Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a stark rectangle against the faded paint of the front door. Sarah crouched, peering at the label. "To Mr. Henderson," it read, and the address matched her own. Mr. Henderson had moved out months ago. Her breath hitched in her chest. She grabbed the box, her knuckles white as she wrestled it inside.

She set it on the kitchen table, the silence of the house amplifying the thud. Her hand hovered over the box cutter. A prickle ran down her spine. The old house always creaked, the pipes groaned. She wasn't imagining things, she told herself. Just an old package.

She went to the living room, turned on the television loudly. Maybe some noise would help. Then the floorboard in the hall cracked. She froze, heart hammering. She would open the box. She had to.