Gemotions

The garbage truck rumbled down the street, and Mark automatically glanced towards the Davis' house. Mrs. Davis, with her perpetual floral dresses and slightly unkempt hair, was the picture of suburban normalcy. But today, the truck was only collecting the usual trash and a huge, ornate box. This was the same box Mark had watched be delivered a few days prior in a huge truck. He wasn't sure if he had the right memory, but he could almost swear he saw a professional crew taking the box in.

His mind felt foggy, like he'd just woken from a long nap. He slowly closed the gate to his yard, a cold dread creeping into his bones. What were they hiding? And why?