Gemotions

The day was stretching out endlessly, a vast, empty plain. The clock on the wall mocked him, each tick a reminder of the hours that remained. The phone remained silent. He found himself tapping his fingers on the table, a restless rhythm that echoed the turmoil within.

The doorbell. A package. The name on the label: "Mr. Silas Blackwood". He remembered the name. The old tenant. He'd never met him, but he’d heard of him.

He brought the box inside. Inside, a small, polished wooden box and a single, handwritten note. The note was an invitation.