Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a squat, brown intruder. Rain was already darkening the surface. Eleanor had been trying to get her focus in order, but the incessant tapping of her foot against the kitchen tile was a clear signal it wasn't working. This wasn't her package. The name on the label was "Ms. Abigail Thorne," the previous resident. She hadn't seen Abigail, or anyone associated with her, since the move-in.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the box, the corrugated surface rough against her fingertips. She wanted to just take it back inside, but the porch felt like a stage, the street like an audience. She didn't want the neighbours to think she was being rude.

Her hands fumbled with the tape. She should probably just leave it unopened, but what if it was something important? What if Abigail needed it urgently? That thought flickered in her mind and immediately her pulse began to race. She tried to calm her frantic thoughts by telling herself to relax, it was just a package.