I found a flash drive in a regular sausage: at first I thought the flash drive had accidentally ended up in the food until I checked its contents.

I washed my hands three times before I even reached for the flash drive again. Even sitting on the kitchen table, it made the room feel different somehow—like a piece of evidence left behind after something terrible had happened. I kept staring at it from across the room, half expecting it to disappear if I looked away long enough.

Part of me seriously considered throwing it straight into the trash. Pretend I had never seen it. Pretend it hadn’t somehow ended up in my food order like some bizarre surprise tucked between the containers. But the other part of my brain wouldn’t let it go. That part kept asking questions I couldn’t ignore.

Who would hide a flash drive inside a sealed delivery bag?
Was it meant for someone else?
Or was it meant for me?

Curiosity is a powerful thing. Eventually, it won.

I picked it up again carefully, almost like it might break or explode if I handled it the wrong way. My laptop sat open on the desk, screen glowing in the dim light of the room. For a moment I just hovered there, holding the drive between my fingers and debating whether plugging it in was a terrible idea. Every warning I’d ever heard about unknown USB drives flashed through my mind.

But I still plugged it in.

The computer chimed softly as it recognized the device. One new drive appeared on the screen. My heart was beating harder than it should have been for something so simple.

Inside the drive was only one folder.

The name of it immediately made my stomach tighten:
“OPEN ME.”

It felt less like a file name and more like a challenge. Or a dare. I sat there staring at the words for several seconds, wondering if this whole thing was some kind of prank. Maybe someone had dropped the drive into the wrong order by accident. Maybe it belonged to the restaurant staff. Maybe it was nothing.

Still, the folder name made it feel intentional.

I double-clicked it.

Inside was just a single file. No documents, no videos, no explanation. Just one image.

For a moment, I hesitated again. Something about the situation had shifted from strange to deeply uncomfortable. But I’d already come this far, and the questions in my head were louder than the fear.

I opened the photo.

The picture filled the screen instantly, and my stomach dropped.

It showed a man standing very close to the camera—too close. His face took up most of the frame, slightly distorted the way wide-angle photos sometimes look when someone leans toward the lens. His expression wasn’t threatening exactly. In fact, he was laughing.

But the laughter didn’t feel friendly.

It felt like the kind of smile someone gives when they know something you don’t. His eyes looked directly into the camera, as if he were making eye contact with whoever would eventually see the photo.

With me.

There was nothing obviously violent or shocking in the image. No background clues I could recognize. Just the man’s face, frozen in that strange moment of laughter. But something about it made my skin crawl. It felt deliberate, almost like the photo had been taken specifically for the person who would open the drive.

I zoomed in, trying to see if there were details I’d missed—anything that might explain what I was looking at. A reflection in his eyes, a sign behind him, a location hint in the background.

Nothing.

The file had no useful metadata either. No location data, no photographer information, no timestamp that made sense. Just the image itself.

I searched the face online, tried reverse image searches, even posted anonymously in a couple of forums asking if anyone recognized the man. No one did.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Eventually I stopped trying.

To this day, I have no idea who he was, why the photo existed, or how that flash drive ended up hidden inside my food order. The restaurant denied knowing anything about it. The delivery driver had no explanation. And nothing like it has ever happened again.

But the experience changed something small in my mind.

Now, whenever I receive a sealed package—food delivery, online order, anything—I hesitate for just a second before opening it. Not because I expect to find another flash drive.

But because I know sometimes the strangest questions arrive without warning.

And sometimes, there’s no answer waiting inside.