuggets, there came a sharp knock at the door. I frowned, not because I was looking forward to this meal, the same one I’d had every night for the last week, but because I wasn’t expecting anyone, nor do I normally get random drop-ins from friends. I made my way to the front door and opened it, only to find darkness and emptiness greeting me. Confused, I cast my eyes downward and saw a plain, brown paper bag resting on the doorstep.

I flicked on the porch light, then bent down to examine the bag and its contents. Inside, I could see an assortment of groceries, groceries that I had not ordered. I looked around again, but no one was there. The street was clear, which was weird, as the time between the doorbell ringing and me opening the door would have been mere seconds. I was surprised someone had managed to drop off the food, ring the bell, and either get back to their car or on their bike and get out of view in that time.

Glancing around for the last time, I scooped the bag up in my arms and stepped back inside. I cleared some space and emptied the groceries on the bench. There was no receipt, no indication of where they had come from. I didn’t recognize any of the brands, as none bore familiar recognizable labels. Among the items, there was a pack of red steak, its packaging marked only with a “harvested date”. Weird. There was a 2-liter bottle of SPF 500 Sunblock. Seemed a bit overkill. An oversized jar of “Garlic-free” herbs and spices, an unmarked bottle of red wine, and a mysterious bottle of tomato sauce. A plain, white sticker on the front of the bottle with the words “Life-Sauce” across it. That was it. No ingredients list, company marketing, bottled or expiry dates.

Now, honestly, under normal circumstances, I would have endeavored to return these groceries. But, with inflation the way it is, and the economy tanking, I decided to keep the groceries for myself. Plus, there were no contact details or receipts to be found even if I did want to return them.

So, I put the meat in the freezer, the wine in the empty wine rack, the herbs and spices with the others, and left the sunscreen on the counter.

But I opened the sauce immediately, pouring a generous amount over my dinner. Its flavor was unlike any other tomato sauce I had tasted, rich and savory with subtle hints of spices. It was a luxury I had cut out of my weekly shops as I tightened my financial belt, and I savored every bite.

Over the following days, I found myself consuming the sauce with almost every meal, amazed at its ability to enhance even the simplest of dishes. I would go overboard too – drowning my food in delicious red condiment. And within days, I was down to the last remaining drops, the clear container looking empty in my hands. I decided not to throw it out in the hope I could scrape the last drops on my breakfast.

But the following morning, when I opened the fridge in the morning, my jaw dropped.

There, on the middle shelf of my fridge where I left it, was my tomato sauce bottle. Only, it was no longer empty. I picked the bottle up, staring at it perplexed. I turned it over, and back again. It was heavy, full to the brim with the dark red sauce. On the front was the label “Life-Sauce” as it was before. Only, this time, underneath, in a small font was the number one.

I wondered whether it was always there, and I had just missed it. It still didn’t explain how I was currently holding a completely full bottle of sauce when it was completely empty the night before. I was completely stumped. But I was also hungry. So, I put aside the mystery sauce and fried up some bacon and eggs.

Once again, over the next couple of days, I managed to work my way through the bottle of sauce with little effort. I placed the practically empty bottle in the fridge, and once again in the morning, it was full. The only difference was that number 1 had now been updated to a 2.

And so this continued, each time I emptied the bottle, I would find it miraculously refilled the next morning, as if by some unseen hand.

Then, last week, there came another knock at the door. I had once again been about to eat my dinner and had just poured a generous helping of the sauce on my plate. I was holding the bottle in my hand, looking at the number 13 that was now branded on the bottle, wondering for the hundredth time how the bottle refilled itself and how the number kept changing when three sharp knocks at the door broke my concentration. I opened the door and was met by a tall, elderly man, dressed in attire straight out of a Sherlock Holmes film. He held in one hand a black walking cane with a large diamond head, a red shimmer flickering in his eyes, his pale skin stretched tight across his gaunt face. He nodded politely and apologized for the late-night intrusion, speaking with a distinct European accent.

He inquired if I had received his misplaced groceries, but I feigned ignorance, shuffling slightly in the doorway as I attempted to shield the sauce that was on the bench behind me from his view.

I saw his eyes shift from behind my back to my face. I stifled a breath as I figured I had just been sprung, then relaxed slightly. Even if he did see the bottle on the bench, how would he know that we didn’t just buy from the same place? We stood in silence for a moment, before he cleared his throat and apologized again for keeping me from my dinner, turning his shoulder to leave.

“Oh, one more thing before I leave”, he said as I had started closing the door. I stopped and looked at him.

“If by chance it should be delivered to your humble abode, you ought to be informed of the contents of the groceries. Allow me to clarify, I do not obtain my provisions from any ordinary purveyor. To acquire the necessities I require, I conduct transactions in the shadowy corners of the web. Life has undeniably become more expedient in this century, I dare say.”

I shuffled uneasily in the doorway as he continued.

“Amidst the assortment of specialty items lies a sunscreen, providing shelter to individuals afflicted with Porphyria, a sensitivity to sunlight. Also present were delectable cuts of red meat sourced from Bi-Pedal mammals. Furthermore, there was the sauce, touted by the vendor as possessing a unique potency, able to regenerate itself by drawing upon the life force of an unsuspecting human. ”

I must have worn a look of confusion on my face, which he seemed to enjoy as he continued.

“Therefore, should you chance upon it, exercise caution in its utilization, so as not to arouse suspicion. Those who have been depleted of their life essence typically reside in close proximity, within a radius of a few blocks at most.”

My jaw ajar, I mumbled something akin to a thank you and closed my door, returning to my food as I contemplated what he had meant. ‘Drawing upon the life force of an unsuspecting human’? What was that?

I slid my plate to the side and opened my phone. I had no idea where to begin, so I started with “Sauce that regenerates itself by drawing upon life force of an unsuspecting human”. Nothing relevant came up. Then I searched “Tomato sauce that magically refills itself”. Again, no relevant results.

Lastly, I typed in “mysterious deaths near me”. This got a lot of results. I filtered to news, and then to the last month.

Multiple news stories covered mysterious cases in my local suburbs, cases where people had been found dead in their homes. In most cases, their partners had woken to find a pale, gaunt and lifeless version of the partner they had fallen asleep next to the night before. There had been no signs of injury, no blood nearby, and they had been completely normal in most cases the night before.

But they were now completely drained of blood.

My stomach dropped as I finally understood what he was saying. I felt like vomiting, realizing that, somehow, I had been dining on the thick, bloody, savory, delicious blood of my neighbors for the last few weeks.

Life-Sauce = Life Source.

My head spun as I grabbed the bottle and stumbled towards the kitchen bin, ready to throw the sauce out and destroy everything else that had come in that grocery bag that night…

But then, you know, with inflation the way it is, and the economy tanking…

And it was the best sauce I have ever tasted…

I am more aware now of the amount I use. I try not to waste it. I am proud that in the week since that visit, the number sits at only 15. I think I have done pretty well if I am honest, don’t you?