Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, a relentless drumming that matched the frantic rhythm of Michael's pulse. He clutched the package, the damp cardboard already beginning to warp in his grip. “Mr. Silas Blackwood,” the label declared, the name unfamiliar. The same address, though.

He backed away from the door, feeling the pull to go back outside. His mind raced. He should leave it. Just leave the package on the porch. But... curiosity and some other feeling kept him from doing that. He was drawn, drawn to something he didn't even understand.

He forced himself to walk away. He tried to think of what to do. He would take a long shower. Maybe that would settle his nerves. But the package. He had to know.