Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a fat, misshapen thing. Amelia nudged it with her foot, not wanting to touch it. It was addressed to "Ms. Agnes Periwinkle," a name that felt dusty and unused, like the apartment itself had felt before she’d thoroughly scrubbed it.

A tremor ran through her as she squatted, her stomach clenching. She’d told the mail carrier, the nice young man with the perpetually optimistic smile, that he should just return any mail for the previous resident. Evidently, he hadn’t listened.

She tore at the tape with a fingernail, wincing at the resistance. The smell that wafted out was a cloying sweetness mixed with something else, something metallic and sharp. She almost gagged.