Gemotions

A chill traced its way down Michael's spine when he opened the door and saw the vase of irises. They were a deep, unsettling purple. He'd been expecting a delivery, but this wasn't it. The delivery driver had simply said, "Flowers for Michael," and left.

He scanned the small hallway for a hidden camera, or perhaps a prank setup. His jaw tightened as he picked them up. He brought them inside, cautiously examining each delicate petal. Who would send these? He'd been living alone for months, ever since… well, the less said, the better.

He clutched the vase, the glass slick with condensation. He needed a drink. Maybe two. He fumbled for his keys, then let out a sharp sigh.