Gemotions

"To Beatrice Thorne," the label read, scrawled in an elegant, almost theatrical hand. The name meant nothing to Clara. But the package… it felt wrong. It made her stomach churn. The house was cold, even with the fireplace blazing.

She found herself reaching for the phone, then pulling her hand back. She didn't want to involve anyone. She had to be strong. She was fine. But her breath hitched in her throat, a small, involuntary sound.

She turned off the fire and went to the back door, and checked the locks. She couldn't feel the floor beneath her feet as she walked toward the kitchen. She just needed a glass of water, she told herself.